FOOTNOTES:

FOOTNOTES:[1]History of the War in Afghanistan: from the unpublished Letters and Journals of Political and Military Officers employed in Afghanistan throughout the entire period of British Connection with that Country. By John William Kaye. 2 vols. London: Bentley. 1051.[2]See No 291.[3]A sketch of this famous retreat will appear in a forthcoming volume ofChambers's Pocket Miscellany.

[1]History of the War in Afghanistan: from the unpublished Letters and Journals of Political and Military Officers employed in Afghanistan throughout the entire period of British Connection with that Country. By John William Kaye. 2 vols. London: Bentley. 1051.

[2]See No 291.

[3]A sketch of this famous retreat will appear in a forthcoming volume ofChambers's Pocket Miscellany.

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Howeveruseful insects may be in the general economy of nature, it is but too true that farmers and gardeners often find them a pest, and with each returning summer the pages of agricultural journals abound with remedies, offensive and defensive, against the obnoxious invaders. In such cases, it becomes desirable to know what remedial means are the most efficacious, and we are glad to find that the question has been taken up by persons competent to discuss it. Among these, Dr J. Davy has given the results of his inquiry in a paper, 'On the Effects of certain Agents on Insects,' which has just been published in the Transactions of the Entomological Society, and is well worth reproduction in a condensed form. The experiments were begun in the winter of 1850, the season, as will be remembered, being so mild that insects were readily met with. Their objects were threefold—to test the effects of temperature, of gases, and of vapours. In the former, recourse was had to extremes of heat and cold. A bee placed in a temperature of 32° became at first more active, but the next morning was found torpid, as if dead; a register-thermometer shewing that 25° had been the lowest temperature during the night. Transferred to a temperature of 52°, the bee revived in half an hour, and on the following day exhibited the same results under the same conditions. A fly which, on December 8, was lively on the wing, in a temperature of 52° indoors, was disinclined to move at 40°; and still more so, stirring only when touched, at 33°, but did not become torpid, as in the case of the bee, even at 23°, signs of life being distinctly visible. Several trials made with different species of flies all gave the same result—a remarkable power of sustaining life. The method adopted was to enclose the insects in a glass tube, and place them out of doors all night; and though the tube was frequently covered with frost, they soon revived in the warm temperature of a room. It is perhaps scarcely possible to estimate the degree of cold which insect life will bear without destruction, since many of these creatures survive the terrible winters of the arctic regions. Still, a knowledge of the effects of reduction of temperature will be valuable, as affording data by which to judge of the effects and probable duration of visitations of insects, and of the nature of the precautionary measures to be adopted. In an experiment of alternate temperature from 40° to 65° tried for five days on a bee, the creature at last 'ceased to give any sign of vitality.'

The influence of heat appears to be much more rapid than that of cold: a fly exposed to a temperature of 120°, died in two or three minutes; and 113° proved fatal to another; while a third, placed in a temperature increased gradually to 96°, remained alive for more than an hour. Others bore from 80° to 90° for two hours; and in one instance, a fly survived from 86° to 100° for several hours, but became uneasy with a slight rise, and died at 105°. A bee, taken on March 15, from a temperature of 45°, was exposed to 80° without any apparent diminution of activity; at 90° it ceased to buzz; and at 96°, ceased altogether tomove, and did not revive. Although these results are too few to enable us to determine the laws with respect to the influence of temperature on insects, they may serve a purpose, in shewing that the effect is not that gradual one of hybernation, where activity and torpor succeed each other but slowly.

In the series of experiments with gas, it was found that flies placed in carbonic acid gas became instantly motionless, and died if left for any length of time. Some revived after an hour's immersion; others, after two or three hours—the revival being slow in proportion to the time of exposure to the gas. Somewhat similar results were obtained with flies and bees in hydrogen and azote. To try the effect of deprivation, a fly was shut up in a tube with but a small quantity of common air, on the 5th February, in a temperature varying from 52° to 60° during the whole time of the experiment. The insect manifested no uneasiness until the 25th day, and was found dead on the 28th. Another fly, enclosed in a similar tube, with a quantity of air not more than a few times its own volume, became languid on the second day, and motionless on the twelfth, but revived on being taken out.

Flies immersed in oxygen were found dead the second day, with a diminution of the quantity of the gas. Coal-gas produced almost immediate insensibility, with a few feeble attempts at revival, but in no case effectual. Sulphuretted hydrogen also proved especially fatal—an instant's immersion was sufficient to destroy life; though withdrawn at once, not one of the flies recovered. It was the same when the portion of gas diffused in the air of the tube was so minute as to be scarcely appreciable. On bees, too, the effect was similar; the deadly nature of the gas on their delicate organisation being invariably destructive. Like results were obtained with chlorine.

In the class of vapours, ammonia proved fatal in one case, and harmless in another; muriatic acid stupified in two, and killed in twenty-four hours. The vapour of nitric acid was equally fatal with sulphuretted hydrogen; and, in alcoholic vapour, at a temperature of 74°, 'for a few minutes the fly shewed increased activity; in a few more, it became nearly motionless; after about a quarter of an hour, it appeared to be torpid. Now, exposed to the air of the room, in a few minutes a slight motion of its feet was seen; after a couple of hours, it was nearly as active as before the experiment; two hours later, it was found dead.' The same effects, with slight variations, were produced on other flies. With ether, cessation of motion was almost instantaneous, followed, however, by revivification, except in one instance: brief immersion in chloroform did not prevent revival, but an exposure of eight minutes killed: camphor and turpentine were both fatal: with attar of roses, musk, or iodine, no ill effect was perceptible.

The experiments with prussic acid are worthy the attention of entomologists, with whom it is often a matter of importance to kill an insect with the least possible amount of injury. In these instances, the plan pursued was to charge a small tube with the acid, and place it inside that containing the insects. The vapour of 1-16th of a grain was sufficient to destroy bees and flies; and that of seven grains proved fatal to large beetles, and the largest kind of bees. Although as yet the investigation has taken but a limited range, it will be seen that it opens a wide field of research: the next step will be to group or class those agents which appear to have produced similar effects. It is remarkable, as Dr Davy observes, 'that most of the substances which, even in minute portions mixed with common air, prevent the slow combustion of phosphorus, as indicated by its shining in the dark, have the effect, on the insects on which they were tried, of suspending animation.'

He says further: 'Some of the results may not be undeserving notice for practical purposes—as those in the instances of sulphuretted hydrogen, oil of turpentine, and camphor, in relation to the destruction of parasitical insects, whether infesting plants or minerals, or to the preservation of substances from the attacks of insects. To be applicable to the preservation of plants, of course it is necessary that the agents to be used should not exercise on them any materially injurious effects. This must be determined by experiments made expressly for the purpose. The few trials I have yet made on seeds seem to shew, that the steeping them in a solution in water of sulphuretted hydrogen has not prevented their germination. The seeds tried were mignonette, cress-seed, and that of a Nemophila: analogy—namely, that of steeping the seed of the cerealia in a solution of the white oxide of arsenic, is in favour of the same conclusion. Further, for the preservation of articles, whether of clothing or furniture, it is hardly less necessary that the substances to be employed should have no offensive odour. Judging from the effects of attar of roses, and from what we know of scented woods not being liable to be attacked by insects, the probability is, that any volatile oil of agreeable perfume will answer the purpose required, and prove a true instance of theutile et dulcecombined.

'As carbonic acid gas, and some of the other agents mentioned, produce merely a temporary torpor, it may be a question whether this gas, or simple immersion in water, may not be advantageously substituted for the fumes of burning sulphur, destructive of life, at the yearly gathering of honey; the former, indeed, may be said to be in use in the Levant, where the smoke of the fire of leaves, in which the carbonic acid generated may be considered as chiefly operative, is employed to stupify the bees preparatory to the spoiling of their hives.'

This subject is one which will not be unwelcome to those whose faith in the myths of Roman history has been dissipated by Niebuhr and others: they may still believe the story of Romulus and Remus and the wolf. The Honourable Captain Egerton, in a communication from India, says: 'Colonel Sleeman told me one of the strangest stories I ever heard relating to some children, natives of this country (Oude), carried away and brought up by wolves. He is acquainted with five instances of this, in two of which he has both seen the children and knows the circumstances connected with their recapture from the animals. It seems that wolves are very numerous about Cawnpore and Lucknow, and that children are constantly carried off by them. Most of these have, of course, served as dinners for their captors, but some have been brought up and educated by them after their own fashion. Some time ago, two of the king of Oude's sowars (mounted gendarmes), riding along the banks of the Goomptje, saw three animals come down to drink. Two were evidently young wolves, but the third was as evidently some other animal. The sowars rushed in upon them, captured the three, and to their great surprise found that one was a small naked boy. He was on all-fours; like his companions; had callosities on his knees and elbows, evidently caused by the attitude in moving about; and bit and scratched violently in resisting the capture. The boy was brought up in Lucknow, where he lived some time, and may, for aught I know, be living still. He was quite unable to articulate words, but had a dog-like intellect—quick at understanding signs, and so on. Anotherenfant trouvé, under the same circumstances, lived with two English people for some time. He learned at last to pronounce the name of a lady who was kind to him, and for whom he shewed some affection; but his intellect was always clouded, and more like the instinct of a dog than the mind of a human being. There was another more wonderful, but hardly so well-authenticated, story of a boy who nevercould get rid of a strong wolfish smell, and who was seen, not long after his capture, to be visited by three wolves, which came evidently with hostile intentions, but which, after closely examining him—he seeming not the least alarmed—played with him, and some nights afterwards brought their relations, making the number of visitors amount to five—the number of cubs which composed the litter from which he had been taken. There is no account of any grown-up person having been found among the wolves. Probably, after a certain time, the captives may have got into a set of less scrupulous wolves, not acquainted with the family: the result is obvious.'

The electro-magnetic machine invented by Professor Page, has from time to time been noticed in our Journal, and we have now to give a further account of this interesting mechanism, as furnished by an American periodical. It appears that several of these machines have lately been submitted to critical examination by competent authority at Washington, and with very favourable conclusions. The principle has already been explained—namely, the alternate rising and falling of an iron rod within a helix through which an electro-magnetic current is made to pass: when the current ison, the rod rises, and remains, as it were, self-suspended, equidistant from all parts of the surrounding helix; and falls as soon as the current ceases by breaking contact with the battery. The 'rod' of one of the machines submitted to the examination weighs 350 lbs.: no sooner, however, was contact made, than it rose into its position. 'Dr Page then stood on the top of the rod, which not only sustained his weight, in addition to its own, but he pushed with his hands against the ceiling, increasing the downward pressure on the rod, which was only acted upon as a powerful spring would have been, but still maintaining its perpendicular position concentric to the inner surface of the helices. I held,' says the reporter, 'an iron rod in my hand, with the end of which I touched that of the suspended rod. I could not detach it by pulling or jerking, and could only alter its position so as to cause the annular space to become eccentric instead of concentric. The instant the battery was disconnected, the rod fell to the floor with its full force.'

By moving the wires from the battery up and down outside the pile of helices, it was clear that an upward and downward movement of the rod would follow, 'and that a shackle-bar attached from this oscillating rod, and to a crank, would convert this reciprocating motion into a continuous one.' To this contrivance the name of 'Jumper' was given, of which one was exhibited, the helices weighing 800 lbs., and the rod 526 lbs.; and by the means above mentioned, it has been converted into a working-engine, with a twelve-inch crank, and a fly-wheel of four and a half feet in diameter. 'On the outside of the helices,' to quote the description, 'was placed a line of pieces of metal, so arranged as to render the attachment with the battery and its necessary alternations performable by the engine itself. Before starting the engine, I tied an arm of the fly-wheel, at one-third greater distance from the centre than the length of the crank, to an upright beam of twelve inches diameter, which formed part of the frame of the engine. The cord used was the better kind of bed-cord, of great strength, nearly three-eighths of an inch thick. This was passed twice round the fly-wheel arm and post before being tied, and with pieces of sole-leather intervening, to prevent the cord being cut by the corners of the post. Such a fixture, I am confident, would have held a five horse-power steam-engine from starting, with full pressure of steam on the piston, and no previous motion. Not so, however, with this engine, for the breaking of the cord and contact with the battery occurred at the same instant of time, leaving an impression in the beam to the depth of the cord, despite the protection of the sole-leather.' The engine continued to work in the most satisfactory manner; and Dr Page attached a circular-saw, which was used in wood, to a depth of six inches, and at a speed such as could be anticipated from the power which we afterwards found the engine to possess.

Careful experiments made to test the power of the engine, shewed it to be equal to seven horse nearly; and the estimate for consumption of acid and use of zinc is twenty cents for each horse-power per day of twenty-four hours. The escape of acid vapours from the batteries is an evil that will have to be guarded against, to prevent the pernicious effects produced in several electro-plating establishments, where the health of the workmen has been seriously injured by the liberated gases. This defect being overcome, Professor Page's electro-magnetic engine may become highly valuable in engineering and manufacturing processes. To quote the conclusions of the report—'the cost will be less than that of a steam-engine of the same power: the weight will be but one quarter, if boilers and contents be taken into account: the expense of firemen and engineers is dispensed with: buildings, and stocks of goods, and vessels may be more cheaply insured than when steam-engines are used, as there could be no risk from explosion or fire: the expenses are only active while the machine is positively in action, whereas an ordinary steam-engine continues its expenses whenever the fire is burning.

'Dr Page's engine, if used ten times during the day, of six minutes each time, would have but one hour's expenses for the day; whereas a steam-engine, under similar circumstances, would be subject to nearly or quite the full expenses of fuel for twenty-four hours, or equal to the expenses of continuous work.'

Unfortunately for our health and comfort, the teachings of science are too often disregarded, if they interfere with our habits. Science, when not practically applied, loses its value; it wants fixedness, stability. Its application is its embodiment; without it, it is a mere figment of the brain. Its business is to inform the mind, and remove erroneous impressions; and its highest aim is usefulness. The popular belief with respect to dress, that a black dress is warmer, both in winter and summer, than a white one, is erroneous. The truth is that, the material being the same, a black dress is cool in winter and warm in summer—while a white one is warm in winter and cool in summer; that is to say, the one is cool when we require warmth, and warm when we require to be cooled; while the other is warm when we are cool, and cool when we are warm, and thus answers the purpose of dress, which is, to protect the body from the influence of the weather.

Science teaches that dark colours absorb heat, and part with it much more rapidly than light ones; black and white being the two extremes. How strange that this knowledge has not been applied to dress! If the bowls of two spoons, the one polished, and the other smeared with soot, be held near a fire, it will be found that the blackened one becomes hot much sooner than the other; and if now they be both made hot by holding them against the bars of the grate, and then removed from the fire, and suspended in the air, it will be seen that the blackened one will get cool much sooner than the other. It is true that the difference in this case is chiefly due to the polish on one of the spoons, but it is not altogether due to it. Again: if hot water be poured into two vessels, the one white and the other black, the water in the latter will cool before the other. So likewise if two persons, one dressed in black and the other in white—all other conditions being the same—were to go from the cold external air into a heated room, the one in black wouldfeel the heat sooner than the other, and on leaving the room would feel the cold sooner; consequently, would be more likely to take cold than the other. It is therefore evident that a light-coloured dress is more conducive to health and comfort than a dark one, since it prevents the external heat or cold from too suddenly reaching the body, and prevents the body from too suddenly parting with its heat; and thus, that it keeps it in a more equable temperature.

We may now understand the reason why animals in the polar regions are white—their whiteness preserves the heat of their bodies much better than any other colour. So likewise the earth, in consequence of the whiteness of snow, is prevented from parting with its heat. It is not so much by snow protecting the earth from the external cold, that it does such valuable service, as by its preventing theradiation of the internal heat. This whiteness of snow, and of the polar animals, must not be looked upon as the result of blind chance: it strikingly exemplifies the wisdom and goodness of the Creator.

The above observations are peculiarly applicable to the case of men engaging in arctic expeditions. I do not know what dress they usually wear, but it is quite clear that a white woollen one would be the most appropriate; and if it had a gloss upon it, it would be so much the better. This they might have learned from observing the animals in those regions.

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Ina recent article in this Journal,[4]we gave our opinion of practical sea-life, and incidentally alluded to the songs of Dibdin. The paper excited some interest; and we may, therefore, venture to say a little more about these celebrated songs, concerning which the public in general has always had, and still has, a very erroneous impression.

We commence with an assertion which will startle many—namely, that Dibdin's songs never were, are not, and never can be, popular with sailors. About six years ago—if we recollect rightly as to date—the Lords of the Admiralty, considering that Dibdin's songs had always been 'worth a dozen pressgangs,' as the common saying is, ordered that twenty of the best songs should be printed on strong paper, and presented to every man and boy in the royal navy. This act, however, is not so much to be regarded as a strong evidence of the private opinion of the nautical magnates in question—but the chief of them is invariably alandsman—as of their deference to the force of public estimation on the subject of the songs. Let it not be thought, from the tenor of our subsequent remarks, that we ourselves are at all prejudiced against Dibdin. So far is it the reverse, that we were brought up from childhood 'in belief' of that gifted lyrist: our father repeated to us in early life his finest songs, and we have never ceased to regard him with sincere admiration. He was a man of true genius in his peculiar walk, and it has been well and truly said of him, that, 'had he written merely to amuse, his reputation would have been great; but it stands the higher, because his writings always advocate the cause of virtue: charity, humanity, constancy, love of country, and courage, are the subjects of his song and of his praise.'

Dibdin himself was not a sailor, and his knowledge of sea-life, of seamen, and of sea-slang, is generally attributed to the instructions of his brother, the master of a ship. This brother was subsequently lost at sea, and Dibdin is said to have writtenPoor Tom Bowlingas his elegy. Dibdin's sea-lore was, therefore, altogether second-hand and theoretical; and his songs, on the whole, present an idealised and exaggerated embodiment of the characteristics, life, and habits of seamen; but it is wonderful how accurately and skilfully he introduces allusions to sea-man[oe]uvres, and how very rarely he errs in nautical technicalities. They were written in war-time, when the nation was excited to a pitch of frenzied enthusiasm by a succession of unparalleled naval victories—when a prince of the blood trod the quarter-deck, and Nelson was 'Britannia's god of war.' Their popularity withlandsmenwas then incredible. Everybody sang Dibdin's sea-songs, deeming them a perfect mirror of sea-life and seamen's character. The truth is, he has exaggerated both the virtues and the follies of sailors to an absurd degree; and his blue-jacketed heroes are no more to be accepted as a fair type of sailors, than are Fenimore Cooper's Chingachgook and Leatherstocking as types of the Red Men and trappers of North America. Herein, we conceive, is the primary cause of Dibdin failing to enlist strongly the sympathies of real blue-water tars; and the very same reason, with some modifications, prevents all prose works, descriptive of sea-life, from being favourably received by practical mariners. We have heard the 'sailoring' portions of the finest works of Cooper and others scoffed at by seamen; and the very best book on sea-life ever written, Dana'sTwo Years before the Mast, is held in no sort of esteem by the very men for whose benefit the author avows he wrote it, and whose life he has so vividly, and, aswethink, faithfully described. Every sailor we have questioned concerning that book—and there are few sailors who have not read it—declared that he 'thought nothing of it;' and that all his messmates laughed at it as much as himself. They say that Dana 'makes too much' of everything, and that he gives false and exaggerated notions of life on shipboard. We personally deny this; but sailors, as a body, are such prosaic people, that they will make no allowance whatever for the least amplification of bald matter of fact. If the author dilates at all on his own feelings and impressions, they chuckle and sneer; and if he errs in the least—or the compositor for him—in his nautical details, they cry out that he is a know-nothing, a marine, a horse-jockey, a humbug. To please seamen, any book about their profession must be written precisely in the lucid and highly-imaginative style of a log-book—their sole standard of literary excellence.

Sailors are shrewd and sensitive, enough in some respects. They do not like to be flattered, and cannot bear to be caricatured; and they feel that Dibdin has—unconsciously—been guilty of both towards them. According to his songs, sailors lead a life of unalloyed fun and frolic. He tells us nothing about their slavery when afloat, nothing about the tyranny they are frequently subjected to; and in his days, a man-o'-war was too often literally a floating pandemonium. He makes landsmen believe that Jack is the happiest, most enviable fellow in the world: storms and battles are mere pastime; lopped limbs and wounds are nothing more than jokes; there is the flowing can to 'sweethearts and wives' every Saturday night; and whenever the ship comes to port, the crew have guineas galore to spend on lasses and fiddles. In fine, both at sea and ashore, according to his theory, jolly Jack has little to do but make love, sing, dance, and drink—grog being 'his sheet-anchor, his compass, his cable, his log;' and in theTrue British Sailor, we are told that 'Jack is always content.' Now, Jack knows very well this is all 'long-shore palaver, and he gives a shy hail to such palpable lime-twigs. 'Let the land-lubbers sing it!' thinks he; 'I'll none on't!'

Dibdin takes the first sip of hisFlowing Canwith the ominous line—

'A sailor's life's a life of wo!'

But what follows?—

'Why, then, he takes it cheerily!'

A pleasant philosophy this; but we happen to knowthat sailors donottake cheerily to 'a life of wo'—they would be more than men if they did. He talks coolly about times at sea when 'no duty calls the gallant tars.' We should very much like to know on board what 'old barkey,' and in what latitude and longitude, this phenomenon happened, and would have no particular objection to sign articles for a voyage in such a Ph[oe]nix of a ship; for in all the vessels we ever were acquainted with, there was never such a thing heard of, as 'nothing to do.' As to 'Saturday nights' exclusively devoted to pledging 'sweethearts and wives' over a flowing can in the forecastle, we are sorry to say, we regard that as little better than a poetic myth.

Doubtless, at the time Dibdin's songs were written, sailors sang them to a considerable extent, for the public enthusiasm would in a way compel Jack to acquiesce in these eulogies on himself; but the said Jack never took them fairly to heart—how could he, when every voyage he made must have given the lie to many of these glowing pictures of life at sea? And from that time to the present, Dibdin's songs have gradually been forgotten among seamen, till, at this day, we question whether there is a foremast—Jack afloat who can sing half-a-dozen of them; and, probably, not many men aboard merchantmen know more than one or two songs of the hundred in question, although they may recollect fragments of several.

Dibdin's songs might be 'worth a dozen pressgangs' for manning the navy in war-time, and, for aught we can predicate to the contrary, they may be so again; but we reiterate our conviction, that they never caused sailors to ship aboard a man-o'-war. Landsmen might volunteer by scores through the influence of such stirring, patriotic ditties; but seamen, who 'knew the ropes,' would never be induced to ship through their agency.

Dibdin does ample justice to the bravery, the generosity, the good-humour, the kind-heartedness of sailors; and, as a class, they deserve his encomiums. His songs abound with just and noble sentiments, and manly virtues were never more constantly and strikingly enunciated by any author. We dearly love Charles Dibdin for this; and as a writer of popular lyrics, we class him as the very first England has ever produced. In this department of literature, we consider he holds the same place in England as Burns does in Scotland; Béranger, in France; Freiligrath, in Germany; and Hans Christian Andersen, in Denmark.

The reader will now ask: 'What songsdosailors sing?' We answer, that their favouritesea-songs[5]are the most dismal, droning doggrel it is possible to conceive; and yet they relish them mightily, because they are stern matter of fact, and in most instances are descriptive of a battle, a chase, a storm, or a shipwreck—subjects appealing powerfully to their sympathies. The following may be taken as a tolerably fair specimen of the style of the genuine 'sailors' songs:'—

'It was the seventeenth day of May, in the year 'ninety-six,Our taut frigate theAjax, she from Plymouth did set sail;Eight days out, com'd a squall from north-east by north,And then by four bells, morning-watch, it did freshen to a gale.'

Perhaps the most universally popular song among seamen isRule Britannia; but in general they do little more than sing the chorus, and the way in which a crew of tars, when half-seas-over, will monotonously drawl out 'Britons never, never, never shall be slaves!'—repeating it over and over again, as if they never could have too much of a good thing—is highly amusing. We believe that a decided majority of the songs sang in the forecastle are not sea-songs at all, but purely land-songs; and, strange to say, the most popular of these are sentimental ditties, such as were, a score of years ago, drawing-room favourites! It is very rich to hear 'ancient marineres,' rough as bears, hoarsely quavering,I'd be a butterfly!or,O no! we never mention her; or,The days we went a-gipsying, long time ago!They are also very partial to songs about bandits and robbers.

Well, after all, we have often, when in a tight craft, tossing amid howling billows, complacently repeated—and perchance shall again—the closing lines ofThe Sailor's Consolation, which, we believe, but are not certain, Dibdin wrote—

'Then, Bill, let us thank ProvidenceThat you and I are sailors!'

FOOTNOTES:[4]SeeThe 'Romance' of Sea-Life, No. 414 of the Journal.[5]We must explain that theworking-songs of seamen—or such as they sing when heaving at the pawl-windlass, catting the anchor, and other heavy pieces of work—are of a different class altogether, and consist chiefly of a variety of appropriate choruses to lively and inspiriting tunes. These songs sound well, and are worth anything on shipboard, for they stimulate the men far more than grog would do with only a dead, silent heave or haul.

[4]SeeThe 'Romance' of Sea-Life, No. 414 of the Journal.

[5]We must explain that theworking-songs of seamen—or such as they sing when heaving at the pawl-windlass, catting the anchor, and other heavy pieces of work—are of a different class altogether, and consist chiefly of a variety of appropriate choruses to lively and inspiriting tunes. These songs sound well, and are worth anything on shipboard, for they stimulate the men far more than grog would do with only a dead, silent heave or haul.

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Underthe above technical name is produced in Glasgow a manufacture little known beyond the sphere of those immediately engaged in the business, the importance of which, however, as a means of employment to the poorer Scotch and Irish peasantry, renders it deserving of more attention than it has hitherto received. Sewed muslins include all those articles which are composed of muslin with a pattern embroidered on it by the hand—such as collars, sleeves, chemisettes, &c. together with the long strips of embroidery used, like laces, for trimming dresses, petticoats, &c. and called, technically, trimmings. The manufacture of these articles in the form in which they are now used was for a long period peculiar to France, and that country alone supplied all the rest of the world with the limited quantities which the high cost permitted to be consumed. An embroidered collar, thirty-five years ago, was an article of luxury only attainable by the rich, while the far greater part either dispensed with it altogether, or contented themselves with one of plain muslin or cheap net. Soon after that period, the rudiments of the manufacture began to be established at Glasgow, where for some time it made but moderate progress, and was confined to the production of a very low class of goods, leaving still to the French all the finer and more tasteful departments of the trade. During the last ten years, however, the progress has been very rapid; and now it supplies abundantly, with cheap and good embroidery, the whole British and American demand, to the almost total exclusion of both French and Swiss work.

The process by which a perfect piece of embroidery, delicately worked in a graceful pattern, and as white as snow, is produced, is far more complicated than might be imagined. The simple plan by which industrious ladies work a single collar on a traced pattern, with clean hands in a pure atmosphere, will not do when hundreds of thousands of collars are to be made, at the lowest rate, by poor children, in smoky hovels. In order to understand the matter clearly, it may be as well to transport ourselves to one of the large establishments in Glasgow, in whose extensive, well-lighted lofts the whole mechanism of the manufacture may be seen at work.

In the highest room, where the best light is obtained, we find a number of men, seated at small tables at the windows, engaged in drawing patterns. These are the designers, whose business it is to produce a constant and rapid succession of new patterns, either original or adapted from the French designs, which lie scattered on their tables. They are a very intelligent class, possessing considerable originality, and, what is even more important, thoroughly understanding the art ofpractical adaptation of costly designs to the necessities of the manufacture, without which the ingenious sketches of the French would be valueless. It is proper to add, that their powers of invention are steadily increasing year after year, and that the time is probably not remote when they will be independent of the Parisian designers.

The patterns sketched by them are transferred by the ordinary process to lithographic stones; and on entering the adjoining room, we find a large number of lithographic presses at work, some of great size. The unbleached muslin here receives the impression of the outline pattern, as paper is printed in the ordinary press; and the substitution of stones for the wooden blocks formerly used, has greatly cheapened and facilitated this process. The carved blocks were expensive to cut, and useless when the pattern was finished: the pattern is now put on the stone with great economy, and, the requisite number being struck off, is erased to make room for another.

The printed webs are now carried from the press-room to the floor below, where the green warehouse is situated—the common receptacle of the unbleached muslin going out to the working, and of the sewed goods coming in. The former are now made up into parcels, and sent off to the agents who are employed in the working districts to give out the work to the sewers, from whom they are again returned into the same department when sewed. We see them lying heaped in every direction, so saturated with dirt, that the pattern is hardly distinguishable from the muslin, looking and smelling as if no purative process could ever render them clean and sweet. The interval which elapses between the goods leaving the green warehouse and returning to it varies, with the nature of the goods, from a fortnight to six months; although occasionally pieces remain out much longer, and sometimes drop in after the lapse of years; while a per-centage are never returned at all, a loss which constitutes an item in the cost of the remainder. About three-quarters, at least, of all the embroidery is worked in Ireland; the remaining quarter being sewed in the south-western counties of Scotland. In Ireland, the sewing districts, at first confined to a very limited space in the neighbourhood of Donaghadee, have gradually spread, until the whole north, and even a portion of the western wilds of Connaught, have been covered with the agents of the Scotch and Irish manufacturers. There is every prospect that their extension will not stop here. It is requisite that the work should be performed at a very small cost; and from the position and habits of the Irish, they are able to work cheaper than the Scotch. The nature of the employment is also peculiarly fitted to them. It can be performed in their own cottages at leisure times, or by children, not otherwise useful. No cleanliness is required, as it matters not how dirty the piece is when finished; and the payments are prompt and in ready money. The remuneration is small, especially to children learning, and varies, according to the skill and industry of the worker, from 6d. to 5s. a week; but this is paid in cash immediately on the completion of the piece. It is easy to see what an important addition may thus be made to the means of a poor cotter, by the labour of the young children and girls, who would probably otherwise have no employment whatever.

The goods being fairly back in the green warehouse, the next process is to discharge the load of dirt contracted in the smoky mud-hovel, and restore the original snowy hue of the cotton. For this purpose they are sent out to what is termed a bleachfield, although those who should visit such a place in hopes of seeing a verdant lawn, strewn with the white folds of muslin waving in the summer breeze, would be grievously disappointed. A bleachfield is simply a huge steam wash-house, with red brick walls and a tall chimney vomiting smoke, with not a particle of turf about it. Here, amidst volumes of steam, and the unceasing splash of water, the mirky mass is subjected to repeated agitations in hot and cold solutions, by means of revolving hollow wheels, inside of which the embroidery is tossed and tumbled for many days. A little chlorine is at last used, with much care, to complete the bleaching; and after a term, varying from ten days to three weeks, the goods are once more returned to the manufacturer, of a pure white, starched and dressed as may be required. We shall find them by walking from the green warehouse into the darning and ironing rooms where the final process of examination and finishing goes on, and whence they are turned out in a complete state into the saleroom, on the lowest floor of the establishment, to be disposed on long mahogany polished counters for sale. The extreme economy and method of this long process may be imagined when we are shewn very pretty collars, the entire cost of which—designing, sewing, muslin, bleaching, and profit—only amounts to 3d., yet including a rather elaborate pattern; while a yard of good serviceable edging is produced for 2-1/4d.

The entire amount of the manufacture must of course be conjectural, but it has been estimated at about three-quarters of a million sterling a year. The principal part is sold in Glasgow, but a part of the Irish production is disposed of in Belfast. If we take, as the price of the work, two-thirds of the gross sum, the remaining third being cost of muslin, expenses, charges, and profit, we shall have L.500,000 as the sum annually distributed, in ready money, in small sums over the south of Scotland and the north of Ireland—a most important addition to the resources of the rural population of those districts. In addition to this, a large class of workers, male and female, are employed in Glasgow in the preparation and in the finishing of the goods—as designers, lithographers, weavers, clerks, darners, ironers, and patterners. These are all well paid—some very highly; and the young women composing the three latter classes are a remarkably well-to-do, prosperous class.

The growth of the manufacture has been much accelerated by the export-trade to the United States, where its superior cheapness and intrinsic excellence have induced a large consumption. Could we prevail on the French government to relax the prohibition which now bars its entrance into that country, a new and wide field would be opened for its extension, even at a pretty high duty; as the French manufacture, in its present state, is quite inadequate to supply the demand for cheap embroidery there. Even as it is, a good deal is smuggled in, and may be recognised by the experienced eye adorning the windows of the shops in Paris. An increased demand must tell immediately in favour of Ireland, the only place affording an increased supply of labour; and on this account, the prosperity and extension of the trade in sewed muslins must be an object of interest to all who desire the amelioration of the condition of the Irish peasant.

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TheAmericans are said to be grievously addicted to ——: we would rather avoid the word. Travellers have spread the imputation; but travellers are known to speak from prejudice, and their report did not appear to be altogether trustworthy. At length, strange to say, the charge of being intolerable—must we say it?—spittersis made by one of themselves, and of course there can be no more said on the subject: the fact is confessed. This marvellously candid, but painful acknowledgment, occurs in the recently-published work,Sketches of European Capitals, by W. Ware,M.D., the well-known author of those charming historical romances,Letters from Palmyra,Aurelian, &c. We trust that Dr Ware will not be ostracised on the score of taste or patriotism by his countrymen, for his extraordinary audacity in telling them of a fault, and, what is more, in drawing an unfavourable comparison between them and Englishmen on this most delicate subject. The following are his remarks:—

'An Englishman, I believe, rarely chews, and, compared with the American, rarely smokes; but whether he does not secretly practise both these abominations, I am not prepared to say. But with both these provocatives, if it be so, one thing he never does—is to spit. That fact draws a line of demarcation between the Englishman and the American, broader and deeper a thousandfold than any other in politics, government, laws, language, religion.The Englishman never spits; or, if he does, he first goes home, shuts himself up in his room, locks his door, argues the necessity of the case; if necessary, performs the disagreeable duty, and returns to society with a clear conscience. The American spits always and everywhere; sometimes when it is necessary; always, when it is not. It is his occupation, his pastime, his business. Many do nothing else all their lives, and always indulge in that singular recreation when theyhavenothing else to do. Sometimes, in a state of momentary forgetfulness, he intermits; but then, as if he had neglected a sworn duty, returns to it again with conscience-smitten vigour. He spits at home and abroad, by night and by day, awake and asleep, in company and in solitude, for his own amusement and the edification of a spitting community; on the freshly-painted or scoured floor, on the clean deck of a ship or steam-boat, on parlour floors—covered whether with ingrained Brussels, Wilton, or Turkey—even there he voids his rheum; upon the unabsorbent canvas, so that one may see, where numbers congregate, the railway cars to run in more ways than one; the pulpits and pews of churches are not safe; the foot-pavement of the streets, the floors of all public places—of exchanges, hotels, of Congress halls—are foul with it; and in railway cars it must always be necessary for a lady to shorten her garments, as if about to walk in the deep mud of the street, or the snow and water of spring, if she would escape defilement to either her dress or her slippers. As the power of direction of these human missiles is by no means unerring, notwithstanding so much practice, one's own person, and all parts of his person, are exposed to the random shots of this universal foe of American civilised life; and often he finds, on different parts of his dress, proofs abundant of the company he has kept. The only single spot absolutely secure is a man's face—and that would not be, were it not for the fear of a duel. That there is not the shadow of exaggeration in this description, coarse as it is, and coarse as it has been my intention to make it, all Americans, and all travellers who have ever been within an American hotel, steam-boat, or rail-car—all will testify. And the result of it all is, I suppose, that we are the freest and most enlightened people on the face of the earth! But for one, republican as I am in principle, I think, on the whole, I would prefer the despotism of Austria, Russia, or Rome, to the freedom, if I must take with it the spit, of America. It is vice enough to tempt one to forswear home, country, kindred, friends, religion; it is ample cause for breaking acquaintance, friendship, for a divorce; in a word, it is our grand national distinction, if we did but know it. There are certainly parts of the country comparatively, but only comparatively, free from this vice. Here at the north, there is much less than at the west and the south, though here enough of it to disgust one with his race. In proportion as general refinement prevails, the custom abates. At the south, no carpets, no rooms, no presence, affords protection.[6]Here, in the best rooms, the best society, there is partial exemption, though not often enough from the presence of that ingenious, fearful patent—the brazen, china, or earthenbox. Would that my country could be induced to pause in this its wonderful career! Pity some public effort could not be made by way of general convention, or otherwise, for the abatement of this national mischief—certainly as worthy of attention as very many of our political and moral reforms. The advice of the London surgeon, Abernethy, to an American sea-captain, was at anyrate useful to us all, and pregnant with good medical philosophy. "Keep your saliva in your mouth to help to digest your food with," said he, "and do not spit it all over my carpet." Very wholesome counsel. And, seriously, who can say how much the pallid face, the proverbial indigestion of our country, even consumption itself, may not be owing to this constant drain, which deprives the stomach of a secretion which nature provided for the most important purposes in the manufacture of the blood, and which she certainly did not provide to be wasted and thrown about in the manner of the Anglo-American?'

There is so much frankness and sorrow in this confession of a national sin against good manners, that the least thing we can do is to assure Dr Ware, that he takes much too favourable a view of the habits of the English in the matter in question. That among the highly-educated, the refined, and in what is called 'good society' generally, no one is guilty of the crime he speaks of, is quite true; but we take leave to say that inferior grades of people—the bulk of those walking the street, for example—are about as guilty of it as are the Americans; and it must doubtless be from this source that our transatlantic brethren have been contaminated. This hint as to the origin of a bad practice may perhaps suggest amendment in those departments of our population where it is required. Might not something also be done in the way of school instruction?

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