Woodite, a newly invented preparation of caoutchouc—so called from the name of its inventor—is attracting considerable attention at the present time. In woodite are united the useful elastic properties of india-rubber together with the advantages of immunity from injury by fire or salt water. The specific gravity of woodite is only one-tenth that of iron or steel; whilst the cost of the new material, as compared with these metals, is estimated to be as three to seven, or rather less than one half. Such facts fully explain the importance attached to the proposition now being made to utilise woodite as a protection—either internal or external, as regards the vessel’s skin—to men-of-war and torpedo boats. Experiments recently made to ascertain the behaviour of woodite under fire were as satisfactory as conclusive, and established the interesting fact, that the caoutchouc closed up again so thoroughly and instantaneously, after the passage of the shot, that no leakage resulted, though the vessel was pierced below waterline.
The value of a material possessed of such qualities for naval purposes cannot be overestimated; whilst in a variety of other ways, woodite appears likely to play a not unimportant part in the near future. In the construction of lifeboats, a material so buoyant and indestructible cannot fail to be of service; whilst for lining quay walls, harbour entrances, piers, landing-stages, and the numberless cases where it is desirable to moderate the force of impact, woodite should be found of the greatest value. In the case of a collision at sea, a vessel fortified internally or externally with woodite would be more likely to remain afloat, than, cæteris paribus, one not similarly protected.
In an age when every effort is made to secure the requisite buoyancy in our huge floating citadels, heavily laden with ponderous armour and gigantic ordnance, a material combining buoyancy in so high a degree, with its other advantages, cannot but be destined, in the opinion of competent judges, to play a brilliant part; whilst its future in the more peaceful arts cannot fail to be equally commensurate with its merits.
A passenger by the Canadian Pacific Railway gives an interesting sketch of the travelling arrangements on this latest trans-continental line. We learn that the locomotives have a haul of about one hundred and twenty to one hundred and thirty miles in each division of the line, when they are changed, and fresh ones put on. The continent is crossed from Montreal to Vancouver, in British Columbia, in five days and fourteen hours; and this will soon be reduced to one hundred and twenty hours. Good time is kept. The first east-bound trans-continental train that was met in transit, passed Sudbury, going eastward, at 4.17 P.M., after being about five days on the journey. Before its arrival, there was some curiosity to learn whether it was in time, and bets were made on the time it would arrive. This train, after travelling a distance of two thousand five hundred miles, arrived only fifteen seconds behind time. The railway route from Montreal to Vancouver covers two thousand nine hundred and nine miles; and the through sleeping-coaches attached to the train run the entire distance without change, which is a great comfort to the traveller. Every week-day, a train starts from each end of the line, leaving the eastern terminus at Montreal at eight o’clock in the evening, and the western terminus at one o’clock in the afternoon. On Sundays, the trains do not start; thus making six trains each way every week. The west-bound train is called the Pacific Express; and the east-bound train the Atlantic Express.
The Pacific Express, in which this correspondent travelled, was made up of five coaches. At the head was the luggage, mail, and express coach, which carried the baggage. The next is the colonists’ coach, a third-class carriage with seats arranged so that they can be turned into a double tier of berths on each side for sleeping accommodation. The train carries passengers at three rates. The ordinary American first-class passenger coach follows the colonists’ coach, which usually takes local travellers along the line. Following this is the dining-coach, which usually accompanies the train only from seven o’clock in the morning till nine o’clock at night. Following the dining-car is the through sleeping-coach, which is constructed with six sections on each side. In the aggregate, twenty-six persons can be given sleeping accommodation in this car; while at one end, toilet-rooms and a bathroom are provided. At the rear of the sleeping-coach is a large open apartment with a good outlook, which can be used as a smoking-room, and where passengers may have a view of the line passed over.
This arrangement of wires has always been considered as a disfiguring and dangerous eyesore, and at last our quick-sighted cousins ‘across the water’ have determined that the nuisance shall be forthwith abated. In New York, Washington, St Louis, Chicago, and other great cities of the United States, legislative decrees have been issued for the compulsory abolition of all overhead wires, which will in future be conducted underground in tunnels beneath the pavement, and by this means a great improvement will be effected in the matter of street architecture, and some dangers to passengers will be removed. Many instances have been known in America where, from violent storms of wind or snow, the telegraph posts have been blown down, occasioning injury and even death to passengers. All this will be avoided by the new arrangement.
As a supplementary note to the article on ‘Bees and Honey’ which appeared in No. 135 of the Journal, a correspondent sends us the following:
‘A painful instance of the terrible consequences of provoking bees is connected with one of the loveliest sights in India, the famous Marble Rocks of Jubbulpore. These rocks form a gorge through which the great river Nerbudda flows, and the marble formation extends for about a mile. The dazzling walls which shut in the river are studded with pendent bees’ nests, and for any one proceeding in a boat down the narrow channel to disturb the bees is a fatal proceeding. If any warning were required, it is given by a tomb which stands on the outskirts of the village just above the gorge, to the memory of one who was stung to death in this beautiful spot. Actuated by a foolish impulse, he fired his rifle at one of the nests, whereupon the bees came down on him in such numbers that he attempted to save himself by jumping overboard. The relentless insects, however, still pursued him, with fatal results. I quote the story from memory, but believe it is to be found in detail in Forsyth’s charming work, The Highlands of Central India.
‘A friend once told me that as he was driving near a village some miles from Jubbulpore, he and his servant and horse were attacked by bees without any real provocation. The enemy crowded round in such numbers that the situation became serious. After receiving several stings, and finding the horse, too, becoming restive, my friend resolved to save his own life and that of his servant, both of which were really in jeopardy, at the risk of a little discomfort to other people. Accordingly, he whipped up his horse and made for the village, a cloud of bees keeping up with the trap without the least effort. When the village was reached, the bees, as my friend anticipated, found so many other objects of interest, that they distributed their attentions with less marked partiality than hitherto. In other words, the cloud left the trap and scattered among the villagers, who were, however, so numerous, that two or three stings apiece probably represented the total damage. The expedient was not, perhaps, a charitable one, but, in the circumstances, was, I venture to think, justifiable.’
The Publishers have pleasure in intimating that next year will appear in this Journal an Original Novel, entitled
RICHARD CABLE,
by the distinguished Author of the well-known works of fiction, ‘Mehalah,’ ‘John Herring,’ ‘Court Royal,’ &c.