tions, such as nausea, itching (particularly of members that have been cut off), formication, cramp, approach of dissolution, and many others. tric current may be so directed as to produce a flash of light in the eyes, a humming sound in the ears, independently of the undulations of the ether or of the air; also the smell of phosphorus in the olfactories, and the sensation of taste in the mouth, and of tickling in the skin, and of a nervous feeling along the limbs, and of heat in the thermotical sense or its equivalent. Besides the agency of the electric current, a flash of light may be produced in the eyes and a rumbling sound in the ears by a quick, sharp blow, or even by pressure. Also, by concussion, more or less rapid and severe, a taste may be awakened in the tongue, tickling in the skin, and cramp, like the galvanic, in the hand. To a certain extent, similar effects may be produced by opium, digitalis, and other narcotics, and also by the pressure of coagulated blood in the capillaries. Most of the ideas enumerated above, under class first, as derived from sensations belonging to the sense of touch, limited in meaning to the word contact, are popularly referred to the sense of sight, and this reference is to a large extent correct after the ideas have been once gained, and after the eye has been trained by habit to recognize their several phenomena. But their origin, as has been often explained, is almost of necessity in the sense of touch. It is currently reported that persons who have been endowed with sight for the first time after they have arrived at years of observation describe the objects of sight as if perceived by the touch of their eyes, and this impression continues until it is worn off by habit. The sensations named in class second evidently arise from varying conditions of the nervous system. In many cases these conditions are confessedly induced by external causes: for example, bodily pain will always follow lacerations of the skin by wound or bruise, as well as accompany nervous derangements from within. Formication, or the sensation as if of ants crawling on the skin, may be wholly nervous, or may be induced by an overdose of laudanum, or may be caused by an actual irritation from without; and so of the other cases noticed. Nevertheless, whatsoever may be the primary cause of the sensation, the proximate—and this is our only concern at present-is wholly internal, and in this particular it differs essentially from the sensations of seeing, hearing, taste, and smell, which are the products of agents from without. The sensations enumerated in class second pertain so manifestly to the nervous system, and to that alone, as to make it fairly questionable whether they do not demand a transfer from their present equivocal location in the sense-possibly a morbid permanence-going to support of touch to the position of a distinct sense clearly marked as the neural or neurotic. | More than this, if there be any truth in mesmerism (and, despite all the deception and humbuggery attempted, there seems to be enough of it, or of the semblance of it, to perplex the mind of a close and candid experimenter), we may easily conceive the necessity of admitting the existence of some recondite power or faculty, by which to account for those mysterious perceptions which, if not exceedingly adroit deceptions, are effected without the use of the ordinary senses. This necessity is strongly sustained by well-attested facts, in which are left no grounds for suspicion. There are unquestionable cases of supernatural powers exercised during a morbid sleep, in which persons of not more than ordinary endowments performed feats almost beyond credulity, not only of a somnambulistic but of a somni-visual character-that is to say, they actually, readily, and clearly, saw what was beyond all reach of ordinary vision. Besides instances of a transient character, there are on credible record instances of greater permanence the same general end. For example, a case was reported some twenty-five or thirty years ago, and recently described again in a scientific journal of some note, of an Englishman in the island of Mauritius, represented as being still at his post, who was kept as a lookout, and who could discern, by a peculiar and unaccountable power, and minutely describe, the approach by sea of vessels distant one or two days' sail beyond the reach of natural vision. Of a similar mysterious character are cases reported, on the authority of names that seem respectable, of persons endowed with the power of discerning objects of sight by the palm of the hand, or even by the ball of the thumb, when these objects were in their rear. The London Spectator recently gave an account of a Mr. Levy, who, “al Of what has been said, the sum is this: That, although the number of the senses may be reckoned at three only, to wit, sight, hearing, and feeling, if the demand be made (which certainly is not without reason) that each sense shall have a distinct organ, yet if we admit that one organ may effectually serve more than one sense, by being endowed at different points with different susceptibilities-as illustrated by the recognized senses, smell and taste, which are served by that universal network of nerves known as the nerves of common sensation-then we may set down their number not only at the ordinary five, but at our good farmer's seven, or even at a larger figure. Before closing this article, several more thoughts though quite blind," claims to possess the power of may be appropriately appended. Those who object to admitting into the category of recognized senses any faculty which is not honored by a distinct organ, or which may be excited into action by some other than its usual and natural agent, may find themselves in difficulty on discovering that one or both of these supposed defects are predicable of every sense in the catalogue. The elec- | VOL. I.-29 what he calls" facial perception," or of "perceiving objects through the skin of his face, and of having the impression immediately transmitted to the brain." He declared that by the power of this facial perception alone, and without the aid of any of the five 1 This case is reported mainly from memory of the first account given of it, but is warranted as being substantially correct, i. e., as a transcript. senses, he could determine the general shape, height, and structure, of objects passed in walking. Without giving any credence to reputed facts of this kind, or asking others to give it, unless sustained by the best of testimony and by almost crucial evidence, they are nevertheless quoted as illustrating what is necessary to be kept in mind when discussing the possible limits of sensual perception. Another thought. The conception, a priori, of a sense perfectly new is as impossible as for a person born blind to conceive of color; and as impossible of conception would be those new states and properties of matter revealed by it. Yet that matter possesses properties and powers, and exists in states beyond our present reach of perception, or even of conception, is more than possible; and that there is abundant room in our organization for several, perhaps many, new senses, we can clearly discern. For example, the human ear can receive as sound only those undulations of the air which are not fewer in number than thirty-two per second, nor more in number than forty thousand per second. Yet sounds lower than our gravest appear to be audible to whales, and sounds more acute than our highest may be pleasantly audible to gnats and ants. So far as we can see, there is no natural impossibility in an increase in the rapidity of the undulations of the air until they shall even rival those of the ether, and be like them counted by millions and trillions per second, instead of by tens and thousands. But here our conceptions find their wall; we can have no idea of the effect of such rapid vibration of the air upon our senses, nor of the senses necessary to receive them intelligently. Yet the supposed case is illustrated in our actual experience every day and moment of life. Undulations of the ether less in length than ten thousand in an inch are not perceptible to any of our senses, probably for the reason that we have no senses attuned to that grade of vibration. But as soon as they increase to ten thousand an inch and upward, we perceive them on the skin in what we all know as heat. Let these vibrations continue to increase till they attain the number of thirty thousand per inch, and we now perceive them not only by the skin as heat, but by the eye as color. This color is a low, dull red. Let them still be gradually increased until they attain to sixty thousand per inch, and the eye will have perceived, in the progression, all the colors of the spectrum from dull red up to intense violet, or to Herschel's lavender. Increased beyond that degree of rapidity, the eye ceases to take note of them as light or color-all is darkYet there are chemical effects perceptible beyond the violet ray, and no doubt the human frame is affected by them, though without taking cognizance. If there are vibrations of the ether fewer in number than those which are perceived as heat, we do not know, nor if there are vibrations more frequent than those producing chemical effects. We do know, however, that below the number revealing heat, and above the number revealing chemical effects, there is room for an infinitude of senses perfectly new. But here, again, we stop, blocked by our ignorance. ness. Is it, however, unphilosophical, any more than it is unchristian, in thinking of that future state to which we all look forward, and where some obtain glimpses of "a spiritual body" and of "the spirits of just men made perfect," to indulge the hope that then shall be “experienced the perfection of all that is good in man," and as a part of which may be realized those noble capabilities of which science may pleasantly dream, but which cannot even be adequately conceived? A CALIFORNIA WHEAT-HARVEST. BY ALBERT F. WEBSTER. OME two hundred miles up the Sacramento Rivthat have become so famous, not only for their immense extent, but for the crops they are made to produce year after year without aid from artificial sources. The place is known as the Glenn Farm, a tract of fifty-six thousand acres lying along the west bank of the river for fourteen miles and extending back into the country some five more. In the aggregate number of acres this farm is by no means among the largest of California private properties; there are many much broader tracts owned by single persons, but the greater part of these are grazing-lands, fit for the raising of immense herds of cattle, and for noth-composed and shaded look to the sunlit levee. ing else at least at present. But the Glenn Farm is devoted to the production of wheat. Thirty-six thousand acres in this grain are annually run over by the harvesting army with its tremendous battery of machinery. Before describing this greatest of all agricultural scenes, a word about the farm itself. The approach to it by the river places it high in the traveler's favor. Its frontage is exceedingly beautiful. Upon the high banks there grow innumerable trees of broad-leaved white-oak and the strong-limbed sycamore. The river winds somewhat abruptly, and, as the boat turns in its passage, a splendid sliding-scene is always newly opening to the gaze. The water is earth-stained from the miners' camp near great Shasta far above, and the banks are of brownish clay. Near the landing some of the trees have been cleared away, though sufficient remain to give a Close upon the bank, and almost overhanging the water, are two tremendous granaries, designed to hold the wheat if it is to be stored through the winter. A flat ferry-boat, guided by a wire rope supported by buoys, floats lazily across the stream now and then to the landing on the other side. The modest white cottage of the owner of this vast estate is seen through the trees. A little beyond is a small frame hotel, a huge brick country-store, two or three small houses occupied by Chinese laborers, and one or two other buildings for the safe-keeping of goods. Along the edge of the bank runs a flat, brown road, sixty feet wide, for an endless number of miles. At this settlement, which is called Jacinto, and which is midway upon the ranch, the farmers and workmen gather on Sunday mornings to talk over the events of the past week and the prospects of the coming one-a broad-shouldered, sun-embrowned, jolly throng, each member of which knows all about it, whatever it may happen to be. Here the weekly steamer lands, bringing, in late spring, innumerable bales of sacks for the coming harvest, and always two or three reapers or headers or portable engines for use in the fields. Here the master sits daily in informal judgment on all complaints that are brought, one workman against another, or against his food, or what not, and to give advice to all who are not certain what to do or how to act. The ranch is divided this year into four parts, the owner working one of fifteen thousand acres, the rest being divided among three renters, who are practically farmers for the estate, though they take their pay in a share of the product of their respective portions. When all is in full working order, say on the 1st of July, the work is carried on from seven different points. Each of these places has its lodging and eating house for the men, its stables, repairshops, water-supply, and its own set of machines for harvesting. On a day when all is quiet, if the visitor ascends to the roof of one of these buildings, a scene something like this will meet his view: Before him, almost as far as his eyes can reach, away into the faint recesses of the foot-hills, and just as far to the north, and also as far to the south, is one unbroken sea of yellow grain. Its very limitations make it seem limitless. It is huge, calm, and exceedingly beautiful. It is almost necessary to say that it is yellow in order to create the proper impression upon the reader's imagination, but its hue is something far more delicate than that. It eludes the analysis by just a little. The gleams that travel slowly over the broad expanse give its gold a silvery sheen, and there seem to be life and light in it. Here are thirty-two thousand acres, ready for the sickle of the reaper. It is impossible not to feel a sense of exultation at the great display. Far to the east are the rugged, dusky sides of the Coast Range; to the north is the pale, pinkish cloud of Shasta Mountain; behind is the Sacramento flowing slowly past between its tree-lined borders; and above is the pale-blue sky, without the merest trifle of a cloud to shelter the glowing land. While the grain has been approaching its season, the master of the place has been gathering his forces together for the final act of the year. The number of his men had been reduced to one sufficient to keep the place in order. He now increases it to nine hundred; among these people are a few Chinese to do the drudgery. He looks about and gathers up all the stray bands of mules that may be seeking a purchaser, until his force of animals, horses included, reaches nearly a thousand. He has long since put his engineers at work upon the engines that are to be used to drive the separators. In the repair-shops a host of blacksmiths and wagon-makers are patching up the old headers and the broken wagons of last year, and are putting the new ones into order. All is bustle and confusion. The overseers ride hither and thither all day long, directing, suggesting, and listening. A tremor of impatience is observable everywhere. One improvement after another is effected, more of the machines are said to be ready for the field, and the teams of men and horses begin to organize. It is an army in preparation for battle. The great plain, now tuneful with the low, sweet rustle of the wheat-stalks, is soon to resound with the roar of their destruction, and a dull man would he be not to feel that there was something of war and rapine in the prospect. Permit me to describe, in as clear a manner as possible, the machinery used by these great farmers in the harvest-field. The machines employed are headers, header-wagons, separators, and steam-engines. A header is a machine which cuts the standing grain at the elevation the driver may see fit, and throws it into the header-wagons which attend it closely. It consists of a broad, strong frame poised upon a single axle, with a tail-piece supported by a grooved steering-wheel which is managed by the driver. Along the front edge of this frame, which is parallel with the surface of the ground, is a sickle like that of a reaper; a set of triangular teeth moving to and fro through projecting tongues. Sometimes this sickle is twelve feet long, sometimes sixteen, sometimes even more. Just above the sickle is a long, revolving frame, which catches the tops of the grain-stalks and bends them in upon the hungry lips of the knife. The four horses that work the machine are in the rear behind the axle, and, as they advance, all abreast, the knives are forced into the grain and cut a swath in advance. The driver, who must be very cool-headed and very expert, stands upon the tail-piece with the tiller of the steeringwheel between his legs, his left hand handling the reins, the ends of which are tied above him upon a brace, while with his right he raises or depresses with a huge lever the frame which carries the sickle. It is easy to understand that that man may be wearied at the end of a long day's labor in the sun. After the sickle has done its work, the heads of the grain, together with the portion of the stalk that has been cut off with them, fall to the rear upon a travelingbelt some forty inches broad, which, running up over a shoot projected from the left side of the header, carries the grain out of the header and tips it overboard into a header-wagon, which is always in attendance. A header-wagon is a very broad, tray-like structure, cut down upon the right side to a depth of only twenty inches, while upon the other its depth is some five feet. As soon as one of these vans is filled with grain, it is driven rapidly away to the separator, and another takes its place. The separator is the great machine of the field. It is a monster for size, a giant for work, and a volcano for noise. Its mission is to seize the grain as it is brought to it, separate it, and to send the chaff flying in one direction and the wheat pouring out in another. It is a marvel of ingenuity, and its machinery is packed almost as closely as that of the human body. It consists outwardly of a casing shaped something like an enormous slender frog, thirty-five feet long and thirteen feet high. It is mounted upon very heavy wheels. At the rear end are two shoots covered with traveling-belts called drapers. These drapers convey the grain from the ground, where it is thrown from the header-wagons, to the revolving drum within the separator, where the heads are crushed. Within the huge body of the machine the current of mingled straw and wheat-kernels is sifted, blown upon, dusted, and sifted again. Out at the upper end of the monster a huge cloud of waste is continually issuing, while low down upon both sides between the wheels, from capacious spouts, pours the grand result of all this pother-two streams of nutbrown wheat, and with a gushing noise that is high opera to the ear of the farmer. The separator is driven by a steam-engine of fifteen horse-power. It is stationed at a safe distance in the rear of the machine, and communicates its force by leather belting. One working party consists of one separator, five or six headers, one engine, some twenty-five headerwagons, seventy or eighty men, and the same number of horses and mules. Most of the men are Americans, but there is a sprinkling of three or four other races; among them, strange to say, the Portuguese. The work is systematized thus: One of these working parties places itself in a certain position, and then cuts over an allotted section. For example in case a mile square of grain is to be cut and thrashed, the area is divided, supposititiously, into nine equal parts, and the working force attacks each of these in regular order, advancing from one to another on successive days. This division is by no means an arbitrary one, for separators of larger capacity than usual can finish a mile in less than the above time, but the statement is sufficiently accurate to convey a general understanding. The harvesting of the winter-sown crop begins commonly about the 1st of June. This year, however, it was delayed on account of the lateness of the warm season. There is no necessity that a farmer in California should begin to gather his grain immediately upon its ripening, for the immunity of the land from rains in the summer relieves his crops from all danger. To be sure, a strong north wind might come and cause the standing wheat to thrash itself, but even this peril is remote. No man delays, however, unnecessarily; but, as soon as his overseers report that all is ready, he gives the word, and his little army is put in motion. And when it is in motion, when all obstacles are overcome, when the gearing is all made true, and the men have learned their places, and the animals become accustomed to their work, then there are scenes that are gloriously exciting. Suppose that upon one of the many days of the harvest-season you get out of bed at an unusually early hour, and again climb to the house-top. Beneath and in front of you will lie, as before, the pale, golden sea of wheat, girdled in the cool distance with the purple mountains. The air will be soft and delightful to breathe; the oaks upon the river-bank will throw shadows across the roadway, and the rays of the sun will spread over the enormous plain-a smile of greeting for the day. You will sweep the horizon with your glass. Hardly to be seen, even with that, are some curiously-shaped dots, moving slowly hither and thither. They seem to crawl like insects, some going north, some south, some east, and some west. After a while you will distinguish that nearly every one of these dots is of a deep-red color. A little later you recognize the awkward shape of the separators, and the broad-topped funnels of the engines. Throngs of people, most of them in wagons, yet some afoot, follow on behind. After a while all of these now widely-separated groups will come to a standstill. They have taken up their positions for the onslaught upon the grain-fields as deliberately and with as much thought as batteries take up positions for battle. When one of these corps approaches its station, a header, with its attendant wagons, is sent forward to cut a clear place in the centre of the area to be worked upon that day. The machine is pressed upon the wheat, devouring it as it goes, and then, having accomplished a proper distance, turns and works in a circle, cutting out a bare spot from three to five acres in extent. This is the point from which seventy acres of wheat are to be hewed down, cast into the thrasher, and sacked for market before sundown. Then the separator, and engine, and all the teams, move forward up the lane, and into the circle. The first comes to a halt in the centre, the second takes up its position in the rear, and the headers at once attack the wheat; the first taking the first swath of the encircling grain, the next the second, a little in the rear, and so on. The belting between the engine and separator is adjusted, and the engineer starts his fires. The shoots that are to convey the grain from the canvas on the ground upon which it is pitched from the header-wagons are attached, and the bag-fillers bring up their sacks. All the lids that cover the inner works of the great machine are drawn over, and all is made fast. The wheels are locked, as are those of the engine. Great care is taken to keep all things on as perfect level as may be, to insure the proper economy of force. The scene even at this time is one of great animation. The men are all fresh, and are working with ardor; the stimulus of the noise, the movement, and the bright sun, is great. It is impossible not to feel the pulse quicken even at this early stage of the play, and one recalls his old-time ideal of a harvestfield, with its beribboned reapers, and their long, curved sickles, with a little doubt of its superior grace. golden heads as a ship hews down the crested waves, and to hear the smooth, unending click-clack of their glistening sickles. Even the movements of the ungainly red wagons that wait upon them have an unfailing order that has a strange power to please. Most of the men are dressed in brown-canvas jumpers and overalls, and wear broad-brimmed hats of straw or felt. Not one of them is idle, nor seems to wish to be. Most of them are driving. Some are pitching, a few are feeding the separator, a few more are filling, sewing, and carrying away the bags, and some are brushing away the heaps of chaff. Early in the day there is plenty of talk and laughter, but later on, as the work tells, and the sun grows hot, the tongues become silent, and the hubbub of the machines alone fills the air. At noon a huge van is driven upon the field, laden down with a dinner of meat, vegetables, and pies, all well cooked, and very palatable. Farmhands, like fishermen, nowadays are epicures. This van is so constructed that its sides form broad tables. The cooks who serve stand in the body of the wagon, and the diners range themselves around the outside. All are sheltered by a screen of wood or canvas overhead. They try the engine. It is all right. The separator clatters in tune, and nothing is amiss. Now, then, for the grain! In a moment the wagons begin to unload. Huge forkfuls are pitched upon the ground, from which it is borne into the recesses of the separator. Then there ensues a strange combination of tremendous noises—a sound of grinding, a sound of brushing, a sound of thumping, and a sound of roaring. The entire fabric shivers from top to bottom, and from out every crevice there pours a thin sheet of dust. The upper part belches out the waste, hundreds of pounds and tons of chaff, and a stifling cloud follows it. In a second everything is on springs. The men who fill the bags hang them at the edges of the troughs. The brown flood comes pouring down-a stream of clean kernels of wheat-and the day's work fairly begins. From the largest separator in the field there run out six sacks, or eight hundred pounds of grain, fit for market, each minute. This machine, one day in August, 1874, thrashed five thousand seven hundred and seventy-nine bushels. Its owner calls it the Monitor. All the engines have names as well-Gladiator, Phoenix, Mars, and the like. No one would ever be mad enough to call one of these Ceres, for instance. There is no suggestion of gentleness, or grace, or poetry, in the whole field. All is ingenuity, precision, order, force. A cry of admiration rises to one's lips time and again, but the It must be remembered that there are six other sensation is the same that one feels upon witnessing corps, exactly like the one described, at work simula string of ten-strikes in a bowling-alley, only a thou-taneously upon the Glenn Ranch. Seven throngs sand times extended. It is great to see the headers keep their circles of destruction, hewing down the fair expanse of bowing By nightfall all the seventy acres are bare; that is, not a head of wheat is left. A trampled stubble higher than one's knee remains to tell the tale, but all the beauty and worth have departed, and the place is desolate. To-morrow the same scene will be enacted in another section of the same size, and a similar bustle and uproar will ensue, and a similar pile of plethoric brown bags piled very high will reward the labor of the day. of men and two hundred and fifty machines will labor incessantly for over two months to deplete these vast fields of their splendid yield. THE THE SERVANT-QUESTION IN PARIS. BY LUCY H. HOOPER. HE servant-question has become a vexed and important one all over the world. Nor has Paris, with her admirable social system and vast reserves of trained labor, escaped from the trials and tribulations incident to this important element in every-day life. And till households are run like factories, by machinery, and we cook our dinners and sweep our floors by steam, we suppose that a certain amount of botheration is inevitable all the world over. In Paris, however, the trials are fewer in number and less oppressive in character than they are at home. At least, skilled labor is always to be procured. One is not obliged to take a raw peasant fresh from an immigrant-ship, and to install herher who has been used to a peat-fire, with a live pig beside it—as mistress of our dainty kitchen and wellappointed range. At least, Marie or Fanchette thoroughly understands her business. And the amount of understanding that one can purchase by simply paying high enough is perfectly astonishing. You may, if you choose, have a cook who can send you up a dinner that would not disgrace the Café Anglais, and would do honor to Delmonico, to say nothing of Augustin. But if your finances and your inclinations lead you to treat yourself to a cordon bleu, then look out for airs! Your highly-paid mancook in his pride of office would no more think of preparing vegetables or cutting up meat with his own dainty fingers than Worth would consent to sit down to a sewing-machine to run up a seam. He must have one aide at the very least, and be thankful |