THE USEFUL ARTS. No. XIII. BEFORE entering into any details respecting some of the various species of Animals used for food, we shall make a few remarks on the modes in which all kinds of food are prepared for eating by COOKING. ANIMAL, as well as vegetable matter, requires to be prepared by the action of heat, to render it fit for wholesome food the solid parts are made tender, and consequently more readily soluble, or digestible, in the stomach. Some of the water which is contained in all animal matter, and which constitutes a large portion of the bulk of all vegetable matter, is evaporated by heat; that bulk is therefore reduced without any diminution of the nutritive portion. In vegetables, also, many noxious chemical principles, which would render the plant poisonous, if it were eaten raw, are dissipated by heat, and the food thus rendered innocent. These are the principal effects of cooking, which are common both to animal and vegetable food; but the changes which the former undergoes, in consequence of the application of heat, are more numerous and complicated. The constituent principles of all organic matter, and on the presence of which in different proportions, the nutritive qualities of that matter depend, are fibrin, albumen, gelatine, oil, gluten, fecula, or starch, mucilage, sugar, acids, &c. All these principles are modified by the application of heat; some are rendered more digestible, others less so: these changes are also dependent on the mode in which the heat is applied. When it is considered, that we are utterly ignorant of the mode of chemical action of the stomach, and of all that relates to the primary functions of digestion and assimilation, it is clear, that it is by experience alone we can obtain any knowledge of the relative nutritive qualities of different kinds of food, and of the mode it which it should be prepared. This question is still further complicated by the reciprocal action of the mind and body, in all that relates to feeding. It is well ascertained, that more benefit is derived from a food which is agreeable in its taste, and which affords a gratification to that sense, than from one of an opposite quality, though, perhaps, containing more of those principles which are considered as highly nutritive. There are three or four different modes in which heat is applied to cook food, on each of which we shall make some remarks. Boiling in water is, generally speaking, the most effectual. Every part of the substance is equally subjected to the heat, owing to the uniform temperature of the liquid; the fibrin of meat is loosened, or softened; and to do this most completely, the water ought not to boil fast, or, properly speaking, ought not to boil at all: the meat should be put into it when cold, since it is by long soaking in the liquid that the desired effect is produced. hence jelly, which consists of gelatine in a condensed form, is not so wholesome as the same quantity of gelatine would have been diffused through the fibrin of meat: and strong soups, containing such gelatine in abundance, are objectionable on the same grounds. Roasting and boiling possess several advantages: the direct action of the fire, by hardening the outside of the meat, prevents the escape of the juices and more volatile parts, while the fibre is made equally tender; and the meat is by this mode of cookery rendered more palatable, as having more flavour; it is also more nutritive, owing to the retention of those principles, which by boiling are dispersed in the water. But the loss of weight by roasting is greater than by boiling. Mutton, by the latter mode of cooking, loses about one-fifth-beef one-fourth-while by roasting, they lose nearly one-third of their weight. A great deal of this loss is, undoubtedly, to be attributed to the evaporation of the water contained in the meat, which is rather in creased than diminished by boiling. The principal objection against roasting is, that the fat of the meat is burnt, and of all animal poisons, none is much more injurious than burnt or empyreumatized oil; hence, meat abounding in fat ought always to to be boiled. Baking partakes of the advantages and defects of both the former modes of cookery; there is less waste, owing to the confinement in a closed space, which prevents the escape of the volatile matter; but the oil being confined, and also empyreumatized, renders baking liable to the same objection as roasting. Economy of fuel is one great recommendation of this mode of preparing food: the poor man gets his dinner well cooked, for a sum which would not supply him with coals enough to warm it, much less to roast or boil it properly: this advantage, however, is necessarily confined to towns, where one oven may be employed to bake the dinners of numerous families. It is well ascertained that, generally speaking, mutton is the most wholesome of all animal food: owing to some strange associations, or to some wrong use of words, there exists very erroneous opinions on this subject. Most persons not acquainted with physiology, imagine that the flesh of young animals, or of birds, is more delicate than that of grown sheep and oxen; and will hence recommend an invalid, or a convalescent, with his digestive powers enfeebled by disease, to "try a bit of boiled veal, or a chicken, or a rabbit, or, perhaps, advise a little soup or jelly, &c." Now it is certain that, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, a slice of boiled leg of mutton, or a broiled mutton chop, would be infinitely preferable to any or all of these, as being far more digestible. The term delicate is totally inappropriate to food of any kind: if it be used instead of tender, then all meat advanced a small stage towards putrefaction is more tender than when quite fresh, and is really more wholesome. If by "delicate," digestible is meant,—that is, One objection against boiling, as applied to meat, might the food which is soonest converted into chyme, and assimibe obviated by economy, which is utterly neglected in Eng-lated to the corporeal substance of the eater, then a muttonland, in cookery of all species: this objection is, that a chop and bread will prove a much more delicate breakfast large proportion of the nutritive parts are dissolved in the than buttered toast, muffins, hot rolls, and chocolate. water and lost; but if we made the same use of the water in which meat is boiled, that our neighbours the French do, —that is, if we prepared from it a thin soup, by adding vegetables and condiments, or by an additional quantity of meat of an inferior quality, for the purpose of yielding more gelatine and oil to the liquid,-this objection would be removed, and no loss incurred. The meat made tender by cooking would contain the fibrin, gluten, albumen, and other insoluble principles, while the fat or oil, and the soluble matter, would be retained in the soup. It should be mentioned here, that no food should contain nutritive matter in too concentrated a form: it has been found that no animal will thrive, if fed on that principle in a condensed or concentrated state, which enters most largely into its natural diet. Fat, or animal oil, is more nutritious than perhaps any other animal matter, but it would be impossible to feed solely on it; and meat, though containing several other principles, is too nutritious to be a wholesome food, when consumed without some vegetable matter to dilute it, as it were. Concentrated nutritive matter is not so digestible as when it is mixed up with that which is less so, or which is even not at all so. It is for this reason, that rich dishes disagree with healthy persons: a larger portion of nutritive matter is thrown into the stomach than it can readily convert into chyme, and the functions are, in consequence, deranged. A certain degree of solidity in the food is also requisite to healthy digestion: THE more we extend our knowledge of the operations of creative power, as manifested in the structure and economy of organized beings, the better we become qualified to appreciate the intentions with which the several arrangements and constructions have been devised, the art with which they have been accomplished, and the grand comprehen sive plan of which they form a part. By knowing the general tendencies of analogous formations, we can sometimes recognise designs that are but faintly indicated, and trace the links which connect them with more general laws. By rendering ourselves familiar with the hand-writing, where the characters are clearly legible, we gradually learn to decypher the more obscure passages, and are enabled to follow the continuity of the narrative through chapters that would otherwise appear mutilated and defaced. Hence the utility of comprehending in our studies the whole range of the organised creation, with a view to the discovery of final causes, and obtaining adequate ideas of the power, the wisdom, and the goodness of God.-ROGET's Bridgewater Treatise. LONDON. JOHN WILLIAM PARKER, WEST STRAND. PUBLISHED IN WEEKLY NUMBERS, PRICE ONE Penny, and in Monthly Parts, PRICE SIXPENCE. UNDER THE DIRECTION OF THE COMMITTEE OF GENERAL LITERATURE AND EDUCATION APPOINTED BY THE SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE. VOL. VII. MONUMENT OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE, IN ST, GEORGE'S CHAPEL, WINDSOR 217 THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE OF WALES. In a short memoir, contained in a former volume of the Saturday Magazine, respecting an illustrious and hopeful person, whom the will of God consigned to an early grave, we referred to the page of history, to bear witness to "the emotions of sorrow and regret which are felt by a nation on the premature close of a life dear to thousands ;" and it was added," It is not in a political view that a great national loss is thus felt: honour, love, and esteem for the individual character must be the spring of such affections." The secret of this genuine popularity is almost always to be found in an active concern for the welfare of others, particularly of those in a humbler sphere of life; a beneficence, founded upon a Christian principle, which never fails to impart its twofold blessing :-" It blesseth him that gives and him that takes." In this respect, the rich and powerful have a noble privilege attached to their station; for it is by acts of real kindness, rather than by any wonderful instances of display, that even the great ones of the earth may enjoy an honourable praise, And read their history in a nation's eyes! If we were asked to point to any particular passages of British history, for an illustration of these remarks, we would turn, first, to those which record the illness, death, and character of good King Edward the Sixth, whom, at the age of sixteen, a wise, though inscrutable Providence took to himself. When we reflect on his mildness of temper, his unaffected devotion and reverence for the Scriptures; when we are informed of his sending for Bishop Ridley, who had preached before his majesty, and, with tears in his eyes, conferring with him on the subject of a plan for the relief of the poor of London*; when, looking at the hospitals of Christ-Church, St. Thomas's, and St. Bartholomew's, we consider how much good he did in his short reign, we cannot wonder that young Edward was an object of tender affection to his people, or that his memory remains honoured among the generations that have followed him. The disastrous and unexpected death of Henry, son of King James the First †, the young prince to whom allusion has been made above, and whom it was his royal father's lot to follow to the grave, also plunged this country into sorrow as universal as it was sincere. Equal, probably, if not greater, was the grief arising from that mournful dispensation, which fell upon the kingdom like a thunderbolt,-the decease of the Princess Charlotte in child-birth, on the 6th of November, 1817, in the twenty-second year of her age. Many of our readers may remember to have regarded this event as their own private calamity. It came home to our circles and our bosoms. Her pure taste for the quiet duties of domestic life; her devout and regular attendance on the ordinances of religion, both public and private; her diligent application to the studies proper to have qualified her for high and responsible duties, tempered with becoming dignity of demeanour to those about her; her kind and attentive condescension to the poor:-these things were sufficient to fix the love and respect of a nation, and to mark with shades of melancholy that critical period in the history of our country when we were suddenly called to bewail her loss. The following sketch of the character of the Princess is met with in a sermon, preached at Cambridge on the day of her funeral, by Bishop Kaye, then Master of Christ's College, and Regius Professor of Divinity. "In estimating the characters of princes, we seldom See Saturday Magazine, Vol. I., p. 163. + See Saturday Magazine, Vol. V., p. 93. make due allowance for the obstacles which the circumstances of their birth oppose to their moral improvement. Accustomed, from their earliest infancy, to command the ready obedience of all around them, and to obtain immediate compliance with their desires; besieged by flatterers, who persuade them that they are not bound by the same rules to which men in humble stations of life are subject; the great are too apt to contract a habit of neglecting the convenience and the feelings of others, and of referring all things to their own gratification. Even minds naturally disposed to benevolence are soon hardened into this callous insensibility, unless they are early impressed with religious principles and motives. By these our illustrious Princess escaped its fatal influence. Though raised so far above the common level of mankind, she thought none so low as not to be entitled to her regard. The power which her elevated rank conferred upon her, was in her eyes a trust, for the discharge of which she was accountable; and with this conviction deeply rooted in her heart, she omitted no opportunity of gaining those qualifications which might enable her worthily to act her part upon the busy theatre of public life. She felt the awful responsibility of the situation in which her birth had placed her, and strove, by acquiring the mastery over her own passions and desires, to fit herself for the arduous task of exercising dominion over others. No pursuit had any charms for her which had not some tendency to promote her intellectual or spiritual improvement. Innocent and instructive recreations, the acquisition of knowledge, the performance of acts of devotion to God, and of benevolence to mankind,—these were the employments which diversified her day,-employments always delightful to the pure of heart." Áttached to the east end of St. George's Chapel, Windsor, is an ancient Gothic building, erected by Henry the Seventh, as a burial place for himself and his successors, but superseded, for that purpose, by the beautiful chapel which he afterwards founded at Westminster Abbey, and which bears the name of that monarch. The building at Windsor to which we have alluded, was afterwards called "Wolsey's Tomb-house;" the cardinal having beautified it, with the view of its receiving his remains,-a design prevented by the concluding circumstances of his life. King George the Third, however, determined to construct a royal vault below the building, assigning it as a future resting-place for himself and the members of his family,-little supposing that his beloved granddaughter, so young and promising a branch of his house, would be laid within it before him. It was to this mausoleum, on the evening well remembered by thousands, the 19th of November, 1817, that the mortal remains of this illustrious lady and her infant were conveyed. The following stanzas are In the latter is a part of a poem written at the time. very touching allusion to the good old king's utter unconsciousness of the event which caused such deep concern to his subjects. And hark! around the mansions of the dead Sinks the low dirge, or swells the anthem loud And hark! the words, the solemn words are said, That bid the dust its kindred dust enshroud. The tomb has closed-and, like a passing cloud, A feverish dream, the pageant all has fled; Back, in wild sorrow, wend the weeping crowd, Back moves the mourning train, with measured tread; Nor sigh, nor sound, disturbs the lovely Slumberer's bed. That Slumberer weeps no more:-but Albion's pride Is wept by all, save Albion's aged king: For one lost maiden, resting by her side, His sorrow flowed, till Heaven had dried the spring. The Princess Amelia. Windsor! at once within thy moated ring, We wail the Stem revered, though bare and lone, We wail the Bud despoiled by winter's wing: These are the splendid miseries of a throne, Away, away, frail man, go muse upon thine own.—(A.) The white marble monument, an engraving of which appears in our present Number, was designed and executed by Mr. Wyatt*, and is one of the most interesting objects in St. George's Chapel. At the south-west corner of that beautiful fabric is a small oratory, called, from the founder, who was Dean of Windsor in the reign of King Henry the Seventh, Urswick's Chapel, within which it may be seen. The body of the departed Princess is represented, covered with drapery, resting on a bier at the moment the soul is supposed to have quitted its earthly tenement. The sorrowing forms at the corners are those of attendants. These, together with the designed image of the corpse, the right hand of which, falling over the side of the bier, is the only part unveiled, contrasts with the group above, namely, the spirits of the mother and her infant, ascending, and attended by angels, and bring to mind the beautiful passage of the Preacher," Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was; and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it."-Eccles. xii. 7. Without attempting to try this work by the rules of art, we may observe, that the effect, which is aided by a dim light cast upon it by means of coloured glass, is extremely striking. It is one of those compositions which command the silent and breathless attention of the beholder, particularly on a first visit: and amidst the crowd of reflections which occur to the mind on such an occasion, it is to be hoped this lesson may suggest itself to our young readers,-Like the departed whom it commemorates, to "remember their Creator in the days of their youth," and walk in His commandments, and take delight in His worship. It speaks to all, in the quaint but emphatic language of an old divine†, bidding us go home, and think to die, and do that daily which we would wish to be found doing whenever death shall overtake us." M. THE COMET. THE sun has set 'neath the Western sea, And, amidst the gathering clouds of even, The dying rays of his majesty Throw their latest gleam o'er the silent heaven; Clad in a thin white shroud of light, As onward she urges her silver car. And the drowsy bat from its ivied home, It drives amidst the cloud-streams pale, Marks the bright course of its lengthening trail The while, through the dreary blue it moves, Where the night-wind alone in its stillness roves. Say! dost thou come the messenger of woe, The mighty bearer of some fearful grief, To crush this world in one dire overthrow, While not a hand on earth can bring relief; But all must bow beneath thy whelming power, Kings, princes, peasants, in that awful hour? Or say, as thou rollest in grandeur past, Does the all-dreaded Azrael ride with thee? Oh! who then has power to shield or save And chase the grim heralds of dark dismay To th' unfathomed grave for evermore ? Or dost thou come from wandering round that throne, Where only angels tread the hallowed ground? Where only dove-like peace and joy are found; But by the red waves of the sea of fire Hymn forth their loud hosannas to the Lamb, R. C. P. WITH whatever subject men are desirous of being acquainted, they must, of necessity, study the elements of it, and have recourse to those sources from whence information is to be drawn. Neglect of this, so obvious a course of proceeding, cannot but leave them in ignorance of the subject. The truth of this maxim is incontrovertible, and it is as applicable to religion as to all the other concerns of life. Neither religious knowledge, nor any other knowledge, comes by intuition; but it is the result of a careful application of the means which God has provided for our instruction. One of these means, with respect, that is, to religious knowledge, is the study of the Scriptures. Disregard of this salutary provision leaves some men in a state of infidelity, and others, who profess and call themselves Christians, in a state of most deplorable ignorance as to the foundation and the articles of their professed belief; whereas, would men but give that attention to the subject which its paramount importance demands, availing themselves withal of those assistances towards understanding the Scriptures with which the providence of God has furnished them, they could hardly be destitute of a Christian hope, or of the power of "giving an answer to every man that asketh them a reason of the hope that is in them," -BISHOP MANT. FAMILIAR ILLUSTRATIONS OF EXPERI MENTAL SCIENCE. No. IX. HEAT, EBULLITION, VAPORISATION, STEAM-ENGINES. from it, having never exceeded 212°, we perceive that these 832° of heat were necessary to convert the liquid into vapour; and as it cannot be detected by the thermometer, it is denominated latent heat. A more appropriate term, probably, is that of insensible THE vapour of boiling water is termed, in popular heat. The latent, or insensible, heat thus combined language, steam. In a perfect state, steam is elastic with water may be again set free, or rendered sensible, and invisible; the former property being common to by condensing the steam in a suitable vessel; affordall, and the latter to the greater part of, aëriforming a practical illustration of the durability of the bodies. When steam becomes visible,—for instance, most refined, as well as of the grosser, elements of as it may often be seen issuing from the spout of a nature. tea-kettle, or the safety-valve of a steam-boiler, it has suffered a partial condensation by contact with the atmosphere. We are accustomed to associate with our notions of steam a certain degree of opacity and of moisture. These are its characteristics only during its transition to a liquid state: at the ordinary temperature of boiling-water, steam is perfectly transparent and perfectly dry. Water, whose surface is exposed to the influence of the atmosphere, having attained its boiling-point, cannot be made hotter, whatever may be the quantity or intensity of heat applied to the containing vessel. All the heat that enters the liquid, through the bottom and sides of the vessel, will be disengaged at the top, in combination with water in a vaporous form; neither the water, nor the vapour arising from it, exhibiting the slightest increase in their temperature. When water and other liquids are heated in vessels from which the vapour is not permitted to escape, their temperatures may be raised very much higher than that of their ordinary boiling-points. We know of no limits to the capacity of liquids for heat, when thus confined, excepting in the strength and durability of the vessels we employ. Water has been raised to a temperature sufficiently high to melt tin (442°). In a vessel properly constructed, there would be no difficulty in making it red-hot. As the elasticity, that is, the expansive force, of steam increases rapidly with every increase of temperature, it is important that vessels intended for heating water, under pressure, should be remarkably strong. Ignorance or forgetfulness of this property of steam has been the cause of many frightful accidents, from the bursting of boilers. At the instant of its liberation from the surface of boiling-water, steam possesses the same temperature as the water itself. When water boils at 209°, the temperature of its steam will be also 209°: if it boil at 212°, the temperature of the steam will be the same; and so on for every degree of temperature. Liquids, in assuming the vaporous form, require to be united with vast quantities of heat. The heat thus temporarily combined with any particular liquid, becomes, for the most part, latent, that is, it eludes our observation W may, by a particular process, ascertain that heat enters into a liquid, but we have no means of otherwise developing its existence, after the liquid has reached its boiling-point. For example: if we put a certain quantity of water, at the temperature 52°, into a vessel, whose temperature is the same, and apply to it a steady heat, say from the flame of a spirit-lamp, if, in five minutes, the water begins to boil, we may suppose that 160° of heat have entered into union with the water (52°+160°=212°), which is at the rate of 32° per minute. The heat being continued, we will suppose that, at the end of twenty-six minutes more, the whole of the water has been vaporised. Now, if the same quantity of heat per minute entered into the water after it began to boil as there did before, we shall have to account for (32°× 26°) 832°. During the last twenty-six minutes, the temperature of the water, and of the steam arising Increase of bulk always accompanies the conversion of liquids into vapours. This augmentation of volume in the steam of boiling water is rather more than 1700 to 1; a cubic inch of water, at the temperature of 62°, when changed into steam at 212°, occupying a space equal to 1728 cubic inches. The expansive force of steam is not increased by an increase of temperature, when separated from the water that produced it. In such a case, the elasticity of steam is no greater than that of atmospheric air. A vessel filled with steam only at 212, might be heated to redness without any danger of its bursting. It is well known that steam at the ordinary temperature of boiling water (212°), will scald the hand, or other part of the body with which it may come in contact, as effectually as the water from which it is generated. It is not so with steam at a higher temperature, than 212°. If water be heated in a vessel capable of resisting the pressure of steam at a temperature of 250° or 300°, when the steam is permitted to escape into the atmosphere, the hand may be brought in contact with it without sustaining any injury, or even inconvenience. We will endeavour to explain the cause of this. The expansive energy of steam at the ordinary boiling temperature of water, is equal to the pressure of the atmosphere; that is, the pressure of the air being 15 lbs. upon every square inch of the surface of bodies, when steam is generated at 212°, its elastic force, within the vessel, is just sufficient to counterbalance the air which presses on it from without. At 250° the elastie force of steam is twice that of air; at 275° it is three times; and at 293° four times; its pressure then being equal to about 60 lbs. upon every square inch of the containing vessel. Now, in proportion as the expansive force of the particles of steam is increased, so will their tendency to separate, when relieved from pressure, be increased. Whilst steam at 212° sustains, therefore, no other change on escaping into the atmosphere, than that to which it is liable from contact with a colder medium, high-pressure steam (say at 300°) expands, at the instant of its liberation, to more than four times its former bulk,a process always accompanied by the loss of sensible heat-which loss is further accelerated by the admixture of the vapour with the surrounding air. At the distance of five or six inches from the orifice at which it issues, the temperature of high-pressure may be only 150° to 170°, whilst that of the common kind, under similar circumstances, will be 208° to 212°. Another circumstance equally remarkable as that just described, demands a notice. When water is heated in a close vessel, we will suppose to 300°, on permitting the steam compressed on the surface of the water to escape, the temperature of the water, and of the remaining steam within the vessel, will be instantly reduced to 212°. We believe there is no difficulty in explaining this phenomenon. That water is susceptible of compression, although it is so in a degree very inferior to the vapour arising from it, cannot be denied. Its sudden loss of sensible heat, |