successive formations in the process of growth. The grinders are
seldom used in the arts. They are of a different texture, the laminæ
more loosely combined, and possessing a tendency to separate, which
renders them unfit for nearly all useful purposes. Ivory has the same
chemical constitution as ordinary teeth - that is, cartilage united to
such earthy ingredients as the phosphate of lime.

But it is very remarkable that the fossil ivory of the mammoth, and
specimens of the historic period of Pompeii or Egypt, contain
sometimes as much as 10 per cent. more of fluoride of calcium than the
ivory of the present day. We apprehend, however, that this
property - first investigated by Dr George Wilson - may be derived from
long-continued contact with earth, since fluoride of calcium is the
chief ingredient in the enamel or exterior portion of the tooth.
Ancient ivory, having thus gained in its inorganic bases, becomes
deficient in the gelatinous constituents necessary to its
preservation. We recently had a singularly beautiful application of
the knowledge of this principle in the case of the ivory specimens
sent from Nineveh by Mr Layard. On their arrival in England, it was
discovered that they were rapidly crumbling to pieces. Professor Owen
recommended that the articles should be boiled in a solution of
albumen, which was done accordingly, and the ivory rendered as firm
and solid as when it was first entombed.

We may allude here to a very singular physical property which is
possessed by the elephant's tusk. Specimens have frequently been
obtained which were found to contain musket-bullets in their centre,
surrounded with a species of osseous pulp differing from the ordinary
character and constitution of ivory. There was frequently no
corresponding orifice on the surface of the tusk; and hence
Blumenbach, and other naturalists, were led to form some very
inaccurate notions regarding this circumstance. Mr Rodgers of
Sheffield some years ago forwarded a variety of such specimens to the
Edinburgh College Museum, and these were very closely examined by
Professor Goodsir, who, in a communication to the Royal Society of
Edinburgh, demonstrated that this arose simply from a property of
isolating foreign substances common to all osseous organised bodies:
the ball having been enclosed by the tusk in its pulpy secretion, and
corrosive action thereby prevented, the process of growth continued
without interruption.

Ivory is a solid, white, translucent substance, distinguishable from
bone by its beautiful texture of semi-transparent rhomboidal network.
The finest ivory is much more transparent than paper of the same
thickness. A thin transverse section placed under the microscope
exhibits a series of curvilinear lines diverging from the centre and
interlacing each other with great regularity and beauty, closely
resembling in appearance the engine-turning of a watch. It possesses a
specific gravity varying from 1.888 in the tooth of the walrus, to
2.843 in that of the elephant. Its mean gravity is therefore about two
and a half times greater than water. The best, finest, and most
valuable ivory is that obtained from the African elephant. When
recently cut, it exhibits something of a yellowish transparent tint,
which is due to the oil it contains, but this gradually changes to a
beautiful and permanent white. It is not easily stained or destroyed
by exposure to the atmosphere, and on that account is used in the arts
for all the higher purposes, and especially for carved ornaments - such
as chess-pieces, crucifixes, and articles of _virtu_. Indian ivory, on
the contrary, when first cut, is perfectly white, but it becomes
yellow and discoloured with age and exposure. A good illustration of
this circumstance is presented by the dingy-coloured keys of an old
pianoforte.

This popular definition of good and inferior ivory is however, in
point of fact, somewhat incorrect, since ivory obtained from the coast
of Africa is often much inferior to that obtained from the Indian
Archipelago. The best rule for determining the quality is probably
that of its vicinity to the equator. The ivory brought from within the
10th degrees of north and south latitude is incomparably the finest in
the market; it is at the same time the most transparent, which of
itself is a valuable characteristic. Our Indian ivory for some years
back, instead of being shipped by way of the Cape for England, has, in
order to save time, been sent by the Red Sea to Suez, and thence
conveyed, generally on the backs of camels, across the Desert to
Alexandria, where it is again shipped on board the Oriental
steam-packets for Southampton, and conveyed by railway to London. By
this expeditious mode of transit, however, the value of the ivory is
frequently much deteriorated. The damage it sustains in being so often
loaded and unloaded; and the intense heat of a tropical sun to which
it is openly exposed in crossing the Isthmus - render the tusks unsound
at the core, numerous cracks and fissures appear over the surface, the
points are frequently broken off, and on the whole its market-price is
considerably depreciated.

There is no means of accurately determining the intrinsic value of our
importation of ivory - the price is so variable. In 1827, upwards of
3000 cwt.; in 1842, upwards of 5000 cwt.; and in 1850, about 8000 cwt.
was imported, of which about four-fifths was entered for home
consumption. In point of quantity or bulk it is not calculated to
attract attention, nor does the commercial transaction excite much
notice. A quiet advertisement in the front page of the _Economist_, a
few letters from London, Birmingham, and Sheffield to City
brokers - for the ivory-trade is confined to a very small number of
houses - and a cargo of African or Indian ivory, amounting perhaps to
L.50,000 sterling, is quickly and easily disposed of. The supply at
this moment is unequal to the demand, and the price is steadily
advancing.

Small teeth weighing from 4 to 20 lbs. are worth from L.10 to L.16 per
cwt.; and the price of the enormous tusks we have referred to, which
are far beyond the limits of the above scale, is probably equal to
L.50 per cwt. or upwards. African is worth about 25 per cent. more
than Indian ivory of corresponding size and quality.

To attempt even to catalogue the extremely diversified uses to which
ivory is applied would of itself be no easy task. There is not perhaps
in the whole commercial list an article possessed of wider relations.
It is extensively consumed in the manufacture of handles to knives and
forks, and cutlery of every description; combs of all kinds; brushes
of every form and use; billiard-balls, chess-men, dice, dice-boxes;
bracelets, necklaces, rings, brooches; slabs for miniature portraits,
pocket-tablets, card-cases; paper-knives, shoeing-horns, large spoons
and forks for salad; ornamental work-boxes, jewel-caskets, small
inlaid tables; furniture for doors and cabinets; pianoforte and organ
keys; stethoscopes, lancet-cases, and surgical instruments;
microscopes, lorgnettes, and philosophical instruments; thermometer
scales, hydrometer scales, and mathematical instruments; snuff-boxes,
cigar-cases, pipe-tubes; fans, flowers, fancy boxes; crucifixes,
crosiers, and symbols of faith; idols, gods, and symbols of
superstition; vases, urns, sarcophagi, and emblems of the dead;
temples, pagodas; thrones, emblems of mythology; and, in short, there
is hardly a purpose in the useful and ornamental arts to which ivory
is, or has not been in some way extensively employed. At present, the
ivory carvings of Dieppe are the finest in Europe; but the genius of
the present age is utilitarian, and so are its applications of ivory.
If we desire high art in the fabrication of this material, we must go
back a few centuries, or be satisfied with the beautiful productions
of China or Hindostan. We could scarcely give a more apt illustration
of this truth than by pointing to the scat of honour set apart for
Prince Albert in the closing scene of the Great Exhibition. Elevated
on the crimson platform, and standing forth as an appropriate emblem
of the artistic genius of the mighty collection, was observed the
magnificent ivory throne presented to her Majesty by the Rajah of
Travancore!

From the great value of the material, the economical cutting of it up
is of the last importance. Nothing is lost. The smallest fragments are
of some value, have certain uses, and bear a corresponding price.
Ivory dust, which is produced in large quantities, is a most valuable
gelatine, and as such extensively employed by straw-hat makers. The
greatest consumption of ivory is undoubtedly in connection with the
cutlery trade. For these purposes alone about 200 tons are annually
used in Sheffield and Birmingham, and the ivory in nearly every
instance is from India. The mode of manufacturing knife-handles is
very simple and expeditious: - The teeth are first cut into slabs of
the requisite thickness - then to the proper cross dimensions, by means
of circular saws of different shapes. They are afterwards drilled with
great accuracy by a machine; rivetted to the blade; and finally
smoothed and polished. We believe that this branch of industry alone
gives employment to about 500 persons in Sheffield. Combs are seldom
made of any ivory but Indian, and their mode of manufacture we had
recently occasion to describe.[4] A large amount of ivory is consumed
in the backs of hairbrushes; and this branch of the trade has recently
undergone considerable improvements. The old method of making a
tooth-brush, for example, was to lace the bristles through the ivory,
and then to glue, or otherwise fasten, an outside slab to the brush
for the purpose of concealing the holes and wire-thread. This mode of
manufacture has been improved on by a method of working the hair into
the solid ivory; and brushes of this description are now the best in
the market. Their chief excellence consists in their preserving their
original white colour to the last, which is a great desideratum.
Billiard-balls constitute another considerable item of ivory
consumption. They cost from 6s. to 12s. each; and the nicety of our
ornamental turning produces balls not only of the most perfect
spherical form, but accurately corresponding in size and weight even
to a single grain.

The ivory miniature tablets so much in use, and which are so
invaluable to the artist from the exquisitely delicate texture of the
material, are now produced by means of a very beautiful and highly
interesting chemical process. Phosphoric acid of the usual specific
gravity renders ivory soft and nearly plastic. The plates are cut from
the circumference of the tusk, somewhat after the manner of paring a
cucumber, and then softened by means of the acid. When washed with
water, pressed, and dried, the ivory regains its former consistency,
and even its microscopic structure is not affected by the process.
Plates thirty inches square have been formed in this way, and a great
reduction in price has thus been effected. Painting on ivory, we may
add, was practised among the ancients.

Mr M'Culloch and other statistical writers predict the speedy
extinction of the elephant, from the enormous consumption of its
teeth; and curious calculations of the number of these animals
annually extirpated to supply the English market alone are now getting
somewhat popular. For example: 'in 1827 the customs-duty on ivory
(20s. per cwt. - since reduced to 1s.) amounted to L.3257. The average
weight of the elephant's tusk is 60 lbs.; and therefore 3040 elephants
have been killed to supply this quantity of ivory.' But these
calculations are in many respects quite fallacious. In the first
place, the average weight of our imported tusks is _not_ 60 lbs.: we
have the authority of one of the first ivory-merchants in London for
stating that 20 lbs. will be a much closer approximation. This at once
involves a threefold ratio of destruction. In place of 3040, we should
have the terrible slaughter of 9120 elephants for one year's
consumption of ivory in England! This, however, is not the case. In
these calculations the immense masses of fossil ivory we have alluded
to are obviously overlooked, and the equally immense quantities of
broken teeth which are disinterred from the deserts of Arabia, or the
jungles of Central Africa. The truth is, we have good reason to know,
that a very large proportion of the commercial supply of Europe is
sustained from the almost inexhaustible store of these descriptions of
ivory.

Nevertheless, it is indisputable that the insatiable demands of modern
commerce will inevitably lead to the ultimate extermination of this
noble animal. His venerable career is ignominiously brought to an end
merely for the sake of the two teeth he carries in his mouth; which
are very likely destined to be cut into rings to assist the infant
Anglo-Saxons in cutting _their_ teeth, or partly made into jelly to
satisfy the tastes and appetites of a London alderman. We cannot
reasonably hope for a new suspension of the traffic: indeed we can
only look for its extension. The luxurious tastes of man are inimical
to the existence of the elephant. From time immemorial, the war of
extermination has existed. His rightful domain - in the plain or the
wilderness, or amid the wild herbage of his native savannas - is at all
points ruthlessly invaded. But the result is inevitable - it will come
to an end; and some future generation of naturalists - those of them at
least who are curious in Palæontology - will regard the remains of our
contemporary races of elephants with the same kind of astonishment
with which we investigate the pre-historic evidences of the gigantic
tapir or the mammoth.

* * * * *

[Footnote 3: In the sacristy of the cathedral at Aix-la-Châpelle is
still preserved, among other relics of this great prince, an immense
ivory hunting-horn; and 'Charlemagne's chess-men,' which still exist,
form part of the collection of works of art at Cologne.]

[Footnote 4: See an article on the Aberdeen Combworks, No. 396.]


BLIGHTED FLOWERS.


The facts of the following brief narrative, which are very few and of
but melancholy interest, became known to me in the precise order in
which they are laid before the reader. They were forced upon my
observation rather than sought out by me; and they present, to my mind
at least, a touching picture of the bitter conflict industrious
poverty is sometimes called upon to wage with 'the thousand natural
shocks which flesh is heir to.'

It must be now eight or nine years since, in traversing a certain
street, which runs for nearly half a mile in a direct line southward,
I first encountered Ellen - - . She was then a fair young girl of
seventeen, rather above the middle size, and with a queen-like air and
gait which made her appear taller than she really was. Her
countenance, pale but healthy, and of a perfectly regular and classic
mould, was charming to look upon from its undefinable expression of
lovableness and sweet temper. Her tiny feet tripped noiselessly along
the pavement, and a glance from her black eye sometimes met mine like
a ray of light, as, punctually at twenty minutes to nine, we passed
each other near - - House, each of us on our way to the theatre of
our daily operations. She was an embroideress, as I soon discovered
from a small stretching-frame, containing some unfinished work, which
she occasionally carried in her hand. She set me a worthy example of
punctuality, and I could any day have told the time to a minute
without looking at my watch, by marking the spot where we passed each
other. I learned to look for her regularly, and before I knew her
name, had given her that of 'Minerva,' in acknowledgment of her
efficiency as a mentor.

A year after the commencement of our acquaintance, which never ripened
into speech, happening to set out from home one morning a quarter of
an hour before my usual time, I made the pleasing discovery that my
juvenile Minerva had a younger sister, if possible still more
beautiful than herself. The pair were taking an affectionate leave of
each other at the crossing of the New Road, and the silver accents of
the younger as, kissing her sister, she laughed out, 'Good-by, Ellen,'
gave me the first information of the real name of my pretty mentor.
The little Mary - for so was the younger called, who could not be more
than eleven years of age - was a slender, frolicsome sylph, with a skin
of the purest carnation, and a face like that of Sir Joshua's seraph
in the National Gallery, but with larger orbs and longer lashes
shading them. As she danced and leaped before me on her way home
again, I could not but admire the natural ease and grace of every
motion, nor fail to comprehend and sympathise with the anxious looks
of the sisters' only parent, their widowed mother, who stood watching
the return of the younger darling at the door of a very humble
two-storey dwelling, in the vicinity of the New River Head.

Nearly two years passed away, during which, with the exception of
Sundays and holidays, every recurring morning brought me the grateful
though momentary vision of one or both of the charming sisters. Then
came an additional pleasure - I met them both together every day. The
younger had commenced practising the same delicate and ingenious craft
of embroidery, and the two pursued their industry in company under the
same employer. It was amusing to mark the demure assumption of
womanhood darkening the brows of the aërial little sprite, as, with
all the new-born consequence of responsibility, she walked soberly by
her sister's side, frame in hand, and occasionally revealed to
passers-by a brief glimpse of her many-coloured handiwork. They were
the very picture of beauty and happiness, and happy beyond question
must their innocent lives have been for many pleasant months. But soon
the shadows of care began to steal over their hitherto joyous faces,
and traces of anxiety, perhaps of tears, to be too plainly visible on
their paling cheeks. All at once I missed them in my morning's walk,
and for several days - it might be weeks - saw nothing of them. I was at
length startled from my forgetfulness of their very existence by the
sudden apparition of both one Monday morning clad in the deepest
mourning. I saw the truth at once: the mother, who, I had remarked,
was prematurely old and feeble, was gone, and the two orphan children
were left to battle it with the world. My conjecture was the truth, as
a neighbour of whom I made some inquiries on the subject was not slow
to inform me. '_Ah,_ sir,' said the good woman, 'poor Mrs D - - have
had a hard time of it, and she born an' bred a gentlewoman.'

I asked her if the daughters were provided for.

'Indeed, sir,' continued my informant, 'I'm afeard not. 'Twas the most
unfortnatest thing in the world, sir, poor Mr D - - 's dying jest as a'
did. You see, sir, he war a soldier, a fightin' out in Indy, and his
poor wife lef at home wi' them two blossoms o' gals. He warn't what
you call a common soldier, sir, but some kind o' officer like; an' in
some great battle fought seven year agone he done fine service I've
heerd, and promotion was send out to 'un, but didn't get there till
the poor man was dead of his wounds. The news of he's death cut up his
poor wife complete, and she han't been herself since. I've know'd she
wasn't long for here ever since it come. Wust of all, it seems that
because the poor man was dead the very day the promotion reached 'un,
a' didn't die a captain after all, and so the poor widder didn't get
no pension. How they've a' managed to live is more than I can tell.
The oldest gal is very clever, they say; but Lor' bless 'ee! 'taint
much to s'port three as is to be got out o' broiderin'.'

Thus enlightened on the subject of their private history, it was with
very different feelings I afterwards regarded these unfortunate
children. Bereft of both parents, and cast upon a world with the ways
of which they were utterly unacquainted, and in which they might be
doomed to the most painful struggles even to procure a bare
subsistence, one treasure was yet left them - it was the treasure of
each other's love. So far as the depth of this feeling could be
estimated from the looks and actions of both, it was all in all to
each. But the sacred bond that bound them was destined to be rudely
rent asunder. The cold winds of autumn began to visit too roughly the
fair pale face of the younger girl, and the unmistakable indications
of consumption made their appearance: the harassing cough, the hectic
cheek, the deep-settled pain in the side, the failing breath. Against
these dread forerunners it was vain long to contend; and the poor
child had to remain at home in her solitary sick-chamber, while the
loving sister toiled harder than ever to provide, if possible, the
means of comfort and restoration to health. All the world knows the
ending of such a hopeless strife as this. It is sometimes the will of
Heaven that the path of virtue, like that of glory, leads but to the
grave. So it was in the present instance: the blossom of this fair
young life withered away, and the grass-fringed lips of the child's
early tomb closed over the lifeless relics ere spring had dawned upon
the year.

Sorrow had graven legible traces upon the brow of my hapless mentor
when I saw her again. How different now was the vision that greeted my
daily sight from that of former years! The want that admits not of
idle wailing compelled her still to pursue her daily course of labour,
and she pursued it with the same constancy and punctuality as she had
ever done. But the exquisitely chiselled face, the majestic gait, the
elastic step - the beauty and glory of youth, unshaken because
unassaulted by death and sorrow - where were they? Alas! all the
bewitching charms of her former being had gone down into the grave of
her mother and sister; and she, their support and idol, seemed no more
now than she really was - a wayworn, solitary, and isolated straggler
for daily bread.

Were this a fiction that I am writing, it would be an easy matter to
deal out a measure of poetical justice, and to recompense poor Ellen
for all her industry, self-denial, and suffering in the arms of a
husband, who should possess as many and great virtues as herself, and
an ample fortune to boot. I wish with all my heart that it were a
fiction, and that Providence had never furnished me with such a
seeming anomaly to add to the list of my desultory chronicles. But I
am telling a true story of a life. Ellen found no mate. No mate, did I
say? Yes, one: the same grim yokefellow whose delight it is 'to gather
roses in the spring' paid ghastly court to her faded charms, and won
her - who shall say an unwilling bride? I could see his gradual but
deadly advances in my daily walks: the same indications that gave
warning of the sister's fate admonished me that she also was on her
way to the tomb, and that the place that had known her would soon know
her no more. She grew day by day more feeble; and one morning I found
her seated on the step of a door, unable to proceed. After that she
disappeared from my view; and though I never saw her again at the old
spot, I have seldom passed that spot since, though for many years
following the same route, without recognising again in my mind's eye
the graceful form and angel aspect of Ellen D - - .

'And is this the end of your mournful history?' some querulous reader
demands. Not quite. There is a soul of good in things evil. Compassion
dwells with the depths of misery; and in the valley of the shadow of
death dove-eyed Charity walks with shining wings.... It was nearly two
months after I had lost sight of poor Ellen, that during one of my
dinner-hour perambulations about town, I looked in almost accidentally
upon my old friend and chum, Jack W - - . Jack keeps a perfumer's shop
not a hundred miles from Gray's Inn, where, ensconced up to his eyes
in delicate odours, he passes his leisure hours - the hours when
commerce flags, and people have more pressing affairs to attend to
than the delectation of their nostrils - in the enthusiastic study of
art and _virtu_. His shop is hardly more crammed with bottles and
attar, soap, scents, and all the _etceteras_ of the toilet, than the
rest of his house with prints, pictures, carvings, and curiosities of
every sort. Jack and I went to school together, and sowed our slender
crop of wild oats together; and, indeed, in some sort have been
together ever since. We both have our own collections of rarities,