[Illustration:
CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL
OF
POPULAR
LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART
Fifth Series
ESTABLISHED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, 1832
CONDUCTED BY R. CHAMBERS (SECUNDUS)
NO. 47.—VOL. I. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 1884. PRICE 1½_d._]
CURIOSITIES OF THE BANK OF ENGLAND.
Considering the world-wide reputation of the Bank of England, it is
remarkable how little is generally known as to its internal working.
Standing in the very heart of the largest city in the world—a central
landmark of the great metropolis—even the busy Londoners around it
have, as a rule, only the vaguest possible knowledge of what goes on
within its walls. In truth, its functions are so many, its staff so
enormous, and their duties so varied, that many even of those who have
spent their lives in its service will tell you that, beyond their own
immediate departments, they know but little of its inner life. Its mere
history, as recorded by Mr Francis, fills two octavo volumes. It will
be readily understood, therefore, that it would be idle to attempt
anything like a complete description of it within the compass of a
magazine article. There are, however, many points about the Bank and
its working which are extremely curious and interesting, and some of
these we propose briefly to describe.
The Bank of England originated in the brain of William Paterson,
a Scotchman—better known, perhaps, as the organiser and leader of
the ill-fated Darien expedition. It commenced business in 1694, its
charter—which was in the first instance granted for eleven years
only—bearing date the 27th July of that year. This charter has been
from time to time renewed, the last renewal having taken place in
1844. The original capital of the Bank was but one million two hundred
thousand pounds, and it carried on its business in a single room in
Mercers’ Hall, with a staff of fifty-four clerks. From so small a
beginning has grown the present gigantic establishment, which covers
nearly three acres, and employs in town and country nearly nine hundred
officials. Upon the latest renewal of its charter, the Bank was divided
into two distinct departments, the Issue and the Banking. In addition
to these, the Bank has the management of the national debt. The books
of the various government funds are here kept; here all transfers are
made, and here all dividends are paid.
In the Banking department is transacted the ordinary business of
bankers. Here other banks keep their ‘reserve,’ and hence draw their
supplies as they require them. The Issue department is intrusted
with the circulation of the notes of the Bank, which is regulated as
follows. The Bank in 1844 was a creditor of the government to the
extent of rather over eleven million pounds, and to this amount and
four million pounds beyond, for which there is in other ways sufficient
security, the Bank is allowed to issue notes without having gold in
reserve to meet them. Beyond these fifteen million pounds, every note
issued represents gold actually in the coffers of the Bank. The total
value of the notes in the hands of the public at one time averages
about twenty-five million pounds. To these must be added other notes
to a very large amount in the hands of the Banking department, which
deposits the bulk of its reserve of gold in the Issue department,
accepting notes in exchange.
All Bank of England notes are printed in the Bank itself. Six
printing-presses are in constant operation, the same machine printing
first the particulars of value, signature, &c., and then the number
of the note in consecutive order. The paper used is of very peculiar
texture, being at once thin, tough, and crisp; and the combination of
these qualities, together with the peculiarities of the watermark,
which is distributed over the whole surface of the paper, forms one
of the principal guarantees against imitation. The paper, which is
manufactured exclusively at one particular mill, is made in oblong
slips, allowing just enough space for the printing of two notes side by
side. The edges of the paper are left untrimmed, but, after printing,
the two notes are divided by a straight cut between them. This accounts
for the fact, which many of our readers will doubtless have noticed,
that only one edge of a Bank-note is smooth, the other three being
comparatively ragged. The printing-presses are so constructed as
to register each note printed, so that the machine itself indicates
automatically how many notes have passed through it. The average
production of notes is fifty thousand a day, and about the same number
are presented in the same time for payment.
No note is ever issued a second time. When once it finds its way back
to the Bank to be exchanged for coin, it is immediately cancelled; and
the reader will probably be surprised to hear that the average life
of a Bank-note, or the time during which it is in actual circulation,
is not more than five or six days. The returned notes, averaging, as
we have stated, about fifty thousand a day, and representing, one day
with another, about one million pounds in value, are brought into what
is known as the Accountant’s Sorting Office. Here they are examined
by inspectors, who reject any which may be found to be counterfeit.
In such a case, the paying-in bank is debited with the amount. The
notes come in from various banks in parcels, each parcel accompanied
by a memorandum stating the number and amount of the notes contained
in it. This memorandum is marked with a certain number, and then each
note in the parcel is stamped to correspond, the stamping-machine
automatically registering how many are stamped, and consequently
drawing immediate attention to any deficiency in the number of notes
as compared with that stated in the memorandum. This done, the notes
are sorted according to number and date, and after being defaced by
punching out the letters indicating value, and tearing off the corner
bearing the signature, are passed on to the ‘Bank-note Library,’ where
they are packed in boxes, and preserved for possible future reference
during a period of five years. There are one hundred and twenty clerks
employed in this one department; and so perfect is the system of
registration, that if the number of a returned note be known, the head
of this department, by referring to his books, can ascertain in a few
minutes the date when and the banker through whom it was presented;
and if within the period of five years, can produce the note itself
for inspection. As to the ‘number’ of a Bank-note, by the way, there
is sometimes a little misconception, many people imagining that by
quoting the bare figures on the face of a note they have done all that
is requisite for its identification. This is not the case. Bank-notes
are not numbered consecutively _ad infinitum_, but in series of one
to one hundred thousand, the different series being distinguished as
between themselves by the date, which appears in full in the body of
the note, and is further indicated, to the initiated, by the letter and
numerals prefixed to the actual number. Thus 25/O 90758 on the face of
a note indicates that the note in question is No. 90758 of the series
printed on May 21, 1883, which date appears in full in the body of
the note. 69/N in like manner indicates that the note forms part of a
series printed on February 19, 1883. In ‘taking the number’ of a note,
therefore, either this prefix or the full date, as stated in the body
of the note, should always be included.
The ‘Library’ of cancelled notes—not to be confounded with the Bank
Library proper—is situated in the Bank vaults, and we are indebted to
the courtesy of the Bank-note Librarian for the following curious and
interesting statistics respecting his stock. The stock of paid notes
for five years—the period during which, as before stated, the notes are
preserved for reference—is about seventy-seven million seven hundred
and forty-five thousand in number. They fill thirteen thousand four
hundred boxes, about eighteen inches long, ten wide, and nine deep.
If the notes could be placed in a pile one upon another, they would
reach to a height of five and two-third miles. Joined end to end they
would form a ribbon twelve thousand four hundred and fifty-five miles
long, or half-way round the globe; if laid so as to form a carpet, they
would very nearly cover Hyde Park. Their original value is somewhat
over seventeen hundred and fifty millions, and their weight is about
ninety-one tons. The immense extent of space necessary to accommodate
such a mass in the Bank vaults may be imagined. The place, with its
piles on piles of boxes reaching far away into dim distance, looks like
some gigantic wine-cellar or bonded warehouse.
As each day adds, as we have seen, about fifty thousand notes to the
number, it is necessary to find some means of destroying those which
have passed their allotted term of preservation. This is done by fire,
about four hundred thousand notes being burnt at one time in a furnace
specially constructed for that purpose. Formerly, from some peculiarity
in the ink with which the notes were printed, the cremated notes burnt
into a solid blue clinker; but the composition of the ink has been
altered, and the paper now burns to a fine gray ash. The fumes of the
burning paper are extremely dense and pungent; and to prevent any
nuisance arising from this cause, the process of cremation is carried
out at dead of night, when the city is comparatively deserted. Further,
in order to mitigate the density of the fumes, they are made to ascend
through a shower of falling water, the chimney shaft being fitted with
a special shower-bath arrangement for this purpose.
Passing away from the necropolis of dead and buried notes, we visit
the Treasury, whence they originally issued. This is a quiet-looking
room, scarcely more imposing in appearance than the butler’s pantry in
a West-end mansion, but the modest-looking cupboards with which its
walls are lined are gorged with hidden treasure. The possible value
of the contents of this room may be imagined from the fact that a
million of money, in notes of one thousand pounds, forms a packet only
three inches thick. The writer has had the privilege of holding such a
parcel in his hand, and for a quarter of a minute imagining himself a
millionaire—with an income of over thirty thousand per annum for life!
The same amount might occupy even less space than the above, for Mr
Francis tells a story of a lost note for thirty thousand pounds, which,
turning up after the lapse of many years, was paid by the Bank _twice
over_! We are informed that notes of even a higher value than this have
on occasion been printed, but the highest denomination now issued is
one thousand pounds.
In this department is kept a portion of the Bank’s stock of golden
coin, in bags of one thousand pounds each. This amount does not require
a very large bag for its accommodation, but its weight is considerable,
amounting to two hundred and fifty-eight ounces twenty pennyweights,
so that a million in gold would weigh some tons. In another room of
this department—the Weighing Office—are seen the machines for detecting
light coin. These machines are marvels of ingenious mechanism. Three or
four hundred sovereigns are laid in a long brass scoop or semi-tube, of
such a diameter as to admit them comfortably, and self-regulating to
such an incline that the coins gradually slide down by their own weight
on to one plate of a little balance placed at its lower extremity.
Across the face of this plate two little bolts make alternate thrusts,
one to the right, one to the left, but at slightly different levels.
If the coin be of full weight, the balance is held in equipoise, and
the right-hand bolt making its thrust, pushes it off the plate and down
an adjacent tube into the receptacle for full-weight coin. If, on the
other hand, the coin is ever so little ‘light,’ the balance naturally
rises with it. The right-hand bolt makes its thrust as before, but
this time passes harmlessly beneath the coin. Then comes the thrust of
the left-hand bolt, which, as we have said, is fixed at a fractionally
higher level, and pushes the coin down a tube on the opposite side,
through which it falls into the light-coin receptacle. The coins thus
condemned are afterwards dropped into another machine, which defaces
them by a cut half-way across their diameter, at the rate of two
hundred a minute. The weighing-machines, of which there are sixteen,
are actuated by a small atmospheric engine in one corner of the room,
the only manual assistance required being to keep them supplied with
coins. It is said that sixty thousand sovereigns and half-sovereigns
can be weighed here in a single day. The weighing-machine in question
is the invention of Mr Cotton, a former governor of the Bank, and among
scientific men is regarded as one of the most striking achievements of
practical mechanics.
In the Bullion department we find another weighing-machine of a
different character, but in its way equally remarkable. It is the
first of its kind, having been designed specially for the Bank by Mr
James Murdoch Napier, by whom it has been patented. It is used for the
purpose of weighing bullion, which is purchased in this department.
Gold is brought in in bars of about eight inches long, three wide, and
one inch thick. A bar of gold of these dimensions will weigh about two
hundred ounces, and is worth, if pure, about eight hundred pounds.
Each bar when brought in is accompanied by a memorandum of its weight.
The question of quality is determined by the process of assaying; the
weight is checked by means of the weighing-machine we have referred to.
This takes the form of an extremely massive pair of scales, working
on a beam of immense strength and solidity, and is based, so as to
be absolutely rigid, on a solid bed of concrete. The whole stands
about six feet high by three wide, and is inclosed in an air-tight
plate-glass case, a sash in which is raised when it is desired to
use the machine. The two sides of the scale are each kept permanently
loaded, the one with a single weight of three hundred and sixty ounces,
the other with a number of weights of various sizes to the same amount.
When it is desired to test the weight of a bar of gold, weights to the
amount stated in the corresponding memorandum, _less half an ounce_,
are removed from the latter scale, and the bar of gold substituted in
their place. Up to this point the beam of the scale is kept perfectly
horizontal, being maintained in that position by a mechanical break;
but now a stud is pressed, and by means of delicate machinery, actuated
by water-power, the beam is released. If the weight of the bar has been
correctly stated in the memorandum, the scale which holds it should be
exactly half an ounce in excess. This or any less excess of weight over
the three hundred and sixty ounces in the opposite scale is instantly
registered by the machine, a pointer travelling round a dial until it
indicates the proper amount. The function of the machine, however, is
limited to weighing half an ounce only. If the discrepancy between the
two scales as loaded is greater than this, or if on the other hand the
bar of gold is more than half an ounce less than the amount stated in
the memorandum, an electric bell rings by way of warning, the pointer
travels right round the dial, and returns to zero. So delicate is the
adjustment, that the weight of half a penny postage stamp—somewhat less
than half a grain—will set the hand in motion and be recorded on the
dial.
The stock of gold in the bullion vault varies from one to three million
pounds sterling. The bars are laid side by side on small flat trucks or
barrows carrying one hundred bars each. In a glass case in this vault
is seen a portion of the war indemnity paid by King Coffee of Ashantee,
consisting of gold ornaments, a little short of standard fineness.
One of the first reflections that strike an outsider permitted to
inspect the repository of so much treasure is, ‘Can all this wealth
be safe?’ These heaps of precious metal, these piles of still more
precious notes, are handled by the officials in such an easy-going,
matter-of-course way, that one would almost fancy a few thousands would
scarcely be missed; and that a dishonest person had only to walk in
and help himself to as many sovereigns or hundred pound notes as his
pockets could accommodate. Such, however, is very far from being the
case. The safeguards against robbery, either by force or fraud, are
many and elaborate. At night the Bank is guarded at all accessible
points by an ample military force, which would no doubt give a good
account of any intruder rash enough to attempt to gain an entrance. In
the event of attack from without, there are sliding galleries which
can be thrust out from the roof, and which would enable a body of
sharpshooters to rake the streets in all directions.
Few people are aware that the Bank of England contains within its walls
a graveyard, but such is nevertheless the fact. The Gordon riots in
1780, during which the Bank was attacked by a mob, called attention to
the necessity for strengthening its defences. Competent authorities
advised that an adjoining church, rejoicing in the appropriate name
of St Christopher-le-Stocks, was in a military sense a source of
danger, and accordingly an Act of Parliament was passed to enable
the directors to purchase the church and its appurtenances. The old
churchyard, tastefully laid out, now forms what is known as the Bank
‘garden,’ the handsome ‘Court Room’ or ‘Bank Parlour’ abutting on one
of its sides. There is a magnificent lime-tree, one of the largest in
London, in the centre of the garden, and tradition states that under
this tree a former clerk of the Bank, _eight feet high_, lies buried.
With this last, though not least of the curiosities of the Bank, we
must bring the present article to a close. We had intended briefly to
have referred to sundry eventful pages of its history; but these we are
compelled, by considerations of space, to reserve for a future paper.
BY MEAD AND STREAM.
CHAPTER LVII.—THE SECRET IN THE OAK PARLOUR.
At Willowmere, the rapidity with which Mr Hadleigh regained strength
astounded Dr Joy, and delighted the patient’s nurses, Aunt Hessy and
Madge.
‘Wonderful nerve, wonderful physique he must have,’ whispered Dr Joy
admiringly on the fifth day; ‘and yet, according to all accounts, he
did not study the economy of either in the course of his life. Well,
well; we do come across extraordinary constitutions occasionally, and
his is one of them.’
The peculiarity of the case was that, after the first shock, the
patient was perfectly calm, and showed not the remotest symptom of
delirium. He understood everything that passed around him, and when
permitted, talked quietly about the fire, and listened attentively to
all that was related to him regarding it.
He heard with pleased surprise the account of how Caleb had rescued
him, and said to Madge: ‘I must do something for that man; but it will
have to be by your hand, for he is evidently resolved to accept nothing
from mine.’
‘We will have to find out where he is, before we can do anything for
him. He intended to go to Australia; but the day after he regained his
freedom, he wrote to Philip saying that he had altered his mind, and
was going to the United States.’
‘Why did not Philip keep him here?’
‘He tried to persuade him to remain, but could not. Poor Caleb, he does
not know what a sorry heart he has left behind him.’ Here she checked
herself, feeling that she was entering upon delicate ground. ‘He sent
good wishes to you, and to all of us, and promised to write again to
Philip, so that we may have an opportunity of serving him yet.’
‘He is a headstrong fellow,’ said Mr Hadleigh; ‘and I hope he may
not ruin his own prospects by his too great eagerness to secure the
independence of his neighbours. You see, Miss Heathcote, he is one
of those unhappy people who have reached the stage of education in
which they discover that they have certain rights, without having got
education enough to recognise the responsibilities which these rights
entail. Well, we must wait till we have news of him.... Has my safe
been dug out of the ruins yet?’
That was a question he had been asking daily from the moment when
he comprehended the disaster which had befallen him; and the answer
had been hitherto always the same: ‘Not yet.’ At length came the
information that the safe had been found, and was apparently little
damaged by its ordeal of fire.
Then Mr Hadleigh bade Philip take his keys and bring him from the safe
a little deed-box marked ‘_L. H. Private_.’ When Philip returned with
the box, his father had been moved into the Oak Parlour, where he was
reclining in a big armchair, supported by down cushions. A cheery fire
with one of Madge’s oak-logs was blazing on the hearth, raising the
temperature of the apartment to summer heat.
When the box was placed on the table beside him, he desired to be left
alone until he should ring a hand-bell which was within his reach.
He had caused Philip to place the key in the box, and for a space he
remained motionless, staring at it, as if hesitating to touch again the
spring of emotions which he had intended should be there shut up from
him for ever. His eyelids drooped, and in spite of the bright glow of
the fire, a shadow fell on his pale face.
‘Yes, I thank God that I am spared to do this thing,’ he muttered at
length. ‘Let the secret die with me—it was a cruel as well as a selfish
wish that prompted me to reveal it to them. What matter to me how
they may hold me in their memory? They may think of me as that which
circumstances made me appear, not as what I wished to be. What matter?
The dead are beyond earthly pain and passion. I shall not stretch my
hand from the grave to cast the least shade of regret over their lives.’
He slowly took from the box the two packets he had so carefully sealed
and put away on the night of the fire. The one was addressed to
Madge as Mrs Philip Hadleigh; the other, to his son Philip, with the
injunction that he, after reading, was to decide whether or not to show
it to his wife. The paper addressed to Madge, he took up and held in
the long thin scarred hands as if it were a thing capable of feeling.
He broke the seal and took the paper from the envelope, performing
the operation mechanically, whilst the far-away look was in his eyes,
and the Something he had sought but could not reach was fading from
his vision altogether. His was the kind of expression with which one
who knows he is doomed watches the last sunset displaying its brief,
changing glories on the horizon. The broad streams of gleaming amber
and opal are quietly transfused into the pensive gray of twilight, and
the darkness follows.
‘They must never know.’
He made a movement as if to drop the paper into the fire, paused, and
his eyes rested on the writing, although they did not distinguish the
words. And there was no need; for they only represented in a feeble way
thoughts which were always present to his mind.
‘I must speak’—such were the written words—‘or I shall lose all
self-restraint. You cannot be harmed by what is put down here. Perhaps
you will never see it; you certainly shall not until after my funeral,
and then you may be able to understand and think none the less kindly
of me for this confession.
‘You have seen me in my darkest moods, and you have wondered at my
melancholy—wondered why I who had been granted such a large measure of
what the world esteems prosperity should find no contentment in it. I
have partly explained the cause to Philip: I could not explain it to
you.
‘With bitter reason I early learned to believe that money—mere
money—was the source of all earthly happiness. I was mistaken, and
found out my mistake too late. I should have been content, perhaps
happy in a way, if I could have gone on to the end without the
knowledge that the want of Love is the only real sorrow which can enter
into man or woman’s life. But there was nobody to lead me out of the
miserable conviction which took possession of my mind as I watched
those dearest to me fall one by one, not with the merciful swiftness
of soldiers in battle, but in the lingering torments of soul and body
which come to those who are poor.
‘Left alone, I looked around. The whole world was my enemy, to be
conquered by force and stratagem. Any man may be rich, I said, who
has a clear head and no conscience; who is willing to abandon all
sentiment, forego all trivial pleasures, and give himself absolutely to
the service of the world’s idol. I gave myself to the idol; and wealth
came to me in increasing stores year by year, month by month, day by
day.
‘At first, the sense of my victory sufficed; but soon there came the
consciousness that this was not happiness; it was the successful
working of a machine. I craved for something more, but did not know
what it was. My wife’s affection, I knew, belonged to another: I had
married her with that knowledge. I tried to win the friendship of my
children; but the girls had learned to regard me with a kind of fear,
Coutts with indifference, and Philip was the only one who could speak
to me with frankness. His generous nature comforted me, but did not
fill up the void in my life.
‘I was still seeking the Something which was necessary to me, and at
length I found it in YOU.... Yes, you taught me what love was—I loved
you with all the fervour of youth. My years, my experience of the world
intensified the love which I had never known before. I was prepared to
sacrifice all my possessions, all my hopes, for you.
‘Do not start away and cast the paper from you; I have made the
sacrifice.
‘At the same moment in which the treasure that would have made life
beautiful was revealed to me, there was also revealed the impossibility
of its ever becoming mine. I was like a seaman who is shipwrecked and
sinks within sight of land. I will not try to tell you through what
pain I passed to the recognition of the duty Love imposed—to help
forward your happiness in any direction in which you might think it
lay. I will not try to tell you with what agitation I learned for the
first time, what must have become known to me long before, had it not
been for the morbid isolation in which my days were passed, that you
and Philip were betrothed.
‘My first desire then was to bring about your union as speedily
as possible, believing that I should find my peace in having the
privilege of calling you daughter. Meeting your uncle Crawshay in
the market-place, I took him to a private apartment in the inn and
endeavoured to explain my wishes. I must have spoken stupidly, for he
misunderstood me, and fancied that the proposal was on my own account.
His misconception startled and confused me, and he left me in great
indignation.
‘I thought of following him to Willowmere and explaining; but the
effort already made had tried me so much, that not feeling sure of
what awkwardness of speech or what irrepressible sign of emotion might
betray my secret, I determined to let matters take their course, whilst
my task should be to keep Philip at home and to hasten the marriage.
You know how earnestly I strove to carry out that resolution.
‘You and Philip will be happy. You two have found in time the golden
key of life, and in your happiness I shall find mine at last. I want to
live till then; and, after, I shall pass away content.’
* * * * *
The invalid seemed to arouse from a sad and yet pleasing dream, for
there was a faint smile on his worn face, and the eyes seemed to
brighten as with the consciousness of victory—that greatest of all
victories, the conquest of self.
He rang the hand-bell, and Madge herself promptly answered the summons.
‘It is you I wanted, my child.... How good and patient you have been
with me—Madge. Take notice, I am to call you henceforth, Madge, my
child.’
‘And I shall call you father,’ she said tenderly, taking one of his
hands and stroking it affectionately.
He was silent for a few moments; then lifting his head, he drew her
towards him and kissed her with strange solemnity on the brow.
‘Yes, my child,’ he said calmly, ‘that is the name which commands a
portion of your love—and you will give me a little of it?’
‘A great deal of it—you may be sure of that,’ she answered, blushing
slightly, and thinking how could she do otherwise than give a great
deal of love to Philip’s father.
‘You give me more comfort than you know, my dear daughter. Now take
this paper and place it on the fire, so that I may see it burn to
ashes.’
She obeyed unquestioningly; and he watched the flame stretching its
white fingers round the secret which was to die with him; saw the paper
curl into black and white films; and then he drew a long breath of
relief.
‘They can never know now,’ was his mental exclamation. ‘Thank God it is
done, and by her hand.’
There was a little while of dreamy silence, during which Madge stood
by his side, holding his hand, and anxiously noting every change on
his countenance. The changes were rapid and curious as those of a
kaleidoscope: now there was pain; again a stern frown, as if checking
some rebellious spirit, and anon a serene smile of resignation and
content. With this latter expression he looked up to her.
‘Call Philip.’
The son was immediately in attendance.
‘I hope you are not exerting yourself too much, sir,’ was his anxious
observation.
‘O no; I am wonderfully strong this afternoon, and am taking advantage
of the renewed strength to put some matters straight, which being done,
will relieve my mind, and so give me the better chance of a speedy
recovery. But it is as well to be prepared for the worst; and therefore
I wish to have the satisfaction of handing you this packet in Madge’s
presence. You will learn from it that when I took from you the portion
of my fortune which would have been yours in the ordinary course of
events, I gave it to your future wife. I did not intend you to know
this until after my death; but as your uncle has come to grief, I am
desirous of relieving your mind as soon as possible from any fear of
the future; and I should have been glad to have helped Austin Shield
out of his difficulties, for your mother’s sake—but he would refuse any
help that came from me.—What is that?’
The exclamation was caused by one of the oak panels facing him slowly
moving aside and revealing the form of a man.
MORE USES OF PAPER.
The place of timber in construction bids fair to be taken by
papier-mâché, and it may claim to rival iron itself in the multiplicity
of its industrial applications. Besides the advantage of its cheap
construction, papier-mâché is not affected by changes of temperature,
does not crack, like wood or plaster, and is never discoloured by rust.
It can be bronzed, painted, polished, or gilded, made heavy or light
as required, and possesses greater adaptability for quick removal or
adjustment than most other materials. Its uses in architecture seem to
have no limit, as has been shown by building and completely furnishing
a dwelling-house entirely of this material. According to report, a
huge hotel is about to be constructed in America in which paper will
take the place of stone and brick. The fourth paper dome in the United
States and, it is thought, in the world, will crown the new Observatory
at Columbia College, in New York. A trade journal remarks that besides
the paper dome at the Troy Polytechnic, there is a second at West
Point, and a third at Beloit College. That at West Point is said to
be the largest, but that at Columbia College the best in construction
and arrangement. The method used in the manufacture of the paper is
kept a secret, the makers using a patented process. The dome is made
in sections—twenty-four in number. They are bent over towards the
inside at the edges and bolted to ribs of wood. The shell, though very
thin, is as stiff as sheet-iron. On one side of the dome is the oblong
opening for the telescope, and over this a shutter, also of paper, but
stiffened with wood-lining, which slides around on the outside of the
dome. The whole dome is so light that the hand can turn it.
As regards the uses of papier-mâché in Europe, we hear of a complete
church being built in Bavaria, having columns, walls, altar, roof,
and spire all of this material. Some of the most tasteful halls on
the continent and in this country are finished in it in preference
to wood. Mantels, mirrors, frames, and gilded chandeliers are of
its composition. Pedestals, newels, vases, furniture, and ornaments
of all kinds, no less than floors and staircases, gas-pipes, and
even chimney-shafts, can be made of it. In Breslau, a chimney-shaft
fifty feet high is said to have been made of paper-pulp chemically
impregnated so as to resist combustion.
Incombustible as well as water-proof paper is now no novelty, and
has before been alluded to in this _Journal_; but an account of some
further experiments in this line has since reached us. M. G. Meyer
of Paris recently exhibited to the ‘Société d’Encouragement pour
l’Industrie nationale’ specimens of an incombustible paper capable of
taking on inks of various shades, and also paintings, and preserving
them even in the fire of a gas-flame. It was stated by him that the
papers and documents shown had been for four hours in a pottery
furnace, and had displayed undoubted fire-resisting properties. Paper
of this indestructible nature should be in good demand for wills,
deeds, and account-books, &c. It is also suitable for wall-covering,
and ought, we should think, to be of great value for theatrical
decorations and scenery. The latter can be rendered uninflammable by
using this inventor’s material as well as his incombustible colours.
While on the subject of decoration may be mentioned the new kind of
satin paper recently brought out for this purpose. It is made by
covering common paper with adhesive size, and sprinkling dyed asbestos
powder on its moist surface. Asbestos readily takes up all colours,
especially those of aniline, so that some very rich effects can be
produced.
Paper curtains, counterpanes, sheets, and so forth, are said to have
been among the objects of interest at the Sydney Exhibition; and so
there is no reason to doubt the report that table-napkins of the same
adaptable substance are regularly supplied at the cheap dining-rooms
of Berlin. The napkins are of tissue-paper with a coloured ornamental
border—not only because paper is cheaper than diaper, but as a
protection against pilfering. Indeed, so common are paper table-napkins
said to be at Berlin, that the manufacturers advertise them regularly
in the newspapers at the rate of about nine or ten a penny.
When we think of the extraordinary uses to which paper is applied, it
is not so startling to learn that this material may even enter into
the composition of our post-prandial cigar. If we are to believe the
newspapers, millions of cigars are annually manufactured in Havana
without so much as a single fibre of tobacco-leaf being utilised in the
process of their fabrication. The great straw-paper factory in New York
State has for some time been making a peculiar sort of extremely thin
fine paper, which it has been discovered is used for making cigars.
This we are told is thoroughly soaked in a solution composed of tobacco
refuse boiled in water, then dried and pressed between stamps, which
impart to it the appearance of the finest leaf so exactly as to defy
detection even on the part of the experienced in such matters. Of these
paper-leaves are fabricated the spurious cigars alluded to, which are
exported from Cuba to all parts of the world as genuine tobacco. The
cost of their production is nothing in comparison with the prices at
which they are disposed of. A slight difference in weight between the
genuine and the spurious cigar of identical brand and size, affords,
it is stated, the only certain means of detecting this fraud, so alike
in appearance are the weeds of real tobacco and their counterfeit
presentments in straw-paper.
As delicate sheets of paper can be made to serve for steel or iron,
it is easily understood that school-slates can be manufactured from
similar apparently unpromising beginnings. They are made of white
cardboard, covered with a film formed by the action of sulphuric acid
on tissue-paper. This covering, according to an American journal, is
probably a modification of celluloid. The slates can be used with
a lead-pencil or with ink; and to remove the marks, the slate is
washed with cold water. A special ink is also prepared for use with
these white slates. Another form of slate is made by coating the
white cardboard with water-glass. It may be used with lead-pencils or
coloured crayons. When the surface becomes soiled, the water-glass may
be rubbed off with sand-paper, and a new film may be put on with a
sponge or brush dipped in water-glass.
To the number of paper-making materials now in use must be added an old
weed of the nettle species, not of the stinging kind. From the bark of
certain shrubs, also, several kinds of Japanese paper are made. The
strongest and commonest is made from the bark of the mitsuma. A paper
of superior quality is likewise made from the kozu, a small tree of the
mulberry family, imported from China. The inner bark of both shrubs is
washed and dried, softened in steam and boiling water, and afterwards
beaten with staves until a fine paste is formed. This paste mixed with
water is then made into paper in the ordinary way.
A new use of cedar-bark has been undertaken at New Bedford,
Massachusetts. The Acushnet paper-mill at that point is, it
appears, nearly completed, and was built for the express purpose of
manufacturing pulp and paper from cedar-bark. This, we are told, is
the first enterprise of the kind ever undertaken. The bark is taken
from shingle butts that are sixteen inches long, and are bundled for
shipment like laths. The new mill will work up three cords of bark a
day. The first product will be for carpet linings; but the paper is
said to be equally adapted to other purposes.
A new method of preparing soluble wool from tissues in which wool and
cotton are combined has been discovered. When subjected to a current
of superheated steam under a pressure of five atmospheres, the wool
melts and falls to the bottom of the pan, leaving the cotton, linen,
and other vegetable fibres clean and in a condition suitable for
paper-making. The melted wool is afterwards evaporated to dryness, when
it becomes completely soluble in water. The increased value of the rags
is said to be sufficient to cover the whole cost of the operation.
With the use of the papyrus, as is well known, the Egyptians were
early acquainted, and its manufacture was a government monopoly, as
paper-making is to this day at Boulak, the river-port of Cairo. The
remarkable aptitude for paper-making displayed by the Boulak Arabs
is an hereditary accomplishment. The Daira paper manufactory in the
suburb of Boulak regularly employed, we are told, more than two hundred
hands before the late war, almost all natives. Most of the paper turned
out is for packing purposes; but thousands of reams of good writing
and printing paper are also manufactured. The writing-paper is made
specially for Arabic writing; and what is produced in excess of the
requirements of the country is exported eastward, partly to Arabia, and
a small portion even to India. Though linen and cotton rags are used
in this factory, the interior of the stalk of the sugar-cane furnishes
an endless supply of paper-making material. In the production of what
is called ‘straw’ paper in Europe, the _hilfa_ grass plays a very
important part. The Daira factory at Boulak enjoys a monopoly of this
industry in Egypt; and in connection with it is the National Printing
Office, also under the control of the same administration.
In conclusion, some reference may be made to a published work entitled
_The Paper Mill Directory of the World_, which will appear annually.
It contains a complete catalogue of all the paper and pulp mills on
the globe. The total number of mills existing is four thousand four
hundred and sixty-three. The German Empire, with over eleven hundred,
heads the list in point of numbers, the United States following very
closely. Then we have France with considerably more than five hundred,
Austro-Hungary, England, Italy, Russia, Spain, Sweden, Canada and
Norway, the remainder being scattered over various parts of the world.
It appears that the mills in the United States are capable of turning
out seven million some odd hundred thousand pounds-weight, in round
numbers, of pulp and paper daily. Over a million pounds is produced in
Massachusetts alone.
ONE WOMAN’S HISTORY.