Chapter II: Part 2

the Chairman and three of the Commissioners arrived. Her Majesty’s Commissioners for enquiring into the state and condition of Rotten Row, Hyde Park, did not commence business immediately; but began an ardent gossip about things in general. The noble President was in the midst of a discussion with his colleagues respecting the exact circumference of Carlotta Grisi’s ancle, when there came from the chimney an enormous volume of smoke. With prompt alacrity, Mr. Aigulet rose from behind the despatch box, rang the bell, summoned the clerk to his presence, and desired him to poke the fire. This was done; but the result was overwhelming. The smoke was so dense, that the noble chairman could scarcely find his way to the chair; but having succeeded, and a board having been formed, he addressed the secretary.

“These rooms” he said, “are excessively ill-ventilated; the air is positively pestilential; we must at once draw up a minute to the Treasury for alteration.”

“A minute, my Lord?”

“Yes, Sir; a minute.”

Mr. Aigulet took a sheet of paper, folded it lengthways, to make a margin; and proceeded to write as his superior instructed him.

ROTTEN ROW COMMISSION.

[Such a date.]

[Sidenote: Minute No. 1. ]

1, 6, 4—.

Her Majesty’s Commissioners represent to my Lords, that with a view to
a complete and satisfactory discharge of the important duties devolved
upon them opportunity is necessary for calm consideration of the
varied subjects into which it is committed to them to inquire:—That
such opportunity is totally denied them in the apartments assigned by
my Lords, in which no suitable provision exists for ventilation, and
in which the Smoke appears to come down the Chimney, instead of
ascending in conformity with custom. In order to the due performance
of their duties to the public Her Majesty’s Commissioners, therefore,
request that my Lords will make an order for the attendance and
inspection of the Ventilator-General, with instructions to consider
and report upon a plan for improving the ingress of air, and egress of
smoke, to and from the said apartments of Her Majesty’s Commissioners.

By order of the Board.
(Signed) AUGUSTUS AIGULET.

The document was then handed to Mr. Slaney, who made a fine copy thereof, on an extremely large and thick sheet of cream-coloured foolscap, enclosed it in a ditto envelope, sealed it with an enormous official signet, rang the bell for the messenger, and dispatched the document to the Assistant Secretary of the Lords Commissioners of Her Majesty’s Treasury.

In two hours a reply was returned. This sufficiently demonstrates the extraordinary despatch which all matters of this sort receive at the hands of “my Lords,” and at once exhibits the fallacy and absurdity of the constant and therefore unreasonable complaints, which are made by poor widows, orphans, and other troublesome and disagreeable complainants concerning the delays which they suppose that they encounter in getting even the most reasonable claims attended to.

ROTTEN ROW COMMISSION.

[Sidenote: No. A. X. L.
C. E. T.
24783261107.
1,6,4.

1. 1,6,4—

Minute.
A. C. C. S.
2460077221.]

My Lords having taken into consideration the minute of Her Majesty’s
Commissioners appointed specially to enquire into the state and
condition of the district known as Rotten Row, in which statement is
made of the important duties devolving on them, of the necessity for
calm opportunity to consider the subjects committed to their inquiry;
and of the imperfect provision for ventilation, &c., in those
apartments placed at their disposal: are pleased to order that the
Ventilator-General be instructed to inspect and report upon the
condition of the said ventilation, and to propose a plan to be
approved by Her Majesty’s Commissioners, and by them submitted to my
Lords for improving the ingress and egress of air to and from the said
apartments.

“Communicate this minute to the Ventilator-General, and direct him to
prepare estimate.

“Inform Her Majesty’s Commissioners hereof.”

The Treasury minute was acted on, and this was the first day’s work of the Rotten Row Commission.

The Ventilator-General, who was thus instructed to attend to the wishes and directions of her Majesty’s Commission, applied the next day and Mr. Aigulet formed “a Board” for his reception. He took a survey of the office, and declared that all the architectural arrangements were so utterly erroneous in principle, as to place it beyond all possible skill to render the ventilation perfect. He demonstrated most completely that for the purposes of ventilation the door ought to have been precisely where the chimney was, and that the chimney should have stood exactly where the window was. The window itself he proposed to abrogate altogether, supplying its place either by oil burners, or by a fan-light opening into a dark passage, neither of which arrangements would interfere with the process of ventilation. He suggested, in addition, “a breathing floor,” which he thought it would be easy to obtain even in the present ill-constructed edifice; and to obviate the smoke, he proposed to place a hot air apparatus under Mr. Slaney’s desk, whereby, he said, the necessity of a chimney would be dispensed with altogether. A new shaft, communicating with an apparatus in the ceiling would, he said, carry off all the foul gases generated in the room; and if the height of the shaft outside was such as to injure the general effect of the building, why, the fault would not be his so much as that of the architect who had not adapted the edifice so as to anticipate this necessary erection. Upon the whole, his opinion was that the Rotten Row Commissioners would do well to postpone their sittings until early in the ensuing year, in order to enable him, during the interval, to carry out his designs for reconstructing the building with a view to its efficient ventilation.

Had this recommendation been made at the close of a Session, and the commencement of the grouse shooting, it is difficult to say whether the great and important business of the Rotten Row Commission might not have stood adjourned for six months, as the Ventilator-General suggested. But as the Opera season was still at its height, and as Mr. Augustus Aigulet had before his eyes the fear of an awkward question from some of those busybodies who occasionally interfere about other people’s business in the House of Commons, the secretary thought it desirable to recommend the Board to resolve at present only to adjourn to that day week. Adjourned accordingly.

This was the Board’s second day’s work.

On the day of re-assembling, the Hon. Mr. Augustus Aigulet found the following official communication from the chief of the ventilating department.

VENTILATOR-GENERAL’S OFFICE.

[Such a Date.]

The Ventilator-General presents his compliments to the Hon. Augustus
Aigulet, and begs to inform him of a serious abuse of Mr. Aigulet’s
authority, discovered in the office of the Rotten Row department, this
morning.

It is reported to the Ventilator-General that in the absence of Mr.
Aigulet, the clerk of the department, Mr. Slaney caused the chimney to
be swept, and the window to be thrown open. The Ventilator-General
submits that this is an interference with his peculiar duty which the
Secretary to the Rotten Row Commission will not sanction.

It is also reported to the Ventilator-General that the clerk has had
the consummate assurance to object to the proposed formation of an
apparatus for heating air immediately under his own desk: an
obstruction to the Ventilator-General’s proceedings which calls for
marked reprobation.

The Ventilator-General repeats the occurrences to Mr. Aigulet, in
order that the fact may be duly laid before my lords.

The Commissioners having assembled, their secretary read the letter, and the Chairman ordered in the Clerk. Mr. Slaney appeared, trembled a little, and thought he had done something dreadful. The following dialogue ensued:—

_Chairman._ _Did_ you open the window, Mr. Slaney?

_Clerk._ Yes, my lord.

_Chairman._ Did you order the chimney to be swept?

_Clerk._ Yes, my lord.

_Chairman._ Be pleased to state, briefly, your reasons for these proceedings.

_Clerk._ The chimney was very foul, and the rooms not having been recently used, the window had apparently not been opened for some time. The sash line was broken, and there is a little difficulty about opening it.

_Chairman._ You may withdraw.

Blushing to the very forehead, and feeling as if his ears were setting his hair on fire, Mr. Slaney retired.

After some discussion at the Board, the following minute to the Lords of the Treasury, was dictated to the Secretary.

ROTTEN ROW COMMISSION.

[Sidenote: Minute No. 2. ]

7, 6, 4—

[Sidenote: No. A. XL. ]

C. F. T. 24,783,261,107 1,6,4—

Her Majesty’s Commissioners having had from the Ventilator-General his
report upon the state of ventilation in the apartments allotted to
them in the Treasury Chambers, are of opinion that the adoption of his
plans would involve very considerable expense, and would cause a delay
seriously prejudicial to the business of the Commission. Her Majesty’s
Commissioners, therefore, request that my lords will be pleased to
dispense with the services of the Ventilator-General in this case, as
granted under their lordships’ minute, referred to in the margin, and
instead thereof, that they will pass a minute authorising the
attendance of the Treasury carpenter to repair a line in a window,
which does not at present open with all the facility desirable.

By Order of the Board.
(Signed) AUGUSTUS AIGULET.

These labours concluded the third day’s proceedings.

The fourth day was occupied in receiving counter instructions from the Lords Commissioners of Her Majesty’s Treasury in accordance with the Rotten Row Board’s minute, No. 2—and in communicating with the official carpenter. The result was, that this humble individual superseded in half an hour the threatened six months’ labour of the Ventilator-General.

At its fifth meeting, the Royal Commission drew up a list of witnesses to be examined. The sixth day was wholly occupied in granting the summonses, and as the Board has not yet finished examining its first witness, the report will not, it is expected, be ready for the Exhibition of the Works of Industry of All Nations in May, 1851.

A VILLAGE TALE.

The rooks are cawing in the elms,
As on the very day—
That sunny morning, mother dear,
When Lucy went away;
And April’s pleasant gleams have come,
And April’s gentle rain—
Fresh leaves are on the vine—but when
Will Lucy come again?

The spring is as it used to be,
And all must be the same;
And yet, I miss the feeling now,
That always with it came;
It seems as if to me she made
The sweetness of the year—
As if I could be glad no more,
Now Lucy is not here.

A year—it seems but yesterday,
When in this very door
You stood; and she came running back,
To say good bye once more;
I hear you sob—your parting kiss—
The last fond words you said—
Ah! little did we think—one year,
And Lucy would be dead!

How all comes back—the happy times,
Before our father died;
When, blessed with him, we knew no want,
Scarce knew a wish denied—
His loss, and all our struggles on,
And that worst dread, to know,
From home, too poor to shelter all,
That one at last must go.

How often do I blame myself,
How often do I think,
How wrong I was to shrink from that
From which she did not shrink;
And when I wish that I had gone,
And know the wish is vain;
And say, she might have lived, I think,—
How can I smile again.

I dread to be alone, for then,
Before my swimming eyes,
Her parting face, her waving hand,
Distinct before me rise;
Slow rolls the waggon down the road—
I watch it disappear—
Her last “dear sister,” fond “good-bye,”
Still lingering in my ear.

Oh, mother, had but father lived
It would not have been thus;
Or, if God still had taken her,
She would have died with us;
She would have had kind looks, fond words,
Around her dying bed—
Our hands to press her dying hands,
To raise her dying head.

I’m always thinking, mother, now,
Of what she must have thought;
Poor girl! as day on day went by,
And neither of us brought;—
Of how she must have yearned, one face,
That was not strange, to see—
Have longed one moment to have set
One look on you and me.

Sometimes I dream a happy dream—
I think that she is laid
Beside our own old village church,
Where we so often played;
And I can sit upon her grave,
And with her we shall lie,
Afar from where the city’s noise,
And thronging feet go by.

Nay, mother—mother—weep not so,
God judges for the best,
And from a world of pain and woe,
He took her to his rest;
Why should we wish her back again?
Oh, freed from sin and care,
Let us the rather pray God’s love,
Ere long to join her there.

THE FIRE ANNIHILATOR

“Water, and nothing _but_ water!” exclaimed Mr. John Diggs, the great sugar-baker (everybody knows old John Diggs), “Water, I say, is the natural enemy of fire; and any man who dares to say otherwise is no better that a fool or a charlatan. I should like to knock such a fellow down. I know more about fire than all the learned talking chaps in England, and it’s of no use to tell me when a house is in a blaze, that any thing but water _can_ put it out. Not a bit of it. Don’t attempt to say so; I won’t hear it!”

Mr. Diggs gave vent to his feelings in the above oracular form at his Club, on Thursday evening last, on which occasion he happened to be the Chairman. It was in consequence of one of the junior members reading a passage from a scientific Journal, to the effect that water was almost as much a friend to fire, as an enemy—and that, at any rate, they were near of kin—quoting Mr. Phillips, the Inventor of the Fire Annihilator, as a practical authority on the subject. This was what had so enraged Mr. Diggs, sugar-baker, and chairman of the Albert Rock and Toffee Club.

Mr. John Diggs is a man who always carries his will before him, like a crown on a cushion, while his reason follows like a page, holding up the skirts of his great coat. Honest-hearted, and not without generosity, he is much esteemed in spite of his many perversities. He possesses a shrewd observation, and a good understanding, when once you can get at it; but his energies and animal spirits commonly carry him out of all bounds, so that to bring him back to rational judgment is a work of no small difficulty. He is _open_ to conviction, as he always says, but he is a tip-top specimen of the class who commonly use that expression; his open door is guarded by all the bludgeons of obstinacy, behind which sits a pig-headed will, with its eyes half shut.

This is the man, and in the condition of mind which may be conjectured from his speech in the chair, just quoted, who drove up in his gig last Friday, as the clock struck four, to the gates of the London Gas Works, Vauxhall, in order to hear, with his own ears, Mr. Phillips dare to say he could extinguish the most violent flames without the use of water; and to see, with his own eyes, the total failure of the attempt, and the exposure of the humbug.

To make sure of entire sympathy in all his perversities, Mr. Diggs had brought his wife with him; and to insure a ready assistance in the detection of any tricks, his foreman, Mr. White, had been sent on by the steamer. A real reason lay at the bottom of all this; for the work-place and warehouse of Mr. Diggs were worth 60,000_l._; part of which sum, no insurance could cover; and his stock in trade as well as his works, he but too well knew, were of a most combustible nature. No laughing matter—therefore not a thing to be trifled with.

Mr. Diggs met his foreman in the yard, waiting for his arrival; and the party having displayed their tickets, were ushered across and around, till they came to a large brick building, with a long row of arched window holes along the top, apparently for the ready escape of volumes of smoke. The window holes all looked very black about the edges. So did the door-posts. The walls were very dingy and besmutched. Mrs. Diggs had put on her best spring bonnet with orange ribbons, and her pink and fawn-coloured silk shawl. She had a sudden misgiving, but it couldn’t be helped now.

They were ushered through a large, smutty door, into a brick building, paved with bricks, and having arched recesses, here and there, at the lower part. Commodious retreats, in case the flames put forth their tongues beyond their usual range, and advanced towards the centre of the building,—as Mr. Diggs devoutly hoped they might. At one end, the wooden frame-work of a house, with ground-floor, and first and second floor, presented its front. It was black and charred from recent fire, with sundry repairs of new planks, which “brought out” the black of the rest, both without and within, to the greatest advantage. Level with the lowest window was a sort of lecturer’s stage of rough planks, at the back of which lay the model of a ship’s hull, some six or seven feet in length; and to the right of this, the model of a house, with lower and upper floor, of about two feet and a half in height.

Fronting this stage, model ship, model house, and actual house, was a semicircle of chairs and benches—not too near—with ample room left at the sides for the sudden flight of visitors who had seated themselves in an incredulous and unimaginative state of mind, nearer than subsequent events seemed to warrant. Then, there were the arched recesses; then, a low stage with seats; then, a broad flight of wooden stairs at the opposite end, by which visitors could ascend to a high platform, leading also to side galleries, on the same level. The whole place was most eloquent to the olfactory nerves of coal-tar, pitch, resin, turpentine, &c. A light sprinkling of sawdust completed the furnishing of this hall, in which one of the most extraordinary of all our modern discoveries (provided it prove thoroughly efficient) was about to be subjected to trial.

Mr. Diggs having planted his foreman at one horn of the crescent of chairs, and dragging his wife (whose thoughts of her handsome bonnet and shawl were written in shady lines all over her face) to a dirty-seated bench, on the other, he darted straight across to the scene of action, and without a moment’s hesitation or ceremony, ascended the lecturer’s stage, and diving with nose and hands into the model of the ship’s hull, began to explore its contents.

The hold, and, indeed, all the interior of the hull, he found to be full of patent fire-wood, for the rapid kindling of fire, each separate piece being sufficient to light an ordinary fire; but here, there was nothing else. He passed on to the model house; opened the door, and looked in. Here, also, he found a quantity of patent fire-wood, lying on both floors. A trap-door was left open in the roof to allow of the escape of the smoke. Mr. Diggs now descended from the little stage, and advanced to the door of the house which was to be set on fire. He entered the door-way, and immediately found himself in a dark chamber filled with charred planks, pitched planks, cross-pieces of new wood, blackened beams, and a variety of hangings and festoons made of shavings saturated with coal-tar, resin, and turpentine. A staircase, or, rather, a broad charred ladder, led up to the first floor. Mr. Diggs forthwith ascended, and stepped upon a flooring perfectly black; in fact, the whole room seemed made of charcoal, with here and there a new plank laid across, or slanting upwards, smeared with coal-tar, and adorned like the ground-floor, with shavings steeped in resin, pitch, turpentine, and other combustible matter. “Well,” thought Mr. Diggs, “at all events, there’ll be flames enough.” A second charred ladder formed a staircase leading to the top floor; but this was so dilapidated and rotten from recent burning, that our sceptical sugar-baker could venture to do no more than clamber up, and rest his chin on the blackened boards of the floor above, in which position he clung by the smutty tips of his fingers, and stared around, above him, and on all sides. He then slowly descended, and as he made his way out of the front door, he hugged himself with the firm belief that if the house were fairly set on fire (as he determined it _should_ be), and the flames were allowed to get into full play, nothing could stop them till they had burned the house to the ground, and communicated with the brick building—when the regular fire-engines, with their torrents of water, would, of course, be sent for, with all imaginable speed.

Meantime, a considerable number of people of all ranks had assembled, many of them of the aristocratic class, to judge by the row of liveries, coachmen, and footmen, who lined one of the side galleries. Mrs. Diggs comforted herself with the sight of many elegantly-dressed ladies, who seated themselves on the chairs and benches in front of the little stage, or platform. Perhaps the smoke and smuts might not be so very bad, after all, or might be driven back by the wind. Of this it was rational to entertain some hopes, as the whole building was in a thorough draught, evinced by many a sneeze and cough,—a condition some of the visitors thought very unnecessary to be endured before the conflagration commenced.

Mr. Phillips now ascended the platform, and commenced his brief lecture. He said he had no sort of intention to undervalue the real service of water in cases of fire, but only to show that water was by no means the most efficient agent. The more active part of fire was flame; all fire commenced with flame, and upon this, when at a great height, water in any portable quantities, was comparatively powerless. Moreover, there were many materials, forming the staple commodity of various trades, which, being ignited, not only defied the power of water, but their state of combustion was actually increased by the application of water. This was the case with oil or turpentine, when on fire, with tar, gas, ardent spirits, &c. Every distiller must know this—and so must every sugar-baker.

Mr. Diggs suddenly shifted his _pose_ from the right to the left leg; but said nothing. This was not the point at issue.

In illustration of his last remark, Mr. Phillips called upon his audience to imagine the hull of the model ship to be a ship at sea with a large crew, many passengers, and a valuable cargo on board,—part of the cargo consisting of highly combustible materials. The ship takes fire! The alarm is given, all hands called on deck, the fire-engine got out, the pumps set to work! But before this has been done, it happens that a cask of spirits of turpentine has taken fire! (So saying, Mr. Phillips sets light to a quantity of spirits of turpentine in an iron vessel in the ship). The flames rise rapidly!—terrifically—they ascend the fore-rigging, which, being all tarred, is quickly in a blaze! Now all is dismay and confusion, more especially among the passengers. Some of these, however, retain sufficient presence of mind to be able to assist the sailors in pumping. They drench the ship with water,—they pour a continual stream from the engine upon the flames of the turpentine! (At these words Mr. Phillips dips a jug in a bucket of water, and pours it upon the flames.) But it only increases them—(it does so)—more water is dashed upon the flames by the men (Mr. Phillips suits the action to the word) and by the boldest of the passengers, but with no better result. Now, the fire communicates with a second barrel of spirits of turpentine; the flames rise on all sides, and ascend with a continuous roar to the rigging of the mainmast, which is rapidly in a blaze. (The model ship is literally all in a blaze.) In despair and madness, buckets of water are flung at random—nobody knows what he is doing; all rush wildly about, preparing to leap overboard at the very moment they scream loudest for the boats!—the boats!—when an individual suddenly recollects, as by a flash of thought, that there is a machine on board called a Fire Annihilator. (Here Mr. Phillips seizes upon a small brass machine, out of which he causes a white vapour to issue.) In a second or two the flames are half extinguished;—he carries the machine to the other flaming mast, and to the casks in the forehold,—the flames are gone!

And so they are! Of the volume of flames in the model ship, which by this time had risen to the height of eight or nine feet, not a flash remains,—they were annihilated in four or five seconds. The machine which wrought this wonder was like a brass shaving-pot, or bachelor’s coffee-pot, and certainly not larger.

But how was Mr. Diggs affected by this? Did the worthy sugar-baker look peculiarly wise, or did he stand rather aghast at his own wisdom? Neither the one, nor the other. Had Mr. Phillips been a fine actor, the foregoing scene, with its fiery illustration, and the frantic yet fruitless use of water, would have had a tremendous effect; but his manner was not sufficiently excited, and, worse than this, he very much damaged the effect, and the conviction it would have carried with it, by turning his back towards the audience when he poured the water upon the flames, so that “standing in his own light,” it was impossible for many people to see whether the water was really poured into the model ship, or over the other side, unless they could have seen through his body. This was not lost upon John Diggs, who loudly murmured his dissatisfaction, accordingly, in opposition to the general applause of those who _did_ see, which followed the rapid extinction of the flames. How _this_ was accomplished Mr. Diggs did not know; he simply considered that water had not had fair play. He suspected some trick.

“The existence of water,” pursued Mr. Phillips, “is continuous, flowing, not quickly to be destroyed; the life of fire is momentary. (He explodes a large lucifer-match.) Now you see it at its height! (He dashes it into water). Now it is nothing! Its life is from instant to instant. Why has it become nothing? Because water is its natural antagonist? No—but because fire cannot exist without a certain quantity of _air_; and when it is entirely immersed in water, this requisite quantity of air is suddenly withdrawn, and the fire as instantly dies. The very same result would follow if I were to dash a lighted match into oil.”

“Let us see!” exclaimed Mr. Diggs; but he was called to order by a number of voices.

Mr. Phillips had been led many years ago, as he now informed us, to consider the nature of fire and water. It so chanced that he had witnessed most of the great conflagrations which have happened in London during the last twenty or thirty years. The destruction to the Royal Exchange, the Houses of Parliament—the fire at the Tower, theatres, great warehouses—he was present at them all; and he could not but observe amidst the prodigious efforts made to save them, that water was comparatively powerless upon violent flames; and therefore inadequate to the task it was called upon to perform. He was also witness of a series of terrible volcanic eruptions. He was in a seventy-four gun-ship in the Mediterranean at the time. For thirty or forty days there was an eruption, and sometimes two or three, almost daily. The most terrific of these—and by which they were nearly lost, having been driven towards it, and only saved by a sudden change of wind—was of such force, that the shock was felt throughout the south of Europe,—from the Rock of Gibraltar, to Stromboli. A volcanic island was thrown up in the middle of the sea, from a depth of four or five hundred feet. This island was of molten lava, and rose in the form of a crescent with an open crater, into which the sea continually rushed like a cataract. But the fire within was not extinguished. At each successive eruption, the water was ejected with a force that sent it up two miles, and sometimes three miles high—again to descend in thousands of tons upon the crater, but without extinguishing the fire. The sea was boiling for a quarter of a mile on one side of the island: the fire was completely beyond its power. Instead of extinguishing fire, the water was made to boil. But he observed this further phenomenon. A dense cloud of vapour was sometimes generated; and whenever the wind bore this vapour into the flames, they were immediately extinguished.

A consideration of these phenomena led Mr. Phillips to the following conclusions. Fire and water are not natural enemies, but very near relations. They are each composed of the same elements; and in the same proportions; the component parts of water can be turned into fire; and when fire ceases to be fire, it becomes water. (This latter proposition caused Mr. Diggs to prick up his ears, but he said nothing.) The two elements had by no means the direct and immediate power over each other that was generally supposed. Water was a compact body, and acting in this body, it could not act simultaneously on the particles of gases which produce flame; but a gaseous vapour being of an equally subtle nature with the gases it has to attack, can instantly intermix with them. Find, therefore, a gaseous vapour, which shall intercept the contact of the gases of flame, and thus prevent their chemical union, their inflammatory forces are thereby destroyed, and the flame is at once extinguished.

The means of immediately generating this gaseous vapour had, after numerous experiments during many years, been discovered by Mr. Phillips. With this composition, his machine, called the Fire Annihilator, was charged.

He pointed to the small model house. It was made of iron, and filled with combustible materials. He had had the honour of exhibiting it before many crowned heads.

“Like the Wizard of the North!” muttered Mr. Diggs, looking contemptuously at the model.

The fuel within it, is now ignited. The flames rapidly spread, and ascend to the upper floor. A thick smoke issues from the trap-door on the roof.

“Here,” said Mr. Phillips, “is a house on fire! Some of the inmates are trying to escape by the trap-door on the roof. They make their way out. The fire-escapes of the Royal Society are in attendance with their usual promptitude; their courageous men are ascending the ladders to assist the inmates in their descent. But where are the inmates? Two of them have fallen down somewhere, another has actually got back into the attic. The reason is, that life cannot exist in that smoke which the fire generates.”

A lighted match being held in it, instantly went out. This was repeated quickly, once or twice. It always went out. The interior of the house was full of flames. One of the little Fire Annihilators was now applied to the door of the model. The flames sunk to nothing almost immediately. A thick vapour was left in their place. But in this vapour life _can_ exist. Mr. Phillips again lights a match, and applies it to the vapour issuing through the trap-door. The match continues to burn. Mr. Phillips then thrusts his arm through the door, and holds the match in the interior of the house, where it still continues to burn amidst the vapour. In this vapour human life can equally exist.

“Don’t believe it!” muttered Mr. Diggs, amidst the otherwise unanimous applause, in which was lost his additional request,—“Set fire to the real house, and have done with it!”

Mr. Phillips here described his machine. Its various complications had been reduced to a simple form and action. As he has printed this for general circulation, it will be sufficient to state that the ordinary size is less than that of a small upright iron coal-skuttle, and its weight not greater than can be easily carried by man or woman to any part of the house. It is charged with a compound of charcoal, nitre, and gypsum, moulded into the form of a large brick. The igniter is a glass tube inserted in the top of the brick, inclosing two phials—one filled with a mixture of chlorate of potassa and sugar, the other containing a few drops of sulphuric acid. A slight blow upon a knob drives down a pin, which breaks the phials, and the different mixtures coming in contact, ignite the whole; and the gas of this, acting upon a water chamber contained in the machine, produces a steam, and the whole escapes forcibly in a dense and expanding cloud.

Preparations were now made for setting fire to the three-roomed house. A “sensation” passed over the room, and several ladies began to rise from their chairs, and retire from the semicircle in front of the lecture-stage. Mr. Phillips assured them there was no danger, as he had a perfect command over the flames; at the same time, he requested the company to observe that he had purposely arranged that every disadvantage should be against him. The house was full of combustible materials—the whole building was in a thorough draught (it was indeed) and they would observe that the commencement of the full force of the fire would be almost immediate, and without any of the gradual advances which were usual in almost all conflagrations. Lastly, he called upon them to take note that the fury of the flames would be such that no life could exist near them for a single instant.

Without further words a lighted match is applied to one of the tarred and turpentined shavings that hang in the ground-floor of the house.

It sparkles—blazes—and in one moment the lower room is full of flames! In the next, they have risen to the floor above—they crackle, roar, and beat about, springing up to the roof, and darting out tongues and forks to the right and left of the building, while a dense hot cloud of smoke, full of red fragments of shavings and other embers comes floating and dancing over the heads of the assembled company. Everybody has arisen from his seat,—ladies—gentlemen,—and now all the visitors, are crowding towards the other end of the building! The whole place is filled with the roar of flames, the noise of voices, hurrying feet, and rustling garments—and clouds of hot smoke!

But suddenly a man enters the building from a side-door, bearing a portable Fire Annihilator of the size we have mentioned; he is followed by a second. The machines are vomiting forth a dense white vapour. They enter just within the door-way of the blazing house. A change instantly takes place in the colour and action of the flames, as though they grew pale in presence of their master. They sink. There is nothing but darkness—and the dense white vapour coiling about in triumph.

“Life can now exist!” cries Mr. Phillips, rushing into the house, and ascending the blackened stairs. Mr. Diggs (hoping he might be suffocated) instantly follows. He gains the top of the ladder, and plants one foot on the floor. He cannot see for the thick vapour. The hand of Mr. Phillips assists him, and they both go to the window and look out upon the company. Mr. Diggs coughs a little, but, to his disappointment, is not suffocated. In another second or two, he can take his breath freely. Very odd.

Mr. Diggs is more than staggered by such a proof. He begins to suspect there may be something in it. As Mr. Phillips assists the worthy sugar-baker over a piece of very burnt and precarious-looking flooring, out at a side hole in the house, as the stairs are no longer safe, Mr. Diggs thanks him very civilly for his attention, and—he almost adds—for the satisfactory result of this last experiment; but he checked himself. Time would show.

Meanwhile, all was pleasant confusion, and applause, and wonder, and satisfaction, and congratulation, and the re-arrangement of habiliments, and the polishing of smutty faces, and laughing and good humour among the company. With some difficulty, Mr. Diggs discovered his wife, and with almost equal difficulty recognised her after he had found her. She had been honoured more than almost any one else, with the falling embers and black smut of the conflagration. Her pink and fawn-coloured silk shawl was spotted all over, and looked like a leopard-skin; the orange ribbons on her bonnet were speckled, and otherwise toadied, while her face, after a diligent use of her handkerchief (having no glass, or friend to ask), had a complete shady tint all over it, giving her the appearance of one of those complexions of lead colour, presented by unfortunate invalids who have had occasion to undergo a course of nitrate of silver. Many other persons were in a spotty and smutted predicament, but none so bad as poor Mrs. Diggs, except, indeed her husband; but he was insensible to such matters.

Issuing forth into the spacious yard of the gas works, a final demonstration was about to be given to the visitors on their way out. A circular pool, of eighteen feet in circumference, was filled with tar and naphtha. This thick liquid mixture was ignited, and in a few seconds the whole surface sent up a prodigious blaze of great brilliancy. A boy of about eleven years of age (apparently a stranger to the machine, to judge from his awkwardness) was desired to strike down the knob which put the portable Fire Annihilator in action. He did so; and immediately the thick white vapour began to gush forth. The boy carried the machine, with very little effort, to within four or five feet of the flames. Instantly the flames changed colour, as though with a sort of ghastly purple horror of their destroyer—and, in a few seconds, down they sank, and became nothing. There lay the black mixture, looking as if it had never been disturbed. But the machine, meantime, went on vomiting forth its vapour, with surplus power, like the escape-pipe of a steam-engine, and the boy being in a state of confusion, was bringing the machine back among the company assembled round, who all begun to retreat, when somebody connected with the Works told him to let it off against the dead wall. While this was taking place, the same individual remarked aloud, that the vapour could not only be breathed after it had ascended and extinguished a fire, but would not burn even as it gushed forth fresh and furious from the machine. As he said this, he passed his hand through it once or twice. Mr. Diggs suddenly thought he had a last chance,—and, rushing forward, passed his hand (hoping he might be dreadfully scorched) through the fierce vapour as it rushed out. Actually, he was not at all scorched. It was only rather hot. He passed his hand backwards and forwards twice more—a sort of greasy and rather dirty warm moisture covered his hand—this was all. John Diggs was fairly conquered—admitted it to himself—and, seeking out Mr. Phillips, went honestly up to him, and shook him heartily by the hand—saying, with a laugh, that if all was fairly done, and no necromancy, he had witnessed a great fact, and he congratulated him.

Still—in a friendly way—he could not help asking Mr. Phillips for a word of explanation as to his assertion that fire and water were of the same family—in fact, convertible, each into the other. Mr. Phillips accordingly favoured Mr. Diggs with the following remarks:—“Fire,” said he, “is mainly composed of eight parts of oxygen, and one part of hydrogen; thus making a whole of nine parts. When fire ceases to be fire, it becomes water, retaining the same elements and proportions, viz., eight of oxygen and one of hydrogen, and will weigh (if the measure has been in pounds) nine pounds or parts. If you decompose these nine pounds of water by voltaic battery, the gases generated will render eight pounds of oxygen and one of hydrogen. Moreover, this law of nature cannot be deranged or disturbed by human agency. If, to make fire, you take eight parts of oxygen, and _two_ of hydrogen, the false proportion will not prevent the product of fire; for the principle of fire, as if by instinct, will elect its own proper proportions, become fire, and throw over the excess, whether the error be an excess of oxygen or hydrogen.”

“Thank you, Sir—thank you!” said Mr. John Diggs;—but he determined to take a glass of punch with a friend of his, an experimental chemist, that same evening.

Now, taking it for granted that there is no necromancy in all this, it may be asked, how will the discovery affect, not only the Fire Brigade of London, but the use of fire-engines (with hose and water) all over the country, and the civilised world. Will they not be superseded? We answer without hesitation, we think they will by no means be superseded. One great value of this magnificent discovery of Mr. Phillips, consists in its immediate command over the active part of fire, viz., flame: whereby a fire in a large building full of combustible materials, a private dwelling, a theatre, or a ship at sea, may be extinguished before it has time to make any very destructive advances. But in all cases where a fire has gained any ascendancy, and extended over a considerable space, the use of water _after_ the flames have been extinguished, continues as important as ever. The _red heat_ which remains on the smouldering and heated materials, may re-ignite; and it is to prevent this, that water is still an imperative requisition. Moreover, water is necessary to drench adjoining chambers, partywalls, or adjoining houses and premises, to prevent their liability to taking fire from the conflagration that has already commenced. We earnestly trust, therefore, that the greatest unanimity will exist in all branches of this great Fire and Water Question, and that they will cordially receive the new Vapour into amicable partnership and co-operation. Fully recognising the immense importance to the community at large, of a body of brave, well-trained, and skilful men, like those of the Fire Brigade, and those who compose the staff of the Fire-Escapes of the Royal Society (and two more efficient and admirable staffs do not exist in this country, or any other country); we think, after Mr. Phillips’s invention has passed through every test that can reasonably be required, that all Fire-engines, and every Fire-escape, would do well to have one or more of these Fire Annihilators with them as a regular part of their apparatus.

Of the Fire-escapes of the Royal Society, the promptitude of their action (they are almost always first at a fire), and the many lives saved by them every year—nay, sometimes, in the course of a week—we had contemplated a substantive account, but have been withheld by the impossibility of doing justice to the various patents without accurate drawings and diagrams. However, as these are already before the public, we may content ourselves by saying, that, whether the Royal Society make use of the Fire-escape invented by Winter and Sons, by Wivell, or by Davies, the humane exertions of the Society have attained a success which commands the admiration, and ensures the gratitude, of society at large.

Respecting the annihilating properties of water, much may be said, and will be said; but all in vain, until the water companies are brought to their senses, and the utter abolition of domestic cisterns and water-butts is effected. Without the continuous supply system—till all the water-pipes in all the houses and all the streets are kept always fully charged at high pressure, conflagrations never will, and never can, be promptly put out by the agency of what the penny-a-liners have lately taken to call the “antagonistic element.” Fire-engines, if not wholly laid aside, must be only kept for exceptional cases, and the Fire Brigade—well conducted, efficient, courageous as it is—may, some of these days, be turned into a corps of reserve. With the mains ever charged, with water at high service, no engines will be required. At the first alarm of fire, the policeman pulls up the fire plug—which should be opposite every sixth or eighth house—fixes the hose, and out spouts a cataract in two minutes. Assistance arrives; trails of hoses are made to lead from the rows of plugs on either side, or in other streets, and in five minutes a deluge—and no more fire.

For the extinguishing of fire, _time_ is a most important consideration. A few gallons of water would be effective if used at once, where thousands of gallons would effect little after ten or fifteen minutes had elapsed. The average time the Brigade engines take in arriving at a fire after the first alarm is ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, rapid as are their movements. The Parish engines are far more numerous, but always last—and seldom of any use when they _do_ come. Conceive a parish beadle at a fire!

In some towns in the north—among others Preston, Oldham, Ashton, Bolton, Bury, and Manchester—the continuous water supply system has been in use for some time with manifest benefit to the inhabitants. The fire plug and jet, without engines, have, in these places, already done great execution. Under recent improvements, also, the same plans have been adopted in Hamburgh; Philadelphia and other American towns have, in their wisdom, “done likewise.” On one occasion, at Liverpool, a fire was extinguished by a hose which was promptly applied; a fire-engine arrived presently after, when the engine-man, finding the fire had been extinguished, knocked the hoseman down, as an impertinent fellow.

In factories, and other large buildings, if an arrangement of the above kind were adopted, on the first alarm of fire a man would only have to unwind a hose, and turn a cock. This, with one of the Fire Annihilators at hand, would probably render the building quite secure.

These improvements and precautions carry with them a variety of interesting consequences,—such as the check to incendiarism, the effect on insurances, the benefit to health by the plug and hose being used daily in washing the streets, and thus destroying foul exhalations after a storm, &c.

While bringing this paper to a conclusion, we learn that Mr. John Diggs has determined to have a _self-acting_ Fire Annihilator fixed in a central position of his warehouse; so that if a fire should burst out in the night, the flames would melt one or other of a series of leaden wires, any one of which being thus divided, would liberate a heavy weight, which would instantly run down an iron wire leading to the knob and pin of his special Annihilator—ignite the contents of the machine, and destroy the flames in his sugar-bakery, while he slept soundly in his bed.

THE SICKNESS AND HEALTH OF THE PEOPLE OF BLEABURN.

IN THREE PARTS.—CHAPTER VIII.

The spectacle of carrying the Good Lady up to the brow was more terrifying to the people of Bleaburn than any of the funerals they had seen creeping along by the same path,—more even than the passage of the laden cart, with the pall over it, on the morning of the opening of the new burying-grounds. The people of Bleaburn, extremely ignorant, were naturally extremely superstitious. It was not only the very ignorant who were superstitious. The fever itself was never supposed to be more catching than a mood of superstition; and so it now appeared in Bleaburn. For many weeks past the Good Lady had been regarded as a sort of talisman in the people’s possession. She breathed out such cheerfulness wherever she turned her face, that it seemed as if the place could not go quite to destruction while she was in it. Some who would not have admitted to themselves that they held such an impression were yet infected with the common dismay, as well as with the sorrow of parting with her. If Mary had had the least idea of the probable effect of her departure, she would have been less admired by the Kirbys for her docility,—for she would certainly have insisted on staying where she was.

“I declare I don’t know what to do,” the doctor confessed in confidence to the clergyman. “Every patient I have is drooping, and the people in the street look like creatures under doom. The comet was bad enough; and, before we have well done with it, here is a panic which is ten times worse.”

“I tried to lend a hand to help you against the comet,” replied Mr. Kirby. “I think I may be of some use again now. Shall I tell them it is a clear case of idolatry?”

“Why, it is in fact so, Mr. Kirby; but yet, I shrink from appearing to cast the slightest disrespect on her.”

“Of course; of course. The thing I want to show them is what she would think,—how shocked she would be if she knew the state of mind she left behind.”

“Ah! if you can do that!”

“I will see about it. Now tell me how we are going on.”

The Doctor replied by a look, which made Mr. Kirby shake his head. Neither of them liked to say in words how awful was the state of things.

“It is such weather you see,” said the Doctor. “Damp and disagreeable as it is, this December is as warm as September.”

“Five-and-twenty sorts of flowers out in my garden,” observed Mr. Kirby. “I set the boys to count them yesterday. We shall have as many as that on Christmas-day. A thing unheard of!”

“There will be no Christmas kept this year, surely,” said the Doctor.

“I don’t know that. My wife and I were talking it over yesterday. We think * * Well, my boy,” to a little fellow who stood pulling his forelock, “what have you to say to me? I am wanted at home, am I? Is Mrs. Kirby there?”

The Doctor heard him say to himself, “Thank God!” when they saw the lady coming out of a cottage near. The Doctor had long suspected that the clergyman and his wife were as sensible of one another’s danger as the most timid person in Bleaburn was of his own; and now he was sure of it. Henceforth, he understood that they were never easy out of one another’s sight; and that when the clergyman was sent for from the houses he was passing, his first idea always was that his wife was taken ill. It was so. They were not people of sentiment. They had settled their case with readiness and decision, when it first presented itself to them; and they never looked back. But it did not follow that they did not feel. They agreed, with the smallest possible delay, that they ought to succeed to the charge of Bleaburn on Mr. Finch’s death; that they ought to place their boys at school, and their two girls with their aunt till Bleaburn should be healthy again; and that they must stand or fall by the duty they had undertaken. As for separating, that was an idea mentioned only to be dismissed. They now nodded across the little street, as Mrs. Kirby proceeded on her round of visits, and her husband went home, to see who wanted him there.

In the corner of the little porch was a man sitting, crouching and cowering as if in bodily pain. Mr. Kirby went up to him, stooped down to see his face (but it was covered with his hands), and at last ventured to remove his hat. Then the man looked up. It was a square, hard face, which from its make would have seemed immovable; but it was anything but that now. It is a strange sight, the working of emotion in a countenance usually as hard as marble!

“Neale!” exclaimed Mr. Kirby. “Somebody ill at the farm, I am afraid.”

“Not yet, Sir; not yet, Mr. Kirby. But Lord save us! we know nothing of how soon it may be so.”

“Exactly so: that has been the case of every man, woman, and child, hour by hour since Adam fell.”

“Yes, Sir; but the present time is something different from that. I came, Sir, to say * * I came, Mr. Kirby, because I can get no peace or rest, day or night; for thoughts, Sir; for thoughts.”

Mr. Kirby glanced round him. “Come in,” said he, “Come into my study.”

Neale followed him in; but instead of sitting down, he walked straight to the window, and seemed to be looking into the garden. Mr. Kirby, who had been on foot all the morning, sat down and waited, shaving away at a pen meanwhile.