compelling supers who had incurred the management’s displeasure to
go on as ‘the enemy,’ destined to succumb to native valour, by which
means the difficulty of getting men to appear as the foes of France
was obviated. When the _Battle of Waterloo_ was first produced on the
English stage, in one of the battle-scenes the French troops drove
a British division across the mimic field. This was done for a few
nights. One morning, after rehearsal, the leader of the supernumerary
red-coat corps, gathering his followers around him, said: ‘Boys, we
mustn’t retreat before the Johnny Crapauds again, to be goosed by
the pit. It’s all very well at rehearsal, but when it comes to real
acting it won’t do. Let us turn upon the yelling demons and pitch them
into the pit!’ And they did it too, astonishing the ‘Frenchmen,’ to
say nothing of the audience; as greatly as Mr George Jones was once
astonished by certain theatrical pirates. He, as an American sailor,
had to rescue a fair captive from the clutches of the aforesaid
ruffians. Unfortunately he had contrived to mortally offend the four
supers concerned; and when he rushed to the lady’s aid with: ‘Come on,
ye villains! One Yankee tar is more than a match for four lubberly
sharks!’ instead of leading off in a broadsword fight, the pirate
captain shouted: ‘I guess not!’ and seizing Jones by the legs and arms,
the pirates carried him off the stage, deposited him in the property
closet, and then returning, bore off the damsel to their rocky
retreat; leaving the curtain to come down before a very much puzzled
audience, to whom no explanation was vouchsafed.
Somebody—we think Mr Dutton Cook—tells a good story of an _accessoire_
once attached to the Porte St-Martin Theatre. M. Fombonne had won
managerial praise for the adroitness with which he handed letters or
coffee-cups upon a salver and his excellent manner of announcing the
names of stage-guests and visitors. Naturally enough, he thought his
services might be more liberally rewarded, and made his thought known.
‘Monsieur Fombonne,’ said the manager, ‘I acknowledge the justice of
your application. I admire and esteem you. You are one of the most
useful members of my company. I well know your worth; no one better.’
Glowing with pleasure at this recognition of his merits, M. Fombonne,
with one of his best bows, said: ‘I may venture then to hope’——
‘By all means, Monsieur Fombonne,’ interrupted the manager. ‘Hope
sustains us under all our afflictions. Always hope. For my part, hope
is the only thing left me. Business is wretched. The treasury is
empty. I cannot possibly raise your salary. But you are an artist, and
therefore above pecuniary considerations. I do not, I cannot offer you
money; but I can gratify a laudable ambition. Hitherto you have ranked
only as an _accessoire_; from this time you are an actor. I give you
the right of entering the _grand foyer_. You are permitted to call
Monsieur Lemaitre _mon camarade_; to _tutoyer_ Mademoiselle Theodorine.
I am sure, Monsieur Fombonne, that you will thoroughly appreciate
the distinction I have conferred upon you.’ The manager read his man
rightly; the promoted _accessoire_ was more than satisfied.
Not so well pleased was the English super who asked for a rise,
pleading that he had been playing his part with the utmost care and
zeal for a hundred consecutive nights. The manager inquired what part
he played.
‘Why, sir,’ said he, ‘I am in the fourth act; I have to stake twenty
pounds in the gambling scene.’
‘Very well,’ quoth the manager; ‘from to-night you shall double the
stakes.’
Was it the same manager, we wonder, to whom Mr Sala’s small super
came crying for a redress of his grievance? He had been cast to play
‘double-four’ in a pantomimic game of animated dominoes; but the
dresser had allotted ‘double-four’ to his brother Jim, and insisted
upon his being contented with donning the tabard of ‘four and a blank.’
He had protested, he had howled, he had punched Jim’s head, without
effect.
‘What am I to do?’ the little pantomimist cried. ‘I’d sooner give up
the profession, than be took down so many pegs without never ’avin done
nuffin.’
‘Never mind, my boy,’ replied the amused stage-manager; ‘you shall play
double-four; and if you behave yourself properly till Boxing Night you
shall play double-six.’
That little fellow would never have made such a mess of his ‘business’
as did a street urchin who made his first appearance on any stage
under the auspices of Mr J. C. Williamson, when the latter was playing
_Struck Oil_ in a country town. Led on by the ear by Lizzie Stofel,
and asked: ‘What for you call me Dutchy?’ the debutant blurted out:
‘Cause you told me to!’—to the immense delight of the house. As soon as
the act was over, he was told he might go in front; and before any one
could stop him, he pulled back the curtain, climbed over the footlights
into the orchestra, and coolly left the theatre.
At a performance of _Norma_ at the Cork Theatre, in which Cruvelli
played the heroine, the little daughters of the carpenter were pressed
into service to represent the children of the priestess. As the curtain
drew up on the second act they were seen lying on Norma’s couch quiet
enough, for they were frightened nearly to death by the glare of light,
the noise in front, and their unaccustomed surroundings. Their fright
increased as Norma vented her jealous rage in recitative; and when,
dagger in hand, she rushed towards them, they gave a shriek, tumbled
off their couch, and ran off the stage as fast as their legs would take
them, while the theatre rang with laughter, and Norma herself was fain
to sit down until she had recovered from the effect of the unexpected
episode.
Boleno the clown never evoked heartier merriment than that caused by
his first appearance in public as one of the ‘principal waves’ in
the nautical piece _Paul Jones_. It was at Sadler’s Wells Theatre,
soon after the ‘real water,’ for which that house was long famous,
had given place to the conventional canvas sea with its wave-rolling
boys underneath. The last scene represented the ocean, bearing on its
expanse of waters two ships preparing for action. The waves rolled as
the boys bobbed up and down, and all would have gone well, had not
Master Harry discovered a small hole in the canvas above him. Into this
hole he put two fingers, intending to take a peep at the front of the
house. The rotten stuff gave way; the waters of the Atlantic divided,
and disclosed a small head besmeared with blue paint—the result of
friction against the painted cloth. Catching sight of this, young Joe
Grimaldi, who was the captain in command of one of the vessels, called
out: ‘Man overboard!’ while the stage-carpenter shook his fist at the
appalled offender, causing that luckless young rascal to disappear from
view, and bob with such vigour at a remote distance, that a sudden
storm seemed to have broken over the ocean far away.
An American critic, disgusted with the mob in _Julius Cæsar_, when
that play was acted lately at Booth’s Theatre, because they shewed no
discrimination, cheering the meanest soldier walking in procession,
while they let Cæsar and Antony go by unrecognised, insists upon the
supernumeraries being better taught. It is certainly the duty of the
stage-manager to see that they are properly instructed, but it is no
use to ask too much of them; like the actor-manager who called upon
his supers to assume an oily smile of truculent defiance; and the
author of _Jeanne d’Arc_, who in his stage directions requires the
representatives of the English spectators at the procession to the pyre
to give vent to a buzz and murmur of hatred and exultation; and the
representatives of the Amazon’s countrymen to express their feelings in
a buzz and murmur of love, pity, and sympathy. Such exacting gentlemen
remind one of the French manager who fined one of the supernumeraries
engaged in _Paul et Virginie_ for not making himself black enough, and
afterwards discovered that the man he had fined was a nigger born.
THE MONTH:
SCIENCE AND ARTS.
The paragraphs on the use of zinc as a preventive of scale in
steam-boilers, in the _Month_ for March last (_ante_ 207 [Transcriber’s
note: see Project Gutenberg eBook 62970.]), have brought
us many inquiries for further particulars. One correspondent wishes
to know what length of time the lump of zinc will last? to which
we answer, that on this point there is nothing more precise in the
original Report than that the zinc lasts the usual time of working the
boiler between the periods of cleaning. The zinc is more efficacious in
the form of an ingot or solid lump, than when small heaps of clippings
are employed; and we cannot imagine that it would be difficult for any
intelligent person to determine by observation the dissolution of the
zinc.
The theoretical explanation of the preservative action is, that in the
process of oxidation the zinc borrows oxygen from the air dissolved
in the feed-water only. The two metals, zinc and iron, surrounded by
water at a high temperature, form an electrical ‘pile’ with a single
liquid which slowly decomposes the water. The oxygen flies to the most
oxidisable metal, the zinc, while the hydrogen is set free on the
surface of the iron. This release of hydrogen goes on over the whole
extent of the iron in contact with the water, and the minute bubbles
of this gas isolate at each instant the sides of the boiler from the
incrusting substance. If the quantity of this substance is small, it
becomes so penetrated by the bubbles that it remains soft as mud; and
if in greater quantity, coherent incrustations are formed, but in such
a state of isolation as to be readily separated from the iron.
This remarkable action of zinc was first discovered in 1861, during the
repair of a steam-vessel at Havre; and since then it has with approval
been taken into use in some of the large manufacturing establishments
of France. Readers desirous of consulting the original Report will find
it in the _Bulletin de la Société d’Encouragement pour l’Industrie
Nationale_, No. 51, March 1878, which may be obtained through Messrs
Trübner, the well-known London publishers, or any foreign bookseller.
The Institution of Mechanical Engineers have published their usual
yearly list of subjects on which they would be glad to have papers for
reading at their meetings. As may be supposed, their scheme includes
all branches of mechanical engineering; but we mention a few as likely
to occupy the attention of some of the many ingenious artificers who
are always inventing or improving. For example, there are hot-air
engines, engines worked by gas, and electro-magnetic engines.
Corn-mills, results of working with an air-blast and ring-stones. Flax,
lace, and knitting machinery. Wood-working machines, for morticing,
dovetailing, planing, rounding, surfacing and copying. Paper-making and
paper-cutting machines. Machines for printing from engraved surfaces,
and type-composing and distributing machines. Best plans for seasoning
timber and cordage. Ventilation of mines. Prevention of rust in iron
ships and tanks; and a way to diminish the dead-weight in railway
trains.
One of the subjects is improvements in lighthouses; by which we are
reminded that a new lighthouse at the Eddystone is talked of. The
present structure was built by Smeaton in 1756-59; and ever since,
as long before, as indicated by the name, the sea has been wearing
away the rock on which it stands, and now threatens to undermine the
foundations. The new tower would be built on an adjacent rock with, as
we may easily believe, all the best improvements in construction and
lighting.
Descriptions have been given at meetings of the Institution of machines
for pressing cotton in bales for shipment. Some machines will press
twice as much cotton into a bale of given size as others; which effects
an important economy as regards stowage and in cost of packing, for it
is estimated that the outlay for fuel for the pressing engine amounts
to only a penny a bale.
Messrs Siemens’ improvements in the dynamo-electric machine appear
likely to settle the question as regards transmission of mechanical
power to long distances. Given the power to work one machine, it can
be transmitted by wires to a second, from that to a third, and so on
continuously through many miles. A waterfall or steam-engine of one
hundred horse-power working the first machine in the series would
produce fifty horse-power at a distance of thirty miles. Hence it would
be possible to grind wheat, to shape iron in a lathe, to saw wood,
or weave cotton by machinery, in a district where all the coal was
exhausted. This consideration ought to be appreciated by the people who
imagine that our coal-fields will all too soon be dug completely out.
Another advantage of the dynamo-machine is that if thrown out of gear
for a few minutes or for a longer time there is no loss or waste of
power.
Considering that slag can be made into glass, and that slag is a
disagreeable encumbrance which many manufacturers would gladly get rid
of, a suggestion has been offered that, instead of being made of metal,
tanks and cisterns should be made of slag glass, in a single casting.
There would then be no leaky joints, no unpleasant taste from paint or
metal; cleaning would be easy; and if large dimensions were required,
a number of small tanks might be placed side by side, and connected
by slag-glass tubes. When this suggestion comes to be adopted, there
will be no need to inquire about prevention of rust in tanks, nor to be
timorous of lead-poisoning.
Very tedious is the work of reducing tables of observations to their
true value, whatever their nature. Observations of tides are no
exception; and as their reduction is of great importance in working
out a true theory of the tides, attempts have been made to accomplish
the tedious task by machinery, and at length with success. Sir William
Thomson, of the University of Glasgow, has now constructed what he
calls an ‘harmonic analyser,’ with which he can work out the analyses
of a twenty-four-hour tide-curve in about a minute. It is usual in
taking tidal observations that the gauge records the rise and fall in
the twenty-four hours in the form of a curve on a sheet or roll of
paper; and the labour of analysing the sheets of a whole year may be
imagined. But, as Sir W. Thomson’s machine will clear sixty or more
sheets in an hour, a year’s work may be satisfactorily disposed of in
half a day. This will indeed be good news to the able investigators
who have for some years investigated the voluminous series of arctic
tides, and are still far from completion. Their work will be greatly
simplified; but the machine by which this happy result is achieved
involves some of the most refined principles in natural philosophy.
‘The Worshipful Company of Turners’ of the City of London have
published their list of prizes for the present year, stating the
conditions on which they will grant the freedom of the Company, and
of the City if the Court of Aldermen agree, and sums of money and
medals to successful competitors. Any one skilful in turning in wood,
throwing and turning in pottery, and in diamond cutting and polishing,
is qualified to compete, but will be expected to remember that ‘beauty
of design, symmetry of shape, utility, and general excellence of
workmanship,’ are qualities which will be considered in awarding the
prizes. The specimens are to be delivered at the Mansion House, London,
within the first week of October next.
Mr Du Moncel, in discoursing on the phonograph to a scientific Society
in Paris, suggested that by successive improvements the instrument
would be made capable of recording a speech with all the intonations
of the speaker; and that sheets of phonographic music might be kept
in a portfolio for the entertainment of amateurs many years after the
air was first played or sung. But while waiting for that result, there
might be contrived a clock which would speak, instead of striking
the hours. Such a clock would announce one o’clock, two o’clock, as
the hours passed by, and might be made to say _Time to get up_, at
any required moment. But this is a trifle in comparison with what is
reported from the United States—namely that steam has been applied
to the phonograph, and that a locomotive provided with the proper
apparatus can talk messages which would be heard at some miles’
distance. In the Crystal Palace at Sydenham we lately saw the cylinder
of the instrument made to revolve by clockwork. The result was that
words and songs were reproduced with much more regularity than by the
ordinary handle, as hitherto turned by the operator. As yet, however,
much remains to be done before a speech or a song, as spoken or warbled
into the instrument, shall be reproduced with faultless exactitude. As
with the telephone, so is it with the phonograph—there is still a lack
both of sound-volume, and quality.
Mr N. J. Holmes, well known as a scientific inventor and electrician,
has brought out a portable self-igniting beacon, which may be placed
on a wreck, a buoy, or in any position where a flashing signal is
required, and render good service. When in use, it lights itself at
any given moment; when once alight, cannot be put out by wind or
water, will keep burning from fifteen to twenty hours, and shew itself
by a flash every half-minute. Flashing signals are sometimes wanted
inland, far away from the sea; but along the coast an appliance that
can be carried from place to place with a certainty that it will act as
required, can hardly fail to be appreciated.
In a communication to the National Academy of Sciences, New York,
Mr Le Conte treats of the ‘glycogenic function of the liver and its
relation to vital force and vital heat,’ in a way which will perhaps be
interesting to many readers. In the ordinary process of nutrition much
sugar is formed in the body: if the health be good, the whole of the
sugar is arrested in the liver, changed into a less soluble substance
nearly related to sugar—namely glycogen, and is thus withdrawn from
circulation and stored in the liver. This store is slowly rechanged
into the oxidable form of liver-sugar, and is re-delivered, little
by little, to the blood by the hepatic vein, as the necessities of
combustion for animal heat and vital force require. The sole object
of the glycogenic function of the liver is to prepare food and waste
tissue for final elimination by lungs and kidneys; to prepare an easily
combustible fuel, liver-sugar, for the generation of vital force and
vital heat by combustion, and at the same time a residuum suitable
for elimination as urea. Glycogen-making is a true vital function;
sugar-making is a pure chemical process. The former is an ascensive,
the latter a descensive metamorphosis.
Mr Le Conte continues: In the well-known and usually fatal disease
diabetes, sugar is excreted in large quantities by the kidneys. But
the kidneys are not the organ in fault: they do all they can to
remedy the evil by getting rid of the sugar which, in the blood, is
extremely hurtful. In such cases the liver is in fault, and seems to
have lost its glycogen-making power. It has been proved that an excess
of sugar in the blood produces, among other hurtful effects, cataract
and blindness. The cataract so common among diabetic patients is
thus accounted for; and it is obvious that the physiologist who will
discover a way to keep going the glycogen-making function of the liver
will be a benefactor to the human race.
Well worth reading is Professor Boyd Dawkins’ _Preliminary Treatise
on the Relation of the Pleistocene Mammalia to those now living in
Europe_, published by the Palæontographical Society. It makes clear the
evidence by which the relationship has been established, and abounds
with interesting and remarkable facts in the history of the animals of
Europe. For example, the reindeer lingered in Caithness down to the
twelfth century, and, as Professor Dawkins observes, we see ‘that it
ranged still farther south in the Prehistoric age, and ultimately in
the Pleistocene, it reached the Alps and Pyrenees. It is surprising,’
he continues, ‘that the lion, the panther, and the urus are the only
three mammals which have been exterminated in Europe. The principal
interest centres in the domestic animals. The fact that the urus breed
was introduced into Britain by the English is most important for the
student of history. The distribution of the fallow-deer was due to the
direct influence of the Roman power; while the northward distribution
of the cat stands in direct relation to the intercourse which the
people of France, Germany, and Britain had with the south and east of
Europe.’
Mr Meldrum of the Royal Alfred Observatory, Mauritius, whose researches
we have from time to time noticed, reiterates the expression of his
opinion on the sunspot and rainfall question, and shews as the result
of observation that there is a rainfall cycle for Europe and America
as well as for India. ‘I long ago,’ he remarks, ‘obtained similar
results for India, Mauritius, the Cape, and Australia, as well as for
the depths of water in the Elbe, Rhine, Oder, Danube, and Vistula, and
have shewn that the mean rainfall curve for the mean sunspot cycle of
eleven years exhibits the characteristics of the mean sunspot curve.’
Mr Meldrum is satisfied that he has ‘evidence of a connection between
sunspots and rainfall nearly, if not fully as strong as the evidence
of a connection between sunspots and terrestrial magnetism.’ There
are many anomalies; but ‘underlying them all, and pervading them all,
a well-marked rainfall cycle is assuredly to be found, especially
for Europe, where the observations are most numerous.’ It would be
interesting to have a satisfactory proof that these theories are
correct.
In 1874 the difference of longitude between Greenwich and Suez was
determined under instructions from the Astronomer-royal. Since then,
as we learn from Colonel Walker’s Report on the Trigonometrical
Survey of India, the differences between Bombay, Aden, and Suez have
been determined, and the connection between England and India is now
complete. In these later observations, clocks were compared through the
telegraph cables, which effectually eliminated the ‘personal equation’
from the numerical result. ‘It is believed,’ says Colonel Walker, ‘that
this is the first instance of such perfection of method having been
attained.’
A Report on the Progress and Resources of New South Wales, by Mr
C. Robinson, published at Sydney, states that the estimated area
of Australia is three million square miles, of which the colony in
question occupies 323,437 square miles—that the population in 1871
was 501,579—that the clip of wool in 1876 amounted to 73,147,608
pounds—that the sugar-crop for 1875 was more than fifteen million
pounds—that one seam of coal will yield 84,208,298,667 tons—that a bed
of kerosene oil shale will turn out 2000 gallons of refined oil every
week for seventy-two years—that in all (up to 1874) 12,387,279 tons
of coal had been raised, and that the total weight of gold produced
was 8,205,232 ounces. Add to this the other minerals, and ships, corn,
wine, and cattle, and it will be seen that New South Wales may look
forward with confidence to the time when, should the population become
as dense as in England, it will contain within its borders a hundred
million souls.