Part 6

The following is from _Herapath's Journal_ on the effect of the earth's rotation on locomotion: 'Mr Uriah Clarke, of Leicester, has called our attention to an article in the _Mechanic's Magazine_, by himself, on the influence of the earth's rotation on locomotion. It is well known, that as the earth revolves on its axis once in twenty-four hours, from west to east, the velocity of any point on its surface is greater nearer the equator, and less further from it, in the ratio of the cosine of the latitude. Mr Clarke says: "Some rather important conclusions in relation to railway travelling arise out of the view now taken. The difference between the rotative velocity of the earth in surface-motion at London and at Liverpool is about twenty-eight miles per hour; and this amount of lateral movement is to be gained or lost, as respects the locomotion in each journey, according to the direction we are travelling in from the one place to the other; and in proportion to the speed will be the pressure against the side of the rails, which, at a high velocity, will give the engine a tendency to climb the right-hand rail in each direction. Could the journey be performed in two hours between London and Liverpool, this lateral movement, or rotative velocity of the locomotive, would have to be increased or diminished at the rate of nearly one-quarter of a mile per minute, and that entirely by side-pressure on the rail, which, if not sufficient to cause the engine to leave the line, would be quite sufficient to produce violent and dangerous oscillation. It may be observed, in conclusion, that as the cause above alluded to will be inoperative while we travel along the parallels of latitude, it clearly follows, that a higher degree of speed may be attained with safety on a railway running east and west than on one which runs north and south." There is no doubt of the tendency Mr Clarke speaks of on the right-hand rail, but we do not think it will be found to be so dangerous as he says. It will be greatest on the Great Northern and Berwick lines, and least on the Great Western.'

FOREST SCENERY OF AMERICA.

The forests between Lake Superior and the Mississippi, where the country is very flat and wet, are composed almost entirely of black cypress; they grow so thick that the tops get intermixed and interlaced, and form almost a matting overhead, through which the sun scarcely ever penetrates. The trees are covered with unwholesome-looking mosses, which exhale a damp earthy smell, like a cellar. The ground is so covered with a rank growth of elder and other shrubs, many of them with thorns an inch long, and with fallen and decayed trunks of trees, that it is impossible to take a step without breaking one's shins. Not a bird or animal of any kind is to be seen, and a deathlike silence reigns through the forest, which is only now and then interrupted by the rattle of the rattlesnake (like a clock going down), and the chirrup of the chitnunck, or squirrel. The sombre colour of the foliage, the absence of all sun even at mid-day, and the vault-like chilliness one feels when entering a cypress swamp, is far from cheering; and I don't know any position so likely to give one the horrors as being lost in one, or where one could so well realise what a desolate loneliness is. The wasps, whose nests like great gourds hang from the trees about the level of one's face; the mosquitoes in millions; the little black flies, and venomous snakes, all add their 'little possible' to render a tramp through a cypress swamp agreeable.--_Sullivan's Rambles_.

THE BETTER THOUGHT.

The Better Thought! how oft in days When youthful passion fired my breast, And drove me into devious ways, Didst thou my wandering steps arrest, And, whispering gently in mine ear Thine angel-message, fraught with love, Check for the time my mad career, And melt the heart naught else could move!

Thine was no stern and harsh rebuke; No 'friend's advice,' so true, so cold; No message wise, such as in book, Or by the teacher oft is told, Which, like the pointless arrow, falls, And rings perhaps with hollow sound, But ne'er the wanderer recalls, And ne'er inflicts the healing wound.

Thy voice was gentle, winning, mild; Thy words told thou wert from above, Like those with which the wayward child Is wooed by a fond mother's love; Or like a strain of music stealing Across the calm and moonlit seas, Which moves the heart of sternest feeling, And wakes its deeper harmonies.

Sweet was thy presence, welcomed guest; And I, responsive to thy call, Arose, and felt within my breast A power that made the fetters fall From off my long enthrallèd soul, And woke, as with a magic spell, Griefs which yet owned the soft control Of hopes that all might still be well.

But ah, thou wast an injured guest! How soon departed, soon forgot, Were all the hopes of coming rest That clustered round the Better Thought-- The tender griefs, the firm resolves, The yearnings after better days, Like transient sunlight which dissolves, And leaves no traces of its rays!

Yet I despair not--through the night That long has reigned with tyrant sway, E'en now I see the opening light, The harbinger of coming day; To Heaven I now direct my prayer-- O God of love, forsake me not! Grant that my waywardness may ne'er Quench the returning Better Thought!

GARVALD. J. F.

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End of Project Gutenberg's Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, No. 460, by Various