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In relation to the first, it has been suggested that if consciousness be regarded as dependent upon a certain rate of atomic vibration, it is possible that this rate depends on a store of intramolecular oxygen, which, owing to fatigue, may become exhausted; or it may be supposed that alkaloidal substances may collect as fatigue products within the brain, and choke the activity of that organ. Against this theory may be submitted the facts that monotony of stimulus will produce sleep in an unfatigued person, that over-fatigue, either mental or bodily, will hinder the onset of sleep, that the cessation of external stimuli by itself produces sleep. As an example of this last, may be quoted the case recorded by Strumpel of a patient who was completely anaesthetic save for one eye and one ear, and who fell asleep when these were closed. Moreover, many men possess the power, by an effort of will, of withdrawing from objective or subjective stimuli, and of thus inducing sleep.

The histological theories of sleep are founded on recent extraordinary advances in the knowledge of the minute anatomy of the central nervous system, a knowledge founded on the Golgi and methylene blue methods of staining. It is held possible that the dendrites or branching processes of nerve cells are contractile, and that they, by pulling themselves apart, break the association pathways which are formed by the interlacing or synapses of the dendrites in the brain. Ramon y Cajal, on the other hand, believes that the neuroglia cells are contractile, and may expand so as to interpose their branches as insulating material between the synapses formed by the dendrites of the nerve cells. The difficulty of accepting these theories is that nobody can locate consciousness to any particular group of nerve cells. Moreover, the anatomical evidence of such changes taking place is at present of the flimsiest character.

If these theories be true, what, it may be asked, is the agency that causes the dendrites to contract or the neuroglia cells to expand? Is there really a soul sitting aloof in the pineal gland, as Descartes held? When a man like Lord Brougham can at any moment shut himself away from the outer world and fall asleep, does his soul break the dendritic contacts between cell and cell; and when he awakes, does it make contacts and switch the impulses evoked by sense stimuli on to one or other tract of the axons, or axis cylinder processes, which form the association pathways? Such a hypothesis is no explanation; it simply puts back the whole question a step further, and leaves it wrapped in mystery. It cannot be fatigue that produces the hypothetical interruptions of the dendritic synapses and then induces sleep, for sleep can follow after fatigue of a very limited kind. A man may sleep equally well after a day spent in scientific research as after one spent in mountain climbing, or after another passed in idling by the seashore. He may spend a whole day engaged in mathematical calculation or in painting a landscape. He fatigues--if we admit the localization of function to definite parts of the brain--but one set of association tracts, but one group of cells, and yet, when he falls asleep, consciousness is not partially, but totally suspended.

So long as the present stimuli are controlled by past memories and are active in recalling them, so long does consciousness exist, and the higher will be the consciousness, the greater the number and the more intense the character of the memories aroused. We may suppose that when all external stimuli are withdrawn, or the brain soothed by monotony of gentle repetition, and when the body is placed at rest, and the viscera are normal and give rise to no disturbing sensations, consciousness is then suspended, and natural sleep ensues. Either local fatigue of the muscles, or of the heart, or ennui, or exhaustion of some brain center usually leads us to seek those conditions in which sleep comes. The whole organism may sleep for the sake of the part. To avoid sleeplessness, we seek monotony of stimulus, either objective or subjective. In the latter case, we dwell on some monotonous memory picture, such as sheep passing one by one through a gap in the hedge. To obtain our object, we dismiss painful or exciting thoughts, keep the viscera in health, so that they may not force themselves upon our attention, and render the sense organs quiet by seeking darkness, silence and warmth.--L.H., in Nature.

AMATEUR CHRONOPHOTOGRAPHIC APPARATUS.

At the time that we described the Demeny chronophotographic apparatus we remarked that it had the advantage of permitting of the projection of very luminous images of large dimensions; but it is certain that the cases are somewhat limited in which there is any need of using a screen 24 or 25 feet square, and, as a general thing, one 6 or 10 feet square suffices. The manufacturer of the apparatus, M. Gaumont, has, therefore, been led to construct a small size in which the bands have the dimensions usually employed in the French and other apparatus, thus permitting of the use of such as are now found in abundance in the market.

It will be remembered that the Demeny principle consists especially in the avoiding of traction upon the perforated part of the band, which is the portion that always presents the most fragility. This principle has naturally been preserved in the small model, and a preservation of the bands for a long time is thus assured.

The apparatus is reversible, and may be used for making negatives as well as for projecting positives. In its new form it is easily transportable and is no more bulky than an ordinary 5 by 7 inch apparatus. Nothing is simpler then than to carry it on a journey, if one desires to make his own negative bands. Since the sensitized film has to be protected against the light during its entire travel, two magazines have been arranged . One of these, A, which is fixed upon the top of the camera, contains the clean film, while the other, B, which is placed beneath the objective, receives the strip after it has been acted upon by the light. A train of toothed wheels, C , actuates the roller of this second magazine. This arrangement may, moreover, be utilized also when projections are made, if one does not desire the band to float in measure as it unwinds behind the objective. As the upper magazine is entirely closed when it is placed upon the apparatus, it is necessary, in order to prepare for taking a negative, to pull out a few inches of the film, pass the latter over the guide roller and fix the extremity to the winding roller in the lower magazine.

It is clear that we can have any number of magazines whatever for carrying about, all charged, just as one carries the frames of his ordinary camera.

THE RECLAIMING OF OLD RUBBER.

The complaint of high prices of India rubber is as old as the rubber industry, one result of which has been an unceasing effort to discover a practical substitute. Never was the secret of the transmutation of metals sought more persistently by ancient philosophers than the secret of an artificial rubber has been by modern chemists, but, thus far, the one search has been hardly more successful than the other. One discovery has been made, however, by which our rubber supplies have been so far conserved that, for the want of it, we might be obliged now to pay double the current prices for new rubber. This is the reclaiming of rubber from worn-out goods, in a condition fit for use again in almost every class of products of the rubber factory.

Soon after the vulcanization of rubber became fully established, attempts began to be made to "devulcanize" the scrap and cuttings of rubber which accumulated in the factories. So extensive were these accumulations that one company are reported to have built a road with rubber scrap through a swamp adjacent to their factory, while most other manufacturers were unable to find even so profitable a use for their wastes. As time advanced there came to be large stocks, also, of worn-out rubber goods, such as car springs and the like, all of which appealed to a practical mind here and there as being of possible value, since the price of new rubber kept climbing up all the while.

No fewer than nineteen patents were granted in the United States for "improvements in devulcanizing India rubber," or "restoring waste vulcanized rubber," beginning in 1855, or eleven years after the date of Goodyear's patent for the vulcanization process. In that year Francis Baschnagel obtained a patent for restoring vulcanized rubber to a soft, plastic, workable state, by treating it with alcohol absolutus and carbon bisulphuratum, in a closed vessel, without the application of heat. Later he obtained a patent for accomplishing the same result by "boiling waste rubber in water, after it has been reduced to a finely divided state;" and still later, one for treating the waste to the direct action of steam.

Patents were granted in 1858 to Hiram L. Hall, for the treatment of waste rubber by boiling in water; also, by subjecting it to steam; and again, by combining various resinous and other substances with it. The two inventors named assigned their patents to the Beverly Rubber Company, of Beverly, Mass., controlled then by the proprietors of the New York Belting and Packing Company, and their processes became the basis of an important business in rubber clothing.

The low cost of the devulcanized rubber, as compared with new rubber, alone gave them a great advantage over other manufacturers, in addition to which they escaped the payment of a license to work under the Goodyear patents.

Many army blankets, made for the government during the civil war, were waterproofed with Hall's devulcanized rubber, and from that period little new rubber has been used in the manufacture of heavy rubber coats. The other patents in this class do not deserve special mention.

It having been established that rubber is rubber, no matter where found, manufacturers gradually turned their attention beyond the scraps and cuttings which remained after making up their goods. There was beginning to be a good demand for ground-up rubber car springs, wringer rolls, tubing and other rubber goods free from fiber, after it had been so treated as to remove the sulphur contents and restore the gum to a workable condition. But this left out of account rubber footwear, belting, and hose, not to mention the later heavy production of bicycle tires. There were only a few uses to which rubber waste containing fibrous material could be put when ground up and devulcanized without the removal of the fiber. It could be put into a cheap grade of steam packing or mixed in a powdered form with new rubber for the heels of rubber boots and shoes. There was an early patent for a process for "combining fibrous materials with waste vulcanized rubber, rendered soft and plastic." But all the other patents which come within the scope of this article had for their object the separation of fibers from the rubber.

An important advance was marked by the Hayward patent , granted in 1868, for "boiling waste rags of fibrous material and rubber in an acid or alkali, for the purpose of destroying the tenacity of the fibers of the rags, so that the rubber may be reground." But this process extended only to the weakening of the fibers, and not their complete destruction. A later patent, in the same year, provided for exposing the ground rubber waste to the n, who turned round at hearing his step, and said in a very low voice, and quickly:

"Let me see you in your study alone for a moment. It is urgent!"

And the Home Secretary, glancing up hurriedly with a half-frightened look, said, "Yes? Certainly! Come."

Lord Galton stood by the Home Secretary in his study, looked round suddenly, and said, "May I lock the door?" locked it without leave and then came back and began talking.

The young fellow talked as impressively as ever he had talked when he was giving instructions to a jockey, or rather, to the go-between who took the risk. He knew how to talk, as do most men who are successful in giving instructions to jockeys. His sentences came, weighty, short, decisive, and each had its effect. Men said he would have done well in the House of Commons, but the men who have said that do not know the House of Commons. Yes, he would have done well in the House of Commons: not by oratory, but by what I may call the Attaboy side of his character. He began:

"Humphrey, I'm going to tell you about the emerald. I think I know where it is."

The Home Secretary looked up, startled; but he did not interrupt.

"I want to begin by saying that I know I am myself under suspicion."

"Oh, my dear Tommy," began his unfortunate host. But the younger man put up a hand like a slab of stone.

"But, my dear Tommy," broke in the Home Secretary, lying eagerly and almost with affection, "I don't believe it. Believe me, I don't believe it. Do you suppose," he added with beautiful tact, "that if I believed it I'd have you here at Paulings?"

Lord Galton just showed at the muscles of the mouth what a fool he thought the man. He went on undisturbed.

"It's nothing to do with the value of the lie--they haven't turned me out of the Posts, for that matter; nor warned me off. But the point is, the story has gone the rounds. A man that would cheat would steal. Also you know I'm on the rocks, and therefore I'm under suspicion. Now we're all three under suspicion, as I say. That old ass, Cousin Bill, got mixed up with the Mullingar Diamond years ago--too much of a fool to pinch it for selling; wanted to look at it through one of his contraptions. Anyhow, he can't keep his hands off crystals. And an emerald's a crystal."

"Is it?" asked the Head of the Family with great interest.

"I think so--I don't know," said Galton impatiently. "Anyhow, it's a jewel, a precious stone--what?"

"Oh, yes! It's a jewel, yes, a precious stone. Oh, yes," admitted Humphrey de Bohun.

"Well then, so's a diamond. A man who'll take diamonds'll take emeralds--what? ... Then there's that journalist fellow--he's under suspicion because he's a journalist; they're all on their uppers, and you told me yourself about the one who stole the spoons when you were at the Board of Works."

A faint smile appeared for a moment on the face of his host. It was his favourite funny story--all about a journalist who once stole some government spoons. He had told it on every occasion. He told it to journalists. But then he was never really featured by the Press.

"Now of those three," went on Lord Galton, rather more slowly, and separating his words, "the man who has got it is our miserable old family goat, Cousin Bill...."

The Home Secretary started.

The Home Secretary put on his expression of gravity in the third degree--the expression with which he would meet a deputation for saving an innocent man from the gallows and gratify them with a majestic refusal.

"What you say, Tommy," he began, slowly, "is very serious. Very serious indeed. In my judgment ..."

"Oh, look here," said Lord Galton impatiently, "cut out all that! He's not in the hall. He went off to the library, and when he gets there he strikes root. There'll be no one about--they're laying the table. Come with me, and I'll prove it."

"I hesitate ..." began the Home Secretary. His powerful young relative, by way of reply, hooked him by the arm, unlocked the door, and marched him straight out into the hall. The ghost of what might well have been an ancestor--for we all have such things--must have mourned, if, as such things do, it had taken up its kennel in a suit of armour standing by the side of the fireplace in the hall: it would have mourned to see the head of the de Bohuns stand by while the deed was done.

Lord Galton went smartly up to the bunch of coats, plunged his hand into the left-hand pocket of that one wretched old garment, and turned it sharply inside out, so that the damning evidence should fall before his cousin's eyes. There fell out no small amount of gathered dirt, some paper torn into minute fragments, and a stub of pencil; also a rather repulsive handkerchief--nothing more. Nothing rang upon the hall floor. There was no Emerald.

Lord Galton for once did a weak thing--or a superstitious one. As though not trusting his senses, he picked the repulsive handkerchief up and shook it. But there was no emerald. Indeed, one could see and hear by the way it had fallen that there was no emerald within its large but unattractive folds. He knew that well enough before he touched the rag--but it was a forlorn hope.

It was the older man who hastily picked up these evidences, not of the Professor's dishonour, but his own, and rapidly put them back where they belonged; darting a glance over his left shoulder and sighing with relief to find that there was still no one about, not the sound of a distant footfall, not the glide of a serf. His companion's face was darker and flushed.

"I could have sworn ..." he opened. Then he added, murmuring, "He must have taken it away."

"I wish we hadn't ..." began the Home Secretary, and then switched off to, "You're quite sure you saw it with your own eyes, Tommy?"

"Absolutely certain," said the young man, with a fearless steady gaze, and proud to be telling one truth at least.

The Home Secretary held his chin in his hand, stood silent for a good quarter of a minute, and then said something characteristic of his profession as a statesman. He said, "Humm!"

What had happened?

Dear--or, if that is too familiar a term--charming reader, this is not one of the detective stories of commerce. You shall know all about it beforehand, as you have already known all about it, step by step. You shall be subjected to no torture of suspense. We will leave that to the people of our story. They were born for it.

He kept on talking to himself, as was his learned habit, repeating with a hideous smile the words, "Crystals ... ah! yes ... crystals.... Crystals, eh? Crystals ... yes.... Crystallograph ... something, eh? Now then, it'll be among the books of reference, eh? Crystals.... Oh, what a dirty trick that was of Leader to play!" His left hand was fumbling in the left-hand pocket, where he always kept those indispensable instruments of research, his large tortoise-shell spectacles. His hand groped. He muttered the word "Berne" three times in less and less confident tones. Then the message so tardily conveyed reached his erudite brain. "Oh! ... I've lost my spectacles!"

He never got used to the shock of losing his spectacles, though he suffered from it a dozen times a day. Each time he lost them it was all up with him; each time he went through a crisis. Here he was in the depths of the country and without eyes! There was a touch of agony in his muttering now, as came louder the words, "My spectacles, oh, ah! my spectacles ... now where could I ..." He bent his powerful will to the control of his, if possible, less powerful memory; he traced events back one after the other for a good three minutes, and then he remembered that he had gone out in his overcoat and had left it hanging in the hall.

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