After the descriptions given of some of the principal processes in bookbinding, given in the three preceding numbers of the American Penny Magazine, (pages 166, 180, and 199,) the reader will be able to understand several of the operations here submitted to his eye, by this view of one of the scenes of useful and active business daily exhibited in the shops of our respectable mechanics.

On the left we see heaps of books and paper, assorted and ready to be "folded and gathered." The latter term means, placed in due order, as they are to be stitched and bound, which, our readers may remember, is done by observing the "signatures." Those marks have often excited an inquiry from many a

person, being placed at the bottom of a page here and there, without any apparent meaning, and yet with the appearance of design.

The powerful standing-presses, with their ponderous screws, are first used to smooth the sheet from the roughness of the impression made by the type in printing; and afterwards to give the book compactness. Hydrostatic presses are now often used for the same purposes; and sometimes a surprising effect is produced by them. A pile of half-made books, reaching up to the height of two sto stories or more in a large bindery, is pressed down many feet by the astonishing power of that machine.

In the distance we see folding, and next in

front, a workman with the plough-knife, shaving off the edges of a book to a smooth surface; while several other of the processes before described may be easily recognized, by turning to the previous numbers. The order prevailing in the shop is one of its most striking features; everything seems to have a convenient place; and the room is so apportioned as to have every part well occupied without confusion or crowding. The loose and unfinished appearance of the roof is not without reason. The cross-sticks seen there are designed for hanging wet sheets for drying.

THE PARKS OF ENGLAND, &c. Extracted from Colman's "European Agriculture." The Parks abound with trees of extraordinary age and size. They are not like the trees of our original forests, growing up to a great height, and, on account of the crowded state of the neighborhood, throwing out but few lateral branches; but what they want in height, they gain in breadth, and, if I may be excused for a hard word, in umbrageousness. I measured one in Lord Pagot's celebrated park, in Staffordshire, and going round the outside of the branches, keeping within droopings of the circuit, was a hundred yards. The circumference of some of the celebrated oaks in the park of the Duke of Portland, which we measured together, when he did me the kindness to accompany me through his grounds, seemed worthy of record. The Little Porter Oak measured 27 feet in circumference, the Great Porter Oak is 29 feet in circumference, the Seven Sisters 33 feet in circumference. The Great Porter Oak was a very large diameter 50 feet above the ground, and an opening in the trunk of Green Dale Oak was at one time large enough to admit the passage of a small carriage through it; by advancing years, the open space has become somewhat contracted. These indeed are noble, though it must be confessed that they were thrown quite into the shade by the magnificent Kentucky Button-wood or Sycamore, of whose trunk 1 saw a complete section exhibited at Derby, measuring 25 feet in diameter and 75 in circumference. This was brought from the United States, and indeed well might be denominated the mammoth of the forest.

In these ancient parks, oaks and beeches are the predominant trees, with occasional chestnuts and ashes. In very many cases I saw the beauty and force of that first line in the pastorals of Virgil, where he addresses Tityrus as playing his lute under the spreading shade of the beech trees." These trees are looked upon with great veneration: in many cases they are numbered; in some a label is affixed to them, giving their age; sometimes a stone monument is erected, say

ing when or by whom this forest or this clump was planted; and, commonly, some family record is kept of them as a part of the family history. I respect this trait in the character of the English, and I sympathise with them in their veneration for old trees. They are the growth often of centuries, and the monument of years gone by.

I cannot quite enter into the enthusiasm of an excellent friend, who used to say that the cutting down of an old tree ought to be made a capital offence at law; yet I deem it almost sacrilegious to destroy them, excepting where necessity demands it; and I would always advise, that an old tree standing in a conspicuous station, either for use or ornament, should be at least once more wintered and summered before the sentence of death, which may be passed upon it, is carried into execution.

The trees in the park of the palace of Hampton Court are many of them, particularly the horse-chestnut and the lime, eminently beautiful-several straight lines of them forming, for a long distance, the approach to the palace. On a clear bright day, at the season of their flowering, I passed through this magnificent avenue with inexpressible delight. I passed through them again late in the autumn, when the frost had marred their beauty, and the autumnal gales had stripped off their leaves; but they were still venerable in the simple majesty of their gigantic and spreading forms. I could not help reflecting, with grateful emotion, on that beneficent power, which shall presently breathe upon these apparently lifeless statues, and clothe them with the glittering foliage of spring, and the rich and splendid glories of summer. So be it with those who have got far into the autumn, or stand shivering in the winter of life!

The extent of these parks, in many cases, filled me with surprise. They embraced hundreds, in some instances thousands of acres; and you enter them by gates, where a porter's lodge is always to be found. After entering the park gates, I have rode sometimes several miles before reaching the house. They are in general devoted to the pasturage of sheep, cattle, or deer. In the park at Chatsworth the herd of deer exceed sixteen hundred. The deer are kept at no inconsiderable expense, requiring abundant pasturage in summer and hay and grain in winter. An English pasture is seldom or never ploughed; many of them have been in grass beyond the memory of any one living. The turf becomes elose and hard, and the feeding of sheep and cattle undoubtedly enriches the land, especially under the careful management of one eminent farmer-and many more, doubtless, are like him-on whose pasturage grounds the manure of the cattle is daily and evenly spread.

In speaking of the parks in the country, I ought not to pass in silence the magnificent parks of London-as truly magnificent they must be called-including St. James' Park,

Green Park, Kensington Gardens, Hyde Park, and Regent's Park.

Kensington Gardens, exclusive of private gardens, within its enclosure contains 227 acres; Hyde Park, 380 acres; Green Park, connected with St. James' Park, 56 acres ; St. James' Park, 87 acres; terraces connected with Regent's Park, 80 acres - making a grand total of 1202 acres. To these should be added the large, elegant and highly embellished public squares in various parts of London, and even in the most crowded parts of the old city, which, in all, probably exceed 1000 acres! Windsor Great Park contains 3500 acres, and the little Park 300.

These magnificent parks, it must be remembered, are in the midst of a populous town, including upwards of two millions of inhabitants, and are open to the public for health, exercise and amusement. They are, at the same time, to a degree, stocked with sheep and cows.

It is impossible to over-estimate the value to health of these open spaces, and the amount of recreation and rational enjoyment they af ford to this vast population.

Great Natural Curiosity.

A late number of the Dayton (Ohio) Transcript mentions a discovery of a most singular and extraordinary character, which is to be seen in Delaware county, Ohio, about 17 miles north of Columbus, the seat of Government. The Transcript remarks that, although it is one of the most novel and curious things in natural history, yet it has never been made public, or been known to the scientific men, from the fact of its being in an obscure place, and no account of it having ever been given in the public prints. The Transcript says:

"Some time about the year 1818, two men, by the names of Davis and Richards, saltboilers by profession, commenced boring for salt water in the bed of the Scioto river, near the place mentioned. After having bored about fifty feet through a solid rock, they came upon a stream of white sulphur water, of the strongest kind. The auger with which they were boring suddenly sunk about two feet, which was probably about the depth of the stream; but such was the pressure of the water, that the auger was forced up again, and large weights had to be attached in order to keep it to its place and enable them to bore further. They continued to bore on, however, until they got about 400 feet below the sulphur stream, when they struck upon salt water. The size of the auger was about two and a half inches in diameter. When they took it out, the jet of sulphur water rose up to the height of 20 feet above the surface of the river.

"In order to obtain access to the salt water beneath, they procured a strong copper pipe and attempted to force it down to the place where it was to be found. But whenever it reached the sulphur stream, such was its force and pressure that the pipe was com

pletely flattened, so as entirely to prevent the passage of water through it. All subsequent attempts to insert a pipe proved abortive, and after prosecuting the work at intervals for several years, the project was entirely abandoned. After enlarging the orifice made by the auger at the top, a wooden stock, 20 feet in height, was inserted; yet, even at the top of this, such was the force of the stream, that it required the strength of two or three men to put a plug in it. From this stock a pipe conveys the water to a spring house on one of the bluff banks of the river. The stream has been running for twenty-six years, yet its strength and force are unabated. Those who have recently examined it, say that it is capable of throwing up a stream ten inches in diameter from 80 to 90 feet high, and that water can thus be obtained to turn a large mill.

"The whole matter lay in obscurity until a short time since, when our fellow-citizen, Mr. N. Hart, accidentally heard of the circumstance, and bought the land upon which it is situated. It was from him that we learned the foregoing facts. The stream furnishes as good white sulphur as is known. It is strongly impregnated with gas, and possesses valuable medicinal properties. The place in which it is situated is in a fine healthy region, and the country round about is beautiful and rolling, and admirably adapted to fishing and hunting."

OLIVER CASWELL,

A DEAF, DUMB AND BLIND BOY. From the last Annual Report of the Perkins Institution for the Blind, at Boston. By Dr. Howe.

He has made very slow progress in know. ledge during the past year, in comparison with Laura Bridgeman. He has a much smaller brain and is decidedly of a lymphatic temperament. But besides this, he has been slightly ailing most of the time, and has never had that exuberance of health, and consequent flow of animal spirits which force her to mental activity.

He seems to be troubled by some disorder in the glandular system, or in the primae viae, which causes frequent indigestion, slow circulation of the blood, and consequent depression of spirits. When he is indisposed he loses his interest in his studies, and common occupations; and his usual sedateness becomes melancholy. He seems to be aware of the cause of this, and says he must go home, and that his native air will make him well; or if he be at home in vacation, he says, he must go back to the Institution, and his walks and gymnastic exercises will restore him. He never be. comes peevish, however, but endures with uncomplaining fortitude.

But even when his digestion is good, and

his physical system is in its best condition, he is habitually quiet and sedate. He is always mild and kind; and though he does not, like Laura, lavish caresses, kisses, and other demonstrations of affection upon those about him, he has always a smile for every one who greets him, and receives any marks of kindness with evident feeling of gratitude.

He is not so fond of any intellectual exercise which taxes severely his thinking faculties, as Laura is, nor indeed as the blind generally are; nevertheless he has gone on during the past year slowly adding to his knowledge of the qualities and relations of things, and increasing the store of words by which he expresses his thoughts, and learns the thoughts of others.

If he were naturally talkative, he would doubtless make more rapid progress in knowledge of all kinds. He is quite unlike Laura in this respect; she loves talk, and if she comes in frequent relation with any person, as a seamstress who may be about the house, a new domestic, or a lady visitor, she contrives to teach them her manner of making the letters of the alphabet with the fingers; and if the person be at all clever, in a few hours the is way open between their minds, and the exchange of thought is thenceforward rapid and constant. Oliver, on the other hand, cares little about talk; there are persons employed about the house whom he has known for three years, of whom he is very fond, and near whom he will sit or walk quietly and happily for hours; and although they cannot say a word to him, he never attempts to teach them his alphabet, nor does he seem to care for other intercourse than the simple one by which he ascertains that they are well, in good spirits, and fond of him. This he does in a way which seems magical to those who do not reflect, that every state of the feelings has its natural language, and manifests itself not only upon the countenance in visible signs, and through the voice by audible sounds, but also by certain motions of the body and limbs, and by peculiarities of deportment which are easily recognized by the sharpened sense of touch, and instinctively understood as the natural language of certain mental qualities. This has been remarked upon in Laura's case; and it is so strong in Oliver's that it may furnish a hint to those who are curious about the moral effect of the solitary and the social system of prisons. There is one of the household of whom Oliver is very fond, and though

he cannot talk with him, he loves to be near him, and will sit quietly for hours within. the circle of his physical influence. Now although this man is affectionate in his temper, he is quick in his movements, and rather abrupt in his deportment, so that it cannot be the gentleness of motion which constitutes the attraction; yet Oliver is always happy to be with him, and strives to do things pleasing to him. This man exercises a good influence over him without speaking a word; and merely by the gratification of his social

nature.

Now suppose Oliver to be surrounded with persons whose moral tendencies were bad, whom he knew were disposed to do things contrary to the rules of the house, and contrary to his natural sense of what is right, would they not have a great influence over him for evil, even though they spoke not to him; and would not all his tendencies to wrong, provided he had any, be strengthened and confirmed by the consciousness that those about him had the same tendencies, without the power of gratifying them? Would not his desire for their sympathy make him conform his own feelings as nearly as possible to what he supposed to be theirs?

This

Oliver is remarked by every one as having a countenance remarkably indicative of amiability and sweetness of temper; and his face is but the mirror in which his mind is truly reflected. There have been no instances during the past year of any bad temper, or even of ill-will to any one. is somewhat remarkable, for he is thrown much in contact with boys, some of whom are rude and ill mannered; and one or two who are so mischievous that they sometimes try to annoy him with the petty tricks of boyhood; but he is always as calm as the sunshine.

TO BRING THE DEAD TO LIFE.-Intended to be Put in Every Man's Hat.-Immediately, as the body is removed from the water, press the chest suddenly and forcibly, downward and backward, and instantly discontinue the pressure. Repeat this without interruption, until a pair of common bellows can be procured. When obtained, introduce the nozzle well upon the base of the tongue. Surround the mouth with a towel or handkerchief and close it. Direct a bystander to press firmly upon the projecting part of the neck (called Adam's apple), and use the bellows actively. Then press upon the chest to expel the air from the lungs, to imitate natural breathing. Continue this, at least an hour, unless signs of natural breathing come on.

Wrap the body in blankets, place it near a fire, and do everything to preserve the natu

ral warmth, as well as to impart an artificial heat, if possible. Everything, however, is secondary to inflating the lungs. Send for a medical man immediately.

Avoid all frictions until respiration shall be in some degree restored.

VALENTINE MOTT, Surgeon General

of the American Shipwreck Society.

JUVENILE DEPARTMENT.

EDWARD AND HIS TEACHER.

The Flying Fish.

Edward's teacher sometimes took a walk with him and his companions, and sometimes told them stories. One of the stories he liked best was about flying fish.

"The first time I went to sea," said he, "I was standing on the deck one pleasant day, and looking at the water, when I thought I saw a bird jump up out of a wave and fly away some distance, and then drop into the ocean again and disappear. I could hardly believe my eyes, for I knew birds could not live long under water, and I asked myself, can I possibly have been mistaken? I mentioned it to the captain, and he said, 'Oh, it was a flying fish; did you never see a flying fish before?'

"I had heard of them and read of them; but now I found I had not a clear idea of their appearance. Soon after I saw another, and then another; for we had now got to a part of the ocean where they were common at that season of the year. The nights were warm, and they often flew away from the ship, as if they were afraid of it, for we could see them by the light of the moon. As they were wet, the light made them shine like silver. But it is said they are afraid of dolphins, and not of ships-and that, when that ravenous fish pursues them, they take to the air to avoid them. It is generally believed, too, by the sailors, that the dolphins follow them under water, and always catch them when they fall. This I did not like to be

lieve, because it is not pleasant to think of, and nobody I have ever met with could say he had ever seen one of them fall into the power of its pursuer.

"One evening-I shall never forget-I sat talking with a friend, sailing with a brisk and fair wind. It seemed as if I was flying home. Something passed over our heads, hit a rope and fell. Up jumped my compan ion, and ran to catch it, so eagerly that he almost fell into the sea on the other side. However, he caught it, and it was the largest flying fish I had ever seen. I handled it and looked at it with much pleasure. It was about twice as long as my hand, long, slenIder and elegantly formed, like a perch, with two wings as long as itself, and two shorter ones. These were made of little bones or spines, like knitting needles, with a thin skin between them; and I could open and shut them like fans. When closed, they lay tight to the fish's sides; they were, in fact, only long fins, probably not used in swimming, and fit only to fly. But the fish cannot go farnot more than two or three hundred feet.

"After this, we often picked up flying fish dead on deck in the morning, and had them cooked for breakfast. Their flesh is white, delicate, and very well flavored. There was a sailor on board, whom I knew very well; and he salted and dried the large flying fish for me, so that I brought it home and placed it in my collection of curiosities."

MINERALS. No. 7-Limestone.

There are so many sorts of Limestone, that I hardly know what to say about it first. The colors are very various: white, black, bluish, gray, yellowish, reddish, &c. often spotted, clouded or streaked with dif ferent colors and shades. It is soft enough to be scratched with a pin, and of course will not scratch glass nor strike fire. It is sometimes coarse-grained, and sometimes fine; and commonly forms large beds, hills, or mountains, in countries where it is found. We have such in Vermont, New York, Pennsylvania, &c.

When soft it is called chalk; when hard and handsome, marble; when left in caverns by dropping water, stalactites, stalagmites, alabaster, &c.

Uses.-Common limestone is put into kilns, and heated to a white heat, and leaves pure, or quick lime, for masons to make