Part 3

It is by means of a fireplace that a room is generally ventilated. The air which has served for the burning of the fuel is thereby made very hot, and hot air, being much lighter than cold air, rises up the chimney, generally mixed with soot, and is then called smoke. According as the hot air leaves the room, cold air enters to supply its place through the open doors or windows, or, if these be closed, through every little crevice which can give it passage. There is thus produced a rapid current of air, or draught, as it is termed. The air vitiated by the breathing of persons in the room is carried away along with that vitiated by the fire, and at any one moment the air in the room is found to be almost completely pure. It is therefore to proper ventilation that the inhabitants of towns must look for the maintenance of health. Disregard to this precaution has been the means of increasing to a frightful extent the mortality of large cities, and instances have been given, where an infectious disease, which had ravaged a number of low and confined streets in a large English town, stopped suddenly, and avoided a street otherwise no better than the rest, but which had been kept clean, and the rooms ventilated, by the exertions of some well-informed persons. For the preservation of the health of the poorer classes in large towns, medicine is of far less importance than cleanliness and ventilation.

We are sure, however, that many of our intelligent readers are ready now to start an objection to the account just given of the cause of bad air in cities. If the air of a city be injured by the large quantity of carbonic acid which is formed, a city should be the best place possible for the health of vegetables. If the air which is bad for man be good for plants, the vegetation in a confined street should surpass, in brilliancy and verdure, that of the most open and best attended gardens. It is true, unfortunately, that the only produce of our once industrious Liberty is now the grass which is growing in the seats of former bustle; but we have not even the satisfaction of knowing that that flourishes. It is pale, sickly, and stunted; for the air of the city is vitiated by causes different from that which alone has hitherto occupied us, and these causes are as injurious to plants as to man. The carbon of our fuel produces, in burning, carbonic acid, but carbon is not the only substance in ordinary fuel. Most coals contain sulphur, and in burning, this body produces sulphurous acid, also a gas, which is highly irritating and poisonous, particularly to plants, and which, mixing with the air, renders the city as injurious to the organization of a plant as the carbonic acid to the respiration of an animal.

To render air fit for respiration, it is necessary to do more than keep the proper quantity of oxygen in it; the carbonic acid must be taken away. Plants, our readers have already remarked, do both, and hence the admirable fitness of external nature to the objects for which the Creator has designed it. If the carbonic acid were not taken away, all animals would be poisoned, even if the proper quantity of oxygen remained, for carbonic acid is a positive poison, which kills by acting on the brain like opium. A person can live, breathing with only one lung; in the disease of consumption, an individual may live for months with only one lung, or even only part of a lung, remaining fit for use; but if perfectly good air be breathed with one lung, and carbonic acid with the other, the person will be poisoned after a very short time; consequently, it is of great importance to prevent the accumulation of carbonic acid, even where it is not produced at the expense of the oxygen of the air.

Carbonic acid is indeed produced in a great variety of ways, besides by animals in breathing, and fuel in burning. It is remarkable that it is only the green parts of plants which breathe as has been described; the leaves and stems giving out oxygen, and absorbing carbonic acid. The flowers and the ripe fruits of plants act on the air in the same way as animals, and hence deteriorate it; and the rooms where stores of fruit are kept, are known to be very unwholesome, and persons have been suffocated by sleeping in a room where there was a very great quantity of flowers. Oils, particularly drying oil, and spirit of turpentine, act on air also, absorbing oxygen and giving out carbonic acid; and the air of a newly painted house, if the doors and windows are kept close, is consequently found to be very unfit for respiration. In many countries, particularly where there are burning mountains, carbonic acid is given off from the ground, and it collects in every hollow or cave, in consequence of being much heavier than the air. There is a cave in Italy, called the Dog's Grotto, because a dog on entering it is instantly suffocated, though a man may walk in without injury. The cause is, that the cave is filled up by carbonic acid to about four feet deep; a dog, or any animal that holds its head lower than that height, breathes carbonic acid and is choked, but a man breathes the pure air which is above it, and escapes. In deep dry wells which have been neglected, carbonic acid accumulates, and workmen who go down to clean the pit are sometimes suffocated. In such cases a candle should first be let down, and if it burns, the air is fit to breathe. If the candle be extinguished, it is unsafe for an individual to descend.

In the Island of Java, however, perhaps the most remarkable collection of carbonic acid is to be found. On the summit of the highest mountain there is a circular valley of considerable depth, and presenting to the eye a spectacle combining the utmost beauty and horror. The sides of the valley are clothed with the richest perennial verdure of the tropics; all the plants which grow on that fine island are there found of surpassing magnitude and beauty, but intermixed with the skeletons of tigers, wolves, and men. There is no living animal. The greatest developement of vegetable life goes hand in hand with absolute destruction to all animal existence. The natives call this place _the Valley of Death_. It is the crater of an extinct volcano. From its bottom issue perpetually watery vapour and carbonic acid, the elements which clothe its sides with vegetable riches; but the whole being an invisible lake of carbonic acid, proves instant destruction to the unwary animal that passes over its brink. Some deserters from an English regiment concealed themselves in it, and their bodies, seen through the transparent but deadly gas by which they were surrounded, verified a fact which had been previously suspected to be a fable of the natives.

In the fermentation of corn, for making malt liquors or ardent spirits, a large quantity of carbonic acid is generated, and workmen who heedlessly descend into the vats to cleanse them, are very often suffocated. The trial by a lighted candle should never in such cases be omitted. In the burning of lime there is a very large proportion of carbonic acid set free; and poor persons who are tempted to sleep on the platform of a lime-kiln for the sake of the warmth it affords, are sometimes suffocated by the vitiated air they breathe.

The air, so far as regards its influence on health, is modified in a very important manner by causes which are not so positively known and measured as those we have hitherto examined. The spreading of odours through the air, whether they be the "spicy gales of Araby the blest," or the more unwelcome indications of putrescent matter, takes place by means of quantities of substances so small as to defy the powers of detection we possess. Many diseases, it is well established, arise from the formation and diffusion through the air of peculiar poisons in amazingly small quantity. Thus ague is produced by a specific poison generated in marshes. These poisons resemble other ordinary poisons, inasmuch as we can decompose them, and thus destroy their power. The chemical substance chlorine decomposes almost every vegetable or animal material that it touches. Thus it destroys all colours, and is hence of the greatest use in bleaching; it also destroys all atmospheric poisons, and, consequently, in hospitals and in private houses it is used to disinfect or prevent the spreading of disease, by decomposing the material which conveys it through the air.

For change of air we therefore, with reason, go to the country when we can; but whether to the sea side or to the interior, to Enniskerry or Kingstown, is not dependent on the nature of the air. Wherever the invalid finds most amusement, and agreeable occupation which does not fatigue; wherever the beauty of scenery, and the society of those to whom the heart is bound in ties of mutual esteem and love, present to the mind of one harassed by intense exertion of thought, or broken down by disease of body, a relief in admiration of the wisdom and goodness of his Creator, and in sympathy and kindliness towards his fellow men, the atmosphere is clearest; the bracing, enlivening influence of the pure country air is the most sensible, and the mind and body are most effectually restored to the condition of perfect health.

IRELAND FOR EVER! AND KILMAINHAM TO THE DEVIL!--Mr Egan, better known as "Bully Egan," held the chairmanship of Kilmainham at the time that the government were using their utmost endeavours to pass the Act of Union, and, of course, expected to be deprived of his office if he should oppose it. However, when the time for the division had arrived, his love of country preponderating over his love of self, he voted against the measure, exultingly exclaiming, "Ireland for ever! and Kilmainham to the devil!"

PERSEVERANCE.

Perseverance in the steady pursuit of a laudable and lawful object, is almost a sure path to eminence. It is a thing which seems to be inherent in some, but it may be cultivated in all. Even those children who seem to be either indolent like the sloth, or changeful as the butterfly, by the skilful training of a watchful parent, may be endowed with the habit of perseverance. The following anecdotes may aid in illustrating to youth the nature and value of this virtue. The celebrated Timour the Tartar, after a series of the most brilliant victories, was at length conquered and made captive. Though confined in a prison, whose massive walls and thick iron bars discouraged every attempt to escape, he still strove at each chink and crevice to find some way of deliverance. At length, weary and dispirited, he sat down in a corner of his gloomy prison, and gave himself up to despair. While brooding over his sorrows, an ant, with a piece of wood thrice as large as itself, attracted his attention. The insect seemed desirous to ascend the perpendicular face of the wall, and made several attempts to effect it. But after reaching a little elevation, it came to a jutting angle of the stone, and fell backward to the floor. But again, again, and again the attempt was renewed. The monarch watched the struggles of the insect, and in the interest thus excited forgot his own condition. The ant persevered, and at the sixtieth trial surmounted the obstacle. Timour sprang to his feet, exclaiming, "I will never despair--perseverance conquers all things!"

A similar anecdote is told of Robert Bruce, the restorer of the Scottish monarchy. Being out on an expedition to reconnoitre the enemy, he had occasion to sleep at night in a barn. In the morning, still reclining his head on a pillow of straw, he beheld a spider climbing up a beam of the roof. The insect fell to the ground, but immediately made a second essay to ascend. This attracted the notice of the hero, who with regret saw the spider fall a second time from the same eminence. It made a third unsuccessful attempt. Not without a mixture of concern and curiosity, the monarch twelve times beheld the insect baffled in its aim; but the thirteenth essay was crowned with success. It gained the summit of the barn; and the king, starting from his couch, exclaimed, "This despicable insect has taught me perseverance! I will follow its example. Have I not been twelve times defeated by the enemy's superior force? On one fight more hangs the independence of my country!" In a few days his anticipations were fully realised, by the glorious result, to Scotland, of the battle of Bannockburn.

A few years since, while travelling in an adjacent state, I came to a little valley, surrounded by rocky and precipitous hills. In that valley was a single house. It was old, and, by its irregularity of form, seemed to have been built at various periods. It was, however, in good condition, and bespoke thrift and comfort. Not a shingle was missing from the roof, no dangling clapboards disfigured its sides, no unhinged blinds swung idly in the wind, no old hats were thrust through the windows. All around was tidy and well-conditioned. The woodhouse was stored with tall ranges of hickory, the barns were ample, and stacks of hay without declared that it was full within. The soil around, as I have said, was rocky, but cultivation had rendered it fertile. Thriving orchards, rich pastures and prolific meadows, occupied the bed of the valley and the rugged sides of the hills. I was struck with the scene, and when I reached a village at the distance of two or three miles, I made some inquiries, where I learnt the story of the proprietor. He was originally a poor boy, and wholly dependent upon his own exertions. He was brought up as a farmer, and began life as a day labourer. In childhood he had read that "procrastination is the thief of time." He did not at first understand its meaning, and pondered long upon this desperate thief who bore the formidable title of PROCRASTINATION. It was at length explained to him; but the struggles he had made to comprehend the adage fixed it deep in his mind. He often thought of it, and, feeling its force, it became the ruling maxim of his life. Following its dictates with inflexible _perseverance_, he at length became proprietor of the little valley I have described. Year by year it improved under his care, and at the period of which I am speaking, he was supposed to be worth at least twenty thousand dollars.

Such is the force of perseverance. It gives power to weakness, and opens to poverty the world's wealth. It spreads fertility over the barren landscape, and bids the choicest fruits and flowers spring up and flourish in the desert abode of thorns and briars. Look at Boston! Where are the three hills which first met the view of the pilgrims as they sailed up its bay? Their tops are shorn down by man's perseverance. Look at the granite hills of Quincy? Proudly anchored in the bosom of the earth, they seem to defy the puny efforts of man, but they are yielding to man's perseverance. Forbidden and hopeless as they would appear to the eye of indolence and weakness, they are better than the treasures of Peru and the gem-strewn mountains of Brazil, to a people endowed with the hardy spirit of perseverance! They are better, for, while they enable them to command the precious metals yielded by other climes, they cherish a spirit and a power which all the gold of Golconda could not purchase.--_Fireside Education, by S. G. Goodrich._

LOOK BEFORE YOU LEAP.

"Look before you leap," is an advice applicable to many circumstances of human life, besides the mere examination of the locality in which, on which, or over which, you are about to exhibit your own or your horse's agility in the performance of a saltation. Such was the course of meditation that suggested itself to my mind, as I beheld an old woman step slowly and deliberately off the foot-path of Carlisle Bridge, and, without looking right or left, walk directly across the path of the Kilkenny mail-coach, that was just then coming in, the driver, of course, making his cattle do the thing handsomely, as they were so near home. Before he could pull up, the leaders had upset her, and the coroner had tenpence of his shilling surely counted, when a tall, athletic-looking gentleman, stooping suddenly, seized her by the legs, and dragged her from under the horse's feet, somewhat to the disarrangement of her attire. "Look before you leap," said he, giving her a smart shake; "did you never hear that adage, you stupid creature?"

"Arrah!" said she, with the most perfect innocence, "sure I was'nt goin' to jump. Such a sayin' was'nt made for the likes iv me." "Poh! you stupid being," said he, and walked on.

I followed, making the above reflection, when, about half way over, the actively benevolent gentleman saw a little boy about nine or ten years old put his hand into a gentleman's pocket; he instantly, with a promptitude similar to what he had just exhibited, dealt him a blow that nearly knocked the breath out of him.

The proprietor of the pocket, startled by the "_Hagh_" that announced the sudden and almost total expulsion of the sufferer's breath, turned sharply round, and, as the boy staggered over against the balustrades, fiercely asked, "Who did that?"

"That young rascal, sir, had his hand in your pocket," said the striker.

"Well, sir, and what if he had?--He's _my son_."

"Your son! Sir, I beg a thousand pardons. I--I--I--"

There is nothing I hate more than to see an unfortunate individual in an awkward dilemma. Maybe it is from having so often suffered, that I have a sort of fellow feeling. So, merely repeating to the recent promulgator of the old adage his own words, "Look before you leap," I passed on.

N.

EPITAPHS.--The shortest, plainest, and truest, are the best. I say the _shortest_, for when a passenger sees a chronicle written upon a tomb, he takes it on trust that some great man lies there buried, without taking pains to examine who it is. Mr Cambden, in his "Remains," presents us with examples of great men who had little epitaphs. And when once a witty gentleman was asked, what epitaph was fittest to be written on Cambden's tomb, "let it be," said he, "Cambden's remains." I say also the _plainest_, for except the sense lie above ground, few will trouble themselves to dig for it. Lastly, it must be _true_; not as in some monuments, where the red veins in the marble may seem to blush at the falsehoods written on it. He was a witty man who first taught a stone to speak, but he was a wicked man who first taught it to lie. A good memory is the best monument; others are subject to casualty and time; and we know that the Pyramids themselves, doting with age, have forgotten the names of their founders.--_Scrap Book._

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Printed and Published every Saturday by GUNN and CAMERON, at the Office of the General Advertiser, No 6. Church Lane, College Green, Dublin.--Agents:--London: R. GROOMBRIDGE, Panyer Alley, Paternoster Row. Manchester: SIMMS and DINHAM, Exchange Street. Liverpool: J. DAVIES, North John Street. Birmingham: J. DRAKE. Bristol: M. BINGHAM, Broad Street. Edinburgh: FRASER and CRAWFORD, George Street. Glasgow: DAVID ROBERTSON, Trongate.

TRANSCRIBERS' NOTES

Corrections to punctuation have not been individually documented.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Irish Penny Journal, Vol. 1 No. 4, by Various