The Battery and the Boiler | Page 3

mountains. Fleeter than
Mercury, he can outstrip the light. Gentler than Zephyr, he can assume
the condition of a current, and enter our very marrow without causing
pain. His name is Electricity. No one knows what he is. Some
philosophers have said that he is a fluid, because he flows. As well
might they call him a wild horse because he bolts, or a thief because he
lurks! We prefer to call him a Spark, because in that form only is he
visible--at least when handled by man.
Talking of that, it was not until the last century that master minds found
out how to catch and handle our Spark. In all the previous centuries he
had been roaming gaily about the world in perfect freedom; sometimes
gliding silently to and fro like an angel of light; sometimes leaping
forth with frightful energy in the midst of raging tempest, like a
destructive demon--ripping, rending, shattering all that attempted to
arrest his course. Men have feared and shunned him since the
beginning of time, and with good reason, for he has killed many of the
human race.
But although uncaught and untamed by them, our Spark was not
altogether unknown to the ancients. So far back as the year 600 before
the Christian era, Thales, one of the Greek sages, discovered that he hid
himself in amber, a substance which in Greek is named electron--hence
his name Electricity; but the ancients knew little about his character,

though Thales found that he could draw him from his hiding-place by
rubbing him with silk and some other substances. When thus rubbed he
became attractive, and drew light creatures towards him--not unlike
human sparks! He also showed himself to be fickle, for, after holding
these light creatures tight for a brief space, he let them go and repelled
them.
It was not till the days of good Queen Bess, towards the end of the
sixteenth century, that a Dr Gilbert discovered that the wild fellow lay
lurking in other substances besides amber--such as sulphur, wax, glass,
etcetera. It is now known that Electricity permeates all substances more
or less, and only waits to be roused in order to exhibit his amazing
powers. He is fond of shocking people's feelings, and has surprised his
pursuers rather frequently in that way. Some of them, indeed, he has
actually shocked to death!
It would take a huge volume to give a detailed account of all the
qualities, powers, and peculiarities of this wild Spark. We will just
touch on a few facts which are necessary to the elucidation of our tale.
A great event in the world's history happened in the year 1745. It was
nothing less than the capture and imprisonment of wild, daring, dashing
Electricity. To the Dutch philosophers belongs the honour of catching
him. They caught him--they even bottled him, like ordinary spirits, and
called his prison a Leyden Jar.
From that date our Spark became the useful and obedient slave of man.
Yet is he ever ready, when the smallest conceivable door, hole, or chink
is left open, to dash out of the prison-house man has made for him, and
escape into his native earth.
He has no hope now, however, of escaping altogether, for he cannot
resist the allurement of rubbing, by which, as well as by chemical
action and other means, we can summon him, like the genii of
Aladdin's lamp, at any moment, from the "vasty deep," and compel him
to do our work.
And what sort of work, it may be asked, can this volatile fellow

perform? We cannot tell all--the list is too long. Let us consider a few
of them. If we fabricate tea-pots, sugar-basins, spoons, or anything else
of base metal, he can and will, at our bidding, cover the same with
silver or yellow gold. If we grow dissatisfied with our candles and gas,
he will, on being summoned, and properly directed by the master minds
to whom he owns allegiance, kindle our lamps and fill our streets and
mansions with a blaze of noonday splendour. If we grow weary of
steam, and give him orders, he will drive our tram-cars and
locomotives with railway speed, minus railway smoke and fuss. He is a
very giant in the chemist's laboratory, and, above all, a swift messenger
to carry the world's news. Even when out and raging to and fro in a
wild state, more than half-disposed to rend our mansions, and split our
steeples, and wreck our ships, we have only to provide him with a tiny
metal stair-case, down which he will instantly glide from the upper
regions to the earth without noise or damage. Shakespeare never
imagined, and Mercury never accomplished, the speed at which he
travels; and he will not only carry our news,