The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, November 8, 1896, Page 17

THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 8, 1896. 17 Your Life May Be Indefinitely Prolonged by Scientific Means. Three score years and ten Las been for the majority of mankind the accepted *term ot human life. Not thatall men live seventy years: far from it. Occasionally an individual is remarked whose span of earthly existence reaches much beyond that length of years; but the greater num- ber of human beings succumb long before the centennial year is reached. The gen- eral sense of the phrase *‘three score years - and ten” is thata man ought 1o live that . length of time provided he obeyed the laws of health. As a matter of fact, the © man who lives according to the laws of nature will be in his prime, and a long ‘ways from dissolution on the attainment . of his seventieth birthday. The familiar phrase originated in the early ages of the present civilization, when sanitation was | an unknown quantity, and the present knowledge of the conservation of energy _undreamed of. it can only apply to the present by the permissible neglect of those who do not care for anything better. Death comes to the human individual -. (accidental deaths, and these include such as result from inherited taints of vital disease, are not considered in the present mention) as the result of a failure of the power of assimilation. Our physical bodies are changing every moment of our lives. 1t used to be said that the human body was changed every seven years. It 1s constantly changing. We exist partly by the food we eat and - partly by the appropriation of the invisi- ble molecules surrounding us. Deprived of air we should'die, although surrounded by the most bounteous provision of tempt- ing viands. Insensibly our bodies are feed- ing through a million mouths, and throngh a million pores of exit are passing off the " waste products. An atom of carbon, an atom of iron and an atom of this and that is taken possession of by our bodies and used by the operation of what is known as the process of assimilation. Provided this | - process goes on with undiminished vigor there can be no death. Itis only when for some reason, generally a lack of vital | energy, this process becomes feeble, that | senile decay is apparent. . Within late years axtended researches have been made in the field of material physics which have developed the fact that the basis of all physical action is vibration. It isnow a conceded fact that the process of assimilation is a vibratory one. I do not mean that our foods and our beverages are transformed into _be« coming parts and portions of our living organisms by a process of shaking recog- nizable by human vision, but that every atom of matter, be it of whatever kind, has a definite rate of vibration, and that changing the rate of vibration of that atom changes its form of manifestation. So that an atom of iron entering into the human frame is by the rate of vibration of the assimilation process so acted upon as 1o have its rate changed, making it a component part of our system. This means that there is work to be done. Measured by our finite scalesit would not appear that & very great amount of dy- namic force was necessary to change the rate of vibration of a single atom. Inves- tigation of the laws of molecular attrac- tion demonstrate that in a single drop of blood there are no less than five hundred thousand million million millions of atoms, each separated from each other by spaces larger than the atoms. The figures are almost too great for our mental grasp, and yet they are demonstrable. Thus, while the operation of & single atom may be but the expenditure of an infinitesimal force, yet the operation of the aggregate involves the exercise of enormous energy. Ifthese premises are correct, and they are virtually established, then it follows that if the vibratory force of assimilation can by any means be maintained at its normal rate without slackening, the pro- cess of appropriation, use and ejection of atoms by the human system will go on ad infinitum, and there will be no decay and consequently no death. We require to know the rate of vibration of assimilation. The foremost scientists of the age have enunciated that there is but one form of the primitive atom, and that all other atoms, of whatever name, are but the dif- ference in the grouping and motionsof the primitives. ELECTRIC SCIENCE OVERPOWERS DEATH. W \ \ 1// i = = s e That the vibration of these atoms isa ! constant thing, forever going on, and that the cause of the vibration is the operation of molecular force, or, as is sometimes called, molecular attraction; the universal energy. ‘Within the pastfew years some astouna- ing discoveries have been made of the phenomena of vibration. Chiefly these discoveries have occurred in the field of electricity. We speak of the character of an electric current by saying it is of acer- tain “voltage and amperage. The term ‘‘voltage’’ represents its intensity, just as we would say a stream of water is flowing swiftly or slowly. The term “amperage’’ represeuts quantity, corresponding to the volume of the stream. A current of elec- tricity consists of a series of undulations, and the rapidity with which these undu- lations follow one another determines the voltage of the current. Therefore, the higher the voltage the more rapid the vi- brations. We take hold of the handles of a Faradic bntfery coil, and with a current of a few volts we experience a sensation of muscular contraction that becomes intol- erable if the voltage be increased to say fifty. The trolly wire of the street rail- way carries a current of a thousand volts coupled with large amperage. The unfor- tunate being whose physical system forms a connectin link between the live trolley wire and the earth suffers a degree of muscular contraction which renders him helpless, and {frequently death results from a lesion due to the intense strain put upon the muscular system by the current, or from the enormous heating effect of the great amperage. Yet, Tesla and, since his experiment, numerous other experiment- ers, have passed through their bodies an electric current of a million volts and en- joved it. In these cases the current was of small amperage. Ii we sound at the same time a number of musical notes, all of exactly the same pitch, the result is a harmonious sound of greater volume than if but one note was sounded. If we sound atthe same time two discordant notes, inharmony re- sults. If we were tosound atthe same time every one of the sixty-three shades of tone that constitute the complete octave, absoiute silence would result. The fact that the human body is able to entertain an electric current of a million volts, with impunity, whereas it suc- cumbs to disruption under the pressure of a thousand-volt current, bas set some scientific minds to thinking. Electrical energy is the closest approach to the universal force, i. e., molecular force, that our present state of scientific attainment permits. In the exhibition of the million-volt current we were producing a sound closer in approach to the human. When we shall know the exact rate (the voltage) of an individual human, we shall then be able to employ upon him a current of cor- responding voltage rate, and then supply to his system a force of vibration that will maintain his assimilative process. To this end a number of careful experi- ments are now being made to determine the precise means whereby the voltage, or rate of vibration, of the individual may be accurately ascertained. Undoubtedly dif- ferent individuais have different rates. Already it is ascertained that this rate, or voltage, 1z somewhere between one and three millions. There is every reason to hope that the opening of the twentieth century will witness the accomplishment of the prob- lem. Once the particular voltage of the individual is known, the proper applica- tion of a current of electric energy of a corresponding voltage may be applied, and the vibratory rate of the process of assimilation maintained with as much regularity as is now the steam in the boiler of an ocean liner by the well-timed feeding of the furnaces with coal. F. M. Crosg, D.Sc. A Belgian inventor nas devised an ime mense lamp, such as has probabiy never been seen before. The lamp is composed of 3000 pieces. It is six feet high and measures three feet ten inches in diam eter. It is fed with lard oil, and the con- sumption is very smali, its light being so powerful that one may read by it at a distance of 600 feet. Van Dyck Brown’s Story of William Motris, the Beloved In the death of William Morris—poet, rtist, manufacturer and philanthropist— England Las lost one of the most interest- ing personalities of the last half century. | of the author of “The Life and Death of | guments th: If his wonderful versatility almost pre- | cluded sbeolute supremacy in any one - direction, it gave infinite opportunity for | a broader development, a wider influence | for good, a humane and never-failing in- | terest in every subject that could affect | the artisan, the artist or the man of ele- | gan leisure, | He belonged to that remarkable circle | called at first in scorn the pre-Raphaelite | Brotherhood—Ford Madox Brown, John | Al i) a little uncouth, and he detested the no- toriety he could hot escape. It was re- lated that an American, a great admirer Jason,” desired to make his acquaintance; after being kept waiting for an intermina- ble fime, the unfortunate stranger was re- ceived by the poet, with a shout of: *“Well, sir, what the devil do you want?” His obstinate nature, his high bat gen- erous temper, his love of argument, even | of a stormy violence, made him a difficult man to associate with; especially as his views, so firmly maintained, were gener- ally, at first, utterly impracticabie; Wolfings” and the *'Story of Sigurd the Volsung.” His artistic work was in many | directions. It was the resuit of many ar- at had originally turned him | | from architecture to poetry, but in his | | later work there werealways tracesof that precise early training. One of his earliest friends, Faulkner, bursar of an Oxford | | college, himself a strong-willed, argu-| | mentative man, was generally his host, in the early sixties, and an Oxford student of that period, who was invit:d to Faulk- | ner's Sunday breakfasts, had an unusual | opportunity to listen to the “sound and | fury” of dialectical battles. In this case THE WORKSHOP AT MERTON ABBEY. Millais, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, and later Buarne-Jones. His personal appearance -was striking and among facetious Oxford men he was called “The Lion,” not only | * _for the leonine character of his head, but for his habit of roaring, when annoyed, in stentorian tones. s He had a massive forehead with a great - thatch of unruly, shaggy hair; a big beard hid his rather grim mouth nnd[ chin. His manners were abrupt, at times founded on the quick enthusiasm of a na- ture at once idealistic and inclined to pessimism. He had the eyes and the ex- pression of a dreamer, absentminded and meditative, in strong contrast to the rugged modeling of his great brow and nose and chin. The poet left us the inheritance of “The Life and Death of Jason,” “The Earthly Paradise,” “The Defense of Gucnevere,”” and in later years “The Houte of the they were productive of unusual results. A hobbvhorse Morris could always ride was the hideousness of ordinary surround- ings. He could demolish in a rage ot con- tempt the conservative manufacturers who turned out year after year abomina- tions in the way of wallpaper and carpets, furniture and ornaments. It was a time when Pater was first publishing his deli- cately elaborate essays, when Rossetti and Swinburne and Morris himself were pub- lishing poems making the desire for beauty almost a moral law. And from these Sunday breakfasts, where the very crockery was imperiled by the force of the arguments, the scheme, so visionary | at first, was practically evolved to found a business—a firm of decorators and up- holsterers who were to revolutionize Eng- land. The curious and unusual part of it is that for once the dreamers succeeded— not after straggle and labor, but immedi- ately. Not a university don in Oxford but owned an esthetic coal scuttle; not one of the tutors’ wives but pointed proudly to a wall covered with a Morrisonian design of flowering pomegranates. The firm was calied Morris, Marshall, Faulkner & Co., and their first house was in Red Lion square. Later they opened in ‘Oxford street and finally moved to Merton Abbey, where they still remain. And the widespread influence of this tirm of decorators was and is remarkable. He may be said to have revolutionized Eng- lish taste in decorative art. His idea was that designs should be atonce graceful and natural, reproauced from natural outdoor objects; that fabrics should be of substan- tial worth, whether they be the simplest cotton stuffs or the most exquisite silks or satins or brocades; that colors should be used that would stay fast through shade and san. At present his work has met the inev- itable fate of any success; it has been imitated and distorted by the manufac- turers in England and America, less scrupulous as to the quality and design; it has been cheapened und made common- place, until it has been made to encourage the very taste “for useless ornaments, sham art and stupid bric-a-brac” he was most anxious to destroy. His name be- came falsely associated with that modern fashion he detested—crowding rooms with silly trifles that, to use his own words, ‘‘make our stuffy, art-stifling houses more truly savage than a Zualu’s kraal or an East Greenlander'ssnow hut.” Heloved “frank colors,” pure and solid, and yet, as he ’| himself said wifh whimsical despair, *‘he is supposed to have brought into vogue a dingy, bilious-looking yellow-green—a color of which he had a special and per- sonal hatred.” His theories were simple in the extreme. ‘Nothing can be a work of art which is not useful, that is to say which does not minister to the body when well uuder command of the mind, or which does not amuse, soothe or elevate the mind in a healthy state. What tons upon tons of unutterable rubbish, pretend- ing to be art in some degree, would this maxim clear out of our houses if it were understood and acted upon. -If you can- not learn to iove real art at least learn to hate sham art and reject it. Learn to do without—there is virtue in these words— and then from simplicity of life would rise up the longing for beauty; and we know that nothing can satisfy that de- mand but intelligent work, rising grad- ually into imacinative work, which will turn all operators into workmen, into art- ists, into men.” It was impossible for a man of his tem- perament to blind himself with his own ideals, and the terrible problems of the day occupied him too much—made him sacrifice his poetry to the needs of his fel- low-men. He became a socialist, not only in the best sense of the term, but actively, carrying his principles of equality into his rela‘ions with his workmen. The actual condition of the poor was to him a subject of the keenest misery to the very end of his life, and unconsciously he, perhaps, did more harm than good by his passion- ate pamphlets, his lectures and addresses to the various clubs of workmen of which he was a member. 3 “Dreamer of dreams, born out of my due time, why should I strive to set the crooked straight?” he wrote in a moment of weariness and despair. But he did strive, and the striving brought that shadow of doubt and melancholy into his voetic work so distinguished for its calm- ness and serenity, the freshness and sparkle of a gayety almost Chaucerian. The sympathy with socialism is not very great in America, perhaps because the intense dep:h of such poverty as meets the eye in England is not evident and is uoteven existent. Here we read every day of men of rank and power throwing themselves and their wealth in- to the balance against the desperate flood of abject misery and pauperism. There is no touch of personal interest, of desire for applause, of political or other advan- tage in their endeavors to stop the tide, and however vain, however wild and visionary the attempt, we have only re- spect and admiration for the effort. Un- fortunately the very .arguments that are most convincing to the intelligent and prosperous men, the ringing eloquence of sympathy for the wrongs of the weax ax downtrodden, become firebrands in the mouths of the ignorant, the hali-starved, the idle, fanatical socialist workman. To him socialism and anarchism are synony- mous terms. In Merton Abbey, in the bpeautiful county of Surrey, where every village sta- tion is overgrown with roses and flowering vines, it is a very sunny kind of socialism that William Morris was responsible for, Here in the old Norman monastery the ‘‘idle singer of an empty day” lived and labored. Here to any visitor sincerely in- terested in his work on the Iabor prob- lems he was always to be found, a robust and powerful figure in a blue blouse, with a great, hearty voice, and that strange mixture of hostile reserve and fine cor- diality that made his manner so unusual. He was always on the alert for a cynical or a contemptuous attitude in others, but once convinced of the contrary, and the florid color would rise to his face, his eyes would grow luminous and an indescriba- ble air of freedom and warmth would emanate from his whole personaliiy. Merton Abbey was originally a Norman monastery, but from tae time of Cromwell it has been used for manufacturing pur- poses. Originally the nlace was the cradle for textile printing in England. ‘The house in which Morris lived was an Poet of Merton Abbey old-fashioned country dwelling-house. In a small room over the stairs was a circu- lating library, intended for the benefit of the operati All the books were as richly bound as though intended for his own private use. “I do not want art for the fow,”” he would say, ‘‘any more than education for a few or liberty for a few. Noj; rather than that art shounld live this poor, thin life among a few exceptional men, despis- ing those beneath them for an ignorance for which tiiey themselves are responsi- ble, for a brutality which they will not struggle with, rather than this I would that the world should indeed sweep away ali art for a while. * * * Rather than the wheat should rot in the miser’s LONDON RESIDENCE granary, I would that the earth had it that it might yet havea chance to quicken in the dark.” This manufactory consists of asmall group of detached buildings. Scrupulous neatness and order everywhere, flowers in every window. Even the busiest rooms, filled with the constant whirr of machin- ery, are bright with light and air. There was no branch of industry in which Mr. Morris himself was not personally skilled; he rediscovered lost methods and in- troduced new ones. Bibliophiles point with pride to the wagnificent volumes issued by the Kelm- scoit Press, perfect in every detail that goes to the making of a book. And still we question regretfully whether other men could not have been found and would inevitably have risen with the need for them, to bring beauty into the wallpapers and carpets, to remodel the furniture, to give to kitchen pottery and the things for everyday use some decora- tive value above their usefulness; in short to metamorphose the homes of this latter half of the nineteenth century. ‘Whether or no, we wish he had written more poetry and fewer pamphlets for the benefit of the working classes. With his deep enjoyment of beauty and art there | are few poets who could have lived a hap- pier life, but his sympathies were too large, and set not only upon “singing” of the woes of mankind, but in being act- ively engaged in lessening them. His ec- OF WILLIAM MORRIS. centricity knew no bounds, nor his eager- ness for the success of any venture in which he was interested. He has been ac- cused of many things, how justly or un- justly it is not necessary to inquire. His poetry has a streak of fatalism that gives it o touch of weakness. In reality he was ‘“‘one who never turned his back, but marched breast forward.” Vax Dyck Brows. London, October 24, 1896, A lock of Napoleon’s hair, cut when the Emperor was on board the Bellerophon at Plymouth in August, 1815, and sent with a letter to Capel Lofft of Troston, Suffolk, was sold at Sotheby’s in London the other alternoon for £30. ‘A Genuine Old-Fashioned What other city in the world the size of “Ban Francisco can boast of a country road within its limits, only a short distance away from the busy marts of trade? By this is not meant a street with a rural appearance, but a real road, without side- walks or lamp-posts, that winds among tree-covered hills, past ranches and gar- dens and pretty homes, with vines and . flowers in the yards, at the same time be- ing shut out from all sight and sound of the busy metropolis. It is very hikely that the city by the Golden Gate stands alone in this respect, as she does in many others. It is also likely that comparatively few of the residents of tkis City know of sucha road’s existence, although most of them bave undoubtedly been within a few hun- dred feet of one end of it. " Nevertheless the road exists and is not at all hard 1o find. Itis downon the map of Ban Francisco as *the Almshouse Road,” and the end nearest town starts at Stanyan street, 3 biocks south from the Haight-street entrance to the Park. At this point thereo is nothing unusual looking about the road, it having much the appearance of many of the newly laid- out streets in the vicinity. It siarts up a gradual incline and goes through a cut in the hill only about a block away. A little has been done in the way of improvement here. Wooden curbs have been put in and the center of the road is covered with crushed stone the same as 1s used in the park. But go up to the cut in the hill and look beyond. The entire aspect changes and every bit of suggestion of a city street disappears. The roadbed is simply laid on the surface of the ground and almost nothing done in the way of grading. On both sides there are hills and trees with vacant lots divided by fences. About two hundred feet froia the end of the road it makes a curve and a descent at the same time, then a sudden ascent. Here there are a few small bouses, and by turning blc§ one can look over the park and even beyond and see the smoke of the Country Road Within the Limits of the City of San Francisco. big City mingling with the clear blue of the sky. But keep on and another descent will lead into a canyon and a few hun- dred feet up this and all sight of the big City is lost. ‘When once within this big canyon it is hard to realize that only a few hundred feet to the northeast there is a big City throbbing and pulsating with life. There is no suggestion of it here, and as far as the general aspect of nature goes one might as well be in the depths of the Sierras. Away to the south the road can be seen winding among the hills, every now and then disappearing behind a binff only to reappear a short distance farther on. There is a breath of autumn in the air. The grass on the hill sides is sparse and brown, but the birds are singing and the murmur of the brook can be heard as it tumbles over the rocks. A gentle wind rustles the dead weeds and sends the dried leuves flying. Listen. Not the faintest sound of the big City comesin here. Surely this cannot be San Krancisco. But it really is, and just over the hill to the right not much farther than a boy could throw a stone are well laid out streets, all the modern improvements that make up a metropolis. Although the road really goes up hill it does so so gradually as to be impercepti- ble. Every step takes one farther and farther into the depths of nature, and the canyon becomes almost wild for a short distance. There are biz jagged rocks overbanging the way and seeming ready to fall at any moment. At this point the hills on both sides are so high the sea breeze is kept out and an absolute silence reigns. In the vicinity of the Almshouse the roadway is lined with pretty resi- dences, and numerous ponds and reser- voirs add to the country-like effect. Roopsters are crowing, cows bellowing, dogs barking and hens cackling, mineled with the sourd of the woodsman’s ax in the timber near by. The prettiest portion of the whole road is just beyond the Almshouse gate. It might properly be ramed the Eucalyptus road, for both sides of the driveway are lined with the most picturesque speci- mens of those artistic trees. The treesare justin their prime and make a most re- {ireshing shade, that is pleasant to iook at in cool weather and cooling when the sun is hot. This avenue isabout 500 feet long, and in some places the branches of the trees meet overheaa, forming a natural archway, the equal of any in the State. ‘When the sun is low in the west and the trunks of the trees cast lon: shadows over the roadway, then is it indeed a beautiful sight. The spots of light dance as if en- dowed with life.and the whole interior gf the archway is filled with a soft glow that mingles with the quivering sunshine. Beyond the Almshouse there is a clear- ing where the inmates of the institution are wont'to come and rest while seated in the sun on the logs of the newly felled trees. They add considerably to the picturesqueness of the scene, those poor old people, a3 they move about, many of them attired in the most outlandish gar- ments of the brightest colors. But some- how they seem to blend with nature, and even if the clothes they wear have been out of fashion over half a century, the ‘wearers are proud of them; perhaps proud of the length of time they have had them. Half a mile from the Almshouse gate theroad is of the most countryfied de- sorition. There are barns and stables on both sides, and back on the hills dozens of vegetable gardens. At present these gardens are looking their best. Great rows of all sorts of good things are in the most perfect condition of greenness, and walking among them are zardeners sing- ing at their work. Every foot of the Almshouse road is a pleasure to walk over 1o any one who en- joys nature. .Add to this the fact that it is within the limits of one of the largest cities in the world, and the tr1p over 1t be- comes & most unique experience. A peculiar feature of the Almshouse road is that it can be followed for =bout two miles and suggest nothing but the country, but after that distance it makes a curve toward the City, and in a mile more comes back to the streets of San Francisco not many blocks from where it started. Hot Water for Gough. A sudden and wearing attack of conghe ing often needs immediate attention, ese pecially in consumptives and those chron- ically ill. In an emergency, that ever useful remedy, hot water, will often prove very effective. It is much better than the ordinary cough mixtures, which disorder the digestion and spoil the appetite. Water almost boiling should be sipped when the paroxysms come on. A cough resulting from irritation is relieved by hot water through the promotion of secretion, which moistens the irritated surfaces. Hot water also promotes expectoration, and so relieves the dry cough.