A Book of Exposition Part 5

The matted pulp, now having sufficient body, pa.s.ses on between two rolls covered with felt which deliver the web of damp paper upon an endless belt of moist felt, while the "wire" pa.s.ses under and back to continue a fresh supply. The paper is as yet too fragile to travel alone, and the web felt carries it between two metal rolls called the first press-rolls. These squeeze out more water, give a greater degree of compactness to the fibers, smooth the upper surface, and finally deliver the web of paper to a second felt ap.r.o.n which carries it under and to the back of the second press-rolls. In this way the under surface comes to the top, and is in its turn subjected to the smoothing process. A delicate sc.r.a.per or blade, the length of the press-rolls, is so placed on each roll that should the endless web from any cause be broken, the blade may operate with sufficient force to prevent the wet paper from clinging to the rolls and winding about them. From this point the paper travels alone, having become firm and strong enough to sustain its own weight; pa.s.sing above the second press-rolls, it resumes its onward journey around the drying cylinders, pa.s.sing over and under and over and under. The drying cylinders are hollow and heated by steam, their temperature being regulated according to requirements. These driers, made from iron or steel, are usually from three to four feet in diameter and vary in length according to the width of the machine. There are from twelve to fifty of these cylinders, their number depending upon the character and weight of the paper to be produced, very heavy sheets requiring many more drying cylinders than sheets of lighter weight.

Strange, almost phenomenal, conditions come about in the transformation from filmy pulp to finished paper. A sheet which, though formed, is at the first press-roll too fragile to carry its own weight, becomes possessed of a final strength and power that is almost incredible. The myriad of minute fibers composing the sheet, upon drying uniformly, possesses great aggregate strength. A sheet of paper yields readily to tearing, but the same sheet, when a perfectly even tension is applied, will demonstrate that it is possessed of wonderful resisting power. In evidence may be cited an instance that seems almost beyond belief.

Through some curious mishap a web of heavy paper, in fact, bristol board, which had been thoroughly formed, was suddenly superheated and then cooled while still on the driers. This was caused by a difference in temperature of the driers and resulted in the sudden contraction of the web of bristol; the strain on the machine was so great that not only were the driving-cogs broken on two of the driers around which the paper was at the moment pa.s.sing, but the driers themselves were actually lifted out of place, showing a resisting power in the paper of at least several tons. The paper now pa.s.ses to the upright stack of rolls which are known as "calenders." The word is derived from calendra; a corruption of cylindrus, a roller or cylinder. They are simply rollers revolving in contact, and heated from the interior by steam. These calenders are used for giving to the paper a smooth and even surface, and are also employed in the smoothing and finishing of cloth. The speed with which the paper pa.s.ses through these cylinders is remarkable, from one hundred to five hundred feet running through and over the machine in a minute; and in some of the most recent mills the web is as wide as one hundred and fifty-six inches (thirteen feet); this is very nearly double the average machine width of a very few years ago, while the speed has increased in proportionate ratio; only a few years ago the maximum speed was from two hundred and fifty to three hundred feet per minute; at this writing (1900) there are machines in operation which run as high as five hundred feet per minute. But great as has been the increase in the production of paper, the demand has kept pace steadily. The wonderful product of the rag-bag holds an invincible position in the world's economy.

For machine-finished book and print papers, as well as for other cheaper grades, the process ends with the calenders, after which the paper is slit into required widths by disc-knives which are revolving, and so cut continuously. Paper intended for web newspaper presses is taken off in continuous rolls of the widths required, varying from seventeen to seventy-six inches, according to the size of the paper to be printed.

These reels contain from fifteen to twenty-five thousand lineal feet of paper, or from three to five miles. The amount of paper used in disseminating the news of the day is enormous; sometimes one or two mills are required to manufacture the supply for a single metropolitan daily, while one New York newspaper claims to have used four hundred and fifty tons of paper in one Christmas edition, which is about four times the amount of its regular daily consumption.

After having been slit into the proper widths by the revolving knives, ordinary flat and book papers are cut into sheets by a straight knife revolving at proper intervals on a horizontal drum. The paper, in sheets, is carried by a travelling ap.r.o.n to a receiving table at the end of the machine, where the sheets as they fall are carefully examined by experts, usually women, who remove any that may be imperfect.

The entire length of a paper machine, from the screens to the calenders, is about one hundred and twenty-five feet, while the height varies, the average being about ten feet. The machines, while necessarily of the finest adjustment, are ponderous and heavy, weighing in some cases as much as four hundred tons, this being the weight of the machine itself, exclusive of its foundations. The machine-room is of necessity well lighted and thoroughly ventilated, and should be kept clean throughout, as cleanliness is an essential factor in the making of good paper. While the same general process applies to all cla.s.ses of paper made, the particular character of any paper that is to be produced determines exactly the details of the process through which it shall pa.s.s and regulates the deviations to be made from the general operations in order to secure special results. For example, some papers are wanted with a rough or "antique" finish, as it is called; in such cases calendering is omitted. Another special process is that by which the paper is made with a ragged or "deckel-edge;" this result is obtained in some mills by playing a stream of water upon the edge of the pulp, crushing and thinning it, and thus giving it a jagged appearance. At the present time this "deckel-edge" paper is being quite extensively used in high-cla.s.s bookwork. In the case of writing papers, as has already been stated in the description of the beating engines, a vegetable sizing made from resinous matter is introduced into the paper pulp while it is still in solution, and mixes with it thoroughly, thus filling more or less completely the pores of the pulp fibers. This is found sufficient for all ordinary book-papers, for papers that are to be printed upon in the usual way, and for the cheapest grades of writing-paper, where the requirements are not very exacting and where a curtailment of expense is necessary. For the higher grades of writing-paper, however, a distinctly separate and additional process is required. These papers while on the machine in web form are pa.s.sed through a vat which is called the size-tub, and which is filled with a liquid sizing made of gelatine from clippings of the horns, hides, and hoofs of cattle, this gelatine or glue being mixed with dissolved alum and made fluid in the vat. Papers which are treated in this way are known as "animal," or "tub-sized."

We have duly described machine-dried papers, but these higher grades of writing-papers are dried by what is known as the loft, or pole-dried process. Such paper is permitted to dry very slowly in a loft specially constructed for the purpose, where it is hung on poles several days, during which time the loft is kept at a temperature of about 100 Fahrenheit.

Another detail of considerable importance is that of the "finish" or surface of the paper. When paper with a particularly high or glossy surface is desired, it is subjected to a separate process, after leaving the paper machine, known as supercalendering.

"Supercalendering" is effected by pa.s.sing the web through a stack of rolls which are similar to the machine calenders already described.

These rolls are composed of metal cylinders, alternating with rolls made of solidified paper or cotton, turned exactly true, the top and bottom rolls being of metal and heavier than the others; a stack of supercalenders is necessarily composed of an odd number of rolls, as seven, nine, or eleven. The paper pa.s.ses and repa.s.ses through these calenders until the requisite degree of smoothness and polish has been acquired. The friction in this machine produces so much electricity that ground wires are often used to carry it off in order that the paper may not become so highly charged as to attract dust or cause the sheets to cling together. When the fine polish has been imparted, the rolls of paper go to the cutting machines, which are automatic in action, cutting regular sheets of the required length as the paper is fed to them in a continuous web. In the manufacture of some high grades of paper, such as linens and bonds, where an especially fine, smooth surface is required, the sheets after being cut are arranged in piles of from twelve to fifteen sheets, plates of zinc are inserted alternately between them, and they are subjected to powerful hydraulic pressure. This process is termed "plating," and is, of course, very much more expensive than the process of supercalendering described above.

From the cutters, the sheets are carried to the inspectors, who are seated in a row along an extended board table before two divisions with part.i.tions ten or twelve inches high, affording s.p.a.ces for the sheets before and after sorting. The work of inspection is performed by women, who detect almost instantly any blemish or imperfection in the finished product as it pa.s.ses through their hands. If the paper is to be ruled for writing purposes, it is then taken to the ruling machines, where it is pa.s.sed under revolving discs or pens, set at regular intervals. These convey the ruling ink to the paper as it pa.s.ses on through the machine, and thus form true and continuous lines. If the paper is to be folded after ruling, as in the case of fine note-papers, the sheets pa.s.s on from the ruling machine to the folding machines, which are entirely automatic in their action. The paper is stacked at the back of the first folding guide and is fed in by the action of small rubber rollers which loosen each sheet from the one beneath, and push it forward until it is caught by the folding apparatus. Man's mechanical ingenuity has given to the machines of his invention something that seems almost like human intelligence, and in the case of the folding machine, the action is so regular and perfect that there seems to be no need of an attendant, save to furnish a constant supply of sheets. The folding completed, cutting machines are again brought into requisition, to cut and trim the sheets to the size of folded note or letter-paper, which is the final operation before they are sent out into the world on their mission of usefulness.

The finished paper may or may not have pa.s.sed through the ruling and folding process, but in either case it goes from the cutters to the wrappers and packers, and then to the shipping-clerks, all of whom perform the duties indicated by their names. The wonderful transformation wrought by the magic wand of science and human invention is complete, and what came into the factory as great bales of offensive rags, disgusting to sight and smell, goes forth as delicate, beautiful, perfected paper, redeemed from filth, and glorified into a high and n.o.ble use. Purity and beauty have come from what was foul and unwholesome; the highly useful has been summoned forth from the seemingly useless; a product that is one of the essential factors in the world's progress, and that promises to serve an ever-increasing purpose, has been developed from a material that apparently held not the slightest promise. Well might the _Boston News Letter_ of 1769 exclaim in quaint old rhyme:

Rags are as beauties which concealed lie, But when in paper, charming to the eye!

Pray save your rags, new beauties to discover, For of paper truly every one's a lover; By the pen and press such knowledge is displayed As would not exist if paper was not made.

And well may man pride himself on this achievement, this marvelous transformation, which represents the fruitage of centuries of striving and endeavor!

Up to this point the reference has been almost entirely to paper made from rags, but radical improvements have been made, caused by the introduction of wood pulp, and these are of such importance that the account would not be complete without some mention of them. These changes are mainly in the methods of manipulating the wood to obtain the pulp, for when that is ready, the process from and including the "washers" and "beaters," is very similar to that already described. All papers, whether made from rags or wood, depend upon vegetable fiber for their substance and fundamental base, and it is found that the different fibers used in paper-making, when finally subdued, do not differ, in fact, whether obtained from rags or from the tree growing in the forest.

In the latter case the raw wood is subjected to chemical treatment which destroys all resinous and foreign matters, leaving merely the cellular tissue, which, it is found, does not differ in substance from the cell tissue obtained after treating rags. In either case this cellular tissue, through the treatment to which the raw material is subjected, becomes perfectly plastic or moldable, and while the paper made from one differs slightly in certain characteristics from the paper made from the other, they are nevertheless very similar, and it might be safe to predict that further perfecting of processes will eventually make them practically alike.

The woods used for this purpose are princ.i.p.ally poplar and spruce, and there are three cla.s.ses of the wood pulp: (1) mechanical wood, (2) soda process wood, and (3) sulphite wood pulp. The first method was invented in Germany in 1844. The logs are hewn in the forest, roughly barked, and shipped to the factory, where the first operation is to cut them up by steam saws into blocks about two feet in length. Any bark that may still cling to the log is removed by a rapidly revolving corrugated wheel of steel, while the larger blocks are split by a steam splitter. The next stage of their journey takes these blocks to a great millstone set perpendicularly instead of horizontally. Here a very strong and ingenious machine receives one block at a time, and with an automatically elastic pressure holds it sidewise against the millstone, which, like the mills of the G.o.ds, "grinds exceeding fine," and with the aid of constantly flowing water rapidly reduces these blocks to a pulpy form. This pulp is carried into tanks, from which it is pa.s.sed between rollers, which leave it in thick, damp sheets, which are folded up evenly for shipment, or for storage for future use. If a paper-mill is operated in connection with the pulp-mill, the wood pulp is not necessarily rolled out in sheets, but is pumped directly from the tanks to the beaters.

In the preparation of pulp by the other processes, the blocks are first thrown into a chipping machine with great wheels, the short, slanting knives of which quickly cut the blocks into small chips.

In the soda process, invented by M. Meliner in France in 1865, the chips from spruce and poplar logs are boiled under pressure in a strong solution of caustic soda.

When sulphite wood pulp is to be prepared, the chips are conveyed from the chipper into hoppers in the upper part of the building. Here they are thrown into great upright iron boilers or digesters charged with lime-water and fed with the fumes of sulphur which is burned for the purpose in a furnace adjoining the building and which thus forms acid sulphide of lime. The sulphite process was originally invented by a celebrated Philadelphia chemist, but was perfected in Europe.

The "cooking," or boiling, to which the wood is subjected in both the soda and sulphite processes, effects a complete separation of all resinous and foreign substances from the fine and true cell tissue, or cellulose, which is left a pure fiber, ready for use as described. In the case of all fibers, whether rag or wood, painstaking work counts, and the excellence of the paper is largely dependent upon the time and care given to the reduction of the pulp from the original raw material.

Chemical wood pulp of the best quality makes an excellent product, and is largely used for both print and book paper; it is frequently mixed with rag pulp, making a paper that can scarcely be distinguished from that made entirely from fine rags, though it is not of the proper firmness for the best flat or writing papers. All ordinary newspapers, as well as some of the cheaper grades of book and wrapping paper, are made entirely from wood, the sulphite or soda process supplying the fiber, and ground wood being used as a filler. In the average newspaper of to-day's issue, twenty-five per cent of sulphite fiber is sufficient to carry seventy-five per cent of the ground wood filler. The value of the idea is an economical one entirely, as the ground wood employed costs less than any other of the component parts of a print-paper sheet.

The cylinder machine, to which reference was made earlier in the chapter, was patented in 1809 by a prominent paper-maker of England, Mr.

John d.i.c.kinson. In this machine, a cylinder covered with wire cloth revolves with its lower portion dipping into a vat of pulp, while by suction a partial vacuum is maintained in the cylinder, causing the pulp to cling to the wire until it is conveyed to a covered cylinder, which takes it up and carries it forward in a manner similar to the system already described. This machine is employed in making straw-board and other heavy and cheap grades of paper.

Generous Mother Nature, who supplies man's wants in such bountiful fashion, has furnished on her plains and in her forests an abundance of material that may be transformed into this fine product of human ingenuity. Esparto, a Spanish gra.s.s grown in South Africa, has entered largely into the making of print-paper in England. Mixed with rags it makes an excellent product, but the chemicals required to free it from resin and gritty silica are expensive, while the cost of importation has rendered its use in America impractical. Flax, hemp, manila, jute and straw, and of course old paper that has been once used, are extensively employed in this manufacture, the process beginning with the chemical treatment and boiling that are found necessary in the manipulation of rags. The successful use of these materials has met demands that would not otherwise have been supplied. As a result, the price has been so cheapened that the demand for paper has greatly increased, and its use has been extended to many and various purposes.

Many additional items of interest might be described in connection with the methods of manufacturing paper, but as this work is intended for the general reader, rather than for the manufacturer, those wishing further information are referred to technical works on the subject.

The best linen rags are used for the highest grades of writing and bond papers, while ordinary note, letter, and flat papers are made from cotton rags. In some mills, such as the government mill at Dalton, Ma.s.sachusetts, where the government paper is made for banknotes, and in others where the finest ledger papers are manufactured, none but new, clean rags are used. These come from the remnants left in the making of linen goods. In the government mill where is made the paper for our national currency, or "greenbacks," there is a special attachment on the machine for introducing into the paper the silk threads that are always to be seen in our paper money. This attachment is just above the "wire"

on the machine, and consists of a little conducting trough, through which flows, from a receptacle near the machine, a stream of water holding the silk threads in solution. The trough extends across the machine, and is provided at intervals with openings through which the short pieces of silk thread are automatically released, and sprinkled continuously onto the web of pulp as it pa.s.ses beneath. The paper is thus distinguished, and infringement and possible counterfeiting are made extremely difficult by the fact that the government absolutely forbids the making of paper by others under a similar process, as well as the production of any paper containing these silk threads. The laws of the United States pertaining to anything that borders on infringement of our various money issues, both metal and currency, are most rigid; anything approaching a similarity of impression is prohibited, and a cut, stamp, or impression of any character that approaches in its appearance any money issue of our government is considered a violation of the law against counterfeiting, and is dealt with severely. The government takes the same uncompromising position in regard to the fabrics used in printing its paper-money issues, and it will be quickly seen that the silk thread process described above it is so great a variation from anything required in the mercantile world that it would be difficult to produce a paper at all similar without an ulterior purpose being at once apparent. For this reason the silk thread interspersion is in reality a very effective medium in preventing counterfeiting, not only on account of its peculiar appearance but also because of the elaborate methods necessary in its production.

In those mills making the finest grades of paper, much of the process of thrashing, beating, dusting, and cleaning necessary in the ordinary mill is omitted. The cleanliness and brightness which are reached only at the "washer" and "beater" engines in the process of manufacturing the lower grades of paper from cheaper rags, prevail at every step in these higher grade mills.

One of the first requisites in making good paper, especially the better grades, is an abundance of pure water, and spring-water, where available, is preferred.

The effort has been made in the description given to cover the process of making paper from the crudest rags. In enumerating the several kinds of paper in another chapter, brief reference will be made to the varying methods required in their manufacture. In this chapter, no attempt has been made to cover more than the princ.i.p.al divisions or varieties of paper--writing, print, and wrapping papers.

The United States, with characteristic enterprise, leads the world in paper-making, supplying about one-third of all that is used on the globe. The city of Holyoke, in Ma.s.sachusetts, is the greatest paper center in the world, turning out each working-day some two hundred tons of paper, nearly one-half of which is "tub-sized," "loft-dried"

writings. The region in the vicinity of Holyoke is dotted with paper-mills, and within a few miles of the city is made about one-half of all the "loft-dried" writings produced in the United States. The tiny acorn planted two centuries ago has waxed with the years, gaining strength and vigor with the increasing strength of the nation, till now it has become a giant oak, whose branches extend to the lands beyond the seas.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 5: From _The Story of Paper-making_, Chapter V.J.W. Butler Paper Company, Chicago, 1901.]

THE EXPOSITION OF AN IDEA

THE GOSPEL OF RELAXATION[6]

_William James_

I wish in the following hour to take certain psychological doctrines and show their practical applications to mental hygiene,--to the hygiene of our American life more particularly. Our people, especially in academic circles, are turning towards psychology nowadays with great expectations; and, if psychology is to justify them, it must be by showing fruits in the pedagogic and therapeutic lines.

The reader may possibly have heard of a peculiar theory of the emotions, commonly referred to in psychological literature as the Lange-James theory. According to this theory, our emotions are mainly due to those organic stirrings that are aroused in us in a reflex way by the stimulus of the exciting object or situation. An emotion of fear, for example, or surprise, is not a direct effect of the object's presence on the mind, but an effect of that still earlier effect, the bodily commotion which the object suddenly excites; so that, were this bodily commotion suppressed, we should not so much _feel_ fear as call the situation fearful; we should not feel surprise, but coldly recognize that the object was indeed astonishing. One enthusiast has even gone so far as to say that when we feel sorry it is because we weep, when we feel afraid it is because we run away, and not conversely. Some of you may perhaps be acquainted with the paradoxical formula. Now, whatever exaggeration may possibly lurk in this account of our emotions (and I doubt myself whether the exaggeration be very great), it is certain that the main core of it is true, and that the mere giving way to tears, for example, or to the outward expression of an anger-fit, will result for the moment in making the inner grief or anger more acutely felt. There is, accordingly, no better known or more generally useful precept in the moral training of youth, or in one's personal self-discipline, than that which bids us pay primary attention to what we do and express, and not to care too much for what we feel. If we only check a cowardly impulse in time, for example, or if we only _don't_ strike the blow or rip out with the complaining or insulting word that we shall regret as long as we live, our feelings themselves will presently be the calmer and better, with no particular guidance from us on their own account. Action seems to follow feeling, but really action and feeling go together; and by regulating the action, which is under the more direct control of the will, we can indirectly regulate the feeling, which is not.

Thus the sovereign voluntary path to cheerfulness, if our spontaneous cheerfulness be lost, is to sit up cheerfully, to look round cheerfully, and to act and speak as if cheerfulness were already there. If such conduct does not make you soon feel cheerful, nothing else on that occasion can. So to feel brave, act as if we _were_ brave, use all our will to that end, and a courage-fit will very likely replace the fit of fear. Again, in order to feel kindly toward a person to whom we have been inimical, the only way is more or less deliberately to smile, to make sympathetic inquiries, and to force ourselves to say genial things.

One hearty laugh together will bring enemies into a closer communion of heart than hours spent on both sides in inward wrestling with the mental demon of uncharitable feeling. To wrestle with a bad feeling only pins our attention on it, and keeps it still fastened in the mind; whereas, if we act as if from some better feeling, the old bad feeling soon folds its tent like an Arab, and silently steals away.

The best manuals of religious devotion accordingly reiterate the maxim that we must let our feelings go, and pay no regard to them whatever. In an admirable and widely successful little book called _The Christian's Secret of a Happy Life_, by Mrs. Hannah Whitall Smith, I find this lesson on almost every page. _Act_ faithfully, and you really have faith, no matter how cold and even how dubious you may feel. "It is your purpose G.o.d looks at," writes Mrs. Smith, "not your feelings about that purpose; and your purpose, or will, is therefore the only thing you need attend to.... Let your emotions come or let them go, just as G.o.d pleases, and make no account of them either way.... They really have nothing to do with the matter. They are not the indicators of your spiritual state, but are merely the indicators of your temperament or of your present physical condition."

But you all know these facts already, so I need no longer press them on your attention. From our acts and from our att.i.tudes ceaseless inpouring currents of sensation come, which help to determine from moment to moment what our inner states shall be: that is a fundamental law of psychology which I will therefore proceed to a.s.sume.

A Viennese neurologist of considerable reputation has recently written about the _Binnenleben,_ as he terms it, or buried life of human beings.

No doctor, this writer says, can get into really profitable relations with a nervous patient until he gets some sense of what the patient's _Binnenleben_ is, of the sort of unuttered inner atmosphere in which his consciousness dwells alone with the secrets of its prison-house. This inner personal tone is what we can't communicate or describe articulately to others; but the wraith and ghost of it, so to speak, are often what our friends and intimates feel as our most characteristic quality. In the unhealthy-minded, apart from all sorts of old regrets, ambitions checked by shames and aspirations obstructed by timidities, it consists mainly of bodily discomforts not distinctly localized by the sufferer, but breeding a general self-mistrust and sense that things are not as they should be with him. Half the thirst for alcohol that exists in the world exists simply because alcohol acts as a temporary anaesthetic and effacer to all these morbid feelings that never ought to be in a human being at all. In the healthy-minded, on the contrary, there are no fears or shames to discover; and the sensations that pour in from the organism only help to swell the general vital sense of security and readiness for anything that may turn up.

Consider, for example, the effects of a well-toned _motor-apparatus,_ nervous and muscular, on our general personal self-consciousness, the sense of elasticity and efficiency that results. They tell us that in Norway the life of the women has lately been entirely revolutionized by the new order of muscular feelings with which the use of the _ski_, or long snow-shoes, as a sport for both s.e.xes, has made the women acquainted. Fifteen years ago the Norwegian women were even more than the women of other lands votaries of the old-fashioned ideal of femininity, "the domestic angel," the "gentle and refining influence"

sort of thing. Now these sedentary fireside tabby-cats of Norway have been trained, they say, by the snow-shoes into lithe and audacious creatures, for whom no night is too dark or height too giddy, and who are not only saying good-bye to the traditional feminine pallor and delicacy of const.i.tution, but actually taking the lead in every educational and social reform. I cannot but think that the tennis and tramping and skating habits and the bicycle-craze which are so rapidly extending among our dear sisters and daughters in this country are going also; to lead to a sounder and heartier moral tone, which will send its tonic breath through all our American life.

I hope that here in America more and more the ideal of the well-trained and vigorous body will be maintained neck by neck with that of the well-trained and vigorous mind as the two coequal halves of the higher education for men and women alike. The strength of the British Empire lies in the strength of character of the individual Englishman, taken all alone by himself. And that strength, I am persuaded, is perennially nourished and kept up by nothing so much as by the national worship, in which all cla.s.ses meet, of athletic outdoor life and sport.

I recollect, years ago, reading a certain work by an American doctor on hygiene and the laws of life and the type of future humanity. I have forgotten its author's name and its t.i.tle, but I remember well an awful prophecy that it contained about the future of our muscular system.

Human perfection, the writer said, means ability to cope with the environment; but the environment will more and more require mental power from us, and less and less will ask for bare brute strength. Wars will cease, machines will do all our heavy work, man will become more and more a mere director of nature's energies, and less and less an exerter of energy on his own account. So that, if the _h.o.m.o sapiens_ of the future can only digest his food and think, what need will he have of well-developed muscles at all? And why, pursued this writer, should we not even now be satisfied with a more delicate and intellectual type of beauty than that which pleased our ancestors? Nay, I have heard a fanciful friend make a still further advance in this "new-man"

direction. With our future food, he says, itself prepared in liquid form from the chemical elements of the atmosphere, pepsinated or half-digested in advance, and sucked up through a gla.s.s tube from a tin can, what need shall we have of teeth, or stomachs even? They may go, along with our muscles and our physical courage, while, challenging even more and more our proper admiration, will grow the gigantic domes of our crania, arching over our spectacled eyes, and animating our flexible little lips to those floods of learned and ingenious talk which will const.i.tute our most congenial occupation.

I am sure that your flesh creeps at this apocalyptic vision. Mine certainly did so; and I cannot believe that our muscular vigor will ever be a superfluity. Even if the day ever dawns in which it will not be needed for fighting the old heavy battles against Nature, it will still always be needed to furnish the background of sanity, serenity, and cheerfulness to life, to give moral elasticity to our disposition, to round off the wiry edge of our fretfulness, and make us good-humored and easy to approach. Weakness is too apt to be what the doctors call irritable weakness. And that blessed internal peace and confidence, that _acquiescentia in seipso_, as Spinoza used to call it, that wells up from every part of the body of a muscularly well-trained human being, and soaks the indwelling soul of him with satisfaction, is, quite apart from every consideration of its mechanical utility, an element of spiritual hygiene of supreme significance.