Do excuse us, good readers, for a while longer, and we will tell you a story about this same Enthusiast. It is a trick of some of our contemporary painters, to beguile the sitter by a conversation on some topic which throws him from the restraint of posture-making; perhaps if we try it, Enthusiast may be caught in a more favourable attitude, and we may close the day with some success for our hitherto failing and disappointed pencil.
Enthusiast was one day engaged in a discussion with a lady friend, and had, in the usual warmth of his manner, been descanting on the beauties and properties of Church Architecture in connection with the proposed erection of a suitable structure of this class in a wealthy manufacturing town. “It should be a cathedral,” said he, “at least in dimension, in aspect, in decorations and appointments.” He had dwelt on the peculiar features it should possess, on the facilities that could be commanded, on the energies that ought to be exerted, and so on, when he was cut short in his rhapsody by the cruel observation of the lady,—and a common one it is,—“There is no money for such things now-a-days.”
Casting his eyes around, as if in a reverie of thought, he scanned the character of the various luxuries of the well-appointed drawing-room in which they sat. Glancing from the broad mirror boldly superposed on the massive carved chimney-piece of Carrara marble, which in its turn enclosed the highly-polished steel and burnishings of a costly Sheffield grate and its furniture, to the rich silk hangings of the windows—their gilded cornices and single sheets of plate-glass—thence to the chairs of rosewood and ivory inlaid, the seats of silken suit—the companion couch and ottoman of most ample dress—the curious and costly cabinet, the screens, the gold-mounted harp, the “grand piano.”—Pacing once the length of the room on the gay velvet of the carpet, he turned again and rested his view on the table, choicely decked with books, most expensive in all the appliances of paper, type, illustration, and binding—having done all this, with breath suppressed and stiflings of emotion, which fain had broken out with a scornful repetition of the lady’s words, “there is no money for such things now-a-days,” he quietly disengaged himself of his passion, and by an apparently easy transition ran on thus:
“I have been calling to mind some of my early readings, and most prominent just now is the recollection of the observations of Hope when treating the subject of Egyptian Architecture and commenting on the vastness of the Pyramids; he enters into a speculation as to the means by which the people of that country under the Pharaohs were enabled to find the leisure, or the time necessary for the construction of such stupendous works, and he ventures to ascribe it to the natural fertility of the soil caused by the annual over-flowings of the Nile, thus demanding less from the Egyptians of the labour and care of agriculture; and hence the drift of their exertions in the direction of architecture. True, the bounty of nature would go a long way in supplying to the cravings of art the leisure and opportunity for gratification. True, those pyramids are evidence of the direction of great means and great powers to an end which astounds more than it edifies us, but what were the bounties of Egypt’s irrigating water, what the greatness of their pyramids compared with that bounty which Providence has given us in the mineral and the out-growing mechanical characteristics of this favoured country, and the pyramids which we erect as if in emulation of Egyptian vanity and inutility?” “Pyramids!” interrupted the lady, “Ah, it is always so with you, to propound to us first some extravagant project, and when driven from your ground by a common sense and practical answer, to take shelter in some ambiguity or paradox. Pyramids, Sir,—what is your meaning?” “Here,” said the Enthusiast, “here, madam, are stones from some of the English pyramids, of which your Scotts, and Byrons, and Bulwers, and Marryatts have been the architects. Compare the labours, and the end of the labours of these ingenious minds with those of the architects of the Egyptian pyramids, and tell me then the difference in amount. See the glories and untiring industry of him of Abbotsford, devoted to an incessant wearing out of the energies of his mind in designing pyramids of fiction—look on the ant-like bustle and activity of the thousands whom he brought into requisition to be engaged in the building—look at the millions of devotees who have prostrated and continue to prostrate themselves at these great entombments of his genius.—The paper-makers—the printers—the artists employed in illustration—the binders—the booksellers—the advertizing—the correspondence—the carrying—volumes, pyramids of volumes to advertize alone—an endless train of carriages and lines of road for the conveyance—the Builders and makers employed on all these—and on the establishments of printers, booksellers, &c.—and then the excited million of expectants, the absorbed and half-entranced readers—the hours, days, weeks, months, and years of reading—the impatience of interruption till the whole delusion is swallowed—the readings again and again—the contagion from the elders to the younger—children even bewildered with the passion to peep into, to pore over, and last, to read as rote-books these little better than idle fables—bootless in their aim and object, and pointless in all but their rival obtuseness of the mountain-mocking pyramids. The fertility, the leisure, and the vanities of Egypt!—oh, madam, their country was sterility—their leisure, incessant bustle compared with what we enjoy; and their vain direction of labour and thought not to be named after this enumeration of vanities. Pyramids!—where they had one we have ten. Where ages were required by the Egyptians, we in as many years outvie them, and yet your answer to my aspirations is, “We have no money for such things as these!”
Reader, we have beguiled ourselves and you, and not the Enthusiast, into a sitting; and one feature is sketched of his likeness and his character.
STREET SWEEPING MACHINE.
We give the following notice in connexion with the subject of Wood Pavements, believing, as we do, that the efficiency of that mode of paving greatly depends upon its being kept clean; an object which this invention will materially facilitate.
Patent Self-Loading Cart, or Street-Sweeping Machine.
The Self-loading Cart has been lately brought into operation in the town of Manchester, where it has excited a considerable degree of public attention. It is the invention of Mr. Whitworth, of the firm of Messrs. Joseph Whitworth & Co., engineers, by whom it has been patented, and is now in process of manufacture. The principle of the invention consists in employing the rotatory motion of locomotive wheels, moved by horse or other power, to raise the loose soil from the surface of the ground, and deposit it in a vehicle attached.
It will be evident that the self-loading principle is applicable to a variety of purposes. Its most important application, however, is to the cleaning of streets and roads. The apparatus for this purpose consists of a series of brooms suspended from a light frame of wrought iron, hung behind a common cart, the body of which is placed as near the ground as possible, for the greater facility of loading. As the cart-wheels revolve, the brooms successively sweep the surface of the ground, and carry the soil up an inclined plane, at the top of which it falls into the body of the cart.