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A BOOK OF EXPOSITION

EDITED BY

HOMER HEATH NUGENT

LAFLIN INSTRUCTOR IN ENGLISH AT THE RENSSELAERPOLYTECHNIC INSTITUTE

1922

PREFACE

It is a pleasure to acknowledge indebtedness to my wife for assistancein editing and to Dr. Ray Palmer Baker, Head of the Department ofEnglish at the Institute, for suggestions and advice without which thiscollection would hardly have been made. 

CONTENTS

 INTRODUCTION

 THE EXPOSITION OF A MECHANISM THE LEVERS OR THE HUMAN BODY. SIR ARTHUR KEITH

 THE EXPOSITION OF A MACHINE THE MERGENTHALER LINOTYPE. PHILIP T. DODGE

 THE EXPOSITION OF A PROCESS IN NATURE THE PEA WEEVIL. JEAN HENRI FABRE. Translated by Bernard Miall

 THE EXPOSITION OF A MANUFACTURING PROCESS MODERN PAPER-MAKING. J. W. BUTLER PAPER COMPANY

 THE EXPOSITION OF AN IDEA THE GOSPEL OF RELAXATION. WILLIAM JAMES SCIENCE AND RELIGION. CHARLES PROTEUS STEINMETZ

 BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL NOTES

INTRODUCTION

The articles here presented are modern and unhackneyed. Selectedprimarily as models for teaching the methods of exposition employed inthe explanation of mechanisms, processes, and ideas, they arenevertheless sufficiently representative of certain tendencies inscience to be of intrinsic value. Indeed, each author is a recognizedauthority. 

Another feature is worthy of mention. Although the material covers sowide a field--anatomy, zoölogy, physics, psychology, and appliedscience--that the collection will appeal to instructors in every type ofcollege and technical school, the selections are related in such a wayas to produce an impression of unity. This relation is apparent betweenthe first selection, which deals with the student's body, and the third, which deals with another organism in nature. The second and fourthselections deal with kindred aspects of modern industry--the manufactureof paper and the Linotype machine, by which it is used. The fifthselection is a protest against certain developments of the industrialregime; the last, an attempt to reconcile the spirit of science withthat of religion. While monotony has been avoided, the essays form adistinct unit. 

In most cases, selections are longer than usual, long enough in fact tointroduce a student to each field. As a result, he can be made to feelthat every subject is of importance and to realize that every chaptercontains a fund of valuable information. Instead of confusing him byhaving him read twenty selections in, let us say, six weeks, it ispossible by assigning but six in the same period, to impress himdefinitely with each. 

The text-book machinery has been sequestered in the Biographical andCritical Notes at the end of the book. Their character and position areintended to permit instructors freedom of treatment. Some may wish totest a student's ability in the use of reference books by having himreport on allusions. Some may wish to explain these themselves. A fewmay find my experience helpful. For them suggestions are included in theCritical Notes. In general, I have assumed that instructors will prefertheir own methods and have tried to leave them unhampered. 

THE EXPOSITION OF A MECHANISM

THE LEVERS OF THE HUMAN BODY[1]

_Sir Arthur Keith_

In all the foregoing chapters we have been considering only the muscularengines of the human machine, counting them over and comparing theirconstruction and their mechanism with those of the internal-combustionengine of a motor cycle. But of the levers or crank-pins through whichmuscular engines exert their power we have said nothing hitherto. Norshall we get any help by now spending time on the levers of a motorcycle. We have already confessed that they are arranged in a way whichis quite different from that which we find in the human machine. In themotor cycle all the levers are of that complex kind which are calledwheels, and the joints at which these levers work are also circular, forthe joints of a motor cycle are the surfaces between the axle and thebushes, which have to be kept constantly oiled. No, we freely admit thatthe systems of levers in the human machine are quite unlike those of amotor cycle. They are more simple, and it is easy to find in our bodiesexamples of all the three orders of levers. The joints at which bonylevers meet and move on each other are very different from those we findin motor cycles. Indeed, I must confess they are not nearly so simple. And, lastly, I must not forget to mention another difference. Theselevers we are going to study are living--at least, are so denselyinhabited by myriads of minute bone builders that we must speak of themas living. I want to lay emphasis on that fact because I did not insistenough on the living nature of muscular engines. 

[Illustration: Fig. 1. --Showing a chisel 10 inches long used as a leverof the first order. ]

We are all well acquainted with levers. We apply them every day. A boxarrives with its lid nailed down; we take a chisel, use it as a lever, pry the lid open, and see no marvel in what we have done (Fig. 1). Andyet we thereby did with ease what would have been impossible for us evenif we had put out the whole of our unaided strength. The use of leversis an old discovery; more than 1500 years before Christ, Englishmen, living on Salisbury Plain, applied the invention when they raised thegreat stones at Stonehenge and at Avebury; more than 2000 years earlierstill, Egyptians employed it in raising the pyramids. Even at that timemen had made great progress; they were already reaping the rewards ofdiscoveries and inventions. But none, I am sure, surprised them morethan the discovery of the lever; by its use one man could exert thestrength of a hundred men. They soon observed that levers could be usedin three different ways. The instance already given, the prying open ofa lid by using a chisel as a lever, is an example of one way (Fig. 1);it is then used as a lever of the first order. Now in the first order, one end of the lever is applied to the point of resistance, which in thecase just mentioned was the lid of the box. At the other end we applyour strength, force, or power. The edge of the box against which thechisel is worked serves as a fulcrum and lies between the handle wherethe power is applied and the bevelled edge which moves the resistance orweight. A pair of ordinary weighing scales also exemplifies the firstorder of levers. The knife edge on which the beam is balanced serves asa fulcrum; it is placed exactly in the middle of the beam, which weshall suppose to be 10 inches long. If we place a 1-lb. Weight in onescale to represent the resistance to be overcome, the weight will belifted the moment that a pound of sugar has been placed in the oppositescale--the sugar thus representing the power. If, however, we move theknife-edge or fulcrum so that it is only 1 inch from the sugar end ofthe beam and 9 inches from the weight end, then we find that we have topour in 9 lb. Of sugar to equalise the 1-lb. Weight. The chisel used inprying open the box lid was 10 inches long; it was pushed under the lidfor a distance of 1 inch, leaving 9 inches for use as a power lever. Byusing a lever in this way, we increased our strength ninefold. Thelonger we make the power arm, the nearer we push the fulcrum towards theweight or resistance end, the greater becomes our power. This we shallfind is a discovery which Nature made use of many millions of years agoin fashioning the body of man and of beast. When we apply our force tothe long end of a lever, we increase our power. We may also apply it, asNature has done in our bodies, for another purpose. We have just notedthat if the weight end of the beam of a pair of scales is nine times thelength of the sugar end, that a 1-lb. Weight will counterpoise 9 lb. Ofsugar. We also see that the weight scale moves at nine times the speedof the sugar scale. Now it often happens that Nature wants to increase, not the power, but the speed with which a load is lifted. In that casethe "sugar scale" is placed at the long end of the beam and the "weightscale" at the short end; it then takes a 9-lb. Weight to raise a singlepound of sugar, but the sugar scale moves with nine times the speed ofthe weight scale. Nature often sacrifices power to obtain speed. The armis used as a lever of this kind when a cricket ball is thrown. 

Nothing could look less like a pair of scales than a man's head orskull, and yet when we watch how it is poised and the manner in which itis moved, we find that it, too, acts as a lever of the first order. Thefulcrum on which it moves is the atlas--the first vertebra of the spine(Fig. 2). When a man stands quite erect, with the head well thrown back, the ear passages are almost directly over the fulcrum. It will beconvenient to call that part of the head which is behind the earpassages the _post-fulcral, _ and the part which is in front the_pre-fulcral. _ Now the face is attached to the pre-fulcral part of thelever and represents the weight or load to be moved, while the musclesof the neck, which represent the power, are yoked to the post-fulcralend of the lever. The hinder part of the head serves as a crank-pin forseven pairs of neck muscles, but in Fig. 2 only the chief pair is drawn, known as the _complex_ muscles. When that pair is set in action, thepost-fulcral end of the head lever is tilted downwards, while thepre-fulcral end, on which the face is set, is turned upwards. 

[Illustration: Fig. 2. --The skull as a lever of the first order. ]

The complex muscles thus tilt the head backwards and the face upwards, but where are the muscles which serve as their opponents or antagonistsand reverse the movement? In a previous chapter it has been shown thatevery muscle has to work against an opponent or antagonist muscle. Herewe seem to come across a defect in the human machine, for the _greaterstraight_ muscles in the front of the neck, which serve as opposingmuscles, are not only much smaller but at a further disadvantage bybeing yoked to the pre-fulcral end of the lever, very close to the cupon which the head rocks. However, if the _greater straight_ muscles losepower by working on a very short lever, they gain, in speed; we set themquickly and easily into action when we give a nod of recognition. Allthe strength or power is yoked to the post-fulcral end of the head; thepre-fulcral end of its lever is poorly guarded. Japanese wrestlers knowthis fact very well, and seek to gain victory by pressing up the poorlyguarded pre-fulcral lever of the head, thus producing a deadly lock atthe fulcral joint. Indeed, it will be found that those who use thejiu-jitsu method of fighting have discovered a great deal about theconstruction and weaknesses of the levers of the human body. 

Merely to poise the head on the atlas may seem to you as easy a matteras balancing the beam of a pair of scales on an upright support. I amnow going to show that a great number of difficulties had to be overcomebefore our heads could be safely poised on our necks. The head had to bebalanced in such a way that through the pivot or joint on which it restsa safe passageway could be secured for one of the most delicate and mostimportant of all the parts or structures of the human machine. We havenever found a good English name for this structure, so we use its clumsyLatin one--_Medulla oblongata_--or medulla for short. In the medulla areplaced offices or centres which regulate the vital operations carriedon by the heart and by the lungs. It has also to serve as a passagewayfor thousands of delicate gossamer-like nerve fibres passing from thebrain, which fills the whole chamber of the skull, to the spinal cord, situated in the canal of the backbone. By means of these delicate fibresthe brain dispatches messages which control the muscular engines of thelimbs and trunk. Through it, too, ascend countless fibres along whichmessages pass from the limbs and trunk to the brain. In creating amovable joint for the head, then, a safe passage had to be obtained forthe medulla--that part of the great nerve stem which joins the brain tothe spinal cord. The medulla is part of the brain stem. 

This was only one of the difficulties which had to be overcome. The eyesare set on the pre-fulcral lever of the head. For our safety we must beable to look in all directions--over this shoulder or that. We must alsobe able to turn our heads so that our ears may discover in whichdirection a sound is reaching us. In fashioning a fulcral joint for thehead, then, two different objects had to be secured: free mobility forthe head, and a safe transit for the medullary part of the brain stem. How well these objects have been attained is known to all of us, for wecan move our heads in the freest manner and suffer no damage whatsoever. Indeed, so strong and perfect is the joint that damage to it is one ofthe most uncommon accidents of life. 

Let us see, then, how this triumph in engineering has been secured. Inher inventive moods Nature always hits on the simplest plan possible. Inthis case she adopted a ball-and-socket joint--the kind by which olderastronomers mounted their telescopes. By such a joint the telescopebecomes, just as the head is, a lever of the first order. The eyeglassis placed at one end of the lever, while the object-glass, which can beswept across the face of the heavens, is placed at the other or moredistant end. In the human body the first vertebra of the backbone--theatlas--is trimmed to form a socket, while an adjacent part of the baseof the skull is shaped to play the part of ball. The kind of joint to beused having been hit upon, the next point was to secure a safe passagefor the brain stem. That, too, was worked out in the simplest fashion. The central parts of both ball and socket were cut away, or, to statethe matter more exactly, were never formed. Thus a passage was obtainedright through the centre of the fulcral joint of the head. The centre ofthe joint was selected because when a lever is set in motion the part atthe fulcrum moves least, and the medulla, being placed at that point, isleast exposed to disturbance when we bend our heads backwards, forwards, or from side to side. When we examine the base of the skull, all that wesee of the ball of the joint are two knuckles of bone (Fig. 3, A), covered by smooth slippery cartilage or gristle, to which anatomistsgive the name of occipital condyles. If we were to try to complete theball, of which they form a part, we should close up the greatopening--the _foramen magnum_--which provides a passageway for the brainstem on its way to the spinal canal. All that is to be seen of thesocket or cup is two hollows on the upper surface of the atlas intowhich the occipital condyles fit (Fig. 3, B). Merely two parts of thebrim of the cup have been preserved to provide a socket for thecondyles or ball. 

[Illustration: Fig. 3. --A, The opening in the base of the skull, bywhich the brain stem passes to the spinal canal. The two occipitalcondyles represent part of the ball which fits into the cup formed bythe atlas. B, The parts of the socket on the ring of the atlas. ]

As we bend our heads, the occipital condyles revolve or glide on thesockets of the atlas. But what will happen if we roll our headsbackwards to such an extent that the bony edge of the opening in thebase of the skull is made to press hard against the brain stem and crushit? That, of course, would mean instant death. Such an accident has beenmade impossible (1) by making the opening in the base of the skull somuch larger than the brain stem that in extreme movements there can beno scissors-like action; (2) the muscles which move the head on theatlas arrest all movements long before the danger-point is reached; (3)even if the muscles are caught off their guard, as they sometimes are, certain strong ligaments--fastenings of tough fibres--are so set asautomatically to jam the joint before the edge of the foramen can comein contact with the brain stem. 

These are only some of the devices which Nature had to contrive in orderto secure a safe passageway for the brain stem. But in obtaining safetyfor the brain stem, the movements of the head on the atlas had to belimited to mere nodding or side-to-side bending. The movements which areso necessary to us, that of turning our heads so that we can sweep oureyes along the whole stretch of the skyline from right to left, and fromleft to right, were rendered impossible. This defect was also overcomein a simple manner. The joints between the first and secondvertebrae--the atlas and axis--were so modified that a turning movementcould take place between them instead of between the atlas and skull. When we turn or rotate our heads, the atlas, carrying the skull upon it, swings or turns on the axis. When we search for the manner in which thishas been accomplished, we see again that Nature has made use of thesimplest means at her disposal. When we examine a vertebra in the courseof construction within an unborn animal, we see that it is really madeup by the union of four parts (see Fig. 4): a central block whichbecomes the "body" or supporting part; a right and a left arch whichenclose a passage for the spinal cord; and, lastly, a fourth part infront of the central block which becomes big and strong only in thefirst vertebra--the atlas. When we look at the atlas (Fig. 4), we seethat it is merely a ring made up of three of the parts--the right andleft arches and the fourth element, --but the body is missing. A glanceat Fig. 4, B, will show what has become of the body of the atlas. Ithas been joined to the central block of the second vertebra--theaxis--and projects upwards within the front part of the ring of theatlas, and thus forms a pivot round which rotatory movements of the headcan take place. Here we have in the atlas an approach to the formationof a wheel--a wheel which has its axle or pivot placed at some distancefrom its centre, and therefore a complete revolution of the atlas isimpossible. A battery of small muscles is attached to the lateral leversof the atlas and can swing it freely, and the head which it carries, acertain number of degrees to both right and left. The extent of themovements is limited by stout check ligaments. Thus, by the simpleexpedient of allowing the body of the atlas to be stolen by the axis, apivot was obtained round which the head could be turned on a horizontalplane. 

[Illustration: Fig. 4. --A, The original parts of the first or atlasvertebra. B, Showing the "body" of the first vertebra fixed to thesecond, thus forming the pivot on which the head turns. ]

Nature thus set up a double joint for the movements of the head, onebetween the atlas and axis for rotatory movements, another between theatlas and skull for nodding and side-to-side movements. And all theseshe increased by giving flexibility to the whole length of the neck. Makers of modern telescopes have imitated the method Nature inventedwhen fixing the human head to the spine. Their instruments are mountedwith a double joint--one for movements in a horizontal plane, the otherfor movements in a vertical plane. We thus see that the young engineer, as well as the student of medicine, can learn something from theconstruction of the human body. 

In low forms of vertebrate animals like the fish and frog, the head isjoined directly to the body, there being no neck. 

No matter what part of the human body we examine, we shall find that itsmechanical work is performed by means of bony levers. Having seen howthe head is moved as a lever of the first order, we are now to choose apart which will show us the plan on which levers of the second orderwork, and there are many reasons why we should select the foot. It is apart which we are all familiar with; every day we can see it at rest andin action. The foot, as we have already noted, serves as a lever inwalking. It is a bent or arched lever (Fig. 6); when we stand on onefoot, the whole weight of our body rests on the summit of the arch. Weare thus going to deal with a lever of a complex kind. 

[Illustration: Fig. 5. --Showing a chisel used as a lever of the secondorder. ]

In using a chisel to pry open the lid of a box, we may use it as a levereither of the first or of the second order. We have already seen (Fig. 1) that, in using it as a lever of the first order, we pushed the handledownwards, while the bevelled end was raised, forcing open the lid. Theedge of the box served as a rest or fulcrum for the chisel. If, however, after inserting the bevelled edge under the lid, we raise the handleinstead of depressing it, we change the chisel into a lever of thesecond order. The lid is not now forced up on the bevelled edge, but israised on the side of the chisel, some distance from the bevelled edge, which thus comes to represent the fulcrum. By using a chisel in thisway, we reverse the positions of the weight and fulcrum and turn it intoa lever of the second order. Suppose we push the side of thechisel--which is 10 inches long--under the lid to the extent of 1 inch, then the advantage we gain in power is as 1 to 10; we thereby increaseour strength tenfold. If we push the chisel under the lid for half itslength, then our advantage stands as 10 to 5; our strength is onlydoubled. If we push it still further for two-thirds of its length, thenour gain in strength is only as 10 to 6. 6; our power is increased byonly one-third. Now this has an important bearing on the problem we aregoing to investigate, for the weight of our body falls on the foot, sothat only about one-third of the lever--that part of it which is formedby the heel--projects behind the point on which the weight of the bodyrests. The strength of the muscles which act on the heel will beincreased only by about one-third. 

We have already seen that a double engine, made up of the_gastrocnemius_ and _soleus_, is the power which is applied to the heelwhen we walk, and that the pad of the foot, lying across the sole inline with the ball of the great toe, serves as a fulcrum or rest. Theweight of the body falls on the foot between the fulcrum in front andthe power behind, as in a lever of the second order. We have explainedwhy the power of the muscles of the calf is increased the more theweight of the body is shifted towards the toes, but it is also evidentthat the speed and the extent to which the body is lifted arediminished. If, however, the weight be shifted more towards the heel, the muscles of the calf, although losing in power, can lift their loadmore quickly and to a greater extent. 

We must look closely at the foot lever if we are to understand it. It isarched or bent; the front pillar of the arch stretches from the summitor keystone, where the weight of the body is poised, to the pad of thefoot or fulcrum (Fig. 6); the posterior pillar, projecting as the heel, extends from the summit to the point at which the muscular power isapplied. A foot with a short anterior pillar and a long posterior pillaror heel is one designed for power, not speed. It is one which will servea hill-climber well or a heavy, corpulent man. The opposite kind, onewith a short heel and a long pillar in front, is well adapted forrunning and sprinting--for speed. Now, we do find among the variousraces of mankind that some have been given long heels, such as thedark-skinned natives of Africa and of Australia, while other races havebeen given relatively short, stumpy heels, of which sort the natives ofEurope and of China may be cited as examples. With long heels lesspowerful muscular engines are required, and hence in dark races the calfof the leg is but ill developed, because the muscles which move the heelare small. We must admit, however, that the gait of dark-skinned racesis usually easy and graceful. We Europeans, on the other hand, havingshort heels, need more powerful muscles to move them, and hence ourcalves are usually well developed, but our gait is apt to be jerky. 

[Illustration: Fig. 6. --The bones forming the arch of the foot, seenfrom the inner side. ]

If we had the power to make our heels longer or shorter at will, weshould be able, as is the case in a motor cycle, to alter our"speed-gear" according to the needs of the road. With a steep hill infront of us, we should adopt a long, slow, powerful heel; while goingdown an incline a short one would best suit our needs. With itsfour-change speed-gear a motor cycle seems better adapted for easy andeconomical travelling than the human machine. If, however, the humanmachine has no change of gear, it has one very marvellousmechanism--which we may call a _compensatory_ mechanism, for want of ashort, easy name. The more we walk, the more we go hill-climbing, themore powerful do the muscular engines of the heel become. It is quitedifferent with the engine of a motor cycle; the more it is used, themore does it become worn out. It is because a muscular engine is livingthat it can respond to work by growing stronger and quicker. 

I have no wish to extol the human machine unduly, nor to run down themotor cycle because of certain defects. There is one defect, however, which is inherent in all motor machines which man has invented, but fromwhich the human machine is almost completely free. We can illustrate thedefect best by comparing the movements of the heel with those of thecrank-pin of an engine. One serves as the lever by which thegastrocnemius helps to propel the body; the other serves the samepurpose in the propulsion of a motor cycle. On referring to Fig. 7, A, the reader will see that the piston-rod and the crank-pin are in astraight line; in such a position the engine is powerless to move thecrank-pin until the flywheel is started, thus setting the crank-pin inmotion. Once started, the leverage increases, until the crank-pin standsat right angles to the piston-rod--a point of maximum power which isreached when the piston is in the position shown in Fig. 7, B. Then theleverage decreases until the second dead centre is reached (Fig. 7, C);from that point the leverage is increased until the second maximum isreached (Fig. 7, D), whereafter it decreases until the arrival at thefirst position completes the cycle. Thus, in each revolution there aretwo points where all leverage or power is lost, points which aresurmounted because of the momentum given by the flywheel. Clearly weshould get most out of an engine if it could be kept working near thepoints of maximum leverage--with the lever as nearly as possible atright angles to the crank-pin. 

[Illustration: Fig. 7. --Showing the crank-pin of an engine at: A, Firstdead centre. B, First maximum leverage. C, Second dead centre. D, Secondmaximum leverage. ]

Now, we have seen that the tendon of Achilles is the piston cord, andthe heel the crank-pin, of the muscular engine represented by thegastrocnemius and soleus. In the standing posture the heel slopesdownwards and backwards, and is thus in a position, as regards itspiston cord, considerably beyond the point of maximum leverage. As theheel is lifted by the muscles, it gradually becomes horizontal and atright angles to its tendon or piston cord. As the heel rises, then, itbecomes a more effective lever; the muscles gain in power. The more thefoot is arched, the more obliquely is the heel set and the greater isthe strength needed to start it moving. Hence, races like the Europeanand Mongolian, which have short as well as steeply set heels, need largecalf muscles. It is at the end of the upward stroke that the heelbecomes most effective as a lever, and it is just then that we most needpower to propel our bodies in a forward direction. It will be noted thatthe heel, unlike the crank-pin of an engine, never reaches, never evenapproaches, that point of powerlessness known to engineers as a deadcentre. Work is always performed within the limits of the most effectiveworking radius of the lever. It is a law for all the levers of the body;they are set and moved in such a way as to avoid the occurrence of deadcentres. Think what our condition would have been were this not so; why, we should require revolving fly-wheels set in all our joints!

[Illustration: Fig. 8. --The arch of the foot from the inner side, showing some of the muscles which maintain it. ]

Another property is essential in a lever: it must be rigid; otherwise itwill bend, and power will be lost. Now, if the foot were a rigid lever, there would be missing two of its most useful qualities. It could nolonger act as a spring or buffer to the body, nor could it adapt itssole to the various kinds of surfaces on which we have to tread orstand. Nature, with her usual ingenuity, has succeeded in combiningthose opposing qualities--rigidity, suppleness, and elasticity orspringiness--by resorting to her favorite device, the use of muscularengines. The arch is necessarily constructed of a number of bones whichcan move on each other to a certain extent, so that the foot may adaptitself to all kinds of roads and paths. It is true that the bones of thearch are loosely bound together by passive ties or ligaments, but asthese cannot be lengthened or shortened at will, Nature had to fall backon the use of muscular engines for the maintenance of the foot as anarched lever. Some of these are shown in Fig. 8. The foot, then, is alever of a very remarkable kind; all the time we stand or walk, itsrigidity, its power to serve as a lever, has to be maintained by anelaborate battery of muscular engines all kept constantly at work. Nowonder our feet and legs become tired when we have to stand a greatdeal. Some of these engines, the larger ones, are kept in the leg, buttheir tendons or piston cords descend below the ankle-joint to be fixedto various parts of the arch, and thus help to keep it up (Fig. 8). Within the sole of the foot has been placed an installation of seventeensmall engines, all of them springing into action when we stand up, thushelping to maintain the foot as a rigid yet flexible lever. 

We have already seen why our muscles are so easily exhausted when westand stock-still; they then get no rest at all. Now, it sometimeshappens in people who have to stand for long periods at a stretch thatthese muscular engines which maintain the arch are overtaxed; the archof the foot gives way. The foot becomes flat and flexible, and can nolonger serve as a lever. Many men and women thus become permanentlycrippled; they cannot step off their toes, but must shuffle along on theinner sides of their feet. But if the case of the overworked muscleswhich maintain the arch is hard in grown-up people, it is even harder inboys and girls who have to stand quite still for a long time, or whohave to carry such burdens as are beyond their strength. When we areyoung, the bony levers and muscular engines of our feet have not onlytheir daily work to do, but they have continually to effect thosewonderful alterations which we call growth. Hence, the muscular enginesof young people need special care; they must be given plenty of work todo, but that kind of active action which gives them alternate strokes ofwork and rest. Even the engine of a motor cycle has three strokes ofplay for one of work. Our engines, too, must have a liberal supply ofthe right kind of fuel. But even with all those precautions, we have toconfess that the muscular engines of the foot do sometimes break down, and the leverage of the foot becomes threatened. Nor have we succeededin finding out why they are so liable to break down in some boys andgirls and not in others. Some day we shall discover this too. 

We are now to look at another part of the human machine so that we maystudy a lever of the third order. The lever formed by the forearm andhand will suit our purpose very well. It is pivoted or jointed at theelbow; the elbow is its fulcrum (Fig. 9 B). At the opposite end of thelever, in the, upturned palm of the hand, we shall place a weight of 1lb. To represent the load to be moved. The power which we are to yoke tothe lever is a strong muscular engine we have not mentioned before, called the _brachialis anticus_, or front brachial muscle. It lies inthe upper arm, where it is fixed to the bone of that part--the humerus. It is attached to one of the bones of the forearm--the ulna--just beyondthe elbow. 

In the second order of lever, we have seen that the muscle worked on oneend, while the weight rested on the lever somewhere between the muscularattachment and the fulcrum. In levers of the third order, the load isplaced at the end of the lever, and the muscle is attached somewherebetween the load and the fulcrum (Fig. 9 A). In the example we areconsidering, the brachial muscle is attached about half an inch beyondthe fulcrum at the elbow, while the total length of the lever, measuredfrom the elbow to the palm, is 12 inches. Now, it is very evident thatthe muscle or power being attached so close to the elbow, works under agreat disadvantage as regards strength. It could lift a 24-lb. Weightplaced on the forearm directly over its attachment as easily as a singlepound weight placed on the palm. But, then, there is this advantage: the1-lb. Weight placed in the hand moves with twenty-four times the speedof the 24-lb. Weight situated near the elbow. What is lost in strengthis gained in speed. Whenever Nature wishes to move a light load quickly, she employs levers of the third order. 

[Illustration: Fig. 9A. --A chisel used as a lever of the third order. W, weight; P, power; F, fulcrum. ]

We have often to move our forearm very quickly, sometimes to save ourlives. The difference of one-hundredth of a second may mean life ordeath to us on the face of a cliff when we clutch at a branch or juttingrock to save a fall. The quickness of a blow we give or fend depends onthe length of our reach. A long forearm and hand are ill adapted forlifting heavy burdens; strength is sacrificed if they are too long. Hence, we find that the laboring peoples of the world--Europeans andMongolians--have usually short forearms and hands, while the peoples wholive on such bounties as Nature may provide for them have relativelylong forearms and hands. 

[Illustration: Fig. 9B. --The forearm and hand as a lever of the thirdorder. ]

Now, man differs from anthropoid apes, which are distant cousins of his, in having a forearm which is considerably shorter than the upper arm;whereas in anthropoid apes the forearm is much the longer. That factsurprises us at first, especially when we remember that anthropoidsspend most of their lives amongst trees and use their arms much morethan their legs in swinging the weight of their heavy bodies from branchto branch and from tree to tree. A long forearm and hand give them along and quick reach, so that they can seize distant branches and swingthemselves along safely and at a good pace. Our first thought is tosuppose that a long forearm, being a weak lever, will be ill adaptedfor climbing. But when you look at Fig. 10, the explanation becomesplain. When a branch is seized by the hand, and the whole weight of thebody is supported from it, the entire machinery of the arm changes itsaction. The forearm is no longer the lever which the brachial musclemoves (Fig. 10), but now becomes the base from which it acts. The partwhich was its piston cord now serves as its base of fixation, and whatwas its base of fixation to the humerus becomes its piston cord. Thehumerus has become a lever of the third order; its fulcrum is at theelbow; the weight of the body is attached to it at the shoulder andrepresents the load which has to be lifted. We also notice that thebrachial muscle is attached a long way up the humerus, thus increasingits power very greatly, although the rate at which it helps in liftingthe body is diminished. We can see, then, why the humerus is short andthe forearm long in anthropoid apes; shortening the humerus makes itmore powerful as a lever for lifting the body. That is why anthropoidsare strong and agile tree-climbers. But then watch them use those longhands and forearms for the varied and precise movements we have toperform in our daily lives, and you will see how clumsy they are. 

[Illustration: Fig. 10. --Showing the action of the brachialis anticus inthe arm of an anthropoid ape. ]

In the human machine the levers of the arm have been fashioned, not forclimbing, but for work of another kind--the kind which brings us alivelihood. We must have perfect control over our hands; the longer thelever of the forearm is made, the more difficult does control of thehand become. Hence, in the human machine the forearm is made relativelyshort and the upper arm long. 

We have just seen that the brachial muscle could at one time move theforearm and hand, but that when they are fixed it could then use thehumerus as a lever and thereby lift the weight of the body. What shouldwe think of a metal engine which could reverse its action so that itcould act through its piston-rod at one time and through its cylinder atanother? Yet that is what a great number of the muscular engines of thehuman machine do every day. 

There is another little point, but an important one, which I mustmention before this chapter is finished. I have spoken of the forearmand hand as if they formed a single solid lever. Of course that is notso; there are joints at the wrist where the hand can be moved on theforearm. But when a weight is placed in the hand, these joints becamefixed by the action of muscles. The fixing muscles are placed in theforearm, both in front and behind, and are set in action the moment thehand is loaded. The wrist joint is fixed just in the same way as thejoints of the foot are made rigid by muscles when it has to serve as alever. Even when we take a pen in our hand and write, these engineswhich balance and fix the wrist have to be in action all the time. Thesteadiness of our writing depends on how delicately they are balanced. Like the muscles of the foot, the fixers of the wrist may becomeoverworked and exhausted, as occasionally happens in men and women whodo not hold their pens correctly and write for long spells day afterday. The break-down which happens in them is called "writer's cramp, "but it is a disaster of the same kind as that which overtakes the footwhen its arch collapses, and its utility as a lever is lost. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: From _The Engines of the Human Body_, Chapters VI and VII. J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia, 1920; Williams and Norgate, London, 1920. ]

THE EXPOSITION OF A MACHINE

THE MERGENTHALER LINOTYPE[2]

_Philip T. Dodge_

The Mergenthaler Linotype machine appeared in crude form about 1886. This machine differs widely from all others in that it is adapted toproduce the type-faces for each line properly justified on the edge of asolid slug or linotype. 

These slugs, automatically produced and assembled by the machine, areused in the same manner as other type-forms, whether for direct printingor for electrotyping, and are remelted after use. 

GENERAL ORGANIZATION

The general organization of the machine will first be described. Afterthis the details will be more fully explained and attention plainlydirected to the various parts which require special consideration. 

[Illustration: Fig. 1. ]

The machine contains, as the vital element, about sixteen hundredmatrices, such as are shown in Fig. 1, each consisting of a small brassplate having in one edge the female character or matrix proper, and inthe upper end a series of teeth, used as hereinafter explained fordistributing the matrices after use to their proper places in themagazine of the machine. There are in the machine a number of matricesfor each letter and also matrices representing special characters, andspaces or quadrats of different thicknesses for use in table-work. Thereis a series of finger keys representing the various characters andspaces, and the machine is so organized that on manipulating the keys itselects the matrices in the order in which their characters are toappear in print, and assembles them in a line, with wedge-shaped spacesor justifiers between the words. The series of matrices thus assembledin line forms a line matrix, or, in other words, a line of female diesadapted to mold or form a line of raised type on a slug cast against thematrices. After the matrix line is composed, it is automaticallytransferred to the face of a slotted mold into which molten type-metalis delivered to form a slug or linotype against the matrices. This done, the matrices are returned to the magazine and distributed, to be againcomposed in new relations for succeeding lines. 

[Illustration: Fig. 2. ]

Fig. 2 illustrates the general organization of the machine. 

_A_ represents an inclined channelled magazine in which the matrices arestored. Each channel has at the lower end an escapement _B_ to releasethe matrices one at a time. Each of these escapements is connected by arod _C_ and intermediate devices to one of the finger-keys in thekeyboard _D_. These keys represent the various characters as in atypewriter. The keys are depressed in the order in which the charactersand spaces are to appear, and the matricies, released successively fromthe lower end of the magazine, descend between the guides _E_ to thesurface of an inclined travelling belt _F_, by which they are carrieddownward and delivered successively into a channel in the upper part ofthe assembling elevator _G_, in which they are advanced by a star-shapedwheel, seen at the right. 

The wedge-shaped spaces or justifiers _I_ are held in a magazine _H_, from which they are delivered at proper intervals by finger-key _J_ inthe keyboard, so that they may pass downward and assume their properpositions in the line of matrices. 

When the composition of the line is completed, the assembling elevator_G_ is raised and the line is transferred, as indicated by dotted lines, first to the left and then downward to the casting position in front ofthe slotted mold seated in and extending through the vertical wheel _K_, as shown in Figs. 2 and 3. The line of matrices is pressed against andcloses the front of the mold, the characters on the matrices standingdirectly opposite the slot in the mold, as shown. The back of the moldcommunicates with and is closed by the mouth of a melting-pot _M_, containing a supply of molten metal and heated by a Bunsen burnerunderneath. Within the pot is a vertical pump-plunger which acts at theproper time to drive the molten metal through the perforated mouth ofthe pot into the mold and into all the characters in the matrices. Themetal, solidifying, forms a slug or linotype bearing on its edge, inrelief, type-characters produced from the matrices. The matrices and thepot are immediately separated from the mold, and the mold wheel rotatesuntil the slug contained in the mold is presented in front of an ejectorblade, where the slug is ejected from the mold through a pair of knives, which trim the sides to the required size, into the receiving galley, asshown in Fig. 4. 

[Illustration: Fig. 3. ]

[Illustration: Fig. 4. ]

After the line of matrices and spaces has served its purpose, it israised from the casting position and moved to the right, as shown by thedotted lines and arrows in Fig. 2. The teeth in the upper ends of thematrices are engaged with a toothed bar _R_, known as the secondelevator. This elevator swings upward, as shown by dotted lines, carrying the matrices to the level of the upper end of the magazine, andleaving the spaces or justifiers behind to be transferred to theirmagazine _H_. 

The distributing mechanism consists essentially of a fixed bar _T_, lying in a horizontal position above the upper end of the magazine, andhaving along its lower edge, as shown in Fig. 2, horizontal teeth toengage the teeth in the upper end of the matrices and hold them insuspension. The teeth of the matrix for each letter differ in number orarrangement, or both, from the teeth of matrices bearing other letters, and the teeth on the lower edge of the distributor bar arecorrespondingly varied in arrangement at different points in the lengthof the bar. (See Fig. 2. )

The matrices are moved forward into engagement with the distributor barand also into engagement with the threads of horizontal screws _U_, which are extended parallel with the distributor bar and constantlyrotated so that they cause the matrices to travel one after anotheralong the distributor and over the mouths of the channels in themagazines. Each matrix is held in suspension until it arrives over itsproper channel, where for the first time its teeth bear such relation tothose of the bar that it is released and permitted to fall into themagazine. 

The speed of the machine, which is commonly from four to five thousandems per hour, but which has reached ten thousand and upward incompetitive trials, is due to the fact that the matrices pursue acirculatory course, leaving the magazine at the lower end, passingthence to the line and to the casting mechanism, and finally returningto the top of the magazine. This permits the composition of one line, the casting of another, and the distribution of a third to proceedsimultaneously. 

ASSEMBLING AND KEYBOARD MECHANISMS

The matrices pass through the magazine by gravity. Their release iseffected by mechanisms shown in Figs. 5 and 6, which are verticalsections through the magazine, the keyboard, and intermediateconnections. Under each channel of the magazine, there is an escapement_B_, consisting of a small lever rocking at its centre on a horizontalpivot, and carrying at its opposite ends two dogs or pawls _b, b_, whichare projected up alternately into the magazine by the motion of thelever. The key-rod _C_, suspended from the rear end of the escapement_B_, tends to hold the lower pawl _b_ in an elevated position, as shownin Fig. 5, so that it engages under the upper ear of the foremost matrixto prevent its escape. 

[Illustration: Fig. 5. ]

When the escapement _B_ is rocked, it withdraws the lower pawl _b_, asshown in Fig. 6, at the same time raising the upper pawl, so that itengages and momentarily arrests the next matrix. As soon as the firstmatrix has escaped, the escapement resumes its original position, theupper pawl falling, while the lower one rises so as to hold the secondmatrix, which assumes the position previously occupied by the onereleased. 

[Illustration: Fig. 6. ]

Thus it is that the alternate rising and falling of the two escapementpawls permits the matrices to escape one at a time. It is evident thatthe escapements could be operated directly by rods connected with thefinger-keys, but this direct connection is objectionable because of thelabor required on the part of the operator, and the danger that the keysmay not be fully depressed. Moreover, it is essential that theescapements should act individually with moderate speed to the end thatthe matrices may be properly engaged and disengaged by the pawls. Forthese reasons, and to secure easy and uniform action of the parts, themechanism shown in Figs. 5 and 6 is introduced between the finger-keysand escapements. The vertical rods _C_, which actuate the escapements, are guided in the main frame, and each is urged downward by a spring_c_. Each rod _C_ terminates directly over one end of a rising andfalling yoke-bar _c2_, turning on a pivot _c3_ at the oppositeend. Each of the yokes _c2_ is slotted vertically to admit aneccentric _c4_ turning on a pivot therein. A constantly rotatingrubber-covered roll _c5_ is extended across the entire keyboardbeneath the cams, which stand normally as shown in Fig. 5, out ofcontact with the roll. When the parts are in this position, the cam-yokeis sustained at its free end by the yoke-trigger _c8_, and across-bar in the cam engages a vertical pin _c7_ on the frame, whereby the cam is prevented from falling on to the roller, as it has atendency to do. Each of the yoke-triggers _c6_ is connected with avertical bar _c8_, which is in turn connected to the rear end of afinger-key lever _D_. The parts stand normally at rest in the positionshown in Fig. 5, the roll _c5_ turning freely under the cam withouteffect upon it. 

When the finger-key is depressed, it raises the bar _c8_, which inturn trips the yoke-trigger _c6_ from under the cam-yoke _c2_, permitting the latter to fall, thereby lowering the cam _c4_ intoperipheral engagement with the rubber roll, at the same time disengagingthe cam from the stop-pin _c7_. The roll, engaging frictionally withthe cam, causes the latter to turn on its centre in the directionindicated by the arrow in Fig. 6. 

Owing to the eccentric shape of the cam, its rotation while resting onthe roller causes it to lift the yoke _c2_ above its originalposition, so that it acts upon the escapement rod _C_, lifting it andcausing it to reverse the position of the escapement _B_, to release thematrix, as plainly seen in Fig. 6. 

While this is taking place, the yoke-trigger _c6_ resumes its firstposition, as shown in dotted lines in Fig. 6, so that as the rotatingcam lowers the yoke, it is again supported in its first position, thecam at the same time turning forward by momentum out of engagement withthe roll until arrested in its original position by the pin _c7_. 

It will be observed that the parts between each key lever and escapementoperate independently of the others, so that a number of cams may be inengagement with the rollers at one time, and a number of escapements atdifferent stages of their action at one time. 

The matrices falling from the magazine descend through the frontchannels and are received on the inclined belt _F_, on which they arecarried over and guided on the upper rounding surface of the assemblerentrance-block _f1_, by which they are guided downward in front ofthe star-wheel _f2_, which pushes them forward one after another. 

The spaces or justifiers _I_, released from their magazine _H_, asheretofore described, descend into the assembler _G_ in front of thestar-wheel in the same manner as the matrices. 

The line in course of composition is sustained at its front end by ayielding finger or resistant _g_, secured to a horizontal assemblerslide _g2_, the purpose of these parts being to hold the linetogether in compact form. 

[Illustration: Fig. 7. ]

As the matrices approach the line, their upper ends are carried over aspring _g3_, projecting through the assembler face-plate from therear, as shown in Fig. 7, its purpose being to hold the matrices forwardand prevent them from falling back in such a manner that succeedingmatrices and spaces or justifiers will pass improperly ahead of them. The descending matrices also pass beneath a long depending spring_g4_, which should be so adjusted as barely to permit the passage ofthe thickest matrix. 

[Illustration: Fig. 8. ]

[Illustration: Fig. 9. ]

After the composition of the line is completed in the assemblingelevator _G_, as shown in Fig. 8, the elevator is raised as shown inFig. 9, so as to present the line between the depending fingers of thetransfer-carriage _N_, which then moves to the left to the positionshown by dotted lines in Fig. 9, thereby bringing the line into thefirst elevator _O_, which then descends, carrying the line of matricesdownwards, as shown in Fig. 10, to its position in front of the mold andbetween the confining jaws _P_, _P_, mounted in the main frame, whichdetermine the length of the line. 

Figs. 11 and 12 show the casting mechanism in vertical section fromfront to rear. When the first elevator _O_ lowers the line, as justdescribed, the mold and the pot _M_ stand in their rearward positions, as shown in Fig. 11. 

[Illustration: Fig. 10. ]

[Illustration: Fig. 11. ]

The mold-carrying wheel is sustained by a horizontal slide, and as soonas the matrix line is lowered to the casting position, a cam at therear pushes the slide and mold wheel forward until the front face of themold is closed tightly against the rear face of the matrix line, asshown in Fig. 12. 

[Illustration: Fig. 12. ]

While this is taking place, the pot, having its supporting legs mountedon a horizontal shaft, swings forward until its mouth is closed tightlyagainst the back of the mold, as shown in Fig. 12. While the parts arein this position, the justifying bar _Q_ is driven up and pushes thespaces or justifiers upward through the line of matrices until the lineis expanded or elongated to fill completely the gap between jaws _P_, _P_. 

In order to secure exact alignment of the matrices vertically andhorizontally, the bar _Q_ acts repeatedly on the spaces, and the lineis slightly unlocked endwise and relocked. This is done that thematrices may be temporarily released to facilitate the accurateadjustment demanded. While the justified line is locked fast between thejaws, the elevator, and the mold, the plunger _m2_ in the potdescends and drives the molten metal before it through the spout ormouth of the pot into the mold, which is filled under pressure, so thata solid slug is produced against the matrices. The pot then retreats, and its mouth breaks away from the back of the slug in the mold, while, at the same time, the mold retreats to draw the type-characters on thecontained slug out of the matrices. The mold wheel now revolves, carrying the rear edge of the slug past a stationary trimming-knife, notshown, and around to the position in front of the ejector, as previouslydescribed and shown in Fig. 4, whereupon the ejector advances and drivesthe slug between two side trimming-knives into the galley at the front. 

DISTRIBUTION

After the casting action the first elevator _O_ rises and carries thematrix line above the original or composing level, as shown in Fig. 13. The line is then drawn horizontally to the right until the teeth of thematrices engage the toothed elevator bar _R_, which swings upward withthe matrices, thus separating the matrices from the spaces or justifiers_I_, which remain suspended in the frame, so that they may be pushed tothe right, as indicated by the arrow, into their magazine. 

[Illustration: Fig. 13. ]

[Illustration: Fig. 14. ]

When the line of matrices is raised to the distributor, it is necessarythat the matrices shall be separated and presented one at a time to thedistributor bar, between the threads of the horizontal carrier-screws. This is accomplished as shown in Figs. 14 and 15. A horizontal pusher orline-shifter _S_ carries the line of matrices forward from the elevatorbar _R_ into the so-called distributor box, containing at its oppositesides two rails _u_, having near their forward ends shoulders _u2_, against which the forward matrix abuts so as to prevent further advanceof the line, which is urged constantly forward by the follower orline-shifter _S_. A vertically reciprocating lifting finger _V_ has itsupper end shouldered to engage beneath the foremost matrix, so as topush it upward until its upper ears are lifted above the detainingshoulder _u2_, so that they may ride forward on the upwardly inclinedinner ends of the rails, as shown in Fig. 14. The matrices thus liftedare engaged by the screws and carried forward, and, as they moveforward, they are gradually raised by the rails until the teeth finallyengage themselves on the distributor bar _T_, from which they aresuspended as they are carried forward, over the mouth of the magazine, until they fall into their respective channels, as shown in Fig. 15. 

The distributor box also contains on opposite sides shorter rails, _u4_, adapted to engage the lower ends of the matrices, to hold themin position as they are lifted. The lifting finger _V_ is mounted on ahorizontal pivot in one end of an elbow lever mounted on pivot _v2_and actuated by a cam on the end of one of the carrier-screws, as shownin Figs. 2 and 15. 

TRIMMING-KNIVES

In practice there is occasionally found a slight irregularity in thethickness of slugs, and thin fins are sometimes cast around the forwardedges. For the purpose of reducing them to a uniform thickness, they aredriven on their way to the galley between two vertical knives, as shownin Figs. 4 and 16. The inner knife is stationary, but the outer knife isadjustable in order that it may accommodate slugs of differentthicknesses. This adjustment is made by the knife being seated at itsouter edge against a supporting bar or wedge, having at opposite endstwo inclined surfaces seated against supporting screws in theknife-block. A lever engages a pin on the wedge for the purpose ofmoving it endwise; when moving in one direction, it forces the knifeinward toward the stationary knife, and when moved in the otherdirection, it forces it to retreat under the influence of a springseated in the block. The wedge is provided with a series of teethengaged by a spring-actuated pin or dog, whereby the wedge and the knifeare stopped in proper positions to insure the exact space requiredbetween the two knives. 

[Illustration: Fig. 15. ]

The back knife, secured to the frame for trimming the base of the slugas it is carried past by the revolving wheel, should be kept moderatelysharp and adjusted so as to fit closely against the back of the passingmold. Particular attention should be paid to this feature. The edge ofthe knife must bear uniformly across the face of the mold. 

[Illustration: Fig. 16. ]

The front knives, between which the slug is ejected, should not be madetoo sharp. After being sharpened, the thin edge can be advantageouslyremoved by the use of a thin oilstone applied against the side face;that is, against the face past which the slug is carried. 

The stationary or left-hand knife should be so adjusted as to alignexactly with the inner side of the mold. Under proper conditions thisknife does not trim the side face of the slug, but acts only to removeany slight fins or projections at the front edge. 

The right-hand knife, adjustable by means of a wedge and lever, shouldstand exactly parallel with the stationary knife. It trims the side ofthe slug on which the ribs are formed, and it serves to bring the slugto the exact thickness required. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 2: From Theodore L. De Vinne's _Modern Methods of BookComposition_, pp. 403-425. The Century Company, New York, 1904. ]

THE EXPOSITION OF A PROCESS IN NATURE

THE PEA WEEVIL[3]

_Jean Henri Fabre_

Peas are held in high esteem by mankind. From remote ages man hasendeavored, by careful culture, to produce larger, tenderer, and sweetervarieties. Of an adaptable character, under careful treatment the planthas evolved in a docile fashion, and has ended by giving us what theambition of the gardener desired. To-day we have gone far beyond theyield of the Varrons and Columelles, and further still beyond theoriginal pea; from the wild seeds confided to the soil by the first manwho thought to scratch up the surface of the earth, perhaps with thehalf-jaw of a cave-bear, whose powerful canine tooth would serve him asa ploughshare!

Where is it, this original pea, in the world of spontaneous vegetation?Our own country has nothing resembling it. Is it to be found elsewhere?On this point botany is silent, or replies only with vagueprobabilities. 

We find the same ignorance elsewhere on the subject of the majority ofour alimentary vegetables. Whence comes wheat, the blessed grain whichgives us bread? No one knows. You will not find it here, except in thecare of man; nor will you find it abroad. In the East, the birthplaceof agriculture, no botanist has ever encountered the sacred ear growingof itself on unbroken soil. 

Barley, oats, and rye, the turnip and the beet, the beetroot, thecarrot, the pumpkin, and so many other vegetable products, leave us inthe same perplexity; their point of departure is unknown to us, or atmost suspected behind the impenetrable cloud of the centuries. Naturedelivered them to us in the full vigor of the thing untamed, when theirvalue as food was indifferent, as to-day she offers us the sloe, thebullace, the blackberry, the crab; she gave them to us in the state ofimperfect sketches, for us to fill out and complete; it was for ourskill and our labor patiently to induce the nourishing pulp which wasthe earliest form of capital, whose interest is always increasing in theprimordial bank of the tiller of the soil. 

As storehouses of food the cereal and the vegetable are, for the greaterpart, the work of man. The fundamental species, a poor resource in theiroriginal state, we borrowed as they were from the natural treasury ofthe vegetable world; the perfected race, rich in alimentary materials, is the result of our art. 

If wheat, peas, and all the rest are indispensable to us, our care, by ajust return, is absolutely necessary to them. Such as our needs havemade them, incapable of resistance in the bitter struggle for survival, these vegetables, left to themselves without culture, would rapidlydisappear, despite the numerical abundance of their seeds, as thefoolish sheep would disappear were there no more sheep-folds. 

They are our work, but not always our exclusive property. Wherever foodis amassed, the consumers collect from the four corners of the sky; theyinvite themselves to the feast of abundance, and the richer the food thegreater their numbers. Man, who alone is capable of inducing agrarianabundance, is by that very fact the giver of an immense banquet at whichlegions of feasters take their place. By creating more juicy and moregenerous fruits, he calls to his enclosures, despite himself, thousandsand thousands of hungry creatures, against whose appetites hisprohibitions are helpless. The more he produces, the larger is thetribute demanded of him. Wholesale agriculture and vegetable abundancefavor our rival, the insect. 

This is the immanent law. Nature, with an equal zeal, offers her mightybreast to all her nurslings alike; to those who live by the goods ofothers no less than to the producers. For us, who plough, sow, and reap, and weary ourselves with labor, she ripens the wheat; she ripens it alsofor the little Calender-beetle, which, although exempted from the laborof the fields, enters our granaries none the less, and there, with itspointed beak, nibbles our wheat, grain by grain, to the husk. 

For us, who dig, weed, and water, bent with fatigue and burned by thesun, she swells the pods of the pea; she swells them also for theweevil, which does no gardener's work, yet takes its share of theharvest at its own hour, when the earth is joyful with the new life ofspring. 

Let us follow the manoeuvres of this insect which takes its tithe of thegreen pea. I, a benevolent rate-payer, will allow it to take its dues;it is precisely to benefit it that I have sown a few rows of the belovedplant in a corner of my garden. Without other invitation on my part thanthis modest expenditure of seed-peas, it arrives punctually during themonth of May. It has learned that this stony soil, rebellious at theculture of the kitchen-gardener, is bearing peas for the first time. Inall haste therefore it has hurried, an agent of the entomologicalrevenue system, to demand its dues. 

Whence does it come? It is impossible to say precisely. It has come fromsome shelter, somewhere, in which it has passed the winter in a state oftorpor. The plane-tree, which sheds its rind during the heats of thesummer, furnishes an excellent refuge for homeless insects under itspartly detached sheets of bark. 

I have often found our weevil in such a winter refuge. Sheltered underthe dead covering of the plane, or otherwise protected while the winterlasts, it awakens from its torpor at the first touch of a kindly sun. The almanac of the instincts has aroused it; it knows as well as thegardener when the pea-vines are in flower, and seeks its favorite plant, journeying thither from every side, running with quick, short steps, ornimbly flying. 

A small head, a fine snout, a costume of ashen grey sprinkled withbrown, flattened wing-covers, a dumpy, compact body, with two largeblack dots on the rear segment--such is the summary portrait of myvisitor. The middle of May approaches, and with it the van of theinvasion. 

They settle on the flowers, which are not unlike white-wingedbutterflies. I see them at the base of the blossom or inside the cavityof the "keel" of the flower, but the majority explore the petals andtake possession of them. The time for laying the eggs has not yetarrived. The morning is mild; the sun is warm without being oppressive. It is the moment of nuptial flights; the time of rejoicing in thesplendor of the sunshine. Everywhere are creatures rejoicing to bealive. Couples come together, part, and re-form. When towards noon theheat becomes too great, the weevils retire into the shadow, takingrefuge singly in the folds of the flowers whose secret corners they knowso well. To-morrow will be another day of festival, and the next dayalso, until the pods, emerging from the shelter of the "keel" of theflower, are plainly visible, enlarging from day to day. 

A few gravid females, more pressed for time than the others, confidetheir eggs to the growing pod, flat and meager as it issues from itsfloral sheath. These hastily laid batches of eggs, expelled perhaps bythe exigencies of an ovary incapable of further delay, seem to me inserious danger; for the seed in which the grub must establish itself isas yet no more than a tender speck of green, without firmness andwithout any farinaceous tissue. No larva could possibly find sufficientnourishment there, unless it waited for the pea to mature. 

But is the grub capable of fasting for any length of time when oncehatched? It is doubtful. The little I have seen tells me that thenewborn grub must establish itself in the midst of its food as quicklyas possible, and that it perishes unless it can do so. I am therefore ofopinion that such eggs as are deposited in immature pods are lost. However, the race will hardly suffer by such a loss, so fertile is thelittle beetle. We shall see directly how prodigal the female is of hereggs, the majority of which are destined to perish. 

The important part of the maternal task is completed by the end of May, when the shells are swollen by the expanding peas, which have reachedtheir final growth, or are but little short of it. I was anxious to seethe female Bruchus at work in her quality of Curculionid, as ourclassification declares her. [4] The other weevils are Rhyncophora, beaked insects, armed with a drill with which to prepare the hole inwhich the egg is laid. The Bruchus possesses only a short snout ormuzzle, excellently adapted for eating soft tissues, but valueless as adrill. 

The method of installing the family is consequently absolutelydifferent. There are no industrious preparations as with the Balinidae, the Larinidae, and the Rhynchitides. Not being equipped with a longoviscapt, the mother sows her eggs in the open, with no protectionagainst the heat of the sun and the variations of temperature. Nothingcould be simpler, and nothing more perilous to the eggs, in the absenceof special characteristics which, would enable them to resist thealternate trials of heat and cold, moisture and drought. 

In the caressing sunlight of ten o'clock in the morning, the mother runsup and down the chosen pod, first on one side, then on the other, witha jerky, capricious, unmethodical gait. She repeatedly extrudes a shortoviduct, which oscillates right and left as though to graze the skin ofthe pod. An egg follows, which is abandoned as soon as laid. 

A hasty touch of the oviduct, first here, then there, on the green skinof the pea-pod, and that is all. The egg is left there, unprotected, inthe full sunlight. No choice of position is made such as might assistthe grub when it seeks to penetrate its larder. Some eggs are laid onthe swellings created by the peas beneath; others in the barren valleyswhich separate them. The first are close to the peas, the second at somedistance from them. In short, the eggs of the Bruchus are laid atrandom, as though on the wing. 

We observe a still more serious vice: the number of eggs is out of allproportion to the number of peas in the pod. Let us note at the outsetthat each grub requires one pea; it is the necessary ration, and islargely sufficient for one larva, but is not enough for several, noreven for two. One pea to each grub, neither more nor less, is theunchangeable rule. 

We should expect to find signs of a procreative economy which wouldimpel the female to take into account the number of peas contained inthe pod which she has just explored; we might expect her to set anumerical limit on her eggs in conformity with that of the peasavailable. But no such limit is observed. The rule of one pea to onegrub is always contradicted by the multiplicity of consumers. 

My observations are unanimous on this point. The number of eggsdeposited on one pod always exceeds the number of peas available, andoften to a scandalous degree. However meager the contents of the pod, there is a superabundance of consumers. Dividing the sum of the eggsupon such or such a pod by that of the peas contained therein, I findthere are five to eight claimants for each pea; I have found ten, andthere is no reason why this prodigality should not go still further. Many are called, but few are chosen! What is to become of all thesesupernumeraries, perforce excluded from the banquet for want of space?

The eggs are of a fairly bright amber yellow, cylindrical in form, smooth, and rounded at the ends. Their length is at most a twenty-fifthof an inch. Each is affixed to the pod by means of a slight network ofthreads of coagulated albumen. Neither wind nor rain can loosen theirhold. 

The mother not infrequently emits them two at a time, one above theother; not infrequently, also, the uppermost of the two eggs hatchesbefore the other, while the latter fades and perishes. What was lackingto this egg, that it should fail to produce a grub? Perhaps a bath ofsunlight; the incubating heat of which the outer egg has robbed it. Whether on account of the fact that it is shadowed by the other egg, orfor other reasons, the elder of the eggs in a group of two rarelyfollows the normal course, but perishes on the pod, dead without havinglived. 

There are exceptions to this premature end; sometimes the two eggsdevelop equally well; but such cases are exceptional, so that theBruchid family would be reduced to about half its dimensions if thebinary system were the rule. To the detriment of our peas and to theadvantage of the beetle, the eggs are commonly laid one by one and inisolation. 

A recent emergence is shown by a little sinuous ribbon-like mark, paleor whitish, where the skin of the pod is raised and withered, whichstarts from the egg and is the work of the newborn larva; asub-epidermic tunnel along which the grub works its way, while seeking apoint from which it can escape into a pea. This point once attained, thelarva, which is scarcely a twenty-fifth of an inch in length, and iswhite with a black head, perforates the envelope and plunges into thecapacious hollow of the pod. 

It has reached the peas and crawls upon the nearest. I have observed itwith the magnifier. Having explored the green globe, its new world, itbegins to sink a well perpendicularly into the sphere. I have often seenit halfway in, wriggling its tail in the effort to work the quicker. Ina short time the grub disappears and is at home. The point of entry, minute, but always easily recognizable by its brown coloration on thepale green background of the pea, has no fixed location; it may be atalmost any point on the surface of the pea, but an exception is usuallymade of the lower half; that is, the hemisphere whose pole is formed bythe supporting stem. 

It is precisely in this portion that the germ is found, which will notbe eaten by the larva, and will remain capable of developing into aplant, in spite of the large aperture made by the emergence of the adultinsect. Why is this particular portion left untouched? What are themotives that safeguard the germ?

It goes without saying that the Bruchus is not considering thegardener. The pea is meant for it and for no one else. In refusing thefew bites that would lead to the death of the seed, it has no intentionof limiting its destruction. It abstains from other motives. 

Let us remark that the peas touch laterally, and are pressed one againstthe other, so that the grub, when searching for a point of attack, cannot circulate at will. Let us also note that the lower pole expandsinto the umbilical excrescence, which is less easy of perforation thanthose parts protected by the skin alone. It is even possible that theumbilicum, whose organization differs from that of the rest of the pea, contains a peculiar sap that is distasteful to the little grub. 

Such, doubtless, is the reason why the peas exploited by the Bruchus arestill able to germinate. They are damaged, but not dead, because theinvasion was conducted from the free hemisphere, a portion lessvulnerable and more easy of access. Moreover, as the pea in its entiretyis too large for a single grub to consume, the consumption is limited tothe portion preferred by the consumer, and this portion is not theessential portion of the pea. 

With other conditions, with very much smaller or very much larger seeds, we shall observe very different results. If too small, the germ willperish, gnawed like the rest by the insufficiently provisioned inmate;if too large, the abundance of food will permit of several inmates. Exploited in the absence of the pea, the cultivated vetch and the broadbean afford us an excellent example; the smaller seed, of which all butthe skin is devoured, is left incapable of germination; but the largebean, even though it may have held a number of grubs, is still capableof sprouting. 

Knowing that the pod always exhibits a number of eggs greatly in excessof the enclosed peas, and that each pea is the exclusive property of onegrub, we naturally ask what becomes of the superfluous grubs. Do theyperish outside when the more precocious have one by one taken theirplaces in their vegetable larder? or do they succumb to the intolerantteeth of the first occupants? Neither explanation is correct. Let usrelate the facts. 

On all old peas--they are at this stage dry--from which the adultBruchus has emerged, leaving a large round hole of exit, themagnifying-glass will show a variable number of fine reddishpunctuations, perforated in the centre. What are these spots, of which Icount five, six, and even more on a single pea? It is impossible to bemistaken: they are the points of entry of as many grubs. Several grubshave entered the pea, but of the whole group only one has survived, fattened, and attained the adult age. And the others? We shall see. 

At the end of May, and in June, the period of egg-laying, let us inspectthe still green and tender peas. Nearly all the peas invaded show us themultiple perforations already observed on the dry peas abandoned by theweevils. Does this actually mean that there are several grubs in thepea? Yes. Skin the peas in question, separate the cotyledons, and breakthem up as may be necessary. We shall discover several grubs, extremelyyouthful, curled up comma-wise, fat and lively, each in a little roundniche in the body of the pea. 

Peace and welfare seem to reign in the little community. There is noquarrelling, no jealousy between neighbors. The feast has commenced;food is abundant, and the feasters are separated one from another by thewalls of uneaten substance. With this isolation in separate cells noconflicts need be feared; no sudden bite of the mandibles, whetherintentional or accidental. All the occupants enjoy the same rights ofproperty, the same appetite, and the same strength. How does thiscommunal feast terminate?

Having first opened them, I place a number of peas which are found to bewell peopled in a glass test-tube. I open others daily. In this way Ikeep myself informed as to the progress of the various larvae. At firstnothing noteworthy is to be seen. Isolated in its narrow chamber, eachgrub nibbles the substance around it, peacefully and parsimoniously. Itis still very small; a mere speck of food is a feast; but the contentsof one pea will not suffice the whole number to the end. Famine isahead, and all but one must perish. 

Soon, indeed, the aspect of things is entirely changed. One of thegrubs--that which occupies the central position in the pea--begins togrow more quickly than the others. Scarcely has it surpassed the othersin size when the latter cease to eat, and no longer attempt to burrowforwards. They lie motionless and resigned; they die that gentle deathwhich comes to unconscious lives. Henceforth the entire pea belongs tothe sole survivor. Now what has happened that these lives around theprivileged one should be thus annihilated? In default of a satisfactoryreply, I will propose a suggestion. 

In the centre of the pea, less ripened than the rest of the seed by thechemistry of the sun, may there not be a softer pulp, of a qualitybetter adapted to the infantile digestion of the grub? There, perhaps, being nourished by tenderer, sweeter, and perhaps, more tasty tissues, the stomach becomes more vigorous, until it is fit to undertake lesseasily digested food. A nursling is fed on milk before proceeding tobread and broth. May not the central portion of the pea be thefeeding-bottle of the Bruchid?

With equal rights, fired by an equal ambition, all the occupants of thepea bore their way towards the delicious morsel. The journey islaborious, and the grubs must rest frequently in their provisionalniches. They rest; while resting they frugally gnaw the riper tissuessurrounding them; they gnaw rather to open a way than to fill theirstomachs. 

Finally one of the excavators, favored by the direction taken, attainsthe central portion. It establishes itself there, and all is over; theothers have only to die. How are they warned that the place is taken? Dothey hear their brother gnawing at the walls of his lodging? can theyfeel the vibration set up by his nibbling mandibles? Something of thekind must happen, for from that moment they make no attempt to burrowfurther. Without struggling against the fortunate winner, withoutseeking to dislodge him, those which are beaten in the race givethemselves up to death. I admire this candid resignation on the part ofthe departed. 

Another condition--that of space--is also present as a factor. The peaweevil is the largest of our Bruchidae. When it attains the adultstage, it requires a certain amplitude of lodging, which the otherweevils do not require in the same degree. A pea provides it with asufficiently spacious cell; nevertheless, the cohabitation of two in onepea would be impossible; there would be no room, even were the two toput up with a certain discomfort. Hence the necessity of an inevitabledecimation, which will suppress all the competitors save one. 

Now the superior volume of the broad bean, which is almost as muchbeloved by the weevil as the pea, can lodge a considerable community, and the solitary can live as a cenobite. Without encroaching on thedomain of their neighbors, five or six or more can find room in the onebean. 

Moreover, each grub can find its infant diet; that is, that layer which, remote from the surface, hardens only gradually and remains full of sapuntil a comparatively late period. This inner layer represents the crumbof a loaf, the rest of the bean being the crust. 

In a pea, a sphere of much less capacity, it occupies the centralportion; a limited point at which the grub develops, and lacking whichit perishes; but in the bean it lines the wide adjoining faces of thetwo flattened cotyledons. No matter where the point of attack is made, the grub has only to bore straight down when it quickly reaches thesofter tissues. What is the result? I have counted the eggs adhering toa bean-pod and the beans included in the pod, and comparing the twofigures I find that there is plenty of room for the whole family at therate of five or six dwellers in each bean. No superfluous larvae perishof hunger when barely issued from the egg; all have their share of theample provision; all live and prosper. The abundance of food balancesthe prodigal fertility of the mother. 

If the Bruchus were always to adopt the broad bean for the establishmentof her family, I could well understand the exuberant allowance of eggsto one pod; a rich foodstuff easily obtained evokes a large batch ofeggs. But the case of the pea perplexes me. By what aberration does themother abandon her children to starvation on this totally insufficientvegetable? Why so many grubs to each pea when one pea is sufficient onlyfor one grub?

Matters are not so arranged in the general balance-sheet of life. Acertain foresight seems to rule over the ovary so that the number ofmouths is in proportion to the abundance or scarcity of the foodconsumed. The Scarabaeus, the Sphex, the Necrophorus, and other insectswhich prepare and preserve alimentary provision for their families, areall of a narrowly limited fertility, because the balls of dung, the deador paralyzed insects, or the buried corpses of animals on which theiroffspring are nourished are provided only at the cost of laboriousefforts. 

The ordinary bluebottle, on the contrary, which lays her eggs uponbutcher's meat or carrion, lays them in enormous batches. Trusting inthe inexhaustible riches represented by the corpse, she is prodigal ofoffspring, and takes no account of numbers. In other cases the provisionis acquired by audacious brigandage, which exposes the newly bornoffspring to a thousand mortal accidents. In such cases the motherbalances the chances of destruction by an exaggerated flux of eggs. Such is the case with the Meloides, which, stealing the goods of othersunder conditions of the greatest peril, are accordingly endowed with aprodigious fertility. 

The Bruchus knows neither the fatigues of the laborious, obliged tolimit the size of her family, nor the misfortunes of the parasite, obliged to produce an exaggerated number of offspring. Without painfulsearch, entirely at her ease, merely moving in the sunshine over herfavorite plant, she can insure a sufficient provision for each of heroffspring; she can do so, yet is foolish enough to over-populate the podof the pea; a nursery insufficiently provided, in which the greatmajority will perish of starvation. This ineptitude is a thing I cannotunderstand; it clashes too completely with the habitual foresight of thematernal instinct. 

I am inclined to believe that the pea is not the original food plant ofthe Bruchus. The original plant must rather have been the bean, one seedof which is capable of supporting a dozen or more larvae. With thelarger cotyledon the crying disproportion between the number of eggs andthe available provision disappears. 

Moreover, it is indubitable that the bean is of earlier date than thepea. Its exceptional size and its agreeable flavor would certainly haveattracted the attention of man from the remotest periods. The bean is aready-made mouthful, and would be of the greatest value to the hungrytribe. Primitive man would at an early date have sown it beside hiswattled hut. Coming from Central Asia by long stages, their wagons drawnby shaggy oxen and rolling on the circular discs cut from the trunks oftrees, the early immigrants would have brought to our virgin land, firstthe bean, then the pea, and finally the cereal, that best of safeguardsagainst famine. They taught us the care of herds, and the use of bronze, the material of the first metal implement. Thus the dawn of civilizationarose over France. With the bean did those ancient teachers alsoinvoluntarily bring us the insect which to-day disputes it with us? Itis doubtful; the Bruchidae seem to be indigenous. At all events, I findthem levying tribute from various indigenous plants, wild vegetableswhich have never tempted the appetite of man. They abound in particularupon the great forest vetch (_Lathyrus latifolius_), with itsmagnificent heads of flowers and long handsome pods. The seeds are notlarge, being indeed smaller than the garden pea; but, eaten to the veryskin, as they invariably are, each is sufficient to the needs of itsgrub. 

We must not fail to note their number. I have counted more than twentyin a single pod, a number unknown in the case of the pea, even in themost prolific varieties. Consequently this superb vetch is in generalable to nourish without much loss the family confided to its pod. 

Where the forest vetch is lacking, the Bruchus, none the less, bestowsits habitual prodigality of eggs upon another vegetable of similarflavor, but incapable of nourishing all the grubs: for example, thetravelling vetch (_Vicia peregrina_) or the cultivated vetch (_Viciasaliva_). The number of eggs remains high even upon insufficient pods, because the original food-plant offered a copious provision, both in themultiplicity and the size of the seeds. If the Bruchus is really astranger, let us regard the bean as the original food-plant; ifindigenous, the large vetch. 

Sometime in the remote past we received the pea, growing it at first inthe prehistoric vegetable garden which already supplied the bean. It wasfound a better article of diet than the broad bean, which to-day, aftersuch good service, is comparatively neglected. The weevil was of thesame opinion as man, and without entirely forgetting the bean and thevetch it established the greater part of its tribe upon the pea, whichfrom century to century was more widely cultivated. To-day we have toshare our peas; the Bruchidae take what they need, and bestow theirleavings on us. 

This prosperity of the insect which is the offspring of the abundanceand equality of our garden products is from another point of viewequivalent to decadence. For the weevil, as for ourselves, progress inmatters of food and drink is not always beneficial. The race wouldprofit better if it remained frugal. On the bean and the vetch theBruchus founded colonies in which the infant mortality was low. Therewas room for all. On the pea-vine, delicious though its fruits may be, the greater part of its offspring die of starvation. The rations arefew, and the hungry mouths are multitudinous. 

We will linger over this problem no longer. Let us observe the grubwhich has now become the sole tenant of the pea by the death of itsbrothers. It has had no part in their death; chance has favored it, thatis all. In the centre of the pea, a wealthy solitude, it performs theduty of a grub, the sole duty of eating. It nibbles the walls enclosingit, enlarging its lodgment, which is always entirely filled by itscorpulent body. It is well shaped, fat, and shining with health. If Idisturb it, it turns gently in its niche and sways its head. This is itsmanner of complaining of my importunities. Let us leave it in peace. 

It profits so greatly and so swiftly by its position that by the timethe dog-days have come it is already preparing for its approachingliberation. The adult is not sufficiently well equipped to open foritself a way out through the pea, which is now completely hardened. Thelarva knows of this future helplessness, and with consummate artprovides for its release. With its powerful mandibles it bores a channelof exit, exactly round, with extremely clean-cut sides. The most skilfulivory-carver could do no better. 

To prepare the door of exit in advance is not enough; the grub must alsoprovide for the tranquillity essential to the delicate processes ofnymphosis. An intruder might enter by the open door and injure thehelpless nymph. This passage must therefore remain closed. But how?

As the grub bores the passage of exit, it consumes the farinaceousmatter without leaving a crumb. Having come to the skin of the pea, itstops short. This membrane, semi-translucid, is the door to the chamberof metamorphosis, its protection against the evil intentions of externalcreatures. 

It is also the only obstacle which the adult will encounter at themoment of exit. To lessen the difficulty of opening it, the grub takesthe precaution of gnawing at the inner side of the skin, all round thecircumference, so as to make a line of least resistance. The perfectinsect will only have to heave with its shoulder and strike a few blowswith its head in order to raise the circular door and knock it off likethe lid of a box. The passage of exit shows through the diaphanous skinof the pea as a large circular spot, which is darkened by the obscurityof the interior. What passes behind it is invisible, hidden as, it isbehind a sort of ground-glass window. 

A pretty invention, this little closed porthole, this barricade againstthe invader, this trap-door raised by a push when the time has come forthe hermit to enter the world. Shall we credit it to the Bruchus? Didthe ingenious insect conceive the undertaking? Did it think out a planand work out a scheme of its own devising? This would be no smalltriumph for the brain of a weevil. Before coming to a conclusion, let ustry an experiment. 

I deprive certain occupied peas of their skin, and I dry them withabnormal rapidity, placing them in glass test-tubes. The grubs prosperas well as in the intact peas. At the proper time the preparations foremergence are made. 

If the grub acts on its own inspiration, if it ceases to prolong itsboring directly it recognizes that the outer coating, auscultated fromtime to time, is sufficiently thin, what will it do under the conditionsof the present test? Feeling itself at the requisite distance from thesurface, it will stop boring; it will respect the outer layer of thebare pea, and will thus obtain the indispensable protecting screen. 

Nothing of the kind occurs. In every case the passage is completelyexcavated; the entrance gapes wide open, as large and as carefullyexecuted as though the skin of the pea were in its place. Reasons ofsecurity have failed to modify the usual method of work. This openlodging has no defence against the enemy; but the grub exhibits noanxiety on this score. 

Neither is it thinking of the outer enemy when it bores down to the skinwhen the pea is intact, and then stops short. It suddenly stops becausethe innutritious skin is not to its taste. We ourselves remove theparchment-like skins from a mess of pease-pudding, as from a culinarypoint of view they are so much waste matter. The larva of the Bruchus, like ourselves, dislikes the skin of the pea. It stops short at thehorny covering, simply because it is checked by an uneatable substance. From this aversion a little miracle arises; but the insect has no senseof logic; it is passively obedient to the superior logic of facts. Itobeys its instinct, as unconscious of its act as is a crystal when itassembles, in exquisite order, its battalions of atoms. 

Sooner or later during the month of August we see a shadowy circle formon each inhabited pea; but only one on each seed. These circles ofshadow mark the doors of exit. Most of them open in September. The lid, as though cut out with a punch, detaches itself cleanly and falls to theground, leaving the orifice free. The Bruchus emerges, freshly clad, inits final form. 

The weather is delightful. Flowers are abundant, awakened by the summershowers; and the weevils visit them in the lovely autumn weather. Then, when the cold sets in, they take up their winter quarters in anysuitable retreat. Others, still numerous, are less hasty in quittingthe native seed. They remain within during the whole winter, shelteredbehind the trap-door, which they take care not to touch. The door of thecell will not open on its hinges, or, to be exact, will not yield alongthe line of least resistance, until the warm days return. Then the latearrivals will leave their shelter and rejoin the more impatient, andboth will be ready for work when the pea-vines are in flower. 

To take a general view of the instincts in their inexhaustible varietyis, for the observer, the great attraction of the entomological world, for nowhere do we gain a clearer sight of the wonderful way in which theprocesses of life are ordered. Thus regarded, entomology is not, I know, to the taste of everybody; the simple creature absorbed in the doingsand habits of insects is held in low esteem. To the terribleutilitarian, a bushel of peas preserved from the weevil is of moreimportance than a volume of observations which bring no immediateprofit. 

Yet who has told you, O man of little faith, that what is useless to-daywill not be useful to-morrow? If we learn the customs of insects oranimals, we shall understand better how to protect our goods. Do notdespise disinterested knowledge, or you may rue the day. It is by theaccumulation of ideas, whether immediately applicable or otherwise, thathumanity has done, and will continue to do, better to-day thanyesterday, and better to-morrow than to-day. If we live on peas andbeans, which we dispute with the weevil, we also live by knowledge, thatmighty kneading-trough in which the bread of progress is mixed andleavened. Knowledge is well worth a few beans. 

Among other things, knowledge tells us: "The seedsman need not go to theexpense of waging war upon the weevil. When the peas arrive in thegranary, the harm is already done; it is irreparable, but nottransmissible. The untouched peas have nothing to fear from theneighborhood of those which have been attacked, however long the mixtureis left. From the latter the weevils will issue when their time hascome; they will fly away from the storehouse if escape is possible; ifnot, they will perish without in any way attacking the sound peas. Noeggs, no new generation will ever be seen upon or within the dried peasin the storehouse; there the adult weevil can work no further mischief. "

The Bruchus is not a sedentary inhabitant of granaries: it requires theopen air, the sun, the liberty of the fields. Frugal in everything, itabsolutely disdains the hard tissues of the vegetable; its tiny mouth iscontent with a few honeyed mouthfuls, enjoyed upon the flowers. Thelarvae, on the other hand, require the tender tissues of the green peagrowing in the pod. For these reasons the granary knows no finalmultiplication on the part of the despoiler. 

The origin of the evil is in the kitchen-garden. It is there that weought to keep a watch on the misdeeds of the Bruchus, were it not forthe fact that we are nearly always weaponless when it comes to fightingan insect. Indestructible by reason of its numbers, its small size, andits cunning, the little creature laughs at the anger of man. Thegardener curses it, but the weevil is not disturbed; it imperturbablycontinues its trade of levying tribute. Happily we have assistants morepatient and more clear-sighted than ourselves. 

During the first week of August, when the mature Bruchus begins toemerge, I notice a little Chalcidian, the protector of our peas. In myrearing-cages it issues under my eyes in abundance from the peasinfested by the grub of the weevil. The female has a reddish head andthorax; the abdomen is black, with a long augur-like oviscapt. The male, a little smaller, is black. Both sexes have reddish claws andthread-like antennae. 

In order to escape from the pea, the slayer of the weevil makes anopening in the centre of the circular trap-door which the grub of theweevil prepared in view of its future deliverance. The slain hasprepared the way for the slayer. After this detail the rest may bedivined. 

When the preliminaries to the metamorphosis are completed, when thepassage of escape is bored and furnished with its lid of superficialmembrane, the female Chalcidian arrives in a busy mood. She inspects thepeas, still on the vine, and enclosed in their pods; she auscultatesthem with her antennae; she discovers, hidden under the generalenvelope, the weak points in the epidermic covering of the peas. Then, applying her oviscapt, she thrusts it through the side of the pod andperforates the circular trap-door. However far withdrawn into the centreof the pea, the Bruchus, whether larvae or nymph, is reached by the longoviduct. It receives an egg in its tender flesh, and the thing is done. Without possibility of defence, since it is by now a somnolent grub or ahelpless pupa, the embryo weevil is eaten until nothing but skinremains. What a pity that we cannot at will assist the multiplication ofthis eager exterminator! Alas! our assistants have got us in a viciouscircle, for if we wished to obtain the help of any great number ofChalcidians we should be obliged in the first place to breed amultiplicity of Bruchidae. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 3: From _Social Life in the Insect World_, translated byBernard Miall, Chapter XVIII. The Century Company, New York, 1913. ]

[Footnote 4: This classification is now superseded; the Pea and BeeWeevils--_Bruchus pisi_ and _Bruchus lenti_--are classed as Bruchidae, in the series of Phytophaga. Most of the other weevils are classed asCurculionidae, series Rhyncophora. --(Trans. )]

THE EXPOSITION OF A MANUFACTURING PROCESS

MODERN PAPER-MAKING[5]

_J. W. Butler Paper Company_

Though the steady march of progress and invention has given to themodern paper-maker marvelous machines by which the output is increased athousandfold over that of the old, slow methods, he still has many ofthe same difficulties to overcome that confronted his predecessor. Whilethe use of wood pulp has greatly changed the conditions as regards thecheaper grades of this staple, the ragman is to-day almost as importantto the manufacturer of the higher grades as he was one hundred years agowhen the saving of rags was inculcated as a domestic virtue and apatriotic duty. Methods have changed, but the material remains the same. In a complete modern mill making writing and other high-grade papers, the process begins with unsightly rags as the material from which toform the white sheets that are to receive upon their spotless polishedsurface the thoughts of philosophers and statesmen, the tender messagesof affection, the counsels and admonitions of ministers, the decisionsof grave and learned judges, and all the

 Wisdom of things, mysterious, divine, that Illustriously doth on paper shine, as was duly set forth in rhyme by the _Boston News Letter_ in 1769. "The bell cart will go through Boston about the end of next month, " itannounced, and appealed to the inhabitants of that modern seat oflearning and philosophy to save their rags for the occasion, and thusencourage the industry. 

The rags do not come to the mammoth factories of to-day in bell carts, but by the carload in huge bales gathered from all sections of thisgreat Republic, as well as from lands beyond the eastern and westernoceans. The square, compact, steam-compressed bundles are carried byelevators well up toward the top of the building, where they await theknife of the "opener. " When they have been opened, the "feeder" throwsthe contents by armfuls into the "thrasher. " The novice or layman, ignorant of the state in which rags come to the mill, will find theircondition a most unpleasant surprise, especially disagreeable to hisolfactory nerves. Yet the unsavory revelation comes with more force alittle farther on, in the "assorting-room. " The "thrasher" is a greatcylindrical receptacle, revolving rapidly, which is supplied with longwooden beaters or arms passing through a wooden cylinder and driven bypower. When the rags have been tossed in, there ensues a great poundingand thrashing, and the dust is carried off in suction air-tubes, whilethe whipped rags are discharged and carried to the "sorting" and"shredding" room. Here the rags are assorted as to size, condition, andthe presence of buttons, hooks and eyes, or other material that must beremoved. Then those that need further attention are passed on to the"shredders, " these as well as the "sorters" being women. The"shredders" stand along a narrow counter; in front of each one there isfastened a long scythe-blade with its back toward the operator and itspoint extending upward, the shank being firmly fixed to the table oroperating board. Here buttons, hard seams, and all similar intruders aredisposed of, and the larger pieces of rags are cut into numerous smallones on the scythe-blades. The rags thus prepared are tossed by thewomen into receptacles in the tables. The work in this room is the mostdisagreeable and unwholesome in the entire process of manufacture, andthis despite the fact that these rags, too, have been thrashed, andfreed from an amount of dust and dirt beyond belief. 

While one is watching the operations carried on here, it is impossibleto repress the wish that rags might be bought otherwise than by thepound, for, unfortunately, filth, dust, and dirt weigh, and to wash ragsonly reduces the weight. While this is a true reflection of thecondition in the average mill, it is pleasant to know, however, thereare others of the higher class that are decided exceptions as far asdust and dirt are concerned. Such are the mills making high-grade ledgerand bond papers, as well as the mill manufacturing the paper that isused for the printing of our "greenbacks, " to which further referencewill be made later. In these exceptional mills everything is neat andperfectly clean, all the stock used being new and fresh from the cottonor linen mills, or from factories producing cloth goods, like shirt andcorset factories, and others of the same sort. The sorting and shreddingroom is always large and light, with windows on all sides, and wellventilated, offering a decided contrast in many respects to the lesscleanly mills first referred to where the women must wear bonnets orhoods for the protection of the hair. In either case the process iscertainly an improvement over the old plan of leaving the rags to decayin a cellar to expedite the removal of the glutinous matter from them. 

From the "sorting" and "shredding" room the rags are conveyed to the"cutter, " where they are cut and chopped by revolving knives, leavingthem in small pieces and much freer from dust and grit. Variousingenious devices are employed for removing metal and other hard andinjurious matter, magnetic brushes serving this purpose in some mills. When the "cutter" has finished its work, the still very dirty rags gofor a further cleansing to the "devil, " or "whipper, " a hollow cone withspikes projecting within, against which work the spikes of a drum, dashing the rags about at great speed. Human lives are often freed oftheir baser elements and restored to purity and beauty through thechastening influences of tribulation or adversity; in like manner the"whipper" carries the rags forward a step in the process of purificationthat is necessary before they can be brought to their highestusefulness. But the cleansing process, which is only a preparation forwhat is to follow, does not end with the "whipper, " which has servedmerely to loosen, not to dislodge, a great deal of dust and dirt. Thefinal operation in the preliminary cleaning is performed by the "duster"proper, which is a conical revolving sieve. As the mass of rags istossed and shaken about, the loosened dust is carried away by thesuction of the air, which draws the dust particles into tubes furnishedwith suction fans. In most modern mills the rags are carried forwardfrom the "duster" on an endless belt, and a careful watch is kept uponthem as they emerge to detect the presence of unchopped pieces, buttons, or other foreign substances. The journey of the rags over this endlessbelt or conveyor terminates in a receiving-room, in the floor of whichthere are several openings, and immediately below these the mouths ofthe "digesters, " which are in a room beneath. The "digesters, " as theyare suggestively and appropriately termed, are huge revolving boilers, usually upright, which often have as great a diameter as eight feet, with a height of twenty-two feet and a digestive capacity of upward offive tons of rags each. The rags that are to be "cooked" are fed in tothe "digesters" through the openings in the floor, and the great movablemanhole plates are then put in place and closed, hermetically sealingthe openings or mouths through which the boilers have been fed, thesehaving first been charged with a mixed solution of lime and soda andwith live hot steam in lieu of gastric juice as a digesting fluid andforce. In some mills the boilers are placed in a horizontal position, while in others they are in the form of a large ball or globe, in eithercase being operated in the manner described; those of upright form, however, are most commonly in use. The rags are boiled under steampressure of about forty pounds to the square inch, and the cooking iscontinued from twelve to fourteen hours. 

It is here that the process of cleaning begins in earnest; and as themass of rags is tumbled about in its scalding bath of steam-heatedlime-water, or "milk of lime, " the coloring and glutinous matters, aswell as all other impurities, are loosened from the fibers, which are inthe end so cleansed and purified as to come forth unstained and ofvirgin purity. Having been sufficiently boiled and digested, the mushymaterial, still looking dark and forbidding, is emptied onto the floorbelow or into receptacles placed directly beneath the boilers, where thecolor and dirt are allowed to drain off. The mass is then conveyed tothe "washers, " great tub-like receptacles, which are known as"Hollanders, " from the fact that these rag engines were invented inHolland about the year 1750 A. D. They are oval-shaped tubs, about twentyfeet long, nine feet wide, and three feet high, varying somewhataccording to the conditions. Each tub is divided for two-thirds of itslength by an upright partition, or "mid-feather, " as it is called, whichmakes a narrow course around the vat. On one side of the partition, thetub is raised in a half-circle, close to which revolves an iron rollabout three or four feet in diameter, and covered with knives; in thebottom of the tub, and directly under the revolving roll, is another setof knives called a "bed-plate, " which is stationary, and against whichthe roll can be lowered. But let us not anticipate. When the emptyingsfrom the boiler have been thrown into the "washer, " a continuous streamof water is turned in at one end, the knife-roll having been adjusted soas to open up the rags as they are set in motion. These then begin alively chase around the edge of the vat, through the race-course formedby the "mid-feather, " and under the rag-opening knives, where the wateris given a chance to wash out all impurities, then on up the inclineover the "back-fall, " so-called from the elevation in the tub. Acylinder of wire-cloth, partly immersed in the moving mass, holds backthe now rapidly whitening fibers, while the dirty water escapes intobuckets inside the wire-cloth drum, and is discharged into and throughan escape-spout. The heavy particles of dirt settle into what is termeda "sand-trap" at the bottom of the tub. 

As the water clears, the roll is lowered closer and closer to the bottomof the bed-plate, in order to open up the fibers more thoroughly for thefree circulation of the water among them. When the several agencies ofthe "washer" have accomplished their purpose and the water runs clearand unsullied, a bleaching material is put into the mass, which in thecourse of from two to six hours becomes as white as milk. The dirtyoffscourings of all ragdom, first seen in the original bales, andgathered from the four corners of the globe, have endured manybuffetings, many bruisings and tribulations, and having been washed comeforth pure, sweet, and clean. From the washers the rags are precipitatedthrough a trap into drainers, which are chambers made of stone andbrick, with a false bottom through which the water is allowed to drain. This rag pulp, now called half stock, is kept in this receptacle untilthe water and liquor are thoroughly drained off, when it becomes a whiteand compact mass of fibers. 

The rags should stand in the drainers for at least one week, thoughbetter results are obtained if they are left for a period two or threetimes as long, as the fibers become more subdued. The process ofpaper-making as it has already been described, applies moreparticularly to papers made from rags. To-day, a very large proportionof the cheaper papers are made from wood, either entirely or in part, and these wood-made papers are subjected to a different treatment, towhich further reference will be made. 

From the drainer the mass is carted to the beating engine, or "beater, "which is very similar in construction to the washer just described. Theknives on the roll in the beater are grouped three together instead oftwo, and are placed nearer the bottom or bed-plate in order to separatemore thoroughly the fibers. In the beater are performed many and varyingmanipulations, designed not only to secure a more perfect product butalso to produce different varieties of paper. It is the theory of thebeating process that the fibers are not cut, but are drawn out to theirutmost extent. In watching the operations of the "beater, " one noticeson the surface of the slowly revolving mass of fibers, floating bluing, such as the thrifty housewife uses to whiten fine fabrics. This familiaragency of the laundry is introduced into the solution of fibers with thesame end in view that is sought in the washtub--to give the clear whitecolor that is so desirable. Many of the inventions and discoveries bywhich the world has profited largely have been due primarily to somefortunate accident, and according to a pretty story upon whichpaper-makers have set the seal of their belief for more than one hundredand fifty years, the use of bluing was brought about in the same way. About the year 1746, so runs the story, a Mrs. Buttonshaw, the wife ofan English paper-maker, accidentally dropped into a tub of pulp the bagof bluing, or its contents, which she was about to use in a washing offine linen. Frightened at what she had done and considering it the partof wisdom to keep silence, she discreetly held her peace and awaitedresults. But when her husband had expressed great wonder and admirationover the paper made from that particular pulp, and had sold it in Londonat an advance of several shillings over the price of his other paper, which had not met with any such accident, she realized that the time forsilence had passed. Her account of the happy accident led her gratefulhusband to purchase a costly scarlet cloak for her on his next visit toLondon town. This accident brought about another result which was toprove of inestimable value to the future paper-maker--the use of bluingin paper when especial whiteness is desired. 

Important as the bluing or coloring is, however, it is only one of thenumerous operations or manipulations that take place in the beater. Manyof these, such as engine-sizing and body-coloring, require skill andconstant watchfulness. Here, too, if anywhere, adulteration takes place. It is sometimes necessary to secure a fine-appearing paper at smallcost, and it is profitable to add to its weight. In such cases a processof "loading" takes place here, and clay or cheap, heavy fibers areadded. Clay is of value not only to increase the weight but also torender the paper more opaque, so as to prevent type or illustrationsfrom showing through, while at the same time it makes possible asmoother surface by filling the pores in the paper. But while it adds tothe weight, clay must, of necessity, weaken the paper. In engine-sizing, which is done in the beater, the size is thoroughly incorporated withthe fibers as these revolve or flow around the engine. This sizingrenders the paper more nearly impervious to moisture. The differencebetween a paper that is sized and that has a repellent surface whichprevents the ink from settling into it when it is written upon, and anordinary blotting-paper with its absorbent surface, is due entirely tothe fact that the former is most carefully treated with sizing both inthe beating engine and in the size tub or vat referred to later, whereasin the latter paper it is omitted. If the paper is to be tinted orbody-colored, colors made from aniline are generally used. Only in thehighest grade of writing-paper and in some few papers that demand colorsfast to the light is any other order of coloring matter employed. As maybe easily imagined, considerable skill is required to secure exactly thedesired tint, and to get the coloring matter so evenly mixed that eachsmall fiber shall receive its proper tint, and thus to insure that thepaper when finished shall be of uniform color and not present a mottledappearance. 

When the operations of the beating engine have been completed, a mostinteresting process begins which marks a vast advance over the earliermethod of forming the sheets of paper with mould and deckel, strainingoff the water, and shaking the frame with a quick motion to mat thefibers together. The patient striving toward something better which hasmarked all the centuries since man first learned to carve his ruderecords, finds its consummation in the process of making paper in acontinuous web. This result is accomplished by a machine first inventedby Louis Robert, a workman in a mill at Enonnes, France, who obtained aFrench patent, with a bounty of eight thousand francs for itsdevelopment. This he later sold to M. Didot, the proprietor of the mill, who crossed the Channel into England, where, with the aid of a skilledmechanic, the machine was in a measure perfected, and then sold to Henryand Sealy Fourdrinier. They, with the further aid of Bryan Donkin, theiremployee and expert engineer, made many additional improvements, andsank in the enterprise some sixty thousand pounds sterling, for whichtheir only reward was blighted hopes and embittered lives. In 1847 theLondon _Times_ made a fruitless appeal on behalf of the survivingbrother, who was eighty years of age and in great poverty. It is seldomthat the world voluntarily makes return to those who have bestowed uponit great material or moral benefits, though it is ever ready to expendits treasure for engines of destruction and to magnify and reward thosewho have been most successful in destroying human life. 

The first "machine" mill was started at Frogmore, Hertz, England, in1803, which was the year of the great Louisiana Purchase by the UnitedStates, and it is not difficult to say which event has been productiveof the greater and more beneficial results to this nation. Through thisinvention and its improvements, the modern newspaper and magazine, withtheir tens and hundreds of thousands of copies daily, have been madepossible, and men of all classes have been brought in touch with thebest thought of the day. Whatever makes for greater intelligence andenlightenment throughout a nation makes for the greater stability ofthe national life, and gives new emphasis to Bulwer's words:

 Take away the sword; States can be saved without it--bring the pen. 

If to-day the power of the pen over the sword is greater than it hasever been before, its increased and increasing influence must becredited in large measure to the inventive genius and thepublic-spirited enterprise that has made possible the great output ofour modern paper-mills. So thoroughly did these forces do their work inthe beginning that in the century that has elapsed since the Fourdrinierbrothers sacrificed themselves and their means in the perfecting oftheir machine, there have been really no changes in the fundamentalprinciple. Those that have been made have been in the nature of furtherdevelopment and improvement, such as increasing the speed and wideningthe web, thereby multiplying the product many fold. 

But let us resume the interesting journey of the rags, which had reacheda state of purification and perfection as pulp, and which we left in thebeaters. In some grades of paper the perfected and prepared pulp istaken from the beaters and passed through what is known as a "refining"or "Jordan" engine for the purpose of more thoroughly separating thefibers and reducing them to extreme fineness. The refining engines are, however, used only in the manufacture of certain grades of paper. Thepulp is next taken from the beater or refining engine, as the case maybe, to what is called a "stuff-chest, " an inclosed vat partly filledwith water, in which a contrivance for shaking and shifting, properlycalled an "agitator, " keeps the fibers in suspension. 

From the stuff-chest the mixture is pumped into what is known as the"mixing" or "regulating" box. Here the stream first passes over the"sand-tables" in a continuous flow. These are composed of little troughswith cross-pieces, and are covered at the bottom with long-haired felt, to catch any sand or dirt that may still adhere after the numerousoperations to which the pulp has been subjected. The flow is then forcedthrough the "screen, " which is a horizontal piece of metal pierced withslots. For very fine paper these slots are so small as to be only oneone-hundredth of an inch in width. They are usually about a quarter ofan inch apart. Through these tiny apertures the fibers must find theirway, leaving behind in their difficult passage all lumps, dirt, orknotted fibers which would mar the perfection of the product towardwhich they are tending. A vibrating motion is given to the screen as theflow passes over it, or revolving strainers may be used. 

When the screen has finished its work, the water carrying the pulp insolution flows in an even stream, the volume of which varies accordingto the width of the web of paper to be produced, through adischarge-cock onto the Fourdrinier or cylinder machine, as the case maybe, each of which will be duly described. This stream has a filmyappearance and is of diverse color, depending upon the shade of paper tobe produced. From its consistency, which is about that of milk, it isdifficult to imagine that it floats separate particles of fiber in suchquantities as, when gathered on the wire cloth and passed to a feltblanket and then pressed between rollers, to form in a second of time abroad web of embryo paper sufficiently strong and firm to take definiteform. Man's mastery of the process by which this startling and wonderfulchange is effected has come as one of the rewards of his long andpatient study. 

The Fourdrinier machine, which preserves at least the name of theenterprising developers of the invention, takes up the work that wasformerly done by the molder. The wire cloth upon which the fibers aredischarged is an endless belt, the full width of the paper machine. Uponthis the fibers spread out evenly, being aided by a fan-shaped rubber oroil cloth, which delivers the smooth stream under a gate regulated toinsure perfect evenness and to fix uniformly the fibers of the web nowcommencing its final formation. Deckel-straps of india-rubber arefastened on both sides of the wire screen, and move with it, thusholding the watery pulp in place. The deckel-straps are adjustable andfix or regulate the width of the paper. These and the gate, or "slicer, "are attached to what is termed the deckel-frame, which corresponds tothe deckel used by paper-makers in the days when the manufacture wascarried on by hand. As the stream flows onto the endless belt of wirecloth, the water which has borne the fibers filters into the troughbeneath. Being charged with very fine fibers, size, coloring matter, andother similar ingredients, it is carried back into the pulp-chest tosave these materials, as well as to contribute again to the extra supplyof water needed. For this reason the trough into which it falls from therevolving "wire" is called the "save-all. " A shaking motion is impartedto the "wire" from the frame upon which rest the rolls that keep it inits never-ending round. This aids in draining away the water and mats orinterlaces the fibers together. At the end of the "save-all, " where thefibers are to leave the "wire" for the next stage of their journey, suction-boxes are placed, provided with an air-pump to take up thesurplus water that has not yet found its way through the meshes. Betweenthese suction-boxes above the wire is a wire-covered roll whichimpresses the newly formed sheet; this impression cylinder is called a"dandy roll, " and it is from this that the web receives the markings orimpressions that characterize different papers. All watermarks, patterns, and designs which it is desired to have appear in the paperare put upon this roll and here impressed upon the soft sheet, which isclarified and left transparent at the point of contact. Thus theimpression is permanently fixed in the fiber, so that it can be seen atany time by holding the sheet to the light. The power of suggestivenessis a quality which is highly esteemed wherever it is found, and whichfrequently furnishes a standard of judgment. 

Judged by such a criterion, the impression cylinder, or "dandy roll, "has an added value, for in all probability its operation suggested theidea of printing from cylinders, as in our present web or perfectingpresses. 

The matted pulp, now having sufficient body, passes on between two rollscovered with felt which deliver the web of damp paper upon an endlessbelt of moist felt, while the "wire" passes under and back to continuea fresh supply. The paper is as yet too fragile to travel alone, andthe web felt carries it between two metal rolls called the firstpress-rolls. These squeeze out more water, give a greater degree ofcompactness to the fibers, smooth the upper surface, and finally deliverthe web of paper to a second felt apron which carries it under and tothe back of the second press-rolls. In this way the under surface comesto the top, and is in its turn subjected to the smoothing process. Adelicate scraper or blade, the length of the press-rolls, is so placedon each roll that should the endless web from any cause be broken, theblade may operate with sufficient force to prevent the wet paper fromclinging to the rolls and winding about them. From this point the papertravels alone, having become firm and strong enough to sustain its ownweight; passing above the second press-rolls, it resumes its onwardjourney around the drying cylinders, passing over and under and over andunder. The drying cylinders are hollow and heated by steam, theirtemperature being regulated according to requirements. These driers, made from iron or steel, are usually from three to four feet in diameterand vary in length according to the width of the machine. There are fromtwelve to fifty of these cylinders, their number depending upon thecharacter and weight of the paper to be produced, very heavy sheetsrequiring many more drying cylinders than sheets of lighter weight. 

Strange, almost phenomenal, conditions come about in the transformationfrom filmy pulp to finished paper. A sheet which, though formed, is atthe first press-roll too fragile to carry its own weight, becomespossessed of a final strength and power that is almost incredible. Themyriad of minute fibers composing the sheet, upon drying uniformly, possesses great aggregate strength. A sheet of paper yields readily totearing, but the same sheet, when a perfectly even tension is applied, will demonstrate that it is possessed of wonderful resisting power. Inevidence may be cited an instance that seems almost beyond belief. Through some curious mishap a web of heavy paper, in fact, bristolboard, which had been thoroughly formed, was suddenly superheated andthen cooled while still on the driers. This was caused by a differencein temperature of the driers and resulted in the sudden contraction ofthe web of bristol; the strain on the machine was so great that not onlywere the driving-cogs broken on two of the driers around which the paperwas at the moment passing, but the driers themselves were actuallylifted out of place, showing a resisting power in the paper of at leastseveral tons. The paper now passes to the upright stack of rolls whichare known as "calenders. " The word is derived from calendra; acorruption of cylindrus, a roller or cylinder. They are simply rollersrevolving in contact, and heated from the interior by steam. Thesecalenders are used for giving to the paper a smooth and even surface, and are also employed in the smoothing and finishing of cloth. The speedwith which the paper passes through these cylinders is remarkable, fromone hundred to five hundred feet running through and over the machine ina minute; and in some of the most recent mills the web is as wide as onehundred and fifty-six inches (thirteen feet); this is very nearly doublethe average machine width of a very few years ago, while the speed hasincreased in proportionate ratio; only a few years ago the maximum speedwas from two hundred and fifty to three hundred feet per minute; at thiswriting (1900) there are machines in operation which run as high as fivehundred feet per minute. But great as has been the increase in theproduction of paper, the demand has kept pace steadily. The wonderfulproduct of the rag-bag holds an invincible position in the world'seconomy. 

For machine-finished book and print papers, as well as for other cheapergrades, the process ends with the calenders, after which the paper isslit into required widths by disc-knives which are revolving, and so cutcontinuously. Paper intended for web newspaper presses is taken off incontinuous rolls of the widths required, varying from seventeen toseventy-six inches, according to the size of the paper to be printed. These reels contain from fifteen to twenty-five thousand lineal feet ofpaper, or from three to five miles. The amount of paper used indisseminating the news of the day is enormous; sometimes one or twomills are required to manufacture the supply for a single metropolitandaily, while one New York newspaper claims to have used four hundred andfifty tons of paper in one Christmas edition, which is about four timesthe amount of its regular daily consumption. 

After having been slit into the proper widths by the revolving knives, ordinary flat and book papers are cut into sheets by a straight kniferevolving at proper intervals on a horizontal drum. The paper, insheets, is carried by a travelling apron to a receiving table at the endof the machine, where the sheets as they fall are carefully examined byexperts, usually women, who remove any that may be imperfect. 

The entire length of a paper machine, from the screens to the calenders, is about one hundred and twenty-five feet, while the height varies, theaverage being about ten feet. The machines, while necessarily of thefinest adjustment, are ponderous and heavy, weighing in some cases asmuch as four hundred tons, this being the weight of the machine itself, exclusive of its foundations. The machine-room is of necessity welllighted and thoroughly ventilated, and should be kept clean throughout, as cleanliness is an essential factor in the making of good paper. Whilethe same general process applies to all classes of paper made, theparticular character of any paper that is to be produced determinesexactly the details of the process through which it shall pass andregulates the deviations to be made from the general operations in orderto secure special results. For example, some papers are wanted with arough or "antique" finish, as it is called; in such cases calendering isomitted. Another special process is that by which the paper is made witha ragged or "deckel-edge;" this result is obtained in some mills byplaying a stream of water upon the edge of the pulp, crushing andthinning it, and thus giving it a jagged appearance. At the present timethis "deckel-edge" paper is being quite extensively used in high-classbookwork. In the case of writing papers, as has already been stated inthe description of the beating engines, a vegetable sizing made fromresinous matter is introduced into the paper pulp while it is still insolution, and mixes with it thoroughly, thus filling more or lesscompletely the pores of the pulp fibers. This is found sufficient forall ordinary book-papers, for papers that are to be printed upon in theusual way, and for the cheapest grades of writing-paper, where therequirements are not very exacting and where a curtailment of expense isnecessary. For the higher grades of writing-paper, however, a distinctlyseparate and additional process is required. These papers while on themachine in web form are passed through a vat which is called thesize-tub, and which is filled with a liquid sizing made of gelatine fromclippings of the horns, hides, and hoofs of cattle, this gelatine orglue being mixed with dissolved alum and made fluid in the vat. Paperswhich are treated in this way are known as "animal, " or "tub-sized. "

We have duly described machine-dried papers, but these higher grades ofwriting-papers are dried by what is known as the loft, or pole-driedprocess. Such paper is permitted to dry very slowly in a loft speciallyconstructed for the purpose, where it is hung on poles several days, during which time the loft is kept at a temperature of about 100°Fahrenheit. 

Another detail of considerable importance is that of the "finish" orsurface of the paper. When paper with a particularly high or glossysurface is desired, it is subjected to a separate process, after leavingthe paper machine, known as supercalendering. 

"Supercalendering" is effected by passing the web through a stack ofrolls which are similar to the machine calenders already described. These rolls are composed of metal cylinders, alternating with rolls madeof solidified paper or cotton, turned exactly true, the top and bottomrolls being of metal and heavier than the others; a stack ofsupercalenders is necessarily composed of an odd number of rolls, asseven, nine, or eleven. The paper passes and repasses through thesecalenders until the requisite degree of smoothness and polish has beenacquired. The friction in this machine produces so much electricity thatground wires are often used to carry it off in order that the paper maynot become so highly charged as to attract dust or cause the sheets tocling together. When the fine polish has been imparted, the rolls ofpaper go to the cutting machines, which are automatic in action, cuttingregular sheets of the required length as the paper is fed to them in acontinuous web. In the manufacture of some high grades of paper, such aslinens and bonds, where an especially fine, smooth surface is required, the sheets after being cut are arranged in piles of from twelve tofifteen sheets, plates of zinc are inserted alternately between them, and they are subjected to powerful hydraulic pressure. This process istermed "plating, " and is, of course, very much more expensive than theprocess of supercalendering described above. 

From the cutters, the sheets are carried to the inspectors, who areseated in a row along an extended board table before two divisions withpartitions ten or twelve inches high, affording spaces for the sheetsbefore and after sorting. The work of inspection is performed by women, who detect almost instantly any blemish or imperfection in the finishedproduct as it passes through their hands. If the paper is to be ruledfor writing purposes, it is then taken to the ruling machines, where itis passed under revolving discs or pens, set at regular intervals. Theseconvey the ruling ink to the paper as it passes on through the machine, and thus form true and continuous lines. If the paper is to be foldedafter ruling, as in the case of fine note-papers, the sheets pass onfrom the ruling machine to the folding machines, which are entirelyautomatic in their action. The paper is stacked at the back of the firstfolding guide and is fed in by the action of small rubber rollers whichloosen each sheet from the one beneath, and push it forward until it iscaught by the folding apparatus. Man's mechanical ingenuity has given tothe machines of his invention something that seems almost like humanintelligence, and in the case of the folding machine, the action is soregular and perfect that there seems to be no need of an attendant, saveto furnish a constant supply of sheets. The folding completed, cuttingmachines are again brought into requisition, to cut and trim the sheetsto the size of folded note or letter-paper, which is the final operationbefore they are sent out into the world on their mission of usefulness. The finished paper may or may not have passed through the ruling andfolding process, but in either case it goes from the cutters to thewrappers and packers, and then to the shipping-clerks, all of whomperform the duties indicated by their names. The wonderfultransformation wrought by the magic wand of science and human inventionis complete, and what came into the factory as great bales of offensiverags, disgusting to sight and smell, goes forth as delicate, beautiful, perfected paper, redeemed from filth, and glorified into a high andnoble use. Purity and beauty have come from what was foul andunwholesome; the highly useful has been summoned forth from theseemingly useless; a product that is one of the essential factors in theworld's progress, and that promises to serve an ever-increasing purpose, has been developed from a material that apparently held not theslightest promise. Well might the _Boston News Letter_ of 1769 exclaimin quaint old rhyme:

 Rags are as beauties which concealèd lie, But when in paper, charming to the eye! Pray save your rags, new beauties to discover, For of paper truly every one's a lover; By the pen and press such knowledge is displayed As would not exist if paper was not made. 

And well may man pride himself on this achievement, this marveloustransformation, which represents the fruitage of centuries of strivingand endeavor!

Up to this point the reference has been almost entirely to paper madefrom rags, but radical improvements have been made, caused by theintroduction of wood pulp, and these are of such importance that theaccount would not be complete without some mention of them. Thesechanges are mainly in the methods of manipulating the wood to obtain thepulp, for when that is ready, the process from and including the"washers" and "beaters, " is very similar to that already described. Allpapers, whether made from rags or wood, depend upon vegetable fiber fortheir substance and fundamental base, and it is found that the differentfibers used in paper-making, when finally subdued, do not differ, infact, whether obtained from rags or from the tree growing in the forest. In the latter case the raw wood is subjected to chemical treatment whichdestroys all resinous and foreign matters, leaving merely the cellulartissue, which, it is found, does not differ in substance from the celltissue obtained after treating rags. In either case this cellulartissue, through the treatment to which the raw material is subjected, becomes perfectly plastic or moldable, and while the paper made from onediffers slightly in certain characteristics from the paper made from theother, they are nevertheless very similar, and it might be safe topredict that further perfecting of processes will eventually make thempractically alike. 

The woods used for this purpose are principally poplar and spruce, andthere are three classes of the wood pulp: (1) mechanical wood, (2) sodaprocess wood, and (3) sulphite wood pulp. The first method was inventedin Germany in 1844. The logs are hewn in the forest, roughly barked, andshipped to the factory, where the first operation is to cut them up bysteam saws into blocks about two feet in length. Any bark that may stillcling to the log is removed by a rapidly revolving corrugated wheel ofsteel, while the larger blocks are split by a steam splitter. The nextstage of their journey takes these blocks to a great millstone setperpendicularly instead of horizontally. Here a very strong andingenious machine receives one block at a time, and with anautomatically elastic pressure holds it sidewise against the millstone, which, like the mills of the gods, "grinds exceeding fine, " and with theaid of constantly flowing water rapidly reduces these blocks to a pulpyform. This pulp is carried into tanks, from which it is passed betweenrollers, which leave it in thick, damp sheets, which are folded upevenly for shipment, or for storage for future use. If a paper-mill isoperated in connection with the pulp-mill, the wood pulp is notnecessarily rolled out in sheets, but is pumped directly from the tanksto the beaters. 

In the preparation of pulp by the other processes, the blocks are firstthrown into a chipping machine with great wheels, the short, slantingknives of which quickly cut the blocks into small chips. 

In the soda process, invented by M. Meliner in France in 1865, the chipsfrom spruce and poplar logs are boiled under pressure in a strongsolution of caustic soda. 

When sulphite wood pulp is to be prepared, the chips are conveyed fromthe chipper into hoppers in the upper part of the building. Here theyare thrown into great upright iron boilers or digesters charged withlime-water and fed with the fumes of sulphur which is burned for thepurpose in a furnace adjoining the building and which thus forms acidsulphide of lime. The sulphite process was originally invented by acelebrated Philadelphia chemist, but was perfected in Europe. 

The "cooking, " or boiling, to which the wood is subjected in both thesoda and sulphite processes, effects a complete separation of allresinous and foreign substances from the fine and true cell tissue, orcellulose, which is left a pure fiber, ready for use as described. Inthe case of all fibers, whether rag or wood, painstaking work counts, and the excellence of the paper is largely dependent upon the time andcare given to the reduction of the pulp from the original raw material. 

Chemical wood pulp of the best quality makes an excellent product, andis largely used for both print and book paper; it is frequently mixedwith rag pulp, making a paper that can scarcely be distinguished fromthat made entirely from fine rags, though it is not of the properfirmness for the best flat or writing papers. All ordinary newspapers, as well as some of the cheaper grades of book and wrapping paper, aremade entirely from wood, the sulphite or soda process supplying thefiber, and ground wood being used as a filler. In the average newspaperof to-day's issue, twenty-five per cent of sulphite fiber is sufficientto carry seventy-five per cent of the ground wood filler. The value ofthe idea is an economical one entirely, as the ground wood employedcosts less than any other of the component parts of a print-paper sheet. 

The cylinder machine, to which reference was made earlier in thechapter, was patented in 1809 by a prominent paper-maker of England, Mr. John Dickinson. In this machine, a cylinder covered with wire clothrevolves with its lower portion dipping into a vat of pulp, while bysuction a partial vacuum is maintained in the cylinder, causing the pulpto cling to the wire until it is conveyed to a covered cylinder, whichtakes it up and carries it forward in a manner similar to the systemalready described. This machine is employed in making straw-board andother heavy and cheap grades of paper. 

Generous Mother Nature, who supplies man's wants in such bountifulfashion, has furnished on her plains and in her forests an abundance ofmaterial that may be transformed into this fine product of humaningenuity. Esparto, a Spanish grass grown in South Africa, has enteredlargely into the making of print-paper in England. Mixed with rags itmakes an excellent product, but the chemicals required to free it fromresin and gritty silica are expensive, while the cost of importation hasrendered its use in America impractical. Flax, hemp, manila, jute andstraw, and of course old paper that has been once used, are extensivelyemployed in this manufacture, the process beginning with the chemicaltreatment and boiling that are found necessary in the manipulation ofrags. The successful use of these materials has met demands that wouldnot otherwise have been supplied. As a result, the price has been socheapened that the demand for paper has greatly increased, and its usehas been extended to many and various purposes. 

Many additional items of interest might be described in connection withthe methods of manufacturing paper, but as this work is intended for thegeneral reader, rather than for the manufacturer, those wishing furtherinformation are referred to technical works on the subject. 

The best linen rags are used for the highest grades of writing and bondpapers, while ordinary note, letter, and flat papers are made fromcotton rags. In some mills, such as the government mill at Dalton, Massachusetts, where the government paper is made for banknotes, and inothers where the finest ledger papers are manufactured, none but new, clean rags are used. These come from the remnants left in the making oflinen goods. In the government mill where is made the paper for ournational currency, or "greenbacks, " there is a special attachment on themachine for introducing into the paper the silk threads that are alwaysto be seen in our paper money. This attachment is just above the "wire"on the machine, and consists of a little conducting trough, throughwhich flows, from a receptacle near the machine, a stream of waterholding the silk threads in solution. The trough extends across themachine, and is provided at intervals with openings through which theshort pieces of silk thread are automatically released, and sprinkledcontinuously onto the web of pulp as it passes beneath. The paper isthus distinguished, and infringement and possible counterfeiting aremade extremely difficult by the fact that the government absolutelyforbids the making of paper by others under a similar process, as wellas the production of any paper containing these silk threads. The lawsof the United States pertaining to anything that borders on infringementof our various money issues, both metal and currency, are most rigid;anything approaching a similarity of impression is prohibited, and acut, stamp, or impression of any character that approaches in itsappearance any money issue of our government is considered a violationof the law against counterfeiting, and is dealt with severely. Thegovernment takes the same uncompromising position in regard to thefabrics used in printing its paper-money issues, and it will be quicklyseen that the silk thread process described above it is so great avariation from anything required in the mercantile world that it wouldbe difficult to produce a paper at all similar without an ulteriorpurpose being at once apparent. For this reason the silk threadinterspersion is in reality a very effective medium in preventingcounterfeiting, not only on account of its peculiar appearance but alsobecause of the elaborate methods necessary in its production. 

In those mills making the finest grades of paper, much of the process ofthrashing, beating, dusting, and cleaning necessary in the ordinary millis omitted. The cleanliness and brightness which are reached only at the"washer" and "beater" engines in the process of manufacturing the lowergrades of paper from cheaper rags, prevail at every step in these highergrade mills. 

One of the first requisites in making good paper, especially the bettergrades, is an abundance of pure water, and spring-water, whereavailable, is preferred. 

The effort has been made in the description given to cover the processof making paper from the crudest rags. In enumerating the several kindsof paper in another chapter, brief reference will be made to the varyingmethods required in their manufacture. In this chapter, no attempt hasbeen made to cover more than the principal divisions or varieties ofpaper--writing, print, and wrapping papers. 

The United States, with characteristic enterprise, leads the world inpaper-making, supplying about one-third of all that is used on theglobe. The city of Holyoke, in Massachusetts, is the greatest papercenter in the world, turning out each working-day some two hundred tonsof paper, nearly one-half of which is "tub-sized, " "loft-dried"writings. The region in the vicinity of Holyoke is dotted withpaper-mills, and within a few miles of the city is made about one-halfof all the "loft-dried" writings produced in the United States. The tinyacorn planted two centuries ago has waxed with the years, gainingstrength and vigor with the increasing strength of the nation, till nowit has become a giant oak, whose branches extend to the lands beyond theseas. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 5: From _The Story of Paper-making_, Chapter V. J. W. ButlerPaper Company, Chicago, 1901. ]

THE EXPOSITION OF AN IDEA

THE GOSPEL OF RELAXATION[6]

_William James_

I wish in the following hour to take certain psychological doctrines andshow their practical applications to mental hygiene, --to the hygiene ofour American life more particularly. Our people, especially in academiccircles, are turning towards psychology nowadays with greatexpectations; and, if psychology is to justify them, it must be byshowing fruits in the pedagogic and therapeutic lines. 

The reader may possibly have heard of a peculiar theory of the emotions, commonly referred to in psychological literature as the Lange-Jamestheory. According to this theory, our emotions are mainly due to thoseorganic stirrings that are aroused in us in a reflex way by the stimulusof the exciting object or situation. An emotion of fear, for example, orsurprise, is not a direct effect of the object's presence on the mind, but an effect of that still earlier effect, the bodily commotion whichthe object suddenly excites; so that, were this bodily commotionsuppressed, we should not so much _feel_ fear as call the situationfearful; we should not feel surprise, but coldly recognize that theobject was indeed astonishing. One enthusiast has even gone so far as tosay that when we feel sorry it is because we weep, when we feel afraidit is because we run away, and not conversely. Some of you may perhapsbe acquainted with the paradoxical formula. Now, whatever exaggerationmay possibly lurk in this account of our emotions (and I doubt myselfwhether the exaggeration be very great), it is certain that the maincore of it is true, and that the mere giving way to tears, for example, or to the outward expression of an anger-fit, will result for the momentin making the inner grief or anger more acutely felt. There is, accordingly, no better known or more generally useful precept in themoral training of youth, or in one's personal self-discipline, than thatwhich bids us pay primary attention to what we do and express, and notto care too much for what we feel. If we only check a cowardly impulsein time, for example, or if we only _don't_ strike the blow or rip outwith the complaining or insulting word that we shall regret as long aswe live, our feelings themselves will presently be the calmer andbetter, with no particular guidance from us on their own account. Actionseems to follow feeling, but really action and feeling go together; andby regulating the action, which is under the more direct control of thewill, we can indirectly regulate the feeling, which is not. 

Thus the sovereign voluntary path to cheerfulness, if our spontaneouscheerfulness be lost, is to sit up cheerfully, to look round cheerfully, and to act and speak as if cheerfulness were already there. If suchconduct does not make you soon feel cheerful, nothing else on thatoccasion can. So to feel brave, act as if we _were_ brave, use all ourwill to that end, and a courage-fit will very likely replace the fit offear. Again, in order to feel kindly toward a person to whom we havebeen inimical, the only way is more or less deliberately to smile, tomake sympathetic inquiries, and to force ourselves to say genial things. One hearty laugh together will bring enemies into a closer communion ofheart than hours spent on both sides in inward wrestling with the mentaldemon of uncharitable feeling. To wrestle with a bad feeling only pinsour attention on it, and keeps it still fastened in the mind; whereas, if we act as if from some better feeling, the old bad feeling soon foldsits tent like an Arab, and silently steals away. 

The best manuals of religious devotion accordingly reiterate the maximthat we must let our feelings go, and pay no regard to them whatever. Inan admirable and widely successful little book called _The Christian'sSecret of a Happy Life_, by Mrs. Hannah Whitall Smith, I find thislesson on almost every page. _Act_ faithfully, and you really havefaith, no matter how cold and even how dubious you may feel. "It is yourpurpose God looks at, " writes Mrs. Smith, "not your feelings about thatpurpose; and your purpose, or will, is therefore the only thing you needattend to. .. . Let your emotions come or let them go, just as Godpleases, and make no account of them either way. .. . They really havenothing to do with the matter. They are not the indicators of yourspiritual state, but are merely the indicators of your temperament or ofyour present physical condition. "

But you all know these facts already, so I need no longer press them onyour attention. From our acts and from our attitudes ceaseless inpouringcurrents of sensation come, which help to determine from moment tomoment what our inner states shall be: that is a fundamental law ofpsychology which I will therefore proceed to assume. 

A Viennese neurologist of considerable reputation has recently writtenabout the _Binnenleben, _ as he terms it, or buried life of human beings. No doctor, this writer says, can get into really profitable relationswith a nervous patient until he gets some sense of what the patient's_Binnenleben_ is, of the sort of unuttered inner atmosphere in which hisconsciousness dwells alone with the secrets of its prison-house. Thisinner personal tone is what we can't communicate or describearticulately to others; but the wraith and ghost of it, so to speak, areoften what our friends and intimates feel as our most characteristicquality. In the unhealthy-minded, apart from all sorts of old regrets, ambitions checked by shames and aspirations obstructed by timidities, itconsists mainly of bodily discomforts not distinctly localized by thesufferer, but breeding a general self-mistrust and sense that things arenot as they should be with him. Half the thirst for alcohol that existsin the world exists simply because alcohol acts as a temporaryanaesthetic and effacer to all these morbid feelings that never ought tobe in a human being at all. In the healthy-minded, on the contrary, there are no fears or shames to discover; and the sensations that pourin from the organism only help to swell the general vital sense ofsecurity and readiness for anything that may turn up. 

Consider, for example, the effects of a well-toned _motor-apparatus, _nervous and muscular, on our general personal self-consciousness, thesense of elasticity and efficiency that results. They tell us that inNorway the life of the women has lately been entirely revolutionized bythe new order of muscular feelings with which the use of the _ski_, orlong snow-shoes, as a sport for both sexes, has made the womenacquainted. Fifteen years ago the Norwegian women were even more thanthe women of other lands votaries of the old-fashioned ideal offemininity, "the domestic angel, " the "gentle and refining influence"sort of thing. Now these sedentary fireside tabby-cats of Norway havebeen trained, they say, by the snow-shoes into lithe and audaciouscreatures, for whom no night is too dark or height too giddy, and whoare not only saying good-bye to the traditional feminine pallor anddelicacy of constitution, but actually taking the lead in everyeducational and social reform. I cannot but think that the tennis andtramping and skating habits and the bicycle-craze which are so rapidlyextending among our dear sisters and daughters in this country are goingalso; to lead to a sounder and heartier moral tone, which will send itstonic breath through all our American life. 

I hope that here in America more and more the ideal of the well-trainedand vigorous body will be maintained neck by neck with that of thewell-trained and vigorous mind as the two coequal halves of the highereducation for men and women alike. The strength of the British Empirelies in the strength of character of the individual Englishman, takenall alone by himself. And that strength, I am persuaded, is perenniallynourished and kept up by nothing so much as by the national worship, inwhich all classes meet, of athletic outdoor life and sport. 

I recollect, years ago, reading a certain work by an American doctor onhygiene and the laws of life and the type of future humanity. I haveforgotten its author's name and its title, but I remember well an awfulprophecy that it contained about the future of our muscular system. Human perfection, the writer said, means ability to cope with theenvironment; but the environment will more and more require mental powerfrom us, and less and less will ask for bare brute strength. Wars willcease, machines will do all our heavy work, man will become more andmore a mere director of nature's energies, and less and less an exerterof energy on his own account. So that, if the _homo sapiens_ of thefuture can only digest his food and think, what need will he have ofwell-developed muscles at all? And why, pursued this writer, should wenot even now be satisfied with a more delicate and intellectual type ofbeauty than that which pleased our ancestors? Nay, I have heard afanciful friend make a still further advance in this "new-man"direction. With our future food, he says, itself prepared in liquid formfrom the chemical elements of the atmosphere, pepsinated orhalf-digested in advance, and sucked up through a glass tube from a tincan, what need shall we have of teeth, or stomachs even? They may go, along with our muscles and our physical courage, while, challenging evenmore and more our proper admiration, will grow the gigantic domes of ourcrania, arching over our spectacled eyes, and animating our flexiblelittle lips to those floods of learned and ingenious talk which willconstitute our most congenial occupation. 

I am sure that your flesh creeps at this apocalyptic vision. Minecertainly did so; and I cannot believe that our muscular vigor will everbe a superfluity. Even if the day ever dawns in which it will not beneeded for fighting the old heavy battles against Nature, it will stillalways be needed to furnish the background of sanity, serenity, andcheerfulness to life, to give moral elasticity to our disposition, toround off the wiry edge of our fretfulness, and make us good-humored andeasy to approach. Weakness is too apt to be what the doctors callirritable weakness. And that blessed internal peace and confidence, that_acquiescentia in seipso_, as Spinoza used to call it, that wells upfrom every part of the body of a muscularly well-trained human being, and soaks the indwelling soul of him with satisfaction, is, quite apartfrom every consideration of its mechanical utility, an element ofspiritual hygiene of supreme significance. 

And now let me go a step deeper into mental hygiene, and try to enlistyour insight and sympathy in a cause which I believe is one of paramountpatriotic importance to us Yankees. Many years ago a Scottish medicalman, Dr. Clouston, a mad-doctor as they call him there, or what weshould call an asylum physician (the most eminent one in Scotland), visited this country, and said something that has remained in my memoryever since. "You Americans, " he said, "wear too much expression on yourfaces. You are living like an army with all its reserves engaged inaction. The duller countenances of the British population betoken abetter scheme of life. They suggest stores of reserved nervous force tofall back upon, if any occasion should arise that requires it. Thisinexcitability, this presence at all times of power not used, I regard, "continued Dr. Clouston, "as the great safeguard of our British people. The other thing in you gives me a sense of insecurity, and you oughtsomehow to tone yourselves down. You really do carry too muchexpression, you take too intensely the trivial moments of life. "

Now Dr. Clouston is a trained reader of the secrets of the soul asexpressed upon the countenance, and the observation of his which I quoteseems to me to mean a great deal. And all Americans who stay in Europelong enough to get accustomed to the spirit, that reigns and expressesitself there, so unexcitable as compared with ours, make a similarobservation when they return to their native shores. They find awild-eyed look upon their compatriots' faces, either of too desperateeagerness and anxiety or of too intense responsiveness and good-will. Itis hard to say whether the men or the women show it most. It is truethat we do not all feel about it as Dr. Clouston felt. Many of us, farfrom deploring it, admire it. We say: "What intelligence it shows! Howdifferent from the stolid cheeks, the codfish eyes, the slow, inanimatedemeanor we have been seeing in the British Isles!" Intensity, rapidity, vivacity of appearance, are indeed with us something of a nationallyaccepted ideal; and the medical notion of "irritable weakness" is notthe first thing suggested by them to our mind, as it was to Dr. Clouston's. In a weekly paper not very long ago I remember reading astory in which, after describing the beauty and interest of theheroine's personality, the author summed up her charms by saying that toall who looked upon her an impression as of "bottled lightning" wasirresistibly conveyed. 

Bottled lightning, in truth, is one of our American ideals, even of a, young girl's character! Now it is most ungracious, and it may seem tosome persons unpatriotic, to criticise in public the physicalpeculiarities of one's own people, of one's own family, so to speak. Besides, it may be said, and said with justice, that there are plenty ofbottled-lightning temperaments in other countries, and plenty ofphlegmatic temperaments here; and that, when all is said and done, themore or less of tension about which I am making such a fuss is a smallitem in the sum total of a nation's life, and not worth solemn treatmentat a time when agreeable rather than disagreeable things should betalked about. Well, in one sense the more or less of tension in ourfaces and in our unused muscles _is_ a small thing: not much mechanicalwork is done by these contractions. But it is not always the materialsize of a thing that measures its importance: often it is its place andfunction. One of the most philosophical remarks I ever heard made was byan unlettered workman who was doing some repairs at my house many yearsago. "There is very little difference between one man and another, " hesaid, "when you go to the bottom of it. But what little there is, isvery important. " And the remark certainly applies to this case. Thegeneral over-contraction may be small when estimated in foot-pounds, but its importance is immense on account of its _effects on theover-contracted person's spiritual life_. This follows as a necessaryconsequence from the theory of our emotions to which I made reference atthe beginning of this article. For by the sensations that so incessantlypour in from the over-tense excited body the over-tense and excitedhabit of mind is kept up; and the sultry, threatening, exhausting, thunderous inner atmosphere never quite clears away. If you never whollygive yourself up to the chair you sit in, but always keep your leg- andbody-muscles half contracted for a rise; if you breathe eighteen ornineteen instead of sixteen times a minute, and never quite breathe outat that, --what mental mood _can_ you be in but one of inner panting andexpectancy, and how can the future and its worries possibly forsake yourmind? On the other hand, how can they gain admission to your mind ifyour brow be unruffled, your respiration calm and complete, and yourmuscles all relaxed?

Now what is the cause of this absence of repose, this bottled-lightningquality in us Americans? The explanation of it that is usually given isthat it comes from the extreme dryness of our climate and the acrobaticperformances of our thermometer, coupled with the extraordinaryprogressiveness of our life, the hard work, the railroad speed, therapid success, and all the other things we know so well by heart. Well, our climate is certainly exciting, but hardly more so than that of manyparts of Europe, where nevertheless no bottled-lightning girls arefound. And the work done and the pace of life are as extreme in everygreat capital of Europe as they are here. To me both of these pretendedcauses are utterly insufficient to explain the facts. 

To explain them, we must go not to physical geography, but to psychologyand sociology. The latest chapter both in sociology and in psychology tobe developed in a manner that approaches adequacy is the chapter on theimitative impulse. First Bagehot, then Tarde, then Royce and Baldwinhere, have shown that invention and imitation, taken together, form, onemay say, the entire warp and woof of human life, in so far as it issocial. The American over-tension and jerkiness and breathlessness andintensity and agony of expression are primarily social, and onlysecondarily physiological, phenomena. They are _bad habits_, nothingmore or less, bred of custom and example, born of the imitation of badmodels and the cultivation of false personal ideals. How are idiomsacquired, how do local peculiarities of phrase and accent come about?Through an accidental example set by some one, which struck the ears ofothers, and was quoted and copied till at last every one in the localitychimed in. Just so it is with national tricks of vocalization orintonation, with national manners, fashions of movement and gesture, andhabitual expressions of face. We, here in America, through following asuccession of pattern-setters whom it is now impossible to trace, andthrough influencing each other in a bad direction, have at last settleddown collectively into what, for better or worse, is our owncharacteristic national type, --a type with the production of which, sofar as these habits go, the climate and conditions have had practicallynothing at all to do. 

This type; which we have thus reached by our imitativeness, we now havefixed upon us, for better or worse. Now no type can be _wholly_disadvantageous; but, so far as our type follows the bottled-lightningfashion, it cannot be wholly good. Dr. Clouston was certainly right inthinking that eagerness, breathlessness, and anxiety are not signs ofstrength: they are signs of weakness and of bad co-ordination. The evenforehead, the slab-like cheek, the codfish eye, may be less interestingfor the moment; but they are more promising signs than intenseexpression is of what we may expect of their possessor in the long run. Your dull, unhurried worker gets over a great deal of ground, because henever goes backward or breaks down. Your intense, convulsive workerbreaks down and has bad moods so often that you never know where he maybe when you most need his help, --he may be having one of his "bad days. "We say that so many of our fellow-countrymen collapse, and have to besent abroad to rest their nerves, because they work so hard. I suspectthat this is an immense mistake. I suspect that neither the nature northe amount of our work is accountable for the frequency and severity ofour breakdowns, but that their cause lies rather in those absurdfeelings of hurry and having no time, in that breathlessness andtension, that anxiety of feature and that solicitude for results, thatlack of inner harmony and ease, in short, by which with us the work isso apt to be accompanied, and from which a European who should do thesame work would nine times out of ten be free. These perfectly wantonand unnecessary tricks of inner attitude and outer manner in us, caughtfrom the social atmosphere, kept up by tradition, and idealized by manyas the admirable way of life, are the last straws that break theAmerican camel's back, the final overflowers of our measure of wear andtear and fatigue. 

The voice, for example, in a surprisingly large number of us has a tiredand plaintive sound. Some of us are really tired (for I do not meanabsolutely to deny that our climate has a tiring quality); but far moreof us are not tired at all, or would not be tired at all unless we hadgot into a wretched trick of feeling tired, by following the prevalenthabits of vocalization and expression. And if talking high and tired, and living excitedly and hurriedly, would only enable us to _do_ more bythe way, even while breaking us down in the end, it would be different. There would be some compensation, some excuse, for going on so. But theexact reverse is the case. It is your relaxed and easy worker, who is inno hurry, and quite thoughtless most of the while of consequences, whois your efficient worker; and tension and anxiety, and present andfuture, all mixed up together in our mind at once, are the surest dragsupon steady progress and hindrances to our success. My colleague, Professor Münsterberg, an excellent observer, who came here recently, has written some notes on America to German papers. He says in substancethat the appearance of unusual energy in America is superficial andillusory, being really due to nothing but the habits of jerkiness andbad co-ordination for which we have to thank the defective training ofour people. I think myself that it is high time for old legends andtraditional opinions to be changed; and that, if any one should beginto write about Yankee inefficiency and feebleness, and inability to doanything with time except to waste it, he would have a very prettyparadoxical thesis to sustain, with a great many facts to quote, and agreat deal of experience to appeal to in its proof. 

Well, my friends, if our dear American character is weakened by all thisover-tension, --and I think, whatever reserves you may make, that youwill agree as to the main facts, --where does the remedy lie? It lies, ofcourse, where lay the origins of the disease. If a vicious fashion andtaste are to blame for the thing, the fashion and taste must be changed. And, though it is no small thing to inoculate seventy millions of peoplewith new standards, yet, if there is to be any relief, that will have tobe done. We must change ourselves from a race that admires jerk and snapfor their own sakes, and looks down upon low voices and quiet ways asdull, to one that, on the contrary, has calm for its ideal, and fortheir own sakes loves harmony, dignity, and ease. 

So we go back to the psychology of imitation again. There is only oneway to improve ourselves, and that is by some of us setting an examplewhich the others may pick up and imitate till the new fashion spreadsfrom east to west. Some of us are in more favorable positions thanothers to set new fashions. Some are much more striking personally andimitable, so to speak. But no living person is sunk so low as not to beimitated by somebody. Thackeray somewhere says of the Irish nation thatthere never was an Irishman so poor that he didn't have a still poorerIrishman living at his expense; and, surely, there is no human beingwhose example doesn't work contagiously in _some_ particular. The veryidiots at our public institutions imitate each other's peculiarities. And, if you should individually achieve calmness and harmony in your ownperson, you may depend upon it that a wave of imitation will spread fromyou, as surely as the circles spread outward when a stone is droppedinto a lake. 

Fortunately, we shall not have to be absolute pioneers. Even now in NewYork they have formed a society for the improvement of our nationalvocalization, and one perceives its machinations already in the shape ofvarious newspaper paragraphs intended to stir up dissatisfaction withthe awful thing that it is. And, better still than that, because moreradical and general, is the gospel of relaxation, as one may call it, preached by Miss Annie Payson Call, of Boston, in her admirable littlevolume called _Power Through Repose_, a book that ought to be in thehands of every teacher and student in America of either sex. You needonly be followers, then, on a path already opened up by others. But ofone thing be confident: others still will follow you. 

And this brings me to one more application of psychology to practicallife, to which I will call attention briefly, and then close. If one'sexample of easy and calm ways is to be effectively contagious, one feelsby instinct that the less voluntarily one aims at getting imitated, themore unconscious one keeps in the matter, the more likely one is tosucceed. _Become the imitable thing, _ and you may then discharge yourminds of all responsibility for the imitation. The laws of socialnature will take care of that result. Now the psychological principle onwhich this precept reposes is a law of very deep and widespreadimportance in the conduct of our lives, and at the same time a law whichwe Americans most grievously neglect. Stated technically, the law isthis: that _strong feeling about one's self tends to arrest the freeassociation of one's objective ideas and motor processes. _ We get theextreme example of this in the mental disease called melancholia. 

A melancholic patient is filled through and through with intenselypainful emotion about himself. He is threatened, he is guilty, he isdoomed, he is annihilated, he is lost. His mind is fixed as if in acramp on these feelings of his own situation, and in all the books oninsanity you may read that the usual varied flow of his thoughts hasceased. His associative processes, to use the technical phrase, areinhibited; and his ideas stand stock-still, shut up to their onemonotonous function of reiterating inwardly the fact of the man'sdesperate estate. And this inhibitive influence is not due to the merefact that his emotion is _painful_. Joyous emotions about the self alsostop the association of our ideas. A saint in ecstasy is as motionlessand irresponsive and one-idea'd as a melancholiac. And, without going asfar as ecstatic saints, we know how in every one a great or suddenpleasure may paralyze the flow of thought. Ask young people returningfrom a party or a spectacle, and all excited about it, what it was. "Oh, it was _fine!_ it was _fine!_ it was _fine!_" is all the information youare likely to receive until the excitement has calmed down. Probablyevery one of my hearers has been made temporarily half-idiotic by somegreat success or piece of good fortune. "_Good!_ GOOD! GOOD!" is all wecan at such times say to ourselves until we smile at our own veryfoolishness. 

Now from all this we can draw an extremely practical conclusion. If, namely, we wish our trains of ideation and volition to be copious andvaried and effective, we must form the habit of freeing them from theinhibitive influence of reflection upon them, of egoistic pre-occupationabout their results. Such a habit, like other habits, can be formed. Prudence and duty and self-regard, emotions of ambition and emotions ofanxiety, have, of course, a needful part to play in our lives. Butconfine them as far as possible to the occasions when you are makingyour general resolutions and deciding on your plan of campaign, and keepthem out of the details. When once a decision is reached and executionis the order of the day, dismiss absolutely all responsibility and careabout the outcome. _Unclamp_, in a word, your intellectual and practicalmachinery, and let it run free; and the service it will do you will betwice as good. Who are the scholars who get "rattled" in therecitation-room? Those who think of the possibilities of failure andfeel the great importance of the act. Who are those who do recite well?Often those who are most indifferent. _Their_ ideas reel themselves outof their memory of their own accord. Why do we hear the complaint sooften that social life in New England is either less rich and expressiveor more fatiguing than it is in some other parts of the world? To whatis the fact, if fact it be, due unless to the over-active conscience ofthe people, afraid of either saying something too trivial and obvious, or something insincere, or something unworthy of one's interlocutor, orsomething in some way or other not adequate to the occasion? How canconversation possibly steer itself through such a sea ofresponsibilities and inhibitions as this? On the other hand, conversation does flourish and society is refreshing, and neither dullon the one hand nor exhausting from its efforts on the other, whereverpeople forget their scruples and take the brakes off their hearts, andlet their tongues wag as automatically and irresponsibly as they will. 

They talk much in pedagogic circles to-day about the duty of the teacherto prepare for every lesson in advance. To some extent this is useful. But we Yankees are assuredly not those to whom such a general doctrineshould be preached. We are only too careful as it is. The advice Ishould give to most teachers would be in the words of one who is herselfan admirable teacher. Prepare yourself in the _subject so well that itshall be always on tap_: then in the class-room trust your spontaneityand fling away all further care. 

My advice to students, especially to girl-students, would be somewhatsimilar. Just as a bicycle-chain may be too tight, so may one'scarefulness and conscientiousness be so tense as to hinder the runningof one's mind. Take, for example, periods when there are many successivedays of examination pending. One ounce of good nervous tone in anexamination is worth many pounds of anxious study for it in advance. Ifyou want really to do your best at an examination, fling away the bookthe day before, say to yourself, "I won't waste another minute on thismiserable thing, and I don't care an iota whether I succeed or not. " Saythis sincerely and feel it; and go out and play, or go to bed and sleep, and I am sure the results next day will encourage you to use the methodpermanently. I have heard this advice given to a student by Miss Call, whose book on muscular relaxation I quoted a moment ago. In her laterbook, entitled _As a Matter of Course_, the gospel of moral relaxation, of dropping things from the mind, and not "caring, " is preached withequal success. Not only our preachers, but our friends the theosophistsand mind-curers of various religious sects are also harping on thisstring. And with the doctors, the Delsarteans, the various mind-curingsects, and such writers as Mr. Dresser, Prentice Mulford, Mr. HoraceFletcher, and Mr. Trine to help, and the whole band of schoolteachersand magazine-readers chiming in, it really looks as if a good startmight be made in the direction of changing our American mental habitinto something more indifferent and strong. 

Worry means always and invariably inhibition of associations and loss ofeffective power. Of course, the sovereign cure for worry is religiousfaith; and this, of course, you also know. The turbulent billows of thefretful surface leave the deep parts of the ocean undisturbed, and tohim who has a hold on vaster and more permanent realities the hourlyvicissitudes of his personal destiny seem relatively insignificantthings. The really religious person is accordingly unshakable and fullof equanimity, and calmly ready for any duty that the day may bringforth. This is charmingly illustrated by a little work with which Irecently became acquainted, "The Practice of the Presence of God, theBest Ruler of a Holy Life, by Brother Lawrence, being Conversations andLetters of Nicholas Herman of Lorraine, Translated from the French. "[7]I extract a few passages, the conversations being given in indirectdiscourse. Brother Lawrence was a Carmelite friar, converted at Paris in1666. "He said that he had been footman to M. Fieubert, the Treasurer, and that he was a great awkward fellow, who broke everything. That hehad desired to be received into a monastery, thinking that he wouldthere be made to smart for his awkwardness and the faults he shouldcommit, and so he should sacrifice to God his life, with its pleasures;but that God had disappointed him, he having met with nothing butsatisfaction in that state. .. . 

"That he had long been troubled in mind from a certain belief that heshould be damned; that all the men in the world could not have persuadedhim to the contrary; but that he had thus reasoned with himself aboutit: _I engaged in a religious life only for the love of God, and I haveendeavored to act only for Him; whatever becomes of me, whether I belost or saved, I will always continue to act purely for the love of God. I shall have this good at least, that till death I shall have done allthat is in me to love Him . .. _ That since then he had passed his life inperfect liberty and continual joy. 

"That when an occasion of practicing some virtue offered, he addressedhimself to God, saying, 'Lord, I cannot do this unless Thou enablestme'; and that then he received strength more than sufficient. That, whenhe had failed in his duty, he only confessed his fault, saying to God, 'I shall never do otherwise, if You leave me to myself: it is You whomust hinder my failing, and mend what is amiss. ' That after this he gavehimself no further uneasiness about it. 

"That he had been lately sent into Burgundy to buy the provision of winefor the society, which was a very unwelcome task for him, because he hadno turn for business, and because he was lame, and could not go aboutthe boat but by rolling himself over the casks. That, however, he gavehimself no uneasiness about it, nor about the purchase of the wine. Thathe said to God, 'It was his business he was about, ' and that heafterward found it well performed. That he had been sent into Auvergne, the year before, upon the same account; that he could not tell how thematter passed, but that it proved very well. 

"So, likewise, in his business in the kitchen (to which he had naturallya great aversion), having accustomed himself to do everything there forthe love of God, and with prayer upon all occasions, for his grace to dohis work well, he had found everything easy during fifteen years that hehad been employed there. 

"That he was very well pleased with the post he was now in, but that hewas as ready to quit that as the former, since he was always pleasinghimself in every condition, by doing little things for the love of God. 

"That the goodness of God assured him He would not forsake him utterly, and that He would give him strength to bear whatever evil He permittedto happen to him; and, therefore, that he feared nothing, and had nooccasion to consult with anybody about his state. That, when he hadattempted to do it, he had always come away more perplexed. "

The simple-heartedness of the good Brother Lawrence, and the relaxationof all unnecessary solicitudes and anxieties in him is a refreshingspectacle. 

 * * * * *

The need of feeling responsible all the livelong day has been preachedlong enough in our New England. Long enough exclusively, at anyrate, --and long enough to the female sex. What our girl-students andwomen-teachers most need nowadays is not the exacerbation, but ratherthe toning-down of their moral tensions. Even now I fear that some oneof my fair hearers may be making an undying resolve to becomestrenuously relaxed, cost what it will, for the remainder of her life. It is needless to say that that is not the way to do it. The way to doit, paradoxical as it may seem, is genuinely not to care whether you aredoing it or not. Then, possibly, by the grace of God, you may all atonce find that you _are_ doing it, and, having learned what the trickfeels like, you may (again by the grace of God) be enabled to go on. 

And that something like this may be the happy experience of all myhearers is, in closing, my most earnest wish. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 6: From _Talks to Teachers on Psychology and to Students onSome of Life's Problems_. Henry Holt and Company, New York, 1902. ]

[Footnote 7: Fleming H. Revell Company, New York (AUTHOR). ]

SCIENCE AND RELIGION[8]

_Charles Proteus Steinmetz_

The problem of religion--that is, of the relations of man with thesupernatural, with God and immortality, with the soul, our personalityor the ego, and its existence or nonexistence after death--is thegreatest and deepest which ever confronted mankind. In the present stateof human knowledge, science can give no definite and final conclusionson these subjects, because of the limitations inherent in science. 

We must realize that all our knowledge and information and the entirestructure of science are ultimately derived from the perceptions of oursenses and thereby limited in the same manner and to the same extent asour sense perceptions and our intellect are limited. The success orfailure of scientific achievement largely depends on the extent to whichwe can abstract--that is, make our observations and conclusionsindependent of the limitations of the human mind. But there arelimitations inherent in the human mind beyond which our intellect cannotreach, and therefore science does not and cannot show us the world as itactually is, with its true facts and laws, but only as it appears to uswithin the inherent limitations of the human mind. 

The greatest limitation of the human mind is that all its perceptionsare finite, and our intellect cannot grasp the conception of infinity. The same limitation therefore applies to the world as it appears to ourreasoning intellect, and in the world of science there is no infinity, and conceptions such as God and the immortality of the ego are beyondthe realm of empirical science. Science deals only with finite events infinite time and space, and the farther we pass onward in space or time, the more uncertain becomes the scientific reasoning, until, in trying toapproach the infinite, we are lost in the fog of unreasonablecontradiction, "beyond science"--that is, "transcendental". 

Thus, we may never know and understand the infinite, whether in nature, in the ultimate deductions from the laws of nature in time and in space, or beyond nature, on such transcendental conceptions as God andimmortality. But we may approach these subjects as far as thelimitations of our mind permit, reach the border line beyond which wecannot go, and so derive some understanding of how far these subjectsmay appear nonexisting or unreasonable, merely because they are beyondthe limitations of our intellect. 

There appear to me two promising directions of approach--first, from thecomplex of thought and research, which in physics has culminated in thetheory of relativity; and, second, in a study of the gaps found in thestructure of empirical science and what they may teach us. 

All events of nature occur in space and in time. Whatever we perceive, whatever record we receive through our senses, always is attached to, and contained in, space and time. But are space and time real existingthings? Have they an absolute reality outside of our mind, as a part orframework of nature, as entities--that is, things that are? Or are theymerely a conception of the human mind, a form given by the character ofour mind to the events of nature--that is, to the hypothetical cause ofour sense perceptions? Kant, the greatest and most critical of allphilosophers, in his _Critique of Pure Reason (Kritik der ReinenVernunft)_, concludes that space and time have no absolute existence, but are categories--that is, forms in which the human mind conceives hisrelation to nature. The same idea is expressed by the poet-philosopherGoethe in his dramatic autobiography _Faust_ (in the second part), whenhe refers to the "Mütter, " to the marriage of Achilles and Helena"outside of all time. " It is found in ancient time. So Revelation speaksof "there should be time no longer" (hoti chronos ouketiestai). 

The work of the great mathematicians of the nineteenth century--Gauss, Riemann, Lobatschefsky, Bolyai--offered further evidence that space isnot an empirical deduction from nature, but a conception of the mind, byshowing that various forms of space can be conceived, differing from oneanother and from the form in which the mind has cast the events ofnature (the "Euclidean" space). Finally, physical science, in the theoryof relativity, has deduced the same conclusions: space and time do notexist in nature by themselves, as empty space and empty time, but theirexistence is only due to things and events as they occur in nature. Theyare relative in the relation between us and the events of nature, somuch so that they are not fixed and invariable in their properties, butdepend upon the observer and the conditions of observation. 

We can get an idea of how utterly our perception of nature depends onthe particular form of our time conception by picturing to ourselves hownature would look if our time perception were 100, 000 times faster, or100, 000 times slower. 

In the first case, with our sense perceptions 100, 000 times faster, allevents in nature would appear to us 100, 000 times slower. This wouldthen be a stationary and immovable world. The only motion which we couldsee with our eyes would be that of the cannon ball, which would crawlslowly along, at less than a snail's pace. The express train going atsixty miles per hour would appear to stand still, and deliberateexperiment be required to discover its motion. By noting its position onthe track, and noting it again after a period of time as long as fiveminutes appears to us now, we should find its position changed by threeinches. It would be a dangerous world, as there would be manyobjects--not distinguishable to the senses from other harmlessobjects--contact with which would be dangerous, even fatal; and one andthe same object (as the express train) might sometimes be harmless (whenat rest), sometimes dangerous (when in motion), without our senses beingable to see any difference. 

On the other hand, with our sense perceptions 100, 000 times slower, allevents in nature would appear to us to occur 100, 000 times faster. Therewould be little rest in nature, and we should see plants, and evenstones, move. We should observe, in a period of time not longer than aminute or two appear to us now, a plant start from seed, grow up, flower, bring fruit, and die. Sun and moon would be luminous bandstraversing the sky; day and night alternate seconds of light anddarkness. Much of nature, all moving things, would be invisible to us. If I moved my arm, it would disappear, to reappear again when I held itstill. It would be a usual occurrence to have somebody suddenly appearand just as suddenly disappear from our midst, or to see only a part ofa body. The vanishing and the appearance of objects would be commonoccurrences in nature; and we should speak of "vanishing" and"appearing, " instead of "moving" and "stopping. " Collisions, usuallyharmless, with invisible objects would be common occurrences. 

As seen, nature and its laws would appear to us very different from whatwe find them now, with our present time perception. 

Thus philosophy, mathematics, and physical science agree that space andtime cannot be entities, but are conceptions of the human mind in itsrelation to nature. But what does this mean, and what conclusions followfrom it?

The space of our conception is three-dimensional--that is, extended inthree directions. For instance, the north-south direction, the east-westdirection, and the up-down direction. Any place or "point" in space thusis located, relative to some other point, by giving its three distancesfrom the latter, in three (arbitrarily chosen) directions. 

Time has only one dimension--that is, extends in one direction only, from the past to the future--and a moment or "point" in time thus islocated, with reference to another point in time, by one time distance. 

But there is a fundamental difference between our space conception andour time conception, in that we can pass through time only in onedirection, from the past to the future, while we can pass through spacein any direction, from north to south, as well as from south tonorth--that is, time is irreversible, flows uniformly in one direction, while space is reversible, can be traversed in any direction. This meansthat when we enter a thing in space, as a house, we can approach it, pass through it, leave it, come back to it, and the thing thereforeappears permanent to us, and we know, even when we have left the houseand do not see it any more, that it still exists, and that we can goback to it again and enter it. Not so with time. On approaching a thingin time, an event such as a human life, it extends from a point intime--birth--over a length of time--the life--to an end point intime--death--just as the house in space extends from a point inspace--say the north wall--over a length of space--its extent--to an endpoint in space--say the south wall. But when we pass beyond the endpoint of an event in time--the death of a life--we cannot go back to theevent any more; the event has ceased, ended, the life is extinct. 

But let us imagine that the same irreversibility applied to theconception of space--that is, that we could move through space only fromnorth to south, and not in the opposite direction. Then a thing inspace, as a house, would not exist for us until we approached it. Whenwe were approaching it, it would first appear indistinctly, and more andmore distinctly the nearer we approached it, just as an event in timedoes not exist until we reach the point of its beginning, but may appearin anticipation, in time perspective, when we approach it, the moredistinctly, the closer we approach it, until we reach the threshold ofthe time span covered by the event, and the event begins to exist, thelife is born. So to us, if we could move only from north to south, thehouse would begin to exist only when we reached its north door. Thatpoint would be the "birth" of the house. Passing through the span ofspace covered by the house--this would for us be its existence, its"life, " and when we stepped out of the south door the house would ceaseto exist for us, we could never enter it and turn back to it again--thatis, it would be dead and extinct, just as the life when we pass beyondits end point in time. Thus birth and death, appearance and extinctionof an event in time, as our life, are the same as the beginning and endpoint of a thing in space, like a house. But the house appears to us toexist permanently, whether we are in it, within the length betweenbeginning and end point, or not; while the event in time, our life, appears to us to exist only during the length of time when we arebetween its beginning and its end point in time, and before and after itdoes not exist for us, because we cannot go back to it or ahead into it. But assume time were reversible, like space--that is, we could gothrough it in any direction. There would then be no such thing as birthor origin, and death or extinction, but our life would existpermanently, as a part or span of time, just as the house exists as apart or section of space, and the question of immortality, of extinctionor nonextinction by death, would then be meaningless. We should notexist outside of the span of time covered by our life, just as we do notexist outside of the part of space covered by our body in space, and toreach an event, as our life, we should have to go to the part of spaceand to the part of time where it occurs; but there would be no moreextinction of the life by going beyond its length in time as there isextinction of a house by going outside of its door, and everything, likea human being, would have four extensions or dimensions--threeextensions in space and one in time. [9]

If space and time, and therefore the characteristics of space and time, are not real things or entities, but conceptions of the human mind, thenthose transcendental questions, as that of immortality after death andexistence before birth, are not problems of fact in nature or outside ofnature, but are meaningless, just as the question whether a house existsfor an observer outside of the space covered by it. In other words, thequestions of birth and death, of extinction or immortality, are merelythe incidental results of the peculiarity of our conceptions of time, the peculiarity that the time of our conceptions is irreversible, flowscontinuously at a uniform rate in the same direction from the past tothe future. 

But if time has no reality, is not an existing entity, then thesetranscendental problems resulting from our time conception, ofextinction or immortality, have no real existence, but are reallyphenomena of the human mind, and cease to exist if we go beyond thelimitations of our mind, beyond our peculiar time conception. 

It is interesting to realize that the modern development of science, inthe relativity theory, has proved not only that time is not real, but aconception, but also has proved that the time of our conception does notflow uniformly at constant rate from past to future, but that the rateof the flow of time varies with the conditions; the rate of time flow ofan event slows down with the motion relative to the event. 

But the conception of a reversal of the flow of time is no moreillogical than the conception of a change of the rate of the flow oftime. It is inconceivable, because it is beyond the limitations of ourmind. 

Thus we see that the questions of life and death, of extinction andimmortality, are not absolute problems, but merely the result of thelimitations of our mind in its conception of time, and have no existenceoutside of us. 

After all, to some extent we conceive time as reversible, in theconception of historical time. In history we go back in time at ourwill, and traverse with the mind's eye the times of the past, and wethen find that death and extinction do not exist in history, but theevents of history, the lives of those who made history, exist just asmuch outside of the span of time of their physiological life--that is, are immortal in historical time. They may fade and become moreindistinct with the distance in time, just as things in space becomemore indistinct with the distance in space, but they can be brought backto full clearness and distinction by again approaching the things andevents, the former moving through space, the latter moving through thehistorical time--that is, by looking up and studying the history of thetime. 

THE ENTITY "X"

Scientifically, life is a physico-chemical process. Transformations ofmatter, with which the chemist deals, and transformations of energy, with which the physicist deals, are all that is comprised in thephenomenon of life; and mind, intellect, soul, personality, the ego, aremere functions of the physico-chemical process of life, vanishing whenthis process ceases, but are not a part of the transformations of matterand of energy. If you thus speak of "mental energy, " it scientificallyis a misnomer, and mind is not energy in the physical sense. It is truethat mental effort, intellectual work, is accompanied by transformationsof matter, chemical changes in the brain, and by transformations ofenergy. But the mental activity is not a part of the energy or of thematter which is transformed, but the balance of energy and of mattercloses. 

In the energy transformations accompanying mental activity, just as muchenergy of one form appears as energy of some other form is consumed, andthe mental activity is no part of the energy. In the transformations ofmatter accompanying mental activity, just as much matter of one formappears as matter of some other form is consumed, and the mentalactivity is no part of either--that is, neither energy nor matter hasbeen transformed into mental activity, nor has energy or matter beenproduced by mental activity. All attempts to account for the mentalactivity as produced by the expenditure of physical energy, or asproducing physical energy--that is, exerting forces and action--havefailed and must fail, and so must any attempt to record or observe andmeasure mental activity by physical methods--that is, methods sensitiveto the action of physical forces. 

But what, then, is mind? Is it a mere phenomenon, accompanying thephysico-chemical reactions of life and vanishing with the end of thereaction, just as the phenomenon of a flame may accompany a chemicalreaction, and vanish when the reaction is completed? Or is mind anentity, just like the entity energy and the entity matter, but differingfrom either of them--in short, a third entity? We have compared mindwith the phenomenon of a flame accompanying a chemical reaction; but, after all, the flame is not a mere phenomenon, but is an entity, isenergy. 

More than once, in the apparently continuous and unbroken structure ofscience, wide gaps have been discovered into which new sections ofknowledge fitted, sections the existence of which had never beensuspected. So in Mendelejeff's _Periodic System of the Elements_ allchemical elements fitted in without gaps--in a continuous series (excepta few missing links, which were gradually discovered and filled in). Nevertheless, the whole group of six noble gases, from helium toemanium, were discovered and fitted into the periodic system at a placewhere nobody had suspected a gap. 

One of the most interesting of such unsuspected gaps in the structure ofscience is the following, because of its pertinency to the subject ofour discussion. 

In studying the transformations of matter, the chemist records them byequations of the form:

(1) 2H_{2} + O_{2} = 2H_{2}O, which means:

Two gram molecules of hydrogen H_{2}(2 X 2 = 4 grams) and 1 grammolecule of oxygen O_{2}(1 X 32 grams), combine to 2 gram molecules ofwater vapor H_{2}O (2 X 18 = 36 grams). 

For nearly a hundred years chemists wrote and accepted this equation;innumerable times it has been experimentally proved by combining 4 partsof hydrogen and 32 parts of oxygen to 36 parts of water vapor; so thatthis chemical equation would appear as correct and unquestionable asanything can be. 

Nevertheless, it is wrong, or rather incomplete. It does not give thewhole event, but omits an essential part of it, and now we write it:

(2) 2H_{2} + O_{2} = 2H_{2}O + 293, 000 J. , which means:

The matter _and energy_ of 2 gram molecules of hydrogen, and the matter_and energy_ of 1 gram molecule of oxygen, combine to the matter _andenergy_ of 2 gram molecules of water vapor and 293, 000 joules, or units, of _free energy_. 

For a hundred years the chemists thus saw only the materialtransformation as represented by equation (1), but overlooked and didnot recognize the energy transformation coincident with thetransformation of matter, though every time the experiment was made, the293, 000 J. Of energy in equation (2) made themselves felt as flame, asheat and mechanical force, sometimes even explosively shattering thecontainer in which the experiment was made. But the flame and theexplosion appeared only as an incidental phenomenon withoutsignificance, as it represents and contains no part of the matter, butequation (1) gives the complete balance of matter in transformation. Itwas much later that the scientists realized the significance of theflame accompanying the material transformation as not a mere incidentalphenomenon, but as the manifestation of the entity energy, permanent andindestructible, like matter, and the complete equation (2) appeared, giving the balance of energy as well as the balance of matter--that is, coincident with the transformation of matter is a transformation ofenergy, and both are indissoluble from each other, either involves theother, and both may be called different aspects of the same phenomenon. 

But we have seen, when mental activity occurs in our mind, chemical andphysical transformations accompany it, are coincident with it, andapparently indissoluble from it. Does there possibly exist the samerelation between mental activity and the transformations of energy andmatter, as we have seen to exist between the latter two? Are mentalactivity, energy transformation, and transformation of matter threeaspects of the same biochemical phenomenon?

If for nearly a hundred years equation (1) was considered complete, until we found that one side was incomplete, and arrived at the morecomplete equation (2), the question may well be raised: Is equation (2)complete, dealing as it does with two entities, matter and energy, or isit not possibly still incomplete, and a third entity should appear inthe equation, an entity "X, " as I may call it, differing from energy andfrom matter, just as energy and matter differ from each other, andtherefore not recognizable and measurable by the means which measureenergy or matter, just as energy cannot be measured by the same means asmatter?

That is, the complete equation of transformation would read:

(3) 2H_{2} + O_{2} = 2H_{2}O + 293, 000 J. + X, involving all threeentities, matter, energy, and mind, pertaining, respectively, to therealm of chemistry, of physics, and of psychology, or possibly a broaderscience of which psychology is one branch. 

There is no scientific evidence whatsoever of the existence of such athird entity, "X, " but all our deductions have been by analogy, whichproves nothing--that is, by speculation, dreaming, and unavoidablyso--since in these conceptions we are close to the border line of thehuman mind where logical reasoning loses itself in the fog ofcontradiction. But at the same time there is no evidence against theconception of an entity "X"; it is not illogical, at least no more sothan all such general conceptions, no more so than, for instance, thatof energy or of matter. As empirical science deals with energy andmatter, and entity "X" is neither, it could not be observed by any ofthe methods of experimental physics or chemistry. 

If mind is a third entity, correlated with the entities of energy andof matter, we should expect that mental activity, or entity "X, " shouldoccur not only in the highly complex transformations of energy and ofmatter taking place in the brains of the highest orders of livingbeings, but that entity "X" should appear in all physico-chemicalreactions, just as energy transformations always occur intransformations of matter, and inversely. But this seems not so, and inmost of the transformations of energy and of matter entity "X" does notappear. However, we have no satisfactory means of recognizing entity"X, " no methods of studying it. Therefore, it may well be that it isnoticed only in those rare instances when it appears of high intensity, but in most reactions entity "X" may be so small or appear in such wayas to escape observation by the means and by the methods now available. Like energy or matter, entity "X" may have many forms in which it is notrecognized by us, just as for a long time the flame was not recognizedas the entity energy. 

To illustrate, again by analogy: In many transformations of matter, indeed, in most of the more complex ones of the organic world, theconcurrent energy transformation is of such slowness and of such lowintensity that it appears nonexisting, and can be discovered andmeasured only by the delicate experiments devised by science. Furthermore, the energy may appear in different forms. Thus the 293, 000J. Of energy in equation (2) may appear as heat, or as electricalenergy, or as a combination of heat, light, sound, and mechanicalenergy. Now assume that we could observe and notice only one of theforms of energy--for instance, only electrical energy. We should thenfind that in the equation (1) we only sometimes get energy--that is, electrical energy--under special peculiar conditions, but usually do notseem to get any of the entity energy, simply because we do not recognizeit in the form in which it appears. Analogously, there might be a termof entity "X" in all transformations, even such simple ones as equation(3), but entity "X" may appear in a far different, simpler form. Itwould mean that "mind" is only one form of entity "X, " perhaps thehigh-grade form, as it appears in highly complex reactions. In thesimpler physico-chemical processes of nature, entity "X" also wouldappear, but in other, simpler forms. It would mean that things such asmind and intellect are not limited to the higher living beings, butcharacteristics akin thereto would be found grading down throughout allliving and inanimate nature. This does not appear unreasonable when weconsider that some characteristics of life are found throughout allnature, even in the crystal which, in its mother liquor, repairs alesion, "heals a wound, " or which, in the colloidal solution, may be"poisoned" by prussic acid. 

Assume, then, that mind, intellect, personality, the ego, were forms ofa third entity, an entity "X, " correlated in nature with the entitiesenergy and matter. Then, just as energy and matter continuously changetheir forms, so with the transformations of energy and of matter, entity"X" would continuously change, disappear in one form and reappear inanother form. Entity "X" could therefore not exist permanently in oneand the same form, and the permanency of the ego--that is, immortality--would still be illogical, would not exist within the realmof science, but would carry us beyond the limitations of the human mindinto the unknowable. Permanency of the ego--that is, individualimmortality--would require a form of entity "X, " in which it is notfurther transformable. This would be the case if the transformations ofentity "X" are not completely reversible, but tend one definitedirection, from lower-grade to higher-grade forms, and the latter thuswould gradually build up to increasing permanency. There is nothingunreasonable in this, but a similar condition--in the reversedirection--exists with the transformations of energy. They also are notcompletely reversible, but tend in a definite direction, from higher- tolower-grade form--unavailable heat energy (the increase of entropy bythe second law of thermodynamics). Thus in infinite time the universeshould come to a standstill, in spite of the law of conservation ofenergy, by all energy becoming unavailable for furthertransformation--that is, becoming dead energy. If entity "X" existed, could it not also have become unavailable for further transformation byreaching its maximum high-grade form and thus become not susceptible tofurther change--that is, "immortal"--just as the unavailable heat of thephysicist is "immortal, " and not capable of further transformation? Herewe are again in the fog of illogic, beyond the limitations. However, itsounds familiar to the Nirvana of the Buddhist. 

Physics and chemistry obviously could not deal with entity "X, " and themost delicate and sensitive physical or chemical instruments could getno indication of it, and all attempts at investigation by physical orchemical means thus must be doomed to failure. But such investigationsof entity "X" belong to the realm of the science of psychology, or, rather, a broader science, of which psychology is one branch dealingwith one form of entity "X, " mind, just as, for instance, electro-physics is one branch of the broader science of physics, dealingwith electrical energy, while physics deals with all forms of energy. 

In concluding, I wish to say that nothing in the preceding speculationscan possibly encourage spiritism or other pseudo-science. On thecontrary, from the preceding it is obvious that the allegedmanifestations of spiritism must be fake or self-deception, since theyare manifestations of energy. Entity "X, " if it exists, certainly is notenergy, and therefore could not manifest itself as such. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 8: From _Harpers Magazine_ for February, 1922. ]

[Footnote 9: It is interesting to note that the relativity theory leadsto the conception of a symmetrical four-dimensional world space(Minkowski), in which in general each of the four dimensions comprisesspace and time conceptions, and the segregation into three dimensions ofspace and one dimension of time occurs only under special conditions ofobservation. (AUTHOR. )]

BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL NOTES

SIR ARTHUR KEITH, M. D. , LL. D. , F. R. S. , born in Aberdeen, 1866, waseducated at the University of Aberdeen; at University College, London;and at the University of Leipzig. From 1899 to 1902, he was Secretary ofthe Anatomical Society of Great Britain, and was President of the RoyalAnthropological Institute from 1912 to 1914. At present he is HunterianProfessor and Conservator of Museum, Royal College of Surgeons, London, and also holds the Fullerian Professorship of Physiology, RoyalInstitution of Great Britain and Ireland. Beginning with his_Introduction to the Study of Anthropoid Apes_ in 1896, he has producedsome ten volumes. Among them are _Human Embryology and Morphology_(1901); _Ancient Types of Man_ (1911); _The Human Body_ (1912); _Mendersof the Maimed_ (1919); and _Nationality and Race_ (1920). He wasknighted in 1921. 

"The Levers of the Human Body" is helpful in illustrating the value ofdiagrams and of analogy in the exposition of a mechanism. It may be usedalso for teaching the student to adapt his work to the audience, for, although prepared at first for an immature audience, its material hassince been so adapted that in addition to the general reader it is ofparticular interest to the physician and to the engineer. 

The series of volumes in which _Modern Methods of Book Composition_appears, is but one of the distinguished services in improving thepractice of typography rendered by THEODORE LOW DE VINNE (1828-1914). Athis invitation, the chapter, "Mechanical Composition, " was contributedby PHILIP T. DODGE, President of the Mergenthaler Linotype Company. 

"The Mergenthaler Linotype, " which is taken from Mr. Dodge's chapter, iswell adapted for teaching the correlation of diagrams and text in theexposition of mechanisms and machines. 

Some idea of the length of JEAN HENRI FABRE'S life (1823-1915) may beobtained when we recall that his place as a scientist was establishedearly enough for Victor Hugo to refer to him as the "insects' Homer" andfor Darwin to refer to him in _The Origin of Species_ as "thatincomparable observer. " By 1841, Fabre had escaped from the poverty ofhis boyhood and had qualified as a pupil teacher at the Normal Collegeat Vaucluse. Later, he became Professor of Physics and Chemistry at the_lycée_ of Ajaccio and, by 1852, held a similar position at Avignon. Thegreater part of his life was spent in the study of insects. The resultsare recorded in several volumes. An interesting _Life_, written by theAbbé Augustin Fabre and translated by Mr. Miall, was published in 1921. 

"The Pea Weevil, " which offers an example of the exposition of a processachieved by impersonal narration, should prove especially helpful inshowing the student how interest may be secured in such work. 

The J. W. BUTLER PAPER COMPANY, which published the little volume fromwhich the selection is taken, is recognized as an important factor inthe industry. 

"Modern Paper-making" may be utilized in teaching the emphasis placed onchronological order in the impersonal narration of a process; theexplanation of machines by generalized description in such narration;and the methods employed in explaining alternate or parallel steps inthe process. 

WILLIAM JAMES (1842-1910), like his equally distinguished brother, received his elementary education in New York City and in Europe. From1861 to 1863, he studied at the Lawrence Scientific School, HarvardUniversity, leaving to join the Thayer Expedition to Brazil. He wasgraduated in 1870 from the Harvard Medical School and, two years later, was appointed Instructor in Anatomy and Physiology. In 1885, whileAssistant Professor of Physiology at the Medical School, he wasappointed Assistant Professor of Philosophy at Harvard University. Hislater work at the University is well-known. Among his published worksare his _Principles of Psychology_ (1889); _The Will to Believe_ (1897);_The Varieties of Religious Experience_ (1902); _Pragmatism_ (1907);_Memories and Studies_ (1911); and _Essays in Radical Empiricism_(1912). His _Letters_, edited by his son, appeared in 1920. 

"The Gospel of Relaxation" offers a model in the adaptation ofscientific material to a lay audience, through the way in which theauthor makes clear the Lange-James Theory by concrete examples andpractical applications. 

CHARLES PROTEUS STEINMETZ (1865-), born in Breslau, Germany, waseducated at Breslau, Berlin, and Zurich. For twenty-five years he hasbeen Consulting Engineer to the General Electric Company, and for twentyyears Professor of Electro-physics at Union University. Besides severalauthoritative volumes on subjects within his field, he is the author of_America and the New Epoch_ (1906) and is a frequent contributor toliterary as well as to technical journals. 

"Science and Religion" may be used to show the student how even sotechnical a topic as the Einstein Theory may be rendered concrete forthe general reader through analogy and specific examples.