An expansion of two papers read before the A.A.A.S. at the Ann Arbor meeting.
An expansion of two papers read before the A.A.A.S. at the Ann Arbor meeting.
[2]
Electricity and Magnetism, Maxwell, p. 137, §§ 489, 490.
Electricity and Magnetism, Maxwell, p. 137, §§ 489, 490.
"Poisons and poisoning" was the subject of a discourse a few days ago at the Royal Institution. The lecturer, Professor Meymott Tidy, began by directing attention to the derivation of the word "toxicology," the science of poisons. The Greek wordτοξσνsignified primarily that specially oriental weapon which we call a bow, but the word in the earliest authors included in its meaning the arrow shot from the bow. Dioscorides in the first century A.D. uses the wordτο τοξικονto signify the poison to smear arrows with. Thus, by giving an enlarged sense to the word—for words ever strive to keep pace, if possible, with scientific progress, we get our modern and significant expression toxicology as the science of poisons and of poisoning. A certain grim historical interest gathers around the story of poisons.
It is a history worth studying, for poisons have played their part in history. The "subtil serpent" taught men the power of a poisoned fang. Poison was in the first instance a simple instrument of open warfare. Thus, our savage ancestors tipped their arrows with the snake poison in order to render them more deadly. The use of vegetable extracts for this purpose belongs to a later period. The suggestion is not unreasonable that if war chemists with their powders, their gun cotton, and their explosives had not been invented, warlike nations would have turned for theirinstrumenta bellito toxicologists and their poisons. At any rate, the toxicologists may claim that the very cradle of science was rocked in the laboratory of the toxicological worker. Early in the history of arrow tipping the admixture of blood with the snake poison became a common practice. Even the use of animal fluids alone is recorded—e.g., the arrows of Hercules, which were dipped in the gall of the Lernæan hydra. Hercules himself at last fell a victim to the blood stained tunic of the dead Centaur Nessus. As late as the middle of the last century Blumenbach persuaded one of his class to drink 7 oz. of warm bullock's blood in order to disprove the then popular notion that even fresh blood was a poison. The young man who consented to drink the blood did not die a martyr to science.
The first important question we have to answer is, What do we mean by a poison? The law has not defined a poison, although it requires at times a definition. The popular definition of a poison is "a drug which destroys life rapidly when taken in small quantity." The terms "small quantity" as regards amount, and "rapidly" as regards time, are as indefinite as Hodge's "piece of chalk" as regards size. The professor defined a poison as "any substance which otherwise than by the agency of heat or electricity is capable of destroying life, either by chemical action on the tissues of the living body or by physiological action by absorption into the living system." This definition excepted from the list of poisons all agencies that destroyed life by a simple mechanical action, thus drawing a distinction between a "poison" and a "destructive thing." It explains why nitrogen is not a poison and why carbonic acid is, although neither can support life. This point the lecturer illustrated. A poison must be capable of destroying life. It was nonsense to talk of a "deadly poison." If a body be a poison, it is deadly; if it be not deadly, it is not a poison. Three illustrations of the chemical actions of poisons were selected. The first was sulphuric acid. Here the molecular death of the part to which the acid was applied was due to the tendency of sulphuric acid to combine with water. The stomach became charred. The molecular death of certain tissues destroyed the general functional rhythmicity of the system until the disturbance became general, somatic death (that is, the death of the entire body) resulting. The second illustration was poisoning by carbonic oxide. The professor gave an illustrated description of the origin and properties of the coloring matter of the blood, known ashæmoglobin, drawing attention to its remarkable formation by a higher synthetical act from the albumenoids in the animal body, and to the circumstance that, contrary to general rule, both its oxidation and reduction may be easily effected. It was explained that on this rhythmic action of oxidizing and reducinghæmoglobinlife depended.
Carbonic oxide, like oxygen, combined withhæmoglobin, produced a comparatively stable compound; at any rate, a compound so stable that it ceased to be the efficient oxygen carrier of normalhæmoglobin. This interference with the ordinary action ofhæmoglobinconstituted poisoning by carbonic oxide. In connection with this subject the lecturer referred to the useof the spectroscope as an analytical agent, and showed the audience the spectrum of blood extracted from the hat of the late Mr. Briggs (for the murder of whom Muller was executed), and this was the first case in which the spectroscopic appearances of blood formed the subject matter of evidence. The third illustration of poisoning was poisoning by strychnine. Here again the power of the drug for undergoing oxidation was illustrated. It was noted that although our knowledge of the precisemodus operandiof the poison was imperfect, nevertheless that the coincidence of the first fit in the animal after its exhibition with the formation of reducedhæmoglobinin the body was important.
There followed upon this view of the chemical action of poison in the living body this question: Given a knowledge of certain properties of the elements—for example, their atomic weights, their relative position according to the periodic law, their spectroscopic character, and so forth—or given a knowledge of the molecular constitution, together with the general physical and chemical properties of compounds—in other words, given such knowledge of the element or compound as may be learned in a laboratory—does such knowledge afford us any clew whereby to predicate the probable action of the element or of the compound respectively on the living body? The researches of Blake, Rabuteau, Richet, Bouchardat, Fraser, and Crum-Brown were discussed, the results of their observations being that at present we were unable to determine toxicity or physiological action by any general chemical or physical researches. The lecturer pointed out that such relationship was scarcely to be expected. Poisons acted on different tissues, while even the same poison, according to the dose administered and other conditions, expended its toxic activity in different ways.
Further, the allotropic modifications of elements and the isomerism of compounds increased the difficulties. Why should yellow phosphorus be an active poison and red phosphorus be inert? Why should piperine be the poison of all poisons to keep you awake, and morphine the poison of all poisons to send you asleep, although to the chemist these two bodies were of identical composition? The lecturer urged that the science of medicine (for the poisons of the toxicologist were the medicines of the physician) must be experimental. Guard jealously against all wanton cruelty to animals; but to deprive the higher creation of life and health lest one of the lower creatures should suffer was the very refinement of cruelty. "Are ye not of much more value then they?" spoke a still small voice amid the noisy babble of well intentioned enthusiasts.—London Times.
All the journals have recently narrated the curious story of the triplets that were born prematurely at the clinic of Assas Street. Placed at their birth in an apparatus constructed on the principle of an incubator, in order to finish their development therein, these frail beings are doing wonderfully well, thanks to the assiduous care bestowed upon them, and are even showing, it appears, a true emulation to become persons of importance.
Every one now knows the incubator or "artificial hen"—that box with a glass top in which, under the influence of a mild heat, hens' eggs, laid upon wire cloth, hatch of themselves in a few days, and allow pretty little chicks to make their way out of the cracked shell.
This ingenious apparatus, which has been adopted by most breeders, gives so good results that it has already supplanted the mother hens in all large poultry yards, and at present, thanks to it, large numbers of eggs that formerly ended in omelets are now changing into chickens.
Although not belonging to the same race, a number of children at their birth are none the less delicate than these little chicks.
There are some that are so puny and frail among the many brought into the world by the anæmic and jaded women of the present generation that, in the first days of their existence, their blood, incapable of warming them, threatens at every instant to congeal in their veins. There are some which, born prematurely, are so incapable of taking nourishment of themselves, of breathing and of moving, that they would be fatally condemned to death were not haste made to take up their development where nature left it, in order to carry it on and finish it. In such a case it is not, as might be supposed, to the exceptionally devoted care of the mother that the safety of these delicate existences is confided. As the sitting hen often interferes with the hatching of her eggs by too much solicitude, so the most loving and attentive mother, in this case, would certainly prove more prejudicial than useful to her nursling. So, for this difficult task that she cannot perform, there is advantageously substituted for her what is known as an artificial mother. This apparatus, which is identical with the one employed for the incubation of chickens, consists of a large square box, supporting, upon a double bottom, a series of bowls of warm water. Above these vessels, which are renewed as soon as the temperature lowers, is arranged a basket filled with cotton, and in this is laid, as in a nest, the weak creature which could not exist in the open air.
STILL BIRTH WARMING APPARATUS.STILL BIRTH WARMING APPARATUS.
Through the glass in the cover, the mother has every opportunity of watching the growth of her new born babe; but this is all that she is allowed to do. The feeding of the infant, which is regulated by the physician at regular hours, is effected by means of a special rubber apparatus, through the aid of an intelligent woman who has sole charge of this essential operation. The aeration of the little being, which is no less important, is assured by a free circulation, in the box, of pure warm air, which is kept at a definite temperature and is constantly renewed through a draught flue. The least variations in the temperature are easily seen through a horizontal thermometer placed beneath the glass.
Thus protected against all those bad influences that are often so fatal at the inception of life, even to the healthiest babes, preserved from an excess or insufficiency of food, sheltered from cold and dampness, protected against clumsy handling and against pernicious microbes, sickly or prematurely born babies soon acquire enough strength in the apparatus to be able, finally, like others, to face the various perils that await us from the cradle.
The results that have been obtained for some time back at Paris, where the surroundings are so unfavorable, no longer leave any doubt as to the excellence of the process. At the lying-in clinic of Assas Street, Doctors Farnier, Chantreuil, and Budin succeeded in a few days in bringing some infants born at six months (genuine human dolls, weighing scarcely more than from 2¼ to 4½ pounds) up to the normal weight of 7½ pounds.—L'Illustration.
Surgery has, as is well known, made great progress in recent years. Apropos of this subject, we shall describe to our readers an operation that was recently performed by one of our most skillful surgeons, Dr. Terrillon, under peculiar circumstances, in which success is quite rare. The subject was a man whose œsophagus was obstructed, and who could no longer swallow any food, or drink the least quantity of liquid, and to whom death was imminent. Dr. Terrillon made an incision in the patient's stomach, and, through a tube, enabled him to take nourishment and regain his strength. We borrow a few details concerning the operation from a note presented by the doctor at one of the last meetings of the Academy of Medicine.
Fig. 1.Fig.1.—FEEDING A PATIENT THROUGH A STOMACHAL TUBE.
Fig. 2Fig.2.—DETAILS OF THE TUBE. C, rubber tube for leading food to the stomach, E; B B', rubber balls, which, inflated with air by means of the tube, T, and rubber ball, P, effect a hermetic closing; A, stopper for the tube, C; R, cock of the air tube.
Fig.2.—DETAILS OF THE TUBE. C, rubber tube for leading food to the stomach, E; B B', rubber balls, which, inflated with air by means of the tube, T, and rubber ball, P, effect a hermetic closing; A, stopper for the tube, C; R, cock of the air tube.
Fig.2.—DETAILS OF THE TUBE. C, rubber tube for leading food to the stomach, E; B B', rubber balls, which, inflated with air by means of the tube, T, and rubber ball, P, effect a hermetic closing; A, stopper for the tube, C; R, cock of the air tube.
Mr. X., fifty-three years of age, is a strong man of arthritic temperament. He has suffered for several years with violent gastralgia and obstinate dyspepsia, for which he has long used morphine. The œsophagalsymptoms appear to date back to the month of September, 1887, when he had a painful regurgitation of a certain quantity of meat that he had swallowed somewhat rapidly.
Since that epoch, the passage of solid food has been either painful or difficult, and often followed by regurgitation. The food seemed to stop at the level of the pit of the stomach. So he gave up solid food, and confined himself to liquids or semi-liquids, which readily passed up to December 20, 1887. At this epoch, he remarked that liquids were swallowed with difficulty, especially at certain moments, they remaining behind the sternum and afterward slowly descending or being regurgitated. This state of things was more marked especially in the first part of January. He was successfully sounded several times, but soon the sound was not able to pass. Doctors Affre and Bazenet got him to come to Paris, where he arrived February 5, 1888.
For ten days, the patient had not been able to swallow anything but about a quart of milk or bouillon in small doses. As soon as he had swallowed the liquid, he experienced distress over the pit of the stomach, followed by painful regurgitations. For three days, every attempt made by Dr. Terrillon to remove the obstacle that evidently existed at the level of the cardia entirely failed. Several times after such attempts a little blood was brought out, but there was never any hemorrhage.
The patient suffered, grew lean and impatient, and was unable to introduce into his stomach anything but a few spoonfuls of water from time to time. As he was not cachectic and no apparent ganglion was found, and as his thoracic respiration was perfect, it seemed to be indicated that an incision should be made in his stomach. The patient at once consented.
The operation was performed February 9, at 11 o'clock, with the aid of Dr. Routier, the patient being under the influence of chloroform. A small aperture was made in the wall of the stomach and a red rubber sound was at once introduced in the direction of the cardia and great tuberosity. This gave exit to some yellowish gastric liquid. The tube was fixed in the abdominal wall with a silver wire. The operation took three quarters of an hour. The patient was not unduly weakened, and awoke a short time afterward. He had no nausea, but merely a burning thirst. The operation was followed by no peritoneal reaction or fever. Three hours afterward, bouillon and milk were injected and easily digested.
Passing in silence the technical details, which would not interest the majority of our readers, we shall be content to say that Mr. X., thanks to this alimentation, has regained his strength, and is daily taking his food as shown in Fig. 1. The aperture made in the stomach permits of the introduction of the rubber apparatus shown in Fig. 2, the object of which is to prevent the egress of the liquids of the stomach and at the same time to introduce food. A funnel is fitted to the tube, and the liquid or semi-liquid food is directly poured into the stomach. Digestion proceeds with perfect regularity, and Mr. X., who has presented himself, of his own accord, before the Academy, and whom we have recently seen, has resumed his health and good spirits.—La Nature.
There is no part of our country in which one cannot form a beautiful local collection, and any young person who wants amusement, instruction, and benefit from two, three, or more weeks in the country can find all in catching butterflies and moths, arranging them, and studying them up.
Provide yourself first with two tools, a net and a poison bottle. The net may be made of any light material. I find the thinnest Swiss muslin best. Get a piece of iron wire, not as heavy as telegraph wire, bend it in a circle of about ten inches diameter, with the ends projecting from the circle two or three inches; lash this net frame to the end of a light stick four or five feet long. Sew the net on the wire. The net must be a bag whose depth is not quite the length of your arm—so deep that when you hold the wire in one hand you can easily reach the bottom with the bottle (to be described) in the other hand. Never touch wing of moth or butterfly with your fingers. The colors are in the dusty down (as you call it), which comes off at a touch. Get a glass bottle or vial, with large, open mouth, and cork which you can easily put in and take out. The bottles in which druggists usually get quinine are the most convenient. It should not be so large that you cannot easily carry it in your pocket. Let the druggist put in the bottle a half ounce of cyanide of potassium; on this pour water to the depth of about three-fourths of an inch, and then sprinkle in and mix gently and evenly enough plaster of Paris to form a thick cream, which willsetin a cake in the bottom of the vial. Let it stand open an hour to set and dry, then wipe out the inside of the vial above the cake and keep it corked. This is the regular entomological poison bottle, used everywhere. An insect put in it dies quietly at once. It will last several months.
These two tools, the net and the poison bottle, are your catching and killing instruments. You know where to look for butterflies. Moths are vastly more numerous, and while equally beautiful, present more varieties of beauty than butterflies. They can be found by daylight in all kinds of weather, in the grass fields, in brush, in dark woods, sometimes on flowers. Many spend the daytime spread out, others with close shut wings on the trunks of trees in dark woods. The night moths are more numerous and of great variety. They come around lamps, set out on verandas in the night, in great numbers. A European fashion is to spread on tree trunks a sirup made of brown sugar and rum, and visit them once in a while at night with net and lantern. Catch your moth in the net, take him out of it by cornering him with the open mouth of your poison bottle, so that you secure him unrubbed.
Now comes the work of stretching your moths. This is easy, but must be done carefully. Provide your own stretching boards. These can be made anywhere with hammer and nail and strips of wood. You want two flat strips of wood about seven-eighths or three-fourths of an inch thick and eight to fourteen inches long, nailed parallel to each other on another strip, so as to leave a narrow open space between the two parallel strips. Make two or three or more of these, with the slit or space between the strips of various widths, for large and small moths and butterflies. Make as many of them, with as various widths of slit, as your catches may demand. Take your moth by the feet, gently in your fingers, put a long pin down through his body, set the pin down in the slit of the stretching board, so that the body of the moth will be at the top of the slit and the wings can be laid out flat on the boards on each side. Have ready narrow slips of white paper. Lay out oneupperwing flat, raising it gently and carefully by using the point of a pin to draw it with, until the lower edge of this upper wing is nearly at a right angle with the body. Pin it there temporarily with one pin, carefully, while you draw up theunderwing to a natural position, and pin that. Put a slip of paper over both wings, pinning one end above the upper and the other below the under wing, thus holding both wings flat on the stretching board. Take out the pins first put in the wings and let the paper do the holding. Treat the opposite wings in the same way. Put as many moths or butterflies on your stretching board as it will hold, and let them remain in a dry room for two, three, or more days, according to size of moths and dampness of climate. Put them in sunshine or near a stove to hasten drying. When dry, take off the slips of paper, lift the moth out by the pin through the body, and place him permanently in your collection.—Wm. C. Prime, in N.Y. Jour. of Commerce.
The beautiful instrument which we illustrate to-day is the invention of M. Dietz, of Brussels. His grandfather was one of the first manufacturers of upright pianos, and being struck with the difficulties and defects of the harp, constructed, in 1810, an instrumentà cordes pincées à clavier—the strings connected with a keyboard.
Many improvements have from time to time been made on this model, which at last arrived at the perfection exhibited in the newly patented clavi harp. The difficulty of learning to play the ordinary harp, and the inherent inconveniences of the instrument, limit its use. It is furnished with catgut strings, which are affected by all the influences of temperature, and require to be frequently tuned. The necessity of playing the strings with the fingers renders it difficult to obtain equality in the sounds. It gives only the natural sounds of the diatonic gamut, and in order to obtain changes of modulation, the pedals must be employed. Harmonics and shakes are very difficult to execute on the harp, and—last, but not least—it is not provided with dampers. The external form of the clavi harp resembles that of the harp, and all the cords, or strings, are visible. The mechanism which produces the sound is put into motion directly a key is depressed, and acts in a similar manner to the fingers of a harpist; the strings being pulled, not struck. The clavi harp is free from all the objections inherent in the ordinary harp. The strings are of a peculiar metal, covered with an insulating material, which has for its object the production of sounds similar to that obtained from catgut strings, and to prevent the strings from falling out of tune. The keyboard, exactly like that of a piano, permits of playing in all keys, without the employment of pedals. The clavi harp has two pedals. The first, connected with the dampers, permits the playing of sustained sounds, or damping them instantaneously. The second pedal divides certain strings into two equal parts, to give the harmonic octaves; by the aid of this pedal the performer can produce ten harmonic sounds simultaneously; on the ordinary harp only four simultaneous harmonics are possible. An ordinary keyboard being the intermediary between the performer and the movement of the mechanical "fingers" which pluck the strings, perfect equality of manipulation is secured. The mechanical "fingers" instantaneously quit the strings on which they operate, and are ready for further action. The "fingers" are covered with suitable material, so that their contact with the strings takes place with the softness necessary to obtain the most beautiful tones possible.
THE CLAVI HARP.THE CLAVI HARP.
The clavi harp is much lighter than the piano—so that it can easily be moved from room to room, or taken into an orchestra, by one or two persons—and is of an elegant form, favorable to artistic decoration. Sufficient will have been said to give a general idea of the new instrument.
It is undeniable that at the present day that beautiful instrument, the harp, is seldom played; still seldomer well played. This is attributable to the difficulties it presents to pupils. Its seven pedals must be employed in different ways when notes are to be raised or lowered a semitone; chromatic passages easy of execution on the piano are almost impracticable on the harp. The same may be said of the shake; and it is only after long and exclusive devotion to its study that the harp can become endurable in the hands of an amateur, or the means of furnishing a professional harpist with a moderate income. It is needless to point out how far, in these respects, the harp is surpassed by the clavi harp.
Vocalists who accompany themselves on the harp are forced, by the extension of their arms to reach the lower strings, and by frequent employment of their feet on the pedals, into postures and movements unfavorable to voice production; but they can accompany themselves with ease on the clavi harp.
Composers are restricted in the introduction of harp passages in their orchestral scores, owing to the paucity of harpists. In some cases, composers have written harp passages beyond the possibility of execution by a single harpist, and the difficulty and cost of providing two harpists have been inevitable. These difficulties will disappear, and composers may give full play to their inspirations, when the harp is displaced by the clavi harp.—Building News.
Argand, a poor Swiss, invented a lamp with a wick fitted into a hollow cylinder, up which a current of air was permitted to pass, thus giving a supply of oxygen to the interior as well as the exterior of the circular frame. At first Argand used the lamp without a glass chimney. One day he was busy in his work room and sitting before the burning lamp. His little brother was amusing himself by placing a bottomless oil flask over different articles. Suddenly he placed it upon the flame of the lamp, which instantly shot up the long, circular neck of the flask with increased brilliancy. It did more, for it flashed into Argand's mind the idea of the lamp chimney, by which his invention was perfected.
During the last fifteen years Bombay has undergone a complete transformation, and the English are now making of it one of the prettiest cities that it is possible to see. The environs likewise have been improved, and thanks to the railways andbungalows(inns), many excursions may now be easily made, and tourists can thus visit the wonders of India, such as the subterranean temples of Ajunta, Elephanta, Nassik, etc., without the difficulties of heretofore.
The excavations of Elephanta are very near Bombay, and the trip in the bay by boat to the island where they are located is a delightful one. The deplorable state in which these temples now exist, with their broken columns and statues, detracts much from their interest. The temples of Ajunta, perhaps the most interesting of all, are easier of access, and are situated 250 miles from Bombay and far from the railway station at Pachora, where it is necessary to leave the cars. Here an ox cart has to be obtained, and thirty miles have to be traveled over roads that are almost impassable. It takes the oxen fifteen hours to reach the bungalow of Furdapore, the last village before the temples, and so it is necessary to purchase provisions. In these wild and most picturesque places, the Hindoos cannot give you a dinner, even of the most primitive character. It was formerly thought that the subterranean temples of India were of an extraordinary antiquity.
The Hindoos still say that the gods constructed these works, but of the national history of the country they are entirely ignorant, and they do not, so to speak, know how to estimate the value of a century. The researches made by Mr. Jas. Prinsep between 1830 and 1840 have enlightened the scientific world as to the antiquity of the monuments of India. He succeeded in deciphering the Buddhist inscriptions that exist in all the north of India beyond the Indus as far as to the banks of the Bengal. These discoveries opened the way to the work done by Mr. Turnour on the Buddhist literature of Ceylon, and it was thus that was determined the date of the birth of Sakya Muni, the founder of Buddhism. He was born 625 B.C. and his death occurred eighty years later, in 543. It is also certain that Buddhism did not become a true religion until 300 years after these events, under the reign of Aoska. The first subterranean temples cannot therefore be of a greater antiquity. Researches that have been made more recently have in all cases confirmed these different results, and we can now no longer doubt that these temples have been excavated within a period of fourteen centuries.
Dasaratha, the grandson of Aoska, first excavated the temples known under the name of Milkmaid, in Behar (Bengal), 200 B.C., and the finishing of the last monument of Ellora, dedicated by Indradyumna to Indra Subha, occurred during the twelfth century of our era.
Fig. 1Fig.1.—FACADE OF THE TEMPLE OF PANDU LENA.
We shall speak first of the temples of Pandu Lena, situated in the vicinity of Nassik, near Bombay. These are less frequented by travelers, and that is why I desired to make a sketch of them (Fig. 1). The church of Pandu Lena is very ancient. Inscriptions have been found upon its front, and in the interior on one of the pillars, that teach us that it was excavated by an inhabitant of Nassik, under the reign of King Krishna, in honor of King Badrakaraka, the fifth of the dynasty of Sunga, who mounted the throne 129 B.C.
The front of this church, all carved in the rock, is especially remarkable by the perfection of the ornaments. In these it is to be seen that the artist has endeavored to imitate in rock a structure made of wood. This is the case in nearly all the subterranean temples, and it is presumable that the architects of the time did their composing after the reminiscences of the antique wooden monuments that still existed in India at their epoch, but which for a long time have been forever destroyed. The large bay placed over the small front door gives a mysterious light in the nave of the church, and sends the rays directly upon the main altar ordagoba, leaving the lateral columns and porticoes in a semi-obscurity well calculated to inspire meditation and prayer.
The temples and monasteries of Ajunta, too, are of the highest interest. They consist of 27 grottoes, of which four only are churches orchaityas. The 23 other excavations compose the monasteries orviharas. Begun 100 B.C., they have remained since the tenth century of our era as we now see them. The subterranean monasteries are majestic in appearance. Sustained bysuperb columns with curiously sculptured capitals, they are ornamented with admirable frescoes which make us live over again the ancient Hindoo life. The paintings are unfortunately in a sad state, yet for the tourist they are an inexhaustible source of interesting observations.
The excavations, which have been made one after another in the wall of volcanic rock of the mountain, form, like the latter, a sort of semicircle. But the churches and monasteries have fronts whose richness of ornamentation is unequaled. The profusion of the sculptures and friezes, ornamented with the most artistic taste, strikes you with so much the more admiration in that in these places they offer a perfect and variedensembleof the true type of the Buddhist religion during this long period of centuries. The picturesque landscape that surrounds these astonishing sculptures adds to the beauty of these various pictures.
The temples of Ellora are no less remarkable, but they do not offer the same artisticensemble. The excavations may be divided into three series: ten of them belong to the religion of Buddha, fourteen to that of Brahma, and six to the Dravidian sect, which resembles that of Jaius, of which we still have numerous specimens in the Indies. Excavated in the same amygdaloid rock, the temples and monasteries differ in aspect from those of Ajunta, on account of the form of the mountain. Ajunta is a nearly vertical wall. At Ellora, the rock has a gentle slope, so that, in order to have the desired height for excavating the immense halls of theviharasor the naves of thechaityas, it became necessary to carve out a sort of forecourt in front of each excavation.
Fig. 2Fig.2.—PLAN OF THE TEMPLES OF KYLAS.
Some of the churches thus have their entrance ornamented with porticoes, and the immense monasteries (which are sometimes three stories high) with lateral entrances and facades. The mountain has also been excavated in other places, so as to form a relatively narrow entrance, which gives access to the internal court of one of these monasteries. It thus becomes nearly invisible to whoever passes along the road formed on the sloping side of the mountain. The greatest curiosity among the monuments of Ellora is the group of temples known by the name of Kylas (Fig. 2). The monks have excavated the rocky slope on three faces so as to isolate completely, in the center, an immense block, out of which they have carved an admirable temple (see T in the plan, Fig. 2), with its annexed chapels. These temples are thus roofless and are sculptured externally in the form of pagodas. Literally covered with sculptures composed with infinite art, they form a very unique collection. These temples seem to rest upon a fantastic base in which are carved in alto rilievo all the gods of Hindoo mythology, along with symbolic monsters and rows of elephants. These are so many caryatides of strange and mysterious aspect, certainly designed to strike the imagination of the ancient Indian population (Fig. 3).
Fig. 3.Fig.3.—SUBTERRANEAN TEMPLE AT ELLORA.
Two flights of steps at S and S (Fig. 2) near the main entrance of Kylas lead to the top of this unique base and to the floor of the temples.
The interior of the central pagoda, ornamented with sixteen magnificent columns, formerly covered, like the walls, with paintings, and the central sanctuary that contains the great idol, are composed with a perfect understanding of architectural proportions.
Exit from this temple is effected through two doors at the sides. These open upon a platform where there are five pagodas of smaller size that equal the central temple in the beauty of their sculptures and the elegance of their proportions.
Around these temples great excavations have been made in the sides of the mountain. At A (Fig. 2), on a level with the ground, is seen a great cloister ornamented with a series of bass reliefs representing the principal gods of the Hindoo paradise. The side walls contain large, two-storied halls ornamented with superb sculptures of various divinities. Columns of squat proportions support the ceilings. A small stairway, X (Fig. 2), leads to one of these halls. Communication was formerly had with its counterpart by a stone bridge which is now broken. There still exist two (P) which lead from the floor of the central temple to the first story of the detached pavilion ormantapa, D, and to that of the entrance pavilion orgopura, C. At G we still see two sorts of obelisks ornamented with arabesques and designed for holding the fires during religious fetes. At E are seen two colossal elephants carved out of the rock. These structures, made upon a general plan of remarkable character, are truly without an equal in the entire world.
We may thus see how much art feeling the architects of these remote epochs possessed, and express our wonder at the extreme taste that presided over all these marvelous subterranean structures.—A. Tissandier, in La Nature.
[Nature.]
Before proceeding further it will be of advantage to describe another tree-killing fungus, which has long been well known to mycologists as one of the commonest of our toadstools growing from rotten stumps and decaying wood-work such as old water pipes, bridges, etc. This isAgaricus melleus(Fig. 15), a tawny yellow toadstool with a ring round its stem, and its gills running down on the stem and bearing white spores, and which springs in tufts from the base of dead and dying trees during September and October. It is very common in this country, and I have often found it on beeches and other trees in Surrey, but it has been regarded as simply springing from the dead rotten wood, etc., at the base of the tree. As a matter of fact, however, this toadstool is traced to a series of dark shining strings, looking almost like the purple-black leaf stalks of the maidenhair fern, and these strings branch and meander in the wood of the tree, and in the soil, and may attain even great lengths—several feet, for instance. The interest of all this is enhanced when we know that until the last few years these long black cords were supposed to be a peculiar form of fungus, and were known asRhizomorpha. They are, however, the subterranean vegetative parts (mycelium) of the agaric we are concerned with, and they can be traced without break of continuity from the base of the toadstool into the soil and tree (Fig. 16). I have several times followed these dark mycelial cords into the timber of old beeches and spruce fir stumps, but they are also to be found in oaks, plums, various conifers, and probably may occur in most of our timber trees if opportunity offers.
The most important point in this connection is thatAgaricus melleusbecomes in these cases a true parasite, producing fatal disease in the attacked timber trees, and, as Hartig has conclusively proved, spreading from one tree to another by means of the rhizomorphs under ground. Only the last summer I had an opportunity of witnessing, on a large scale, the damage that can be done to timber by this fungus. Hundreds of spruce firs with fine tall stems, growing on the hillsides of a valley in the Bavarian Alps, were shown to me as "victims to a kind of rot." In most cases the trees (which at first sight appeared only slightly unhealthy) gave a hollow sound when struck, and the foresters told me that nearly every tree was rotten at the core. I had found the mycelium ofAgaricus melleusin the rotting stumps of previously felled trees all up and down the same valley, but it was not satisfactory to simply assume that the "rot" was the same in both cases, though the foresters assured me it was so.
Fig. 15Fig.15.—A small group ofAgaricus (Armillaria) melleus. The toadstool is tawny yellow, and produces white spores; the gills are decurrent, and the stem bears a ring. The fine hair-like appendages on the pileus should be bolder.
Fig.15.—A small group ofAgaricus (Armillaria) melleus. The toadstool is tawny yellow, and produces white spores; the gills are decurrent, and the stem bears a ring. The fine hair-like appendages on the pileus should be bolder.
By the kindness of the forest manager I was allowed to fell one of these trees. It was chosen at hazard, after the men had struck a large number, to show me how easily the hollow trees could be detected by the sound. The tree was felled by sawing close to the roots; the interior was hollow for several feet up the stem, and two of the main roots were hollow as far as we could poke canes, and no doubt further. The dark-colored rotting mass around the hollow was wet and spongy, and consisted of disintegrated wood held together by a mesh work of the rhizomorphs. Further outward the wood was yellow, with white patches scattered in the yellow matrix, and, again, the rhizomorph strands were seen running in all directions through the mass.
Fig. 16Fig.16.—Sketch of the base of a young tree (s) killed byAgaricus melleus, which has attacked the roots, and developed rhizomorphs at r, and fructifications. To the right the fructifications have been traced by dissection to the rhizomorph strands which produced them.
Fig.16.—Sketch of the base of a young tree (s) killed byAgaricus melleus, which has attacked the roots, and developed rhizomorphs at r, and fructifications. To the right the fructifications have been traced by dissection to the rhizomorph strands which produced them.
Not to follow this particular case further—since we are concerned with the general features of the diseases of timber—I may pass to the consideration of the diagnosis of this disease caused byAgaricus melleus, as contrasted with that due toTrametes radiciperda.
Of course no botanist would confound the fructification of theTrameteswith that of theAgaricus; but the fructifications of such fungi only appear at certain seasons, and that ofTrametes radiciperdamay be underground, and it is important to be able to distinguish such forms in the absence of the fructifications.
The external symptoms of the disease, where young trees are concerned, are similar in both cases. In a plantation at Freising, in Bavaria, Prof. Hartig showed me young Weymouth pines (P. Strobus) attacked and killed byAgaricus melleus. The leaves turn pale and yellow, and the lower part of the stem—the so-called "collar"—begins to die and rot, the cortex above still looking healthy. So far the symptoms might be those due to the destructive action of other forms of tree-killing fungi.
On uprooting a young pine, killed or badly attacked by the agaric, the roots are found to be matted together with a ball of earth permeated by the resin which has flowed out; this is very pronounced in the case of some pines, less so in others. On lifting up the scales of the bark, there will be found, not the silky white, delicate mycelium of theTrametes, but probably the dark cord-like rhizomorphs; there may also be flat white rhizomorphs in the young stages, but they are easily distinguished. These dark rhizomorphs may also be found spreading around into the soil from the roots, and they look so much like thin roots indeed that we can at once understand their name—rhizomorph. The presence of the rhizomorphs and (in the case of the resinous pines) the outflow of resin and sticking together of soil and roots are good distinctive features. No less evident are the differences to be found on examining the diseased timber, as exemplified by Prof. Hartig's magnificent specimens. The wood attacked assumes brown and bright yellow colors, and is marked by sharp brown or nearly black lines, bounding areas of one color and separating them from areas of another color. In some cases the yellow color is quite bright—canary yellow, or nearly so. The white areas scattered in this yellow matrix have no black specks in them, and can thus be distinguished from those due to theTrametes. In advanced stages the purple-black rhizomorphs will be found in the soft, spongy wood.
The great danger ofAgaricus melleusis its power of extending itself beneath the soil by means of the spreading rhizomorphs; these are known to reach lengths of several feet, and to pass from root to root, keeping a more or less horizontal course at a depth of six or eight inches or so in the ground. On reaching the root of another tree, the tips of the branched rhizomorph penetrate the living cortex, and grow forward in the plane of the cambium, sending off smaller ramifications into the medullary rays and (in the case of the pines, etc.) into the resin passages. The hyphæ of the ultimate twigs enter the tracheides, vessels, etc., of the wood, and delignify them, with changes of color and substance as described. Reference must be made to Prof. Hartig's publications for the details which serve to distinguish histologically between timber attacked byAgaricus melleusand byTrametesor other fungi. Enough has been said to show that diagnosis is possible, and indeed to an expert not difficult.
It is at least clear from the above sketch that we can distinguish these two kinds of diseases of timber, and it will be seen on reflection that this depends on knowledge of the structure and functions of the timber and cambium on the one hand and proper acquaintance with the biology of the fungi on the other. It is the victory of the fungus over the timber in the struggle for existence which brings about the disease; and one who is ignorant of these points will be apt to go astray in any reasoning which concerns the whole question. Any one knowing the facts and understanding their bearings, on the contrary, possesses the key to a reasonable treatment of the timber; and this is important, because the two diseases referred to can be eradicated from young plantations and the areas of their ravages limited in older forests.
Suppose, for example, a plantation presents the following case. A tree is found to turn sickly and die, with the symptoms described, and trees immediately surrounding it are turning yellow. The first tree is at once cut down, and its roots and timber examined, and the diagnosis shows the presence ofAgaricus melleusor ofTrametes radiciperda, as the case may be. Knowing this, the expert also knows more. If the timber is being destroyed by theTrametes, he knows that the ravaging agent can travel from tree to tree by means of roots in contact, and he at once cuts a ditch around the diseased area, taking care to include the recently infected and neighboring trees. Then the diseased timber is cut, because it will get worse the longer it stands, and the diseased parts burnt. IfAgaricus melleusis the destroying agent, a similar procedure is necessary; but regard must be had to the much more extensive wanderings of the rhizomorphs in the soil, and it may be imperative to cut the moat round more of the neighboring trees. Nevertheless, it has also to be remembered that the rhizomorphs run not far below the surface. However, my purpose here is not to treat this subject in detail, but to indicate the lines along which practical application of the truths of botanical science may be looked for. The reader who wishes to go further into the subject may consult special works. Of course the spores are a source of danger, but need be by no means so much so where knowledge is intelligently applied in removing young fructifications.
I will now pass on to a few remarks on a class of disease-producing timber fungi which present certain peculiarities in their biology. The two fungi which have been described are true parasites, attacking the roots of living trees, and causing disease in the timber by traveling up the cambium, etc., into the stem; the fungi I am about to refer to are termed wound parasites, because they attack the timber of trees at the surfaces of wounds, such as cut branches, torn bark, frost cracks, etc., and spread from thence into the sound timber. When we are reminded how many sources of danger are here open in the shape of wounds, there is no room for wonder that such fungi as these are so widely spread. Squirrels, rats, cattle, etc., nibble or rub off bark; snow and dew break branches; insects bore into stems; wind, hail, etc., injure young parts of trees, and in fact small wounds are formed in such quantities that if the fructifications of such fungi as those referred to are permitted to ripen indiscriminately, the wonder is not that access to the timber is gained, but rather that a tree of any considerable age escapes at all.
One of the commonest of these isPolyporus sulphureus, which does great injury to all kinds of standing timber, especially the oak, poplar, willow, hazel, pear, larch, and others. It is probably well known to all foresters, as its fructification projects horizontally from the diseased trunks as tiers of bracket-shaped bodies ofa cheese-like consistency; bright yellow below, where the numerous minute pores are, and orange or somewhat vermilion above, giving the substance a coral-like appearance. I have often seen it in the neighborhood of Englefield Green and Windsor, and it is very common in England generally.
If the spore of thisPolyporuslodges on a wound which exposes the cambium and young wood, the filaments grow into the medullary rays and the vessels and soon spread in all directions in the timber, especially longitudinally, causing the latter to assume a warm brown color and to undergo decay. In the infested timber are to observed radial and other crevices filled with the dense felt-like mycelium formed by the common growth of the innumerable branched filaments. In bad cases it is possible to strip sheets of this yellowish white felt work out of the cracks, and on looking at the timber more closely (of the oak, for instance), the vessels are found to be filled with the fungus filaments, and look like long white streaks in longitudinal sections of the wood—showing as white dots in transverse sections.
It is not necessary to dwell on the details of the histology of the diseased timber; the ultimate filaments of the fungus penetrate the walls of all the cells and vessels, dissolve and destroy the starch in the medullary rays, and convert the lignified walls of the wood elements back again into cellulose. This evidently occurs by some solvent action, and is due to a ferment excreted from the fungus filaments, and the destroyed timber becomes reduced to a brown mass of powder.
I cannot leave this subject without referring to a remarkably interesting museum specimen which Prof. Hartig showed and explained to me last summer. This is a block of wood containing an enormous irregularly spheroidal mass of the white felted mycelium of this fungus,Polyporus sulphureus. The mass had been cut clean across, and the section exposed a number of thin brown ovoid bodies embedded in the closely woven felt; these bodies were of the size and shape of acorns, but were simply hollow shells filled with the same felt-like mycelium as that in which they were embedded. They were cut in all directions, and so appeared as circles in some cases. These bodies are, in fact, the outer shells of so many acorns, embedded in and hollowed out by the mycelium ofPolyporus sulphureus. Hartig's ingenious explanation of their presence speaks for itself. A squirrel had stored up the acorns in a hollow in the timber, and had not returned to them—what tragedy intervenes must be left to the imagination. ThePolyporushad then invaded the hollow, and the acorns, and had dissolved and destroyed the cellular and starchy contents of the latter, leaving only the cuticularized and corky shells, looking exactly like fossil eggs in the matrix. I hardly think geology can beat this for a true story.
The three diseases so far described serve very well as types of a number of others known to be due to the invasion of timber and the dissolution of the walls of its cells, fibers, and vessels by hymenomycetous fungi,i.e., by fungi allied to the toadstools and polypores. They all "rot" the timber by destroying its structure and substance, starting from the cambium and medullary rays.
To mention one or two additional forms,Trametes Piniis common on pines, but, unlike its truly parasitic ally,Tr. radiciperda, which attacks sound roots, it is a wound parasite, and seems able to gain access to the timber only if the spores germinate on exposed surfaces. The disease it produces is very like that caused by its ally; probably none but an expert could distinguish between them, though the differences are clear when the histology is understood.
Polyporus fulvusis remarkable because its hyphæ destroy the middle lamella, and thus isolate the tracheides in the timber of firs;Polyporus borealisalso produces disease in the timber of standing conifers;Polyporus igniariusis one of the commonest parasites on trees such as the oak, etc., and produces in them a disease not unlike that due to the last form mentioned;Polyporus dryadeusalso destroys oaks, and is again remarkable because its hyphæ destroy the middle lamella.
With reference to the two fungi last mentioned I cannot avoid describing a specimen in the Museum of Forest Botany in Munich, since it seems to have a possible bearing on a very important question of biology, viz., the action of soluble ferments.
It has already been stated that some of these tree-killing fungi excrete ferments which attack and dissolve starch grains, and it is well known that starch grains are stored up in the cells of the medullary rays found in timber. Now,Polyporus dryadeusandP. igniariusare such fungi; their hyphæ excrete a ferment which completely destroys the starch grains in the cells of the medullary rays of the oak, a tree very apt to be attacked by these two parasites, thoughP. igniarius, at any rate, attacks many other dicotyledonous trees as well. It occasionally happens that an oak is attacked by both of these polyporei, and their mycelia become intermingled in the timber; when this is the case, thestarch grains remain intact in those cells which are invaded simultaneously by the hyphæ of both fungi. Prof. Hartig lately showed me longitudinal radial sections of oak timber thus attacked, and the medullary rays showed up as glistening white plates. These plates consist of nearly pure starch; the hyphæ have destroyed the cell walls, but left the starch intact. It is easy to suggest that the two ferments acting together exert (with respect to the starch) a sort of inhibitory action one on the other; but it is also obvious that this is not the ultimate explanation, and one feels that the matter deserves investigation.
It now becomes a question—What other types of timber diseases shall be described? Of course the limits of a popular article are too narrow for anything approaching an exhaustive treatment of such a subject, and nothing has as yet been said of several other diseases due to crust-like fungi often found on decaying stems, or of others due to certain minute fungi which attack healthy roots. Then there is a class of diseases which commence in the bark or cortex of trees, and extend thence into the cambium and timber: some of these "cankers," as they are often called, are proved to be due to the ravages of fungi, though there is another series of apparently similar "cankers" which are caused by variations in the environment—the atmosphere and weather generally.
It would need a long article to place the readerau courantwith the chief results of what is known of these diseases, and I must be content here with the bare statement that these "cankers" are in the main due to local injury or destruction of the cambium. If the normal cylindrical sheet of cambium is locally irritated or destroyed, no one can wonder that the thickening layers of wood are not continued normally at the locality in question; the uninjured cells are also influenced, and abnormal cushions of tissue formed, which vary in different cases. Now, in "cankers" this is—put shortly—what happens: it may be, and often is, due to the local action of a parasitic fungus; or it may be, and, again, often is, owing to injuries produced by the weather, in the broad sense, and saprophytic organisms may subsequently invade the wounds.
The details as to how the injury thus set up is propagated to other parts—how the "canker" spreads into the bark and wood around—aredetails, and would require considerable space for their description: the chief point here is again the destructive action of mycelia of various fungi, which by means of their powers of pervading the cells and vessels of the wood, and of secreting soluble ferments which break down the structure of the timber, render the latter diseased and unfit for use. The only too well known larch disease is a case in point; but since this is a subject which needs a chapter to itself, I may pass on to more general remarks on what we have learned so far.
It will be noticed that, whereas such fungi asTrametes radiciperdaandAgaricus melleusare true parasites which can attack the living roots of trees, the other fungi referred to can only reach the interior of the timber from the exposed surfaces of wounds. It has been pointed out along what lines the special treatment of the former diseases must be followed, and it only remains to say of the latter: take care of the cortex and cambium of the tree, and the timber will take care of itself. It is unquestionably true that the diseases due to wound parasites can be avoided if no open wounds are allowed to exist. Many a fine oak and beech perishes before its time, or its timber becomes diseased and a high wind blows the tree down, because the spores of one of these fungi alight on the cut or torn surface of a pruned or broken branch. Of course it is not always possible to carry out the surgical operations, so to speak, which are necessary to protect a tree which has lost a limb, and in other cases no doubt those responsible have to discuss whether it costs more to perform the operations on a large scale than to risk the timber. With these matters I have nothing to do here, but the fact remains that by properly closing over open wounds, and allowing the surrounding cambium to cover them up, as it will naturally do, the term of life of many a valuable tree can be prolonged, and its timber not only prevented from becoming diseased and deteriorating, but actually increased in value.
There is no need probably for me to repeat that, although the present essay deals with certain diseases of timber due to fungi, there are other diseases brought about entirely by inorganic agencies. Some of these were touched upon in the last article, and I have already put before the readers ofNaturesome remarks as to how trees and their timber may suffer from the roots being in an unsuitable medium.
In the next paper it is proposed to deal with the so-called "dry rot" in timber which has been felled and cut up—a disease which has produced much distress at various times and in various countries.
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