“OF what a fine bright metal that box is made,” said I; “I should almost have taken it for silver.”
“Your learned friend here would be shocked to be mentioned in the same breath with tin!” observed the Scissors.
“Far from it,” said the bright silver Thimble. “If usefulness to man gives value to metal, few can rank more highly than tin. England owes to it her earliest fame; for long before her flag waved o’er distant seas—long before her conquering armies trod foreign shores, while her fields were wild forests, and her people barbarians, the Phœnicians sought her coasts for tin, for which her mines in Cornwall are yet famous.”
“Ah! I remember,” I observed, “that it is when mixed with tin that mercury forms the amalgam used for the backs of mirrors.”
“Mercury is not the only metal which unites in a friendly manner with tin. Joined to copper, it becomes bronze, of which those pretty chimney-piece ornaments are made; and pewter, so useful to the poor, comes from tin united with lead. It is also very commonly used to line copper pots and pans, which, without such a coating of tin, might poison the food which they contain.”
“Poison!” I exclaimed in surprise.
“Yes; many serious accidents have arisen from the tin lining wearing away from cooking vessels made of copper. The rust of copper is called verdigris; it is of a bright green colour, and of a most poisonous nature.”
“Ah!” said the Scissors, “that accounts for our good lady’s alarm, when she found one morning, about two years ago, Master Eddy sucking a copper halfpenny! A precious deal of trouble that young gentleman has given her. He’s as active as quicksilver, and as mischievous.”
“Pity that we can’t make an amalgam of him,” laughed I, “and teach the little rogue to reflect.”
“He, Miss Lily, and the baby are killing their mother by inches between them,” said the Scissors.