tion is destroyed by the removal of the causes which produce it; and we all know that, without previous fermentation, decay cannot occur. It is so pre-eminently nasty to the taste (in spite of its appetising effects) that even the voracious teredo will not touch it, but abandons it for the more luxurious feeding which he finds in uncreosoted timber.
One of the most observable points of this process is that it bestows its gift of longevity mainly on the poorer and more despised sorts of wood, and comparatively refuses it to the aristocrats of timber. Pine, fir, and all soft porous woods, obtain from it an apparently endless grant of life; while oak and beech, and all the harder trees, are prevented, by their own superior close grain, from an equal participation in its benefits. The oil cannot get into them in sufficient quantity to thoroughly fill all their pores.
It was imagined, some few years ago, that all the effects which we have described as consequent upon the application of creosote, could be produced with equal certainty by corrosive sublimate. The latter preservative has, however, failed completely, especially in cases where wood imbued with it has been subjected to the excavating propensities of sea-worms. They have eaten the sublimate (poison though it is) and the wood together; and they in no way risked their valuable lives when partaking of such deleterious food, for corrosive sublimate, when mixed with white of egg, or any form of albumen, such as that contained in the sap of timber, is as harmless as the most tender-hearted entomologist could desire.
The application of creosote to railway sleepers appears to be becoming almost universal in England, and it is also very extensively employed for the same purpose abroad. If it continue to faithfully discharge its duties, and to watch with the unfailing care it has hitherto exhibited over the wooden interests committed to its charge, shielding them from all enemies, however powerful or cunning, we may expect that, in the course of time, forests will begin to grow all over the world again, because there will be no use for them when cut down. When that happens, what will become of the timber merchants? But perhaps the end of the world may arrive in the interval, so that the question will not have to be asked.
I have always considered a garret as one of the most poetical abodes on earth. Ye happy beings who, from that lofty altitude, can look down upon the paltry bustle of the world, do ye not also appreciate the advantages which ye possess? Envy not those whose cradles were rocked in palaces or gilded saloons, for their good fortune cannot be compared to yours. In these airy regions peace and freedom reign. Ye are surrounded with the purest atmosphere—ye have but to throw open your elevated casements to inhale the clear, fresh air, whilst the rich beneath you, in their close chambers, seek eagerly for one breath of it to refresh them, and assist their stifled respiration. No prying opposite neighbour
