Chapter I: Front Matter

Copyright, 1896, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.

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PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, APRIL 14, 1896. FIVE CENTS A COPY.

VOL. XVII.--NO. 859. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

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MOTHER-IN-LAW TO THE CREW.

ONE OF THE OLD SAILOR'S YARNS.

BY W. J. HENDERSON.

It was a beautiful summer morning. There was a light wind from the southwest, which just tempered to a degree of endurance the blazing heat of the full-orbed sun. A few wisps of feathery white lay slantwise across the broad field of deep-toned blue sky, promising a change of weather within a day's time. The sea was a vast undulating mirror of blue, as if all the sapphires in the world and in all the other worlds had been melted and poured into earth's majestic basin. From the rounded slopes of the broad low swells the rays of the sun danced in a million flashes of dazzling silver. The swells themselves ran in slow, sinuous folds to the inner bar, where they reared themselves in curving walls of translucent green shot with bars of snow, and then with the burst of far-off thunder fell forward into spurting, writhing acres of yeasty foam. Softness, warmth, and languorous sparkle lay over the sea.

Far away upon the uncertain horizon loomed the black hull of an ocean liner, cleaving her way across the polished path at twenty knots an hour, to make a new record, homeward bound. The tense cordage of her rigging, the strained squareness of her tapering yards, the horizontal backward rush of the torrents of smoke from her yawning funnels gave her the appearance of a true greyhound, with every nerve and muscle strained in the effort at speed. Nearer the land three schooners, two loaded to their scuppers, and one flying light, so that she seemed to sail on her keel, were making a long leg to the southward, close-hauled on the starboard tack. Further in yet a score of tiny sea skiffs rose and fell on the bosom of the deep, and now and then the glitter of sunlight on the scales of a captured fish could be seen.

Henry Hovey and his little brother George--who was not so little as he used to be--were walking along the ocean road. Often and often they had gone down to the old wooden pier, and sighed much because it no longer held their interesting friend, the Old Sailor. They had met other sailors, but none of them could tell tales of the sea; and, worse than that, none of them knew anything about the wonderful places the Old Sailor had seen. So Henry and George contented themselves with telling the old tales over, and speculating on the causes of the remarkable events related therein. On this beautiful summer day they unconsciously wandered down to the pier, and to their surprise there was a man sitting on the end of it. He looked so much like their old friend that they both stopped short and gasped. Then they shook their heads sadly and walked slowly out on the pier. As they drew near the man they saw that his shoulders were shaking with laughter. George gripped Henry's arm and said, "Is it a dream?"

"I don't know," answered Henry, in a whisper. "I'm afraid--"

"W'ich the same it are not!" cried a voice they well knew; and the next instant there was the Old Sailor himself, half laughing and half crying, dancing on one foot and holding each of the breathless boys by a hand. "It are not no dream," continued the Old Sailor; "'cos w'y, dreams goes by contraries, an' this are the werry identical sailor wot it used to be, an' not no contrary wotsomever."

"Oh! when did you come?" cried George.

"Jes now."

"What?"

"Jes now. I jes come ashore. I were a-sittin' on this 'ere werry identical pier a-lookin' fur my trunk."

The two boys gazed at their old friend in silent wonder, for they were sure that behind that trunk there lay some mystery.

"Where is it?" asked Henry at length.

"Down there," answered the Old Sailor, pointing at the water. "Under hatches, stove in an' sunk. I wouldn't 'a' parted with that trunk fur a good hogshead o' baccy. 'Cos w'y; I got that there trunk in Noo Yawk the day I shipped, an' I had her loaded right to her hatches with things to bring home to ye. Howsumever, it were drownin' or losin' 'em, an' so me an' the trunk got ashore--leastways I did; an' that's wot."

With these words the Old Sailor once more sat down on the end of the pier, and the boys sat beside him. He sent one of his long searching glances around the horizon, indulged in one of his peculiar silent laughs, and then suddenly said,

"S'pose I was to go fur to ask ye wot kind o' wessel are that out yonder?"

"It's an ocean liner," answered Henry.

"An' s'posin' I was to say wot are them three yonder?"

"Schooners," said George, "under all plain sail, close-hauled on the starboard tack."

"My son," said the Old Sailor, solemnly, "you are growin' werry salt. An' s'posin' I were to ask ye wot are that high-sided one loaded with?"

"Nothin'," said Henry. "She's flying light."

"Werry good too. An' may I be run down an' sunk by a bar'l o' your mother's hot biscuit ef this here warn't the werry identical way wot it happened. I shipped in St. Thomas as second mate onto the four-masted schooner _Raw Tomatters_. She were bound fur Noo Yawk with an assorted cargo o' cigarettes, pickled pigs' feet, mares' nests, and ice-cream."

"Mares' nests!" exclaimed Henry.

"Ice-cream!" cried George.

"Them's it! The mares' nests is built in the mountains by the wild mares, an' is imported to this country for political purposes. The ice-cream made in St. Thomas are werry bad, werry bad indeed; but it won't melt in this here climate 'cos it are so hot where it are made, an' so it are imported here in bricks an' sold as ice-cream candy, w'ich the same you may have eat, but don't do so no more. Howsumever that 'ain't got nothin' to do with this 'ere yarn wot I'm a-tellin' ye. The _Raw Tomatters_ are a werry big schooner, an' she got under way with a crew o' twenty men, all told, includin' me, wot were the second mate, an' the Cap'n's mother, w'ich the same she were the cause o' the whole bilin'. The Cap'n's name were Janders Blue, an' he were a smallish man with a turned-up nose, one glass eye, an' a wooden arm, w'ich the same he got in the whalin' trade. His mother's name were Mehitabel Blue, an' she stood six feet three, an' could lift a barrel o' salt horse. So bein', it putty soon come to be knowed that she were not only the Cap'n's mother, but a mother-in-law to the hull crew. The trouble with her were that she weren't brought up among seafarin' pussons, but in a werry respectable country town where there were more churches than stores. She'd went down to St. Thomas on a steamer fur her health, she said, an' were now goin' fur to make the v'yidge back with her good son. I didn't see wot she wanted o' any more health than she had; but I didn't say nothin', her bein' the Cap'n's mother an' me the second mate, w'ich the same 'ain't got much to say.

"Waal, the squalls commenced fur to make up jes as soon as ever we started to git the anchor. The old lady, wearin' a wide-brimmed straw hat with a long red feather into 't, an' holdin' a white umbreller over her head, stood aft alongside o' her son. Sez he, 'H'ist the outer jib.' Sez I, 'Lively there, you swabs.' With that the old woman she shet the umbreller down with a snap, jumped forrad in about four hops, an' sez she ter me, sez she,

"'Wot kind o' langwidge are that ter use in the presence of a lady?'

"'Beggin' yer pardon, ma'am,' sez I to she, sez I, 'I weren't aware as how it were onperlite,' sez I, jes like that.

"'Don't you dast to call no man no sich names ag'in w'ile I'm on this 'ere boat,' sez she; 'ef ye do, I'll git my son ter discharge ye right off.'

"Then she h'isted the umbreller ag'in an' went aft. The men looked at me an' I looked at them, an' we didn't none on us say nothin'; 'cos why, there weren't nothin' to say. But blow me fur pickles ef 'twere more'n five minutes afore she bruk out in a noo place. Bill Doosenbury, the fust mate, he sings out fur some un to set the torps'ls.

"'Lay aloft an' loose torps'ls,' sez he. 'Lively now, you sea-cooks!'

"May I never cross the blessed hequator ag'in ef the old woman didn't dance right up to Bill, an' fetch him a swat over the head with the umbreller.

"'I'll not stand it,' sez she to he, sez she. 'I'll not listen to no sich talk.'

"With that the Cap'n comes a-runnin' up to her, an' sez he, 'Mother, wot's wrong?'

"'Wot d'ye mean, Janders Blue,' sez she to he, sez she, 'by allowin' o' sich permiskis langwidge on your boat?'

"'W'y, mother,' sez he, 'that are reg'lar sea langwidge.'

"'Then it are got to be changed,' sez she to he, sez she, jes like that, him bein' Cap'n of the schooner, an' she bein' his mother with a white umbreller. She turned around to go aft ag'in, an' stopped like she were hit herself. 'Janders Blue,' sez she, 'look at this here rope!'

"'Wot's the matter with 't, mother?'

"'It are all covered with tar!'

"'That's allers the way with 'em on ships,' sez he.

"'Nonsense!' sez she. 'I ain't a-goin' to stand it. You're all in a plot to make this 'ere v'yidge o' mine a failure. I won't have it! Janders Blue, you set them lazy sailors to work right off with hot water 'n' soap a-scrubbin' that stuff off. Ugh! Tar! Ugh!'

"I hope I may turn into a bloomin' Sally Growler ef the Cap'n didn't do jes wot she told him. Ye never in the hull course o' your life see sich a ridikalous sight as sailor-men a-scrubbin' the tar off their own riggin'. An' that weren't the wust o' 't. Byme-by, o' course, it come on night, and the side-lights were set. Now it so happened that we had a strong breeze on the starboard beam that night, an' we was putty well hove over. Mrs. Blue she come on deck jes after the lights was sot, an' she vowed as how she were tired o' the starn part o' the wessel, an' were a-goin' to walk up an' down forrad. She came along to the fok's'le deck an' got down on the lee side to walk up an' down. Jes as soon as she done that she seed the red light in the port riggin'. She let out a yawp as almost killed the wind, and called fur Bill Doosenbury. He come a-runnin' half scart to death, fur fear she'd got hurt. But she sez to him, sez she:

"'Take that nasty red light down. It hurts my eyes.'

"'But, ma'am,' sez Bill, 'that's our side light.'

"'Waal,' sez she, 'put it on t'other side, and put the green one over here. I don't mind green.'

"'Couldn't you walk on t'other side?' sez Bill.

"'No, I couldn't,' sez she; 'you know it's too windy up there. You change them lights!'

"Bill tried to tell her why it couldn't be did, but she wouldn't listen to him. She hollered fur the Cap'n, an' he come forrad, an' findin' out wot were the matter, offered to put out both lights, blow me fur a herrin' ef he didn't.

"'Wot!' sez she, 'an' leave me in the dark to fall down an' break my neck?'

"An' with that she set up a weepin' an' wailin' that her son didn't love her, till I'm blowed ef the old man didn't go an' shift the lights to suit her. An' then we had to put on double lookouts fur fear we'd run into somethin'. O' course soon's she went below we shifted 'em back. In the mid-watch 't come on to blow putty fresh, and I, bein' on watch, sung out a few orders about reefin', an' the watch jumped to work. Up come the old woman in a long night-gown an' a red flannel night-cap, two steps at a time.

"'Wot d'ye mean,' she yells, 'a-raisin' such a racket up here at this time o' night? It's time all decent people was in bed. Shame on ye! Shame on ye! Roisterin' an' carousin' out here this way! Go to bed, ye miserable sinners, go to bed!'

"I tried to explain to her as how the schooner'd got to be worked through the night.

"'Nonsense!' sez she to me, sez she; 'my son Janders'd never make no man work all night. He'd stop the ship an' have a night watchman to mind her till mornin'. This are some o' your doin'. You're the wust o' the hull lot. Th' idee of your bein' out this time o' night. You're old nuff to know better!'

"By that time the Cap'n were on deck, an' somehow he coaxed her to go below an' stay there. But the werry next mornin' she were at 't ag'in. We started in to wash down decks, an' up she come without her hat on an' her hair all up in yaller curl-papers. She tuk one look along the deck, an' then she bruk out:

"'Waal, of all the oncivilized ways o' cleanin' a floor I must say I 'ain't never seed nothin like that. Squirtin' onto 't with a hose! Janders! Janders! Come out here!'

"The Cap'n come on deck lookin' putty tired, an' she sez to he, sez she:

"'I won't stand it--I won't! Make them lazy men git soap an' water an' scrubbin'-brushes, an' git right down on their knees an' scrub the floor honest. Th' idee o' squirtin' onto 't!'

"An' by the great hook block we had to do 't. Right down onto our knees, es ef we wus so many old women hired out fur to do cookin', washin', an' ironin! Waal, ye may keel-haul me an' copper-bottom me on top o' my head with yaller paper ef I didn't begin fur to git putty mad. I made up my mind that the next thing o' that sort wot the old girl called out fur us to do were not a-goin' fur to be did. Waal, it weren't so werry long afore the trouble bruk loose. We had a little more wind than we wanted day afore yistiddy, an' afore we could git the torps'ls clewed down there were a hit of a split in one ov 'em. Yistiddy I got my sail needle an' palm an' were a-startin' to go up to mend the sail. The old woman stopped me an' asked me wot I were a-goin' to do. She looked at me an' at the sail needle an' the palm, an' then she let go:

"'I 'ain't never seed sich an old heathen in the hull course o' my life,' sez she. 'The idee o' climbin' up there an' riskin' your life w'en you could have the sail brung down! An' then to try to sew it with sich things as them! I won't stand it, that are all I got to say.'

"I told her that were the way them things was allers did at sea, an' she vowed it were time sich nonsense were changed. Then she called fur her son, an' sez she to he:

"This 'ere old sailor are a-doin' his best to make me mis'able aboard this 'ere ship. I won't stand it! You make him bring that sail down here and sew it up proper.'

"An' the Cap'n he sez to me, sez he, that I'd better do it her way, jes like that, him bein' Cap'n an' me second mate. I got mad an' slammed the palm down on deck, an' said I'd be swabbed afore I'd do 't.

"'Oh--h!' screeched the old woman, 'to think as how I'd be talked to like that in my son's own boat! I won't stand it! Janders Blue, you put that old man off this vessel at oncet, or I'll jump off myself an' wade ashore!'

"'But it are too deep fur wadin',' sez the Cap'n.

"'Then give him a boat.'

"'I can't spare my men.'

"'Let him row it hisself.'

"'He can't do that all alone.'

"'Oh, to think that my own son'd turn ag'in me, an' all fur a measly, chicken-faced, turkey-footed old sinner that wants to sew with a skewer!'

"An' she beginned fur to squeal so that the Cap'n, sez he to me, sez he, 'You git ashore somehow, quick.' Waal, my sons, we wuz about eight miles off yonder, an' I couldn't swim so far. But down in the fok's'le I had my trunk wot I'd carried off to bring home things in. So I went below an' emptied all the things out 'ceptin' a Chinese umbreller an' a Indian shawl. I brung the trunk on deck, an' sez I to the Cap'n, 'You rig a tackle an' lower me an' my trunk into the sea,' sez I, 'an' I'll git ashore right here. I've got friends on that there coast.' So he lowered us--me an' the trunk--an' the wind bein' fair, I set sail with the Chinese umbrella fur a sail. The old woman she stood on deck a-shakin' her umbreller at me, an' yellin' loud,

"'Don't ye dast to come back to this 'ere boat, ye old reprobate!'

"'Not as long as there are any land to stay on,' sez I to she, sez I.

"'I won't stand it!' sez she.

"'Then go to bed!' sez I.

"An' by that time the schooner were so fur away I couldn't tell wot she sez. It tuk me all night to git in half a mile o' the beach, an' then the wind changed an' I had to paddle. The surf smashed my trunk ag'in the pier; I lost my umbreller an' my shawl; but here I are, an' here I stays. An' the previous part o' my percedins I'll tell ye some other day, but jes now I'd like to see your mother an' ask her ef she's forgot how I like her coffee."

RÖNTGEN RAYS.

BY WILLIAM A. ANTHONY.

It is now some two months since the public was startled by the announcement that Röntgen of Bavaria had discovered that electric discharges in certain vacuum tubes, that is, tubes from which the air has been exhausted, gave out rays that would pass through wood, card-board, flesh, and numerous other substances opaque to light--that is, through which light would not pass, and would then affect the sensitive plates used in photographing, making it possible to show upon the plates the outlines of objects entirely hidden from the eye.

Probably what most aroused the interest of the public was the fact that when a structure, like the hand, was interposed in the path of these rays, the bones would cast a deep shadow, while the shadow cast by the flesh was very faint. It was thus possible to photograph the bones of the living body, and, of course, to show the presence of foreign substances or abnormal growths.

What has excited most surprise, perhaps, is the fact that these rays pass through bodies that are generally considered opaque, for it seems to those not familiar with the facts and demonstrations of science a most surprising thing that any rays should go through wood planks or sheets of metal or living flesh or brick walls. But is it really any more wonderful than that rays of light should go through glass or quartz or diamond or water? We are familiar with this last fact, because we can "see through" these substances. We know that glass does not shut out light, because we can see the space beyond it illuminated. But we have no sense that tells us of the presence of the Röntgen rays. We must resort to the photographic plate or the fluorescent screen (to be described further on), to show their presence, and for all information as to their behavior. The photographic plate is affected, while our eyes are not, and we are obliged to let such plates take the place of our eyes, and receive impressions which we can afterwards interpret.

But what are "rays"? When we stand in front of a fire of glowing coals we _feel_ the warmth, and our eyes tell us of the light. Light and heat are said to _radiate_ from the glowing coals, and both light and heat proceed in straight lines. These straight paths followed by radiations we have called rays. These rays are quivering motions in a medium which we call the ether, and which we believe extends through all space and pervades all bodies. They are waves, having the character of waves on the water, which we can see, and sound waves in air, which we know exist.

These ether waves, those that affect the eye and those which do not, differ from each other, as all wave motions differ, in the distance from wave to wave, or what is the same, in the frequency of the vibratory motions. As an example, compare the long ocean swell that comes thundering upon the beach at intervals of several seconds with the frequent swash, swash, swash of the little ripples on the shore of a fish-pond, or the vibrations that can be felt as a tremor of the whole church when the deep bass pipes of the great organ are sounded with the sharp shrill tones of the high treble pipe.

There are means of measuring the distances from wave to wave of the different rays in the ether, and the result is astounding. The frequency is something of which it is impossible to form any conception. About 20 millions of millions per second is the lowest, and about 1000 millions of millions the highest frequency. Of these, those only which lie between 400 and 760 millions of millions per second excite vision. In other words, the ether waves breaking upon the optic nerve must come at the rate of at least 400 millions of millions per second before that nerve will carry any impression to the brain--before we can "see" them. Why rays of these frequencies only should affect the eye we do not know. We only know that the structure of the eye is such that the other rays are powerless to produce vision. Neither do we know why the low-frequency rays will go through hard rubber and will not go through glass. We only know it is a fact.

All these ether rays may produce heat. The high-frequency rays affect the photographic sensitive plate, and also produce another effect that is of especial interest in connection with the study of the Röntgen rays. They have the power of exciting a peculiar luminosity, or light, in certain substances, which are for that reason called fluorescent.

Electrical discharges in vacuum tubes have long been known as sources of radiations which produce heat and affect the eye. Every student of physics knows the experiment with the aurora tube, which, when exhausted by a good air-pump and connected to a Holtz machine or induction coil, is seen filled with a pale light having something the appearance of the streamers of the Aurora Borealis.

Professor Crookes, by obtaining a vastly better vacuum, obtained in these tubes some new and very interesting phenomena. As the vacuum became better and better, the light within the tubes finally disappeared, and only the inside of the glass was illuminated. This Professor Crookes explained upon the supposition that the air particles remaining in the tubes are repelled from the negative terminal or "cathode" within the tube, and shoot off from it, proceeding in straight lines, until they come into collision with other particles or with the walls of the tubes, producing light wherever the collision occurs. When the exhaustion is sufficient these particles shooting out from the cathode meet with no obstructions until they reach the walls of the tube, which are bombarded by the flying particles until they shine with a sort of phosphorescent light, while the whole interior of the tube remains dark.

These experiments have been repeated again and again for the last eighteen years in scientific laboratories and lecture-rooms, always exciting the greatest interest in the wonderful phenomena disclosed. But not until recently has it been known or suspected that all the time there were proceeding from the bombarded surface other rays, incapable of exciting vision, but possessing properties, and capable of producing effects even more wonderful than any that the Crookes tube had before shown. That certain invisible rays existed in the Crookes tube radiations was known about four years ago, but it remained for Professor Röntgen to demonstrate the remarkable properties which they possess. He found that a piece of card-board painted on one side with barium platino cyanide was illuminated when held near the excited Crookes tube, and that the painted surface was equally well illuminated, whether it or the reverse side of the card-board was presented to the tube. He further found that when the whole tube was covered with black paper, so that no rays affecting the eye could emerge, the painted screen was still illuminated, and further yet, that the illumination remained visible when a board an inch thick, a book of a thousand pages, or a plate of hard rubber was interposed between the tube and screen.

On the contrary, he found that glass, thin pieces of metal, the bones of the hand, more or less stopped the rays, and so cast shadows. It must have been a startling image that met Professor Röntgen's eye when first he placed his hand in the path of the rays, and saw upon the screen a bony skeleton hand with only a faint outline of flesh and cartilage. It was a startling experiment to me, after I had read all the accounts of Professor Röntgen's work, and knew what to expect, when I first saw the shadow of my own hand upon the fluorescent screen. Fig. 2 shows the appearance of such a shadow. After demonstrating in this way the transmission powers of various substances, Professor Röntgen tried the effect of the rays upon the photographic plate, and found it possible to fix there the images that he had seen upon the fluorescent screen.

Fig. 1 will show how the results are obtained. A is a galvanic battery, B is a Ruhmkorff induction coil, C is a Crookes tube, and D is the plate-holder containing the sensitive plate.

The battery produces a low-tension harmless current that is rapidly closed and broken at the induction coil, which transforms it into a high-tension current capable of producing electric sparks, and giving exceedingly painful if not fatal electric shocks. Wires convey this high-tension current from the coil to the terminals of the Crookes tube, where the Röntgen rays are produced whenever the current is turned on. In the figure the plate-holder is shown only a few inches from the tube, where the effect of the rays is strong.

Fig. 3 shows a goldfish, with all his scales and flesh on. The line of his spine is clearly visible, and many of the inner organs of his body can be clearly seen, and the skeleton comes out very clearly, because the bones are more opaque to these rays than is any other part of the body.

Fig. 4 shows the wing of a pigeon, which is interesting, because while the outline of the flesh is distinctly marked the feathers have practically disappeared. The bones are not only clear, however, but the thinner parts are lighter than the thicker. Fig. 5 shows the leg and head of the pigeon. Around the head it is just possible to make out the outline of the feathers, the flesh is clearly marked, and all the bones of the neck are visible. In like manner the leg is interesting.

The transparency of the flesh makes it possible to show the presence and location in the body of foreign substances. Bullets, needles, and bits of glass have already been located by means of Röntgen ray photographs, and afterwards removed by a surgical operation.

It is curious that the part of the eye which is transparent to the light, and through which light passes to reach and affect the optic nerve, is nearly opaque to the Röntgen rays. Vision by means of these rays would therefore be impossible, even if the optic nerve were sensitive to them.

But suppose these rays could excite vision. What should we see? Holding a purse between the eye and a Röntgen ray source, we should see the coins within it. If a person stepped in the path of the ray we should see his bony skeleton. We might see something of his internal organs; perhaps we could see his heart beat. A broken bone could be seen, and the operation of setting it could be watched. Diseased bones or enlarged joints could be examined. Tubercles in the lungs would be visible. But these things would be visible only when they came between the eye and the source of the rays, much as on a dark night objects might be visible between you and a camp fire.

In daylight objects become visible by means of the light which falls upon them and is reflected to the eye. This brings out the detail of the visible surface. But the Röntgen rays are scarcely at all reflected, and even if they produced vision, objects would become visible only as they intercepted the rays. They would not be illuminated as they are illuminated by rays of light, and only outlines, therefore, would be seen. Even fluorescent bodies which appear light under the action of the Röntgen rays are not really illuminated, but are rendered luminous--that is, are made to shine by their own light. When bodies opaque to the rays are placed before the fluorescent screen, merely a shadow is seen on it. So the photographs or "radiographs" obtained are only shadows, but they are not the flat featureless shadows of the "shadow pictures" often introduced as an entertainment at social gatherings, when the identity of the person casting the shadow is often impossible to make out. Few substances are entirely opaque to the Röntgen rays, hence the shadows of thicker portions of an object will be deeper than of the thinner portions, and the shadow becomes a shaded picture that may give details of the surfaces of the object. A Röntgen ray shadow of an aluminum medal may show the design stamped upon the surface. The shading effect is well shown in the bones of the pigeon.

But if there are few substances entirely opaque to the newly discovered rays, there appear to be none that are entirely transparent. Even in air the rays appear to be rapidly absorbed, so that an extremely powerful apparatus is required for producing effects at any distance. Air seems to behave toward the Röntgen rays much as fog behaves to light, and it seems unlikely that effects can be procured at any great distance, perhaps not more than one hundred feet from the source.

It would be rash to attempt to predict the future of the Röntgen ray. The uses to which it may be applied in surgery have already been hinted at in this article. The transparency of wood makes it possible to inspect the work of a carpenter, and determine whether the work hidden under the exterior finish has been honestly done. Hidden compartments in a desk or cabinet might be revealed. The contents of a packing-box might be ascertained without opening it. But to scientific men these rays have a very great interest. What are they? Are they vibrating movements transmitted in waves, like light? Are they particles shot off from the Crookes tube and flying with enormous velocity? These are questions to be answered.

When you stand in front of a Crookes tube in action these flying particles are streaming through your body, stopping not at all at your clothing, and hardly at all checked by the flesh, nor wholly stopped even by the bones. A hard-wood board held between you and the tube is no protection. The streams pass through it unchecked. Sheets of metal even do not wholly stop them. The wonder of it all is that for nearly twenty years experimenters with the Crookes tube have been pierced through and through by these subtle streams and have never known it. Do they produce any effect as they pass through the body? Can they cause or cure disease?

It has been proved that they pass quite freely through the lungs, but if tubercules are present they stop the rays. Might not the touch of the flowing streams dissipate the tuberculosis growth and restore health? Questions like these are coming up for solution, and experimenters are seeking the answers. The study of the Röntgen ray has just begun. What may not the next few months bring forth?

AN "OLD-FIELD" SCHOOL-GIRL.[1]

[Footnote 1: Begun in HARPER'S ROUND TABLE No. 857.] HARLAND.