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Your Life May Be Indefinitely Prolonged by Scientific Means.
Three score years and ten has been for the majority of mankind the accepted term 01 human life. Not that all 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 beines succumb long before the centennial year is reached. The gen eral sense of the phrase "three score years and ten" is that a man ought to 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 na;ure 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. It used to be said that the human body was changed every seven years. It is 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 through 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 ] rocess goes on with undiminished vigor there can be no death. It is only when ' for so:ne reason, generally a lack of vital energy, this process becomes feeble, that senile decay is apparent. . Within late years extended researches Van Dyck Brown 's Story of William Morris, the Beloved Poet of Merton Abbey In the death of William Morris — poet, artist, manufacturer and philanthropist — England has lost one of the most interest- ing personalities of the last half century. . If his wonderful versatility almost pre . eluded absolute supremacy in any one • direction.it gave infinite opportunity for a broader development, a wider influence for good, a humane and never-failing in terpst in every subject that could affect the artisan, the artist or the man of ele- pant leisure. He belonged to that remarkable circle ! called at first in scorn the pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood— Ford Madox Brown, John I Millais, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, and later i B'mie-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. He had a massive forehead with a great ■ thatch of unruly, shaggy hair; a big beard hid his rather grim mouth and j chin. His manners were abrupt, at times A Genuine Old-Fashioned Country Road Within the Limits of the City of San Francisco, What other city in the world the size of San Francisco can boatt 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 yard?, at the same time be ing shut out from all sight and sound of the busy metropolis. It is very likely 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 this City know of such a road's existence, although most of them have undoubtedly been within a few hun i dred feet of one end of it. V Nevertheless the road exists and is not at all hard to find. It is down on tbe map of San Francisco as "the Alnuhouse Road," and the end nearest town starts at Stanyan street, 3 blocks south from the Height-street entrance to the Park. have been made in the field of material physics which liave developed the fact that the basis of all physical action is vibration. It is now 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 to have its rate changed, making it a component part of our system. This means that there b work to be done. Measured by our finite scales it would not appear that a 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 a single atom may be but the expenditure of an infinitesimal force, yet the operation of the aggregate involves the exercise of enormous energy. If these 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 motions of the primitives. a little uncouth, and he detested the no toriety he could hot escape. It was re lated that an American, a great admirer of the author of "The Life and Death of Jason," desired to make his acquaintance ; after being kept waiting for an intermina ble time, the unfortunate stranger wns re ceived by the poet, with a shout of: "Wei', sir. what the devil do you want?" His obstinate nature, his high but gen erous temper, his love of argnment, 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 impracticable; THE WORKSHOP AT MERTON ABBEY. 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, absent minded and meditative, in strong contrast to the rugged modeling of his great brow and no*e 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 Hou«e of the At this point there is nothing unusual lookine about the road.it having much the appearance of many of the newly laid out streets in the victnity. It starts 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 1* used in the park. But go up to the cut in the hill and look beyond. The entire aspect changes j 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 from 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 houses, and by turning back one can look over the park and even beyond and see tbe smoke of the . THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 8, 1896. Wolfings" and the "Story of Sigurd the Volsung." His artistic work was in many directions. It was the result of many ar guments that had originally turned him from architecture to poetry, but in his la*er work there were always traces of 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 invu d to Faulk ner's Sunday breakfasts, had an unusual opportunity to listen to the "sound and fury" of dialectical battles. In this case they wrre productive of unusual results. A hobbyhorse Morris could always ride was the hideousness of ordinary surround ings. He could demolish in a rage of 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 puo big Cify 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 pulsatine 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 bluff only to reappear a short distance fartner 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 leaves flying. Listen. Not the faintest sound of the big City comes in here. Surely this cannot be San Francisco. But it ELECTRIC SCIENCE OVERPOWERS DEATH. lishing poems making the desire for beauty almost a moral law. And from theje Sunday breakfasts, where the very crockery was iin periled by the force of the arguments, the schema, 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 Bcuttle; not one of the tutors' wives but pointed proudly to a wall covered with a Morrisoniau design of flowering pomegranates. The firm was called 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 firm 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 at once graceful and natural, reproduced !rom 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 sun. 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 cneapened and made common place, until it has been made to encourape the very taste "for useless ornaments, sham art and stupid bric-a-brac" ho was most anxious to destroy. His name be came falsely associated with that modern fashion he^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^l silly trifles that, to use his own worus, "make our stuffy, art-stifling houses more truly savage than a Zulu's kraal or an East Greenlander's snow hut." He loved "frank color?," pure and solid, and yet, as he himself said with 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 under 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 irnacinative work, which will turn all operators into workmen, into art ists, into men." It was impossible for a man of his temp 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 bis jagged rocks overtianeing 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. Roosters are crowing, cows bellowing, dogs barking and hens cackling, mineled with the sound of the woodsman's ax in the timber near by. The prettiest portion ©< the whole road erament to blind himself with his own ide*ls, 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, pernaps, 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. "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 aud despair. But he did strive, and the striving brought that shadow of doubt and melancholy into his poetic work so distinguished for its calm ness and serenity, the freshness and sparkle of a gayety almost Chaucerian. Tbe sympathy with socialism is not very great in America, perhaps because the intense depth of such poverty as meets the eye in England is not evident and is not even 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 eloqupnc* of sympathy for the wrongs of the weak £r.d downtrodden, become firebrands in the mouths of the Ignorant, the half-starved, the idle, fanatical socialist workman. To him socialism and anarchism are synony mous terms. In Merton Abbey, in the oeautiful 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 th« 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 lnbor prob lems he was always to be found, a robust and powerlul figure in a blue blouse, with a great, nearty 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 warmtn would emanate from his whole personality. Merton Abbey was originally a Norman monastery, but from tae time of Cromwell it has been used for manufacturing pur poses. Originally the y^laoe was the cradle for textile printing in Eneland. The house in which Morris lived was an is just beyond the Almshonse gate. It might properly be ramed the Eucalyptus road, for both sidbs of the driveway are lined with the most picturesque speci mens of those artistic trees. The trees are just in their prime and make a most re freshing shade, that is pleasant to look at in cool weather and cooling when the sun is hot. This avenue is about 500 feet long, and in some places tbe branches of the trees meet overhead, forming a natural archway, the equal of any in the State. When the sun is low in the west and the trunks of tbe 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 <jf 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 That the vibration of these atoms is a constant thing, forever going on, and that the cause of the vibration is the operation 01 molecular force, or, as ia sometimes called, molecular attraction; the universal energy. Within the past few years some astound 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 i« of a cer 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" represents quantity, corresponding to the volume of the stream. A current of qlec ti icily 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 battery 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 aconnectin 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 joyed it. In these cases the current was of small amperage. If 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 at the same time two discordant notes, inharmony re sults. If we were to sound at the same time every one of the sixty-three shades old-fashioned country dwelling-house. In a small room over the stairs was a circu lating library, intended for the benefit of the operatives. 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. No; rather than that art shon'd live this poor, thin life among a few exceptional men, despis ing those beneath them for an ignorance for which ti;ey 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 all art for a while. ♦ ♦ • Rather than the wheat should rot in the miser's LONDON RESIDENCE OF WILLIAM MORRIS. granary, I would that tbe earth had it that it might yet have a chance to quicken in tbe dark." This manufactory consists of a small 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 ami 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 rragnificent volumes issued by the Kelm scott Press, perfect in every detail that goes to the making of a book. And still we question regretfully whether other old people, as 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 clo'hes 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 tbe Almshouse gate the road is of the most countryried de scription. 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 gardeners sing ing at their work. Every foot of the Almshouse road is a pleasure to walk over to any one who en joys nature. Add to this tbe fact that it is within the limits of one of tbe largest cities in the world, and the trip over v be comes a most unique experience. A peculiar feature of the Almshouse of tone that constitute the complete octave, absolute 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 thousaml-volt current, bas set some scientific minds to thinking. Electrcal energy is the closest approach to the universal force, i. c., molecular force, that our present atate 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 yhall 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 bis 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 individuals have different rates. Already it is ascertained that this rate, or voltage, le 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. Close, D.Sc A .Belgian inventor has devised an im mense lamp, such as has probably never been seen before. The ian.p is composed of 3000 pieces. It is six feet high and measures thiee feet ten inches in diam eter. It is fed with lard oil, and the con sumption is very small, its light being so powerful that one may read by it at a distance of 600 feet. men could not have been found and would inevitably have risen with the need for them, to bring beauty into the wallpapers ana 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 home? 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 i ively engaged in lessening them. His ec- 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 a touch of weakness. In reality he was "one wno never turned his back, but marched breast forward." Van Dyck Brown. London, October 24, 1896. A lock of Napoleon's hair, cut when the Emperor was on board the Belleroplion at Plymouth in August, 1315, and sent with, a letter to Capel Lofft of Troston, Suffolk, was sold at Sotheby's in London the other I alternoon for £30. road is that it can be followed for j-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 Cough. A sudden and wearing attack of couah ing often need 3 immediate attention, es pecially in consumptives and those chron ically ill. In an emergency, that ever useful remedy, not 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. 17