boasted what their system would do if fairly tried -what peace and purity would reign in their "New Moral World." John held his peace for a long time, till at last "the fire kindled," and lifting up his voice, he turned upon them and said feelingly, but firmly: "Well, I am a plain-dealing man, and I like to judge of the tree by the fruits which it bears. Come then, let us look at what your principles do. I suppose they will do in a little way what they would do in a great. Now there," said he, pointing at the two apostates, "there are Tom and Jem, on whom you have tried your system. What, then, has it done for them? When they professed to be Christians, they were civil, sober, good-tempered; kind husbands and fond fathers. They were cheerful, hard-working, and ready to oblige. What are they now? What have you made them? Look at them. How changed they are! But not for the better. They seem downcast and surly; they cannot give one a civil word; their mouths are full of cursing and filthiness; they are drunk every week; their children are nearly naked; their wives brokenhearted, and their houses desolate. There is what your principles have done. This is the New Moral World' they have made.

"Now I have tried Christianity, and what has it done for me? I need not tell you what I was before; you all too well know. There was not one of you that could drink so deeply, or swear so desperately, or fight so fiercely; I was always out of humour, discontented, and unhappy. My wife was starved and ill-used; I had no money, nor could I get anything upon trust; I was hateful and hating. What am I now? What has religion made me? Thank God, I am not afraid to put it to you. He has helped me to walk carefully amongst you. Am I not a happier man than I was? Can you deny that I am a better servant to my master, and a kinder companion to you? Would I once have put up with what I daily bear from you? I could beat any one of you as easily as ever: why don't I do it? Do you ever hear a foul word come out of my mouth? Do you ever catch me in the public house? Is there any one that has got a score against me? Go and ask my neighbours if I am not altered for the better. Go and wife; she can tell you. Go and see my house; let that bear witness. God be praised for it: here is what Christianity has done for me; there is what Socialism has done for Tom and Jem."

ask

my

He stopped. The appeal was not to be withstood. For that time, at least, the scoffers had not a word to answer. They were overpowered by the eloquence of example.

BIRMINGHAM AND HER MANU-
FACTURES.

IV-GLASS WORKS OF MESSRS. CHANCE, AT
SPON-LANE.

THE reader will now accompany us back to the Smethwick railway station, whence a ride of a few minutes only, transports us to Spon-lane, the next station on the route. Here, having been furnished with an introduction to the works of Messrs. Chance, we shall have an opportunity of

witnessing the operations carried on at their extensive glass factory.

Glass, as most persons know, is produced from silicious sand fused in the fire by means of alkali; but were it nothing else than this, it would obtain little admiration from mankind, and might be fitly described, in the words of Dr. Johnson, as a “shapeless" commodity, "rugged with excrescences and clouded with impurities;" but since the hour when the "first fortuitous liquefaction" taught mankind to combine its component materials, countless experiments have led to perfection in the manufacture, and so far as the purity of the product is concerned nothing now remains to be wished for. The glass in ordinary use is of three kindscrown glass, plate glass, and flint glass; the base of all being the silicious sand which is found in great abundance at Alum Bay, in the Isle of Wight, as well as at Aylesbury, in Buckinghamshire, and Lynn, in Norfolk. The materials for flint glass are three parts of sand, two of oxide of lead, and one of alkali, with some admixture of manganese and arsenic; the components of crown and plate glass differ somewhat from these, and variously in different manufactories. quality of the glass is dependent on the proportions of the above elements, on the temperature to which they are exposed, and the skill and judgment brought to bear in combining them in the furnace.

The

The glass works of Messrs. Chance, at Sponlane, occupy an immense space of ground; there is many a market town in England, with its marketplace and town-hall, its parish church and burialground, that stands upon a less area. It will be in the recollection of the reader that the Crystal Palace was glazed with glass from this establishment; it was of the kind called sheet glass, manufactured by a process originally French, but which has been long practised and brought to perfection at Spon-lane. On arriving at the works we are consigned to the care of a guide, whom we follow forthwith to the furnaces, where a number of men are engaged in the manufacture of crown glass; this is the glass generally used by glaziers, the appearance of which is familiar to every one, from the great lump or bull's eye in the centre of the large disc, and which unsightly lump is occasionally visible in kitchen windows. One of these large circles or "tables," as they are called, though it passes through the hands of many workmen, occupies but a very short time in the making; it requires, however, the services of a great many men, the principle of the division of labour being necessarily carried out in this process. The reader must suppose the materials of which crown glass is made to have been already mixed in the meltingpots, fused by an intense heat into a liquid state, and freed from all impurities by skimming them off the surface of the fluid " metal." But as glass in a fluid state cannot be worked, the heat of the furnace has to be slackened in order that it may coagulate to such a consistency as to render it manageable. This being done, the business proceeds, somewhat in the following manner: a man armed with an iron tube seven or eight feet in length dips this into the molten mass, and turning it slowly round, collects as much as will adhere to the end of his rod; he then withdraws what he

sistency as that used for the circular "tables," is gathered by the workman at the end of his tube in the way already described. When he has gathered sufficient for his purpose, however, instead of moulding it to a convenient shape on a flat iron slab, he makes use of a bed of sand and water, as more suitable for his purpose. The glass which he is thus moulding is almost at a white heat, and, because it is so hot, it neither cracks nor hisses upon contact with moisture; were it some hundred degrees cooler it would fly into a thousand fragments, perhaps to the fatal injury of the busy operatives around him. This species of work is plainly more laborious than that of the crown-glass maker. The men appear to have heavier masses of the fiery metal to deal with, and to exercise more strength in their management. The mass of metal at the end of the tube, instead of being blown into a globe, has to be drawn out by means of inflation by the breath, whirling aloft and swinging in a cavity in the ground, into the form of a cylinder some four feet in length and near a foot in diameter. The skill of the artificer of course consists in his ability to do this in such a manner that there shall be an equal thickness of glass on every square inch of the long cylinder. He presents a very curious spectacle to a stranger while thus occupied. Standing at the mouth of a glowing furnace, and upon the edge of a deep pit in the floor, he now blows into the revolving tube, now brandishes it aloft, grimly watching it the while, as though he were going to balance it on his chin, now pokes it into the fire, withdraws it again and dangles it in the pit, then whirls it round half-a-dozen times in the air. Thus tormented, the mass grows longer and bigger and more and more transparent, until, at length, having been tossed and whirled, and roasted and toasted, and blown and balanced, and dangled into the precise shape and substance upon which the workman had set his mind, it is allowed to cool, and is deposited upon a tressel standing a few yards from the furnace. The pyramidal end next the blow-pipe has now to be cut off; this is done by a lad, who twists a snaky ribbon of the glowing metal from the furnace round that part of the cylinder which he wishes to detach, and then touches the spot with a little cold water. The cylinder, now about fortyfive or fifty inches in length, is first allowed to cool; a lad then pokes with one end of it a straightedge and a crooked instrument armed with a diamond, and with a stroke slits it from end to end. The cylinder has now to be changed into a flat plate. For this purpose, it is carried to another furnace, in an oven at one side of which it is gradually re-heated. When it has acquired the right temperature, it is removed to a flat smooth slab in the centre of the fire, where, by the action of intense heat, it soon shows symptoms of melting. It is laid on the slab with the slit uppermost : as the glass softens in the fire, the workman, with his long iron rod, carefully turns back the overlapping sides, and lays the sheet flat on the stone; he now changes his rod for a long hoe-shaped instrament, with which he in a manner kneads it to a perfect level. This accomplished, the slab, which runs upon a tramway at the bottom of the furnace, is drawn away in the rear, and the glass, becoming in a few moments sufficiently hard to be

removed, is stacked up in the annealing oven, after which it is ready for the purposes of the glazier. It was with glass thus made, weighing sixteen ounces to the square foot, and measuring fortynine inches each pane, that the Crystal Palace was glazed.

But supposing that the sheet of glass, whose fiery birth we have thus described, is intended to be patent plate, it has yet further and more protracted processes to undergo. To witness these, we must quit this part of Chancetown, as it ought to be called, and, descending a hill and crossing a bridge, make our way to a different part of the works, where the grinding and polishing and the artistic ornamentation of glass are carried on upon a most extensive scale. To become "patent plate," the sheets of glass, supposing them to be of the proper quality and thickness, have to be ground and polished. The grinding is performed in an immense apartment, some considerable proportion of an acre in extent, upon approaching which the ear is saluted by such a strange and portentous combination of sounds as cannot be heard elsewhere, and which we can compare to nothing but an imaginary tempest in a sea, the billows of which should be crags of rock and blocks of timber instead of salt sea-waves. The spectacle within is very much in keeping with the unearthly din. The whole floor is one congeries of heavy machinery in violent agitation, under the impetus of steam-power. Hundreds of sheets of glass, pressed beneath weighty slabs, are grinding one another's faces with sand and water. In order to insure an equal friction upon every portion of the surfaces, a strange eccentric motion is imparted to the beds between which they are packed, which gives them the air of creatures struggling to get free from a position in which they are anything but comfortable. We know not how long this ceremony of grinding endures; but when the plates are relieved they are turned over to gentler treatment, which they receive in another large apartment, at the hands of young girls, whose duty it is to examine each plate, and to finish by hand those few portions of its surface left untouched or imperfectly ground by the machines. A sheet of glass thus ground is a most beautiful object, and a market might be found, and most probably is found, for a considerable quantity in that state. By far the greater portion, however, has to undergo the final process of polishing, which takes place in another enormous room, fitted up with machines in all respects, so far as we could observe, similar to those in the grinding-room, with the exception that the slabs are covered with felt or leather rubbers, and fed with red oxide of iron instead of sand and water. The polich imparted by this means is considered equal to any that can be attained. The whole of these machines, as well for polishing as grinding, are driven by an enormous steam-engine, suckled by five boilers, each of which would serve for a palace for an Irish family. The engine lives in three floors at once, and we had to climb two flights of stairs to get, by instalments, a view of his entire proportions.

The ornamental department of this establishment is situated in the neighbourhood of the grinding and polishing rooms. We can enter less into detail on this subject, for reasons which the

reader will naturally conceive, the processes of painting and staining glass being but partially intelligible by a casual visitor, even when he is allowed to witness them, which is not always the case. Among the many beautiful specimens we saw were some capital imitations of the old mediaval church windows. There is, it is said, a considerable demand for these at the present time; but it strikes us as absurd, that the artists who produce them should be bound down to copy the defects and deficiencies of the old style as well as its merits. So it is, however; and it appears to be the rule, that whenever a coloured window is erected in a church or chapel, the outline of the design must needs be traced by an ungraceful line of dark lead, a resource to which the old artists were driven by want of better materials to work with-a want which no longer exists. Designs purely artistic are here in course of execution. We had the pleasure of seeing several finished portions of a transparent ceiling, intended for Chatsworth house, which will consist of a series of paintings from allegorical designs of a high order of merit, by a French artist. We saw enough of these performances to assure us that all that is wanting to complete success in the art of painting on glass, in our own country, is that its practice should be taken up by men capable of drawing with fidelity and breadth, and well versed in the difficult science of colour. Even an artist, however, thus qualified would have to revise all his previous knowledge and experience, inasmuch as the colours used in glass-painting assume new tints under the action of the heat of the kiln, to which the pictures must be subjected. The expense of getting up these pictures must be very great, partly from the slow and laborious nature of the process, and partly from the risk of breakage, which may destroy the work of months in an instant.

A plainer variety of ornamentation, for domestic and decorative purposes, is also here carried out to a great extent by means comparatively simple. The sheet of glass upon which the designs are to b. impressed is brushed over with a whitish vitreous mixture, so combined as to melt at a certain temperature which would not affect the glass. When this is dry, it presents a surface sufficiently hard for the pencil of the artist, who, first drawing his design upon it, then easily scrapes away with the graving tool such portions of the cloudy surfate as he wishes to remove. The drawings being finished, the sheets or plates of glass are carried to the kiln, the heat of which unites the whole in or e mass, without injuring the design, which glimmers in clear crystal forms upon a kind of frosted ground. At the time of our visit, several young artists were employed in transferring designs upon sheets of glass thus prepared. But we witnessed a more remarkable adaptation of the same process in a room below. Here stood what appeared at first sight a strange, nondescript, and complicated engine, but which proved to be a kind of engraving-machine, combining, as it appeared to us, the properties of the lathe and the pentagraph. It was manufactured by the late Mr. Holtzapfell, of Long Acre, whose extraordinary mechanical talent was well known throughout the country; and it is questionable whether, since his death, any one could be found to produce its fellow.

It does its work in the following manner: the sheet of glass to be ornamented is laid upon a flat slab, the cloudy surface uppermost; the slab being adjusted in its proper position, under the graving tool, the operator has nothing to do but to turn a handle, and in a very few minutes an exquisite pattern is engraved in the centre of the glass. The patterns thus produced appear not to be limited to any particular species of lines or curves, the tool working rapidly in all directions-waving, circular, curvilinear, angular, or in straight lines, and occasionally with a rapidity which the eye cannot follow. By this masterly contrivance an immense saving of time is effected-the work of a day under the pencil of an artist being done, with a precision which an artist could hardly accomplish, in a few minutes.

We are at the verge of our narrow limits, and must refrain from remarking on various other ornamental processes, which had their origin at Spon-house, and upon the experiments still carrying on having for their object the introduction of real art into the operations of manufacture. We have probably omitted all mention of many of the products of this vast factory, but we make no pretensions even to a knowledge of the whole of them, and our restricted space will not allow us to add much to what is already written. One thing, however, we cannot suffer to pass unrecorded, and that is, the humane and truly philanthropic spirit of the proprietors, which has led them to provide for the education of the children of their workmen, who are educated under their superintendence, at a cost little more than nominal to the parents. The schools and buildings necessary for this purpose were erected at an expense of several thousand pounds, defrayed by the Messrs. Chance; and hundreds of the children are there educated under the charge of qualified tutors, the books, papers, etc. being provided by the proprietors.

THE BLOOD PARASITE.

IT is well ascertained that the peculiar colours exhibited by lakes and other pieces of water, under certain conditions, are in general due to the presence of minute vegetable and sometimes animal productions. Such simple organisms as the lowest tribes of freshwater algae, which represent the zero of vegetable life, are found in every situation suitable for their development; even the rain and the dust of the atmosphere are thickly impregnated with such miscroscopic beings. One of these minute productions-Protococcus nivalis—is developed in the snow of northern regions, to which it communicates the colour of blood, and is hence called "red" or "bloody snow." This simple plant, consisting only of a single cell, which propagates itself by division into a number of separate cells, has been long known by botanists; but another production allied to it, or at least presenting a resemblance in general appearance, and certainly not less remarkable, has just been brought into notice by M. Montagne, in a paper published in the "Comptes Rendus," (xxxv. p. 145), and the "Annals of Natural History" for October, 1852.

M. Montagne observes:-"An extraordinary phenomenon has just passed under my eyes, to

which I beg to call the attention of the academy for a moment. I had already some knowledge of it from two Memoirs which have treated of it specially, but had never witnessed it previously. Moreover, this phenomenon is so rare, that I am not aware of its having ever been mentioned in this country. I am speaking of the development of a parasite, either animal or vegetable, which, under certain circumstances, attacks alimentary substances, especially pastry, communicating to them a bright red colour, resembling that of arterial blood. According to the interpretation of several historical facts given by M. Ehrenberg, who has published a very interesting and erudite work upon this production, its appearance in the dark ages must have given rise to fatal errors, by causing the condemnation of unhappy victims to capital punishments for crimes of which they were totally innocent. It is, in fact, to this phenomenon that we must refer all those instances of blood found in bread, on consecrated wafers, etc. which the credulity of our fathers attributed to witchcraft, or regarded as prodigies of fatal presage."

M. Montagne happened to be with M. Aug. Le Prévost at the Château du Parquet in July, 1852, when the temperature had been exceedingly high for about ten successive days. It was there that the curious production was observed, and, no doubt, the Continued warmth of the atmosphere was instrumental in providing the conditions suitable for its development. "The servants, much astonished at what they saw, brought us half a fowl roasted the previous evening, which was literally covered with a gelatinous layer of a very intense carmine red, and only of a bright rose colour where the layer was thinner. A cut melon also presented some traces of it. Some cooked cauliflower which had been thrown away, and which I did not see, also, according to the people of the house, presented the same appearance. Lastly, three days afterwards, the leg of a fowl was also attacked by the same production."

From a microscopic examination M. Montagne concluded it to be the same thing which had been observed by M. Ehrenberg, viz. a minute animaleule, bearing the scientific title of Monas prodigiosa. This was confirmed by a specimen from Dr. Rayer, which had been developed upon cooked rice, and submitted by that gentleman to M. Montagne's examination some years ago. The individuals which compose the substance are so exceed ingly small as to require a magnifying power of 90 diameters to see them satisfactorily. Their d'ameter was measured at one-seven-hundredth of a millimeter !

M. Montagne mentions, that the "parasite" is propagated with great facility, when sown under avourable conditions, in cooked rice for example, placed between two plates, or in closed vessels. M. Sette does not agree in the opinion of it being an animalcule, but rather regards it as a fungus→ Zoogalactina imetropha.

This production, though so very minute, is not entirely without its economical uses. An ingenious chemist of Padua, M. P. Col, has been successful in the application of it to the tinging of silk in Tarions shades of rose colour, the tint being very

delicate.

LIFE IN AN HOSPITAL. READER, were you ever in an hospital ward? If not, imagine to yourself a long and lofty room with little iron bedsteads at short intervals down each of its sides, and let the time be early morning, the grey dawn struggling in at the windows, and all silent save the heavy breathing of a patient here and there, and the occasional pacing of the "night nurse," who is already beginning to put the ward into its day attire. Even that deep sufferer near the entrance has sunk into a troubled slumber, after tossing on his narrow bed until the day had almost began to render his pallid features visible. It is now time to rise, and the stillness is changed into a busy scene; some are rising, and others, unable to do so, are fitting themselves in bed for that light which reveals dirt and litter, which are held in especial abomination in an hospital. Breakfast is over, and the ward is rapidly assuming an air of neatness and cleanliness; the "night nurse" and the day nurse" are both bustling about, and the "sister," who superintends all and lives in apartments adjoining the ward, is serving the medicines, eyeing every thing, and giving orders, rebuke, or encouragement as occasion requires. Let us now become acquainted with some of the sufferers.

66

Number One (for the patients are known by the number of their beds) is an Irish boy, ignorant, generous and ragged, full of fun and mischief; and as his broken leg is nearly well, he is now able to indulge his fondness for tricks of all kinds, to the amusement of some, and the annoyance of others of his "mates," as he terms them. Number Four, pale, haggard, and wasted away: death is stamping his seal, and shortly will claim him for his own. Seven, a character, a man who has been everywhere and seen everything, and who will assuredly die in an hospital or a workhouse: a drunkard, a frequenter of theatres, debating clubs, races, and such places; he has been apprentice, clerk in a ship, lawyer's clerk, waiter at an inn, man of all work, and will end by being a pauper. Eleven; who is he with handsome countenance, that bears evident tokens of having been accustomed to different society from that in which he now is? Ah! a sad story: dissipation has brought on disease, and his pious parents have now to mourn over an only son, sinking into an early grave. Fourteen: a painful case, offensive to the senses; and alas! affliction seems to have done the patient little good, for he is irritable and bad tempered, and his language is at times shocking. Number Seventeen: a young man of good abilities, which have been cultivated expensively, as his widowed mother can tell, the victim of a distressing disease of the eyes; but happily, most happily, that mother's prayers and teachings seem at last to have been rewarded, for the bible is the dearest of all books to that cultivated understanding.

And now, having introduced our readers to some of the patients, let us spend the rest of the day in the ward. Some are now reading, some talking, some sleeping; poor number Four is occasionally heaving a groan and turning from side to side, the chaplain having left him a short time ago; the boys are as busy as can be, drawing on slates, looking at picture-books, playing with toys, or chatting to one another; and one little fellow, rag