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[Illustration: EFFECT of HEAT.
Frontispiece.]
CURIOSITIES OF HEAT.
by
REV. LYMAN B. TEFFT.
Philadelphia:
The Bible and Publication Society,
530 Arch Street.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by
The Bible and Publication Society,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
Westcott & Thomson,
Stereotypers, Philada.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
MR. WILTON'S BIBLE CLASS 7
CHAPTER II.
NEW THOUGHTS FOR THE SCHOLARS 26
CHAPTER III.
A DIFFICULT QUESTION 58
CHAPTER IV.
HEAT A GIFT OF GOD 83
CHAPTER V.
CONVEYANCE AND VARIETIES OF HEAT 100
CHAPTER VI.
MANAGEMENT AND SOURCES OF HEAT 120
CHAPTER VII.
PRESERVATION AND DISTRIBUTION OF HEAT 152
CHAPTER VIII.
MODIFICATION OF TEMPERATURE 176
CHAPTER IX.
THE MINISTRY OF SUFFERING 190
CHAPTER X.
TRANSPORTATION OF HEAT 213
CHAPTER XI.
AN EFFECTIVE SERMON 233
CHAPTER XII.
TRANSFER OF HEAT IN SPACE 254
CHAPTER XIII.
OCEAN CURRENTS AND ICEBERGS 272
CHAPTER XIV.
COMBUSTION.--COAL-BEDS 292
CHAPTER XV.
ECONOMY OF HEAT 305
CHAPTER XVI.
A DAY OF JOY AND GLADNESS 320
CURIOSITIES OF HEAT.
CHAPTER I.
MR. WILTON'S BIBLE CLASS.
"The book of Nature is my Bible. I agree with old Cicero: I count Nature
the best guide, and follow her as if she were a god, and wish for no
other."
These were the words of Mr. Hume, an infidel, spoken in the village store.
It was Monday evening. By some strange freak, or led by a divine impulse,
he had determined, the previous Sunday afternoon, to go to church and hear
what the minister had to say. So the Christian people were all surprised
to see Mr. Hume walk into their assembly--a thing which had not been seen
before in a twelvemonth. Mr. Hume did not shun the church from a dislike
of the minister. He believed Mr. Wilton to be a good man, and he knew him
to be kind and earnest, well instructed in every kind of knowledge and
mighty in the Scriptures. He kept aloof because he hated the Bible. He had
been instructed in the Scriptures when a boy, and many Bible truths still
clung to his memory which he would have been glad to banish. He could not
forget those stirring words which have come down to us from the Lord
Jesus, and from prophets and apostles, and they sorely troubled his
conscience. He counted the Bible an enemy, and determined that he would
not believe it.
At that time there was an increasing religious interest in the church. Mr.
Wilton had seen many an eye grow tearful as he unfolded the love of Christ
and urged upon his hearers the claims of the exalted Redeemer. He found an
increasing readiness to listen when he talked with the young people of his
congregation. The prayer-meetings were filling up, and becoming more
interesting and solemn. The impenitent dropped in to these meetings more
frequently than was their wont. Mr. Wilton himself felt the power of
Christ coming upon him and girding him as if for some great spiritual
conflict. His heart was filled with an unspeakable yearning to see
sinners converted and Christ glorified. He seemed to himself to work
without fatigue. His sermons came to him as if by inspiration of the Holy
Spirit. He felt a new sense of his call from God to preach the gospel to
men, and spoke as an ambassador of Christ, praying men tenderly,
persuadingly, to be reconciled to God, yet as one that has a right to
speak, and the authority to announce to man the conditions of salvation.
A few of the spiritual-minded saw this little cloud rising, but the people
in general knew nothing of it. Least of all did Mr. Hume suspect such an
undercurrent of religious interest; yet for some reason, he hardly knew
what, he felt inclined to go to church.
That afternoon the preacher spoke as if his soul were awed, yet lifted to
heavenly heights, by the presence of God and Christ. Reading as his text
the words, "Thou thoughtest that I was altogether such an one as thyself"
(Ps. l. 21), he showed, first, the false notions which men form of God,
and then unfolded, with great power and pungency, the Scripture revelation
of the one infinite, personal, living, holy, just, and gracious Jehovah.
This was the very theme which Mr. Hume wished most of all not to hear.
That very name, Jehovah, of all the names applied to God, was most
disagreeable; it suggested the idea of the living God who manifested
himself in olden time and wrought wonders before the eyes of men. But the
infidel, with his active mind, could not help listening, nor could he
loosen his conscience from the grasp of the truth. Yet he could fight
against it, and this he did, determined that he would not believe in such
a God--a God who held him accountable, and would bring him into judgment
in the last great day. In this state of mind he dropped into Deacon
Gregory's store.
Deacon Gregory was accustomed to obey Paul's injunction to Timothy: "Be
instant in season, out of season; reprove, rebuke, exhort with all long
suffering and doctrine." Having taken Mr. Hume's orders for groceries, he
said, "I was glad to see you at church yesterday, Mr. Hume. How were you
interested in the sermon?"
"I like Mr. Wilton," answered Mr. Hume; "I think him a very earnest and
good man."
"But were you not interested and pleased with the discourse? It seems to
me that I shall never lose the impression of God's existence and
character which that discourse made upon me. I almost felt that Mr. Wilton
spoke from inspiration."
"I suppose he was inspired just as much as the writers of that book which
men call 'the Bible.'"
"But can you wholly get rid of the conviction that the Bible is the word
of God, written by holy men inspired by the Holy Spirit?"
"You know, Deacon Gregory, that I do not believe what you profess to
believe. The book of Nature is my Bible. I agree with old Cicero: I count
Nature the best guide, and follow her as if she were a god, and wish no
other."
Deacon Gregory had never read Cicero, and of course did not attempt to
show, as he might otherwise have done, that Cicero did not mean to deny
the existence of a living, personal God, who governs the world.
"But," said he, "does not the book of Nature--your Bible, as you call
it--have something to say of God? Does it not speak of an infinitely wise
and good Creator and Governor? Do not the works of Nature tell of the same
God whose being and character were preached to us yesterday from the Holy
Scriptures?"
"Nature has never spoken to me of any God except herself. What need is
there of a creator? Who can prove that the universe did not exist from
eternity? Nature has her laws of development, and under those laws all the
operations of nature go on. You had better read Darwin. If one must find
the character of God in nature, he may as well picture an evil creator and
governor as one that is good and righteous. Does Nature punish those whom
you call the wicked? Does Nature reward the righteous? Do not the laws of
Nature bring suffering to the good and the bad alike, and happiness also
to all classes of men? Would you, if you had power, create a world like
this--a world in which danger, pain, and death, in every shape, lie in
ambush against its inhabitants every hour of their poor existence? But I
must go." Pausing a moment, however, as if reluctant to go, with a voice
sad and almost tremulous, which revealed a great deal more of his heart
than he designed to express, he added: "God knows, deacon, if there be a
God, how I wish I knew the truth about these matters. The world and myself
are to me great and dreadful mysteries."
"'He that will do his will shall know of the doctrine,'" answered Deacon
Gregory; and inviting him to come to church again, they separated.
This conversation with the pious deacon, though he had himself done most
of the talking and had his say almost unopposed, did not tend at all to
bring rest to Mr. Hume's conscience. He saw that the deacon's faith in God
did for him more than belief in Nature and worship at the altar of Science
could do for unbelievers. He felt also that he had spoken a little too
freely, especially in revealing, at the last, his unrest of spirit from
the want of fixed convictions in regard to religious truth. Deacon
Gregory, by the sincerity and manliness of his address, was accustomed to
draw out the hearts of men so that they expressed them more freely than
they designed.
Upon a bench in a shaded corner of the store sat a lad of sixteen or
seventeen years, unnoticed for the time being by either Mr. Hume or Deacon
Gregory. His name was Ansel, and he was the son of the senior deacon of
the church. He was in the village academy, and had there been nearly
fitted for college. He stood at the head of his class, and, with his sharp
intelligence, his impetuous energy, and high ambition, every one was
predicting for him a distinguished life. He had grown up thus far in the
bosom of a family where piety was no pretence. Earnest prayer had gone up
for him by day and by night. He had been well trained in the
Sunday-school, and for a year had been a member of the small class of
young men taught by Mr. Wilton. He had always shown a ready interest in
all Bible studies and a quick understanding of Scripture doctrine, so that
some thought him not far from the kingdom of God. But Deacon Arnold little
thought what was in the heart of his son. He might have known, for to
read his son's heart he had only to recall his own early manhood. For
years he had hung trembling upon the brink of ruin, swept, at times,
by his self-will and turbulent youthful passions, to the very verge
of the precipice, and had been preserved only by singular grace
from falling over. Now Ansel was following in his father's early
footsteps--self-willed, and stubborn against the Spirit of God, and, at
times, almost persuaded to cast off all religious restraint, that he might
carve out his worldly fortunes untrammeled by religious or conscientious
scruples. He had rarely heard infidel sentiments expressed, but the little
that he had heard had attracted him, and had encouraged him to give loose
reins to his own unbelieving disposition. It had not escaped his notice
that the two or three men whom he had heard spoken of as infidels were
among the most respectable and shrewdest business-men in the village. The
idea, moreover, of rejecting all authoritative doctrine, and believing
whatever should please him, carried with it so free and independent an
air, and harmonized so well with his natural disposition, that he easily
drifted in the direction of unbelief.
Sitting this evening unobserved, he drank in every word which Mr. Hume
uttered. Some of the notions thrown out were quite new to him. "The book
of Nature my Bible"--"Nature reveals no God but her own laws"--"No proof
that the matter of the universe has not existed from eternity
uncreated"--"Nature has her laws of development"--"No need of a God to
govern the world,"--these were seed-thoughts in Ansel's mind. He had
before thought of the only alternative to be set over against belief in
the sacred Scriptures as simply unbelief--bare, blank denial of their
truth. He had not dreamed of building up a set of proud, rationalistic
notions, and denying the truths of religion in the character of a young
philosopher. He kept his thoughts to himself, and turned them over and
over in his mind during the week, and when again he met his pastor in the
Bible class his head was full of his new notions. The lesson went on,
however, and closed as usual. It so happened that this was the last in a
series of lessons upon the Gospel of John. It was necessary, therefore,
that another course of lessons should be decided upon.
Mr. Wilton proposed the question to the class: "What shall be our next
course of lessons? Would you like to study one of the Epistles--the
Epistle to the Romans or that to the Hebrews?" And he briefly stated the
subject discussed in these Epistles of Paul. "Perhaps," he continued, "you
would prefer to study one of the historic books of the Old Testament?" The
class had no opinion. They wavered between an Epistle and a historic book
and topical lessons which should confine them to no one book of the Bible.
Then Ansel spoke up:
"Mr. Wilton, why can we not study something which we know to be true?"
Ansel meant to be very cautious as well as very respectful, and did not
design to commit himself by suggesting his own thoughts. He was
respectful, but in the confusion of the moment he had brought out the very
thoughts which he meant to conceal.
Mr. Wilton was startled, though he did not fully understand the drift of
Ansel's question.
"What do you mean, Ansel?" he asked; "do you think Genesis less
trustworthy than the Epistle of Paul?"
Ansel saw that he had committed himself and must now make the best of his
situation. He therefore answered cautiously:
"Some persons, I have heard said, do not believe the Bible to be inspired,
and they say that we have no evidence that it is true."
"What have you been reading, Ansel, that has put such thoughts into your
mind?"
"I have never read a book that said anything against the Bible."
"But what did you mean? Do you wish to study the evidences of the truth
and inspiration of the Holy Scriptures?"
"I should indeed like a course of lessons upon that subject, but that was
not quite what I was thinking of."
"What book can you find which is true if the Bible is not true?"
"I do not know, sir, but I heard Mr. Hume say that the book of Nature is
his Bible, and that we do not need any other, and that, whether the Bible
be true or not, we know that the teachings of Nature must be true."
"But we should find," said Mr. Wilton, "that the teachings of Nature and
the Bible would perfectly agree. Did Mr. Hume say that what he calls 'The
book of Nature' contradicts the sacred Scriptures?"
Now that Ansel could give the thoughts which filled his mind, not as his
own, but as Mr. Hume's, he showed no farther hesitation in speaking.
"Yes, sir," he answered; "he said that Nature teaches us that there is no
God, because there is no need of any. He said that we cannot prove that
God created the universe, but that matter has existed from eternity
uncreated, and that all the changes in nature go on by certain laws of
development, and that a certain Mr. Darwin had written a book and proved
this."
The reader will notice that in the report of Mr. Hume's language the
scholar went somewhat farther than his master had done. Mr. Wilton was
well acquainted with the present shape of scientific infidelity, and saw
that Ansel's statements were somewhat exaggerated, but he understood in a
moment the drift of Ansel's thoughts, though he could not tell as yet how
deep and fixed an impression had been made upon his mind. But he did not
care to probe Ansel's conscience just then and there, in order to learn
the exact state of the case.
"If I understand you, then," he said, "you would like a course of lessons
in the teachings of Nature?"
"Of course, I did not suppose that you would allow us to have a course of
lessons in the works of Nature instead of the Bible."
"But if I were willing to give you a course of lessons showing the
footprints of the Creator, so to speak, in the physical world, how would
it please you?"
"I should like it very much."
"How would such a plan please the other members of the class?"
The idea was entirely new; no one of them had ever dreamed of studying in
a Bible class anything except the Bible; but young people are not averse
to novelties, and they readily gave their assent. Yet I should do the
class injustice by leaving the impression that they were influenced simply
by the love of something new. They were of just that age when one hardly
knows whether to call them lads or young men; they had been well
instructed, and were just beginning to think independently. They were
rapidly becoming conscious of their own mental power, and were eager to
try their strength upon every line of thought. Their own weakness they had
hardly begun to learn. Perhaps they were all the more ready to undertake
such a course of study because they knew nothing of the difficulties
attending it.
The tinkling of the superintendent's bell warned them to close their
conversation.
"We have not time to-day," said Mr. Wilton, "to fix on the particular line
of study which we shall follow. Of course we cannot examine all the works
of Nature, and study every science, and trace the footprints of the
Creator in every place where he has walked; we must fix on some small part
of the works of God, and direct our attention closely to that. We shall
find this course more profitable than roaming carelessly over a much
larger space. Our next lesson will have to be a general one--a kind of
preface to what shall come after. In the mean while, you can be collecting
your thoughts upon the subject, and calling to mind anything that you have
read bearing upon the handiwork of God manifest in Nature."
The school closed, and as the scholars pass out let me introduce to you
the members of the pastor's class. This class was small for several
reasons. The church to which Mr. Wilton preached was not the popular
church. The fashionable people and all who loved popularity and drifted
with the tide went to another church. Careless, thoughtless young people
naturally went with the crowd, and of those who attended his church some
did not care to join his class. He was too much in earnest to please them.
He made religion a reality, and his instruction compelled them to think,
and of course those who did not like to think were not well pleased with
him. But there were a few of the young men who were greatly interested in
his instructions. They were earnest readers of instructive books; they
liked conversation which called out thought; they were most of all
pleased with questions and themes which gave them new ideas. Indeed, in
the community, there were two classes of persons who held Mr. Wilton in
the highest esteem and regard: one of these was composed of men and women
of earnest, intelligent piety, experienced Christians; the other, of those
who were not Christians, but who respected sincerity and disinterested
godliness, and liked sermons filled with meat and marrow.
Thus, at the present time, we find his class composed of but three young
men. With Ansel you are already acquainted. The second is Peter Thornton,
the son of a master-carpenter. He was frank, outspoken, quick in the
acquisition of almost every kind of knowledge, but very little given to
silent reflection. He listened to his pastor's instruction as he would go
to a well-filled library, to draw out its stores of information. Morals
and moralizing he did not like. He was not pious, and gave no indication
of serious impressions. The third was Samuel Ledyard, the son of a poor
widow. By painful industry and economy his pious mother was giving him the
best advantages for education which the village afforded, praying the
Lord to give him a part in the blessed work of preaching the gospel and
winning sinners to Christ and salvation. When but twelve years of age he
gave himself to Christ, and had been trying faithfully to follow his Lord.
The long winter evenings were spent in reading books of history and
science--books fitted to furnish and strengthen his mind--and long ere the
light dimmed the morning star he was poring over his Bible, alternately
reading the word and praying that his mind might be opened to understand
the truth in its beauty and greatness, and that the truth might be wrought
in him by vital experiences.
With such habits it was no wonder that he grew in grace--it was no wonder
that he grew in all manly qualities. He was silent, meditative, and
retiring, as gentle in his ways as a quiet girl, yet all who knew him
recognized in him a singular weight and worth of character. Those to whom
the Lord revealed his secrets began to say that Samuel was appointed of
God to preach the gospel, and his mother felt the assurance growing strong
in her heart that her prayer was granted, and that the Lord was preparing
her only son and only child for a place in the gospel ministry. If only
she might train up a son to such a work, and when she should go to her
rest leave in her place a man working for Christ in his harvest-field,
gathering sheaves unto everlasting life, she felt that her cup would be
full. She was ready to say with Simeon: "Now lettest thou thy servant
depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation." How unlike she
was to those mothers who lay all hindrances in the way of their sons
entering the work of the Christian ministry, willing that they should do
anything but this! and how different from those who declare that their
daughters shall never wed ministers of the gospel, teaching them to
despise the service of a pastor's wife! How often God gives over such sons
and daughters--children consecrated from their birth to worldliness--to be
entangled and lost in worldly snares! As such mothers sow, thus also do
they reap.
These were the three lads, just growing into young manhood, at this time
under the instruction of Mr. Wilton. He was not ashamed of his class,
though it was small. As he saw them expanding in thought and taking shape
under his hand, he felt that in them he was perpetuating his influence in
coming generations. He believed that in one or more of them he should
preach the gospel after his body was sleeping in the earth awaiting the
resurrection.
I trust the kind reader will be interested in following the course of
study through which their pastor shall lead them.