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3 books to know Time Travel. H. G. Wells
Читать онлайн.Название 3 books to know Time Travel
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isbn 9783967996630
Автор произведения H. G. Wells
Жанр Языкознание
Серия 3 books to know
Издательство Bookwire
“As, therefore, steam became more and more expensive, one naturally looked for means by which, without losing the regularity and stability of steam-power, one might turn to account the forces of wind and falling water. The question had really come to this—how to regularly distribute over a certain period of time a force or power so intensely variable. It seemed as if the working-power of water and wind had to be collected and saved up, so as to have a regular provision of such forces in case of need. In like manner Nature had saved her working-power when she caused the forests to grow, from whence resulted the coal layers. Art had already done the same in preparing gunpowder and other explosive matters. Why, then, could the experiment not be tried in analogous form, namely, by temporary imprisonment or detention of that vital power which appeared to be so inexhaustible?”
That was the problem. With regard to its solution I could not well follow the details. All I could learn from Bacon was this, that the black cylinders on the waggon already referred to bore the name of
Energeiathecs,
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FORCE-HOLDERS, OR ENERGY-preservers; that one of these set the waggon in motion, whilst the others were to be delivered either at private houses for domestic purposes of hoisting, raising, or carrying; or to blacksmiths, turners, and other artisans, who wanted motive powers not so extensive as regular. Large manufactories used similar energeiathecs, only of greater power and dimensions. Some of these (in mountainous districts) collected the power of falling water; others (situated in the lower districts) utilised the wind.
With regard to the construction, etc., of those cylinders, I could do nothing more than to form a faint idea. Thus I thought of compressed air, or some other gas, which, by some strong pressure or other might have been turned into a liquid or hard substance retaining the capability of rendering again its deposit of force on subsequent explosion. But I merely give this hypothesis for what it is worth.
While Bacon had thus been endeavouring to enlighten me on a subject which after all I did not profess to understand, we had reached the aluminium railings of an elegant and lofty edifice, bearing the inscription,
National Library.
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NATURALLY ENOUGH, I evinced a strong desire to enter, but Bacon remarked that a visit to such a place would take up a good deal of valuable time, that might be turned to a much more pleasurable and profitable account; to which Miss Phantasia added that if the gentlemen chose to enter that labyrinth of learning, she, for her part, preferred a walk in the square; the latter, crossed in all directions by parks and avenues and flower-beds, was moreover crowded with the most exquisite works of ancient and modern sculptors, living illustrations of her former assertion that genuine works of art had not quite died out.
As soon as we had arrived at the opposite side of the square, I fully understood the wisdom of Bacon’s remarks. So far as my eyes reached, I could see a dense cluster of buildings, more resembling a moderately sized town than a depository of literature. “You see, my friend,” Bacon said, “it is imperative here to make up your mind what to see, or else our lady friend will be tired of waiting. Which branch of human knowledge do you give the preference to?”
I answered that I was especially interested in works of natural science.
“Impossible to think of visiting the buildings in which all these are deposited. You will have to restrict yourself considerably.”
“Well, then, let us confine ourselves to zoology.”
“Too much even for the most cursory glance. It would take us hours to have a mere walk through. Select a sub-section of zoology.”
“Shall we say the literature of entomology?”
“That won’t do either; you must keep to one single order of insects.”
“Well, then, be good enough to select for yourself,” said I; “I’ll follow you.”
We entered one of the buildings. How I was surprised to see the crowd of officers and attendants! some anxious to direct and assist the still greater mass of visitors; others busily engaged in making out tickets and extracts for those scholars who had not time enough to do any such manual work themselves. I felt that this was an admirable school for young students, who were here able not only to gather a valuable knowledge of books, but also to form themselves into independent thinkers and writers.
Nineteenth-Century Books.
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AS I LOOKED ROUND, I saw one of the junior attendants engaged in gumming the leaves of a musty book on sheets of collodion, so that one side of the leaf remained at least legible. I remembered that this was the way in which the papyrus scrolls of Pompeii and Herculaneum were preserved from utter destruction; but how great was my astonishment to see that the title-page of the musty book bore the year mark 1860, Amsterdam. “So it is with most of the nineteenth-century books,” said Bacon. “Owing to the bleaching properties of chlorine, the paper on which they have been printed got so thin, and mouldy, and worm-eaten, that we have but few works of those days now left; and that is really to be regretted, for many writings of that time were quite worth preserving.”
I must confess that I was sorry to hear this little bit of information, so distressing to an author of that age; but, of course, I was silent, and kept on following my guide through rows and rows of apartments, until we arrived at last at a vast hall, literally crammed with books from top to bottom. There we paused, and Bacon turned round to address me. “Now we are among the literature of the two-winged insects; what work do you wish to see?” But staring at those thousands of volumes of treatises on gnats and flies, I was too much afraid again to betray my ignorance; I felt sure I would hit upon some title or other to convince my guide how little I was au courant of the twenty-first century. I limited myself to expressing my gratification at what I had already seen, and added that I would not trespass any further upon the obliging courtesy of my friend.
And thus we left the National Library, an institution which they might safely have called the bibliopolis, for indeed it was like a city of books.
As we passed once more through the front gate on our return, we came across a crowd of men who were about to enter, and whom I judged by their dress and appearance to belong to the class of artizans. I asked Bacon what business had those people there?
“These are workmen from a neighbouring factory,” answered he; “they come here in turns for an hour every day, in order to read in yonder room, especially set apart for them, such books as the library committee has judged to be adapted to their wants. Such workmen’s libraries exist in all the several quarters of the city, but they are most numerous in the densely populated districts where most factories are to be found.”
“And are they well frequented? And do employers allow their workmen to make use of them? And have they reduced their wages in consequence? Are they not afraid that their men will thus become too clever, too well educated?”
“With regard to your first two questions—yes;