Page:Once a Week Volume V.djvu/671

 664 I did not boil,—that I was coated inside with a substance foreign to my nature, which he termed “furr.” Taking me to his smithy, he set to work with hammer and chisel, and speedily removed the cause of all my troubles. But, oh, the remedy was as bad as the disease; my poor sides were so battered and bruised that I felt sure that when I reached home I should be dismissed to the kitchen, and never more be summoned to the tidy parlour fire; and, moreover, one small hole was knocked right through me, which pained me much: that, however, was patched up, and, as I didn’t complain, no one noticed it. Although the “furr” was removed, I was left very rough in my inside, and being once more brought into daily requisition, soon became as bad as ever. Neighbours were consulted, and all sorts of remedies proposed for my cure: one, that potato peelings were to be boiled in me; another, a marble, and so forth; but no good came of them, and I continued to get so bad and clogged up with “furr,” that, instead of holding three quarts, I hardly could contain as many pints. One day, a travelling tinker happened to pass through our village; he was a loquacious fellow, and soon made the acquaintance of my mistress’s cook; she happeued to mention me to him, and he undertook to put me to rights in half an hour. In an evil moment for her, she parted with me, and next day I was miles away, in a large manufacturing town, never more to return, for the tinker was not accustomed to the method of business according to the rule of meum and tuum. He soon sold me for half my weight’s value to a chemist, who, taking off my lid, exclaimed, “Ah, my poor fellow! you’ve been badly used, I can see.” His sympathising tone induced me to open my heart to him, and to tell him my whole history from the very first.

“I see how it is,” said he, “but we’ll soon have it all right. I understand you to say, that the water you were first supplied with seemed very pure and soft, though not so sparkling and bright as that you were filled with by your second owner. Well, that is quite in accordance with chemical facts: the water from the pump of your second mistress owed its brilliancy to the quantity of lime it held in solution. Rain water, caught in clean vessels, away from large towns, is the purest water that can be procured, without resorting to artificial means; and this, although pure, will not sparkle as spring-water, for the reason that it contains no lime or saline matter possessing the power of refracting light. The water used by your first mistress contained little or no lime, and all went on well. You see, the old proverb, ‘not to trust too much to appearance,’ will apply to water as well as to men. But how came it that bright and sparkling water caused such a disturbance of your stomach, and coated your inside with ‘furr’ nearly an inch thick?” asked my new master.

Of course I could not say; and so he continued: “I’ll tell you. The water used at the house of your second mistress contained a goodly quantity of lime—carbonate of lime, or chalk—dissolved during its percolation of the earth; this, from its perfect solution, would render it sparkling. Now, my good friend, you have helped to enliven many a Christmas party with the hot water you have supplied, and cannot have failed to observe that when the guests were mixing their toddy, how much sooner the sugar dissolved in hot water than in cold: so it is with substances generally; they are more readily soluble in hot fluids than in cold.”

“Yes, I’ve remarked that, sir,” said I.

“Lime, however, is an exception; at ordinary temperature a pint of water will dissolve fully eleven grains of lime, while at its boiling point the same quantity will not take up seven. Of this water, bright and brilliant, and fully saturated with lime, or its carbonate, you were daily filled, and as it became hotter and hotter, down and down went the lime, leaving day by day an additional coat on your poor sides; and as a very small snowball will, when set in motion, increase to a monster, so the continued daily film of limy deposit increased to an inconvenient and uncomfortable thickness, and ultimately brought you to grief, for this thick deposit, or ‘furr,’ by reason of its being a bad conductor of heat, prevented its passage through you to the water; it would not boil, and you got blamed.”

“You know best, sir, and no doubt it is as you say,” was all I could give utterance to.

“But to the point,” he continued. “You are nearly half-full of this troublesome stuff, and no doubt all good housewives will rejoice to learn an easy remedy. This limy deposit, though hard, and troublesome to remove by hammer and chisel, is easily got rid of by chemical agency. Hydrochloric acid”—(Giving a wince at this hard name, my master noticed it, and said, “Don’t be alarmed, it is commonly called spirits of salts,”) will“will [sic] remove the cause of all your troubles in a very few minutes, without injury to yourself, and that we’ll at once prove.’prove.” [sic]

Accordingly, my good master sent to a druggist a bottle, and procured half a pound of spirits of salts, costing but a few pence; he placed me in the open air, and having diluted the “spirit” with a pint or so of water, poured it into me. Oh, what a commotion it did produce! I laugh now; but really I was alarmed at the effervescence that took place within me, but as in a moment the “furr” began to get less and less, I felt relieved, and my spirits began to rise accordingly. My master shook me about now and then, taking care, I observed, to avoid the fumes that arose, and in a few minutes exclaimed, “All right, old follow, I can see your copper; now you’ll do. Come with me to the pump, and a douche will set you quite to rights.” For ten minutes I was under hydropathic treatment—such as patients at Ben Rhydding or Malvern rarely experience—and I was well as ever, “good as new.”

I am now happy to tell I have never had a relapse of my old complaint, am happy as the day is long, and sing as readily as ever.

2em

The recent work of Mr. Smiles on the Engineers informs us that the Thames is kept in its bed by 300 miles of river embankment between London Bridge and the Nore.