Too Long; Didn't Read

There is nothing more reassuring in these days, when new "isms" of the scientists are slowly sapping the foundations of cherished beliefs, than to remember that, after all, the much vaunted dicta of Nature are yet opposable by the sound operations of honest common sense. See for example how one of our evening dailies, tossing the dogmas of so-called science contemptuously aside, evolves such profoundly original thoughts as these, to explain the lucid blue glass theory of General Pleasonton: "The blue glass presents an obstruction to the sun's rays which can only be penetrated by one of the seven primary rays—the blue ray; the remaining six rays, travelling with the velocity of 186,000 miles a second, falling upon the blue glass, are suddenly arrested; the impact evolves upon the surface of the glass friction, heat, electricity and magnetism; the heat expands the molecules of the glass, and a current of electricity and magnetism passes through it into the room; this current, falling upon animal or vegetable life within, stimulates it to unusual vigor. Certainly the results achieved, and abundantly certified to, are marvellous, and sufficient to provoke further experiments and inquiry." Prior to these splendid original discoveries of our contemporary, we ignorantly believed that blue glass only partially sifted out the orange and yellow rays from the spectrum, and that with this exception, it acted merely as a screen to diminish the intensity of all the rays. We also supposed that there was a sharp distinction to be drawn between sunlight after passing through blue glass and the blue spectral ray: that in one case all the colored rays were more or less present, and that in the other but one was. But think of the utter dismay of such pretenders as Helmholtz, Tyndall, and Henry when they learn that the undulatory theory of light with which they have so long taxed our credulity is overthrown—that of the seven primary rays, six bounce off from blue glass and distribute themselves over the adjoining neighborhood. That the glass is heated by the impact; and as the sun persistently emits more rays, there are more impacts and more heat. The glass gets hotter and hotter; but—mark the scientific acumen here—just as we are wondering whether it will reach the melting point, the pores open. It is the Turkish bath of Nature. Electricity and magnetism, no longer shut out, rush in between the separate molecules. Hand in hand, these great curative powers seek a proper subject. They meet (we learn from a report, also in our contemporary, of Pleasonton's latest triumph) a pig or a young lady whose hair has come out—a heifer, a rooster, or a rheumatic child. Forthwith the pig fattens, hair equal to that produced by the finest tricopherus pervades the female scalp, and "unusual vigor" and general happiness prevail. Such is the boon which Pleasonton bestows on humanity, as elucidated by the original genius of our contemporary.