CAROLINE.

There is a question I am very desirous of asking you, respecting fluids, Mrs. B., which has often perplexed me. What is the reason that the great quantity of rain which falls upon the earth and sinks into it, does not, in the course of time, injure its solidity? The sun and the wind, I know, dry the surface, but they have no effect on the interior parts, where there must be a prodigious accumulation of moisture.

Mrs. B. Do you not know, that, in the course of time, all the water which sinks into the ground, rises out of it again? It is the same water which successively forms seas, rivers, springs, clouds, rain, and sometimes hail, snow and ice. If you will take the trouble of following it through these various changes, you will understand why the earth is not yet drowned, by the quantity of water which has fallen upon it, since its creation; and you will even be convinced, that it does not contain a single drop more water now, than it did at that period.

Let us consider how the clouds were originally formed. When the first rays of the sun warmed the surface of the earth, the heat, by separating the particles of water, rendered them lighter than the air. This, you know, is the case with steam or vapour. What then ensues?

Caroline. When lighter than the air, it will naturally rise; and now I recollect your telling us in a preceding lesson, that the heat of the sun transformed the particles of water into vapour; in consequence of which, it ascended into the atmosphere, where it formed clouds.

Mrs. B. We have then already followed water through two of its transformations; from water it becomes vapour, and from vapour clouds.

Emily. But since this watery vapour is lighter than the air, why does it not continue to rise; and why does it unite again, to form clouds?

Mrs. B. Because the atmosphere diminishes in density, as it is more distant from the earth. The vapour, therefore, which the sun causes to exhale, not only from seas, rivers, and lakes, but likewise from the moisture on the land, rises till it reaches a region of air of its own specific gravity; and there, you know, it will remain stationary. By the frequent accession of fresh vapour, it gradually accumulates, so as to form those large bodies of vapour, which we call clouds: and the particles, at length uniting, become too heavy for the air to support, and fall to the ground.

Caroline. They do fall to the ground, certainly, when it rains; but, according to your theory, I should have imagined, that when the clouds became too heavy, for the region of air in which they were situated, to support them, they would descend, till they reached a stratum of air of their own weight, and not fall to the earth; for as clouds are formed of vapour, they cannot be so heavy as the lowest regions of the atmosphere, otherwise the vapour would not have risen.

Mrs. B. If you examine the manner in which the clouds descend, it will obviate this objection. In falling, several of the watery particles come within the sphere of each other's attraction, and unite in the form of a drop of water. The vapour thus transformed into a shower, is heavier than any part of the atmosphere, and consequently descends to the earth.

Caroline. How wonderfully curious!

Mrs. B. It is impossible to consider any part of nature attentively, without being struck with admiration at the wisdom it displays; and I hope you will never contemplate these wonders, without feeling your heart glow with admiration and gratitude, towards their bounteous Author. Observe, that if the waters were never drawn out of the earth, all vegetation would be destroyed by the excess of moisture; if, on the other hand, the plants were not nourished and refreshed by occasional showers, the drought would be equally fatal to them. If the clouds constantly remained in a state of vapour, they might, as you remarked, descend into a heavier stratum of the atmosphere, but could never fall to the ground; or were the power of attraction more than sufficient to convert the vapour into drops, it would transform the cloud into a mass of water, which, instead of nourishing, would destroy the produce of the earth.

Water then ascends in the form of vapour, and descends in that of rain, snow, or hail, all of which ultimately become water. Some of this falls into the various bodies of water on the surface of the globe, the remainder upon the land. Of the latter, part reascends in the form of vapour, part is absorbed by the roots of vegetables, and part descends into the earth, where it forms springs.

Emily. Is there then no difference between rain water, and spring water?

Mrs. B. They are originally the same; but that portion of rain water which goes to supply springs, dissolves a number of foreign particles, which it meets with in its passage through the various soils it traverses.

Caroline. Yet spring water is more pleasant to the taste, appears more transparent, and, I should have supposed, would have been more pure than rain water.

Mrs. B. No; excepting distilled water, rain water is the most pure we can obtain; it is its purity which renders it insipid; whilst the various salts and different ingredients, dissolved in spring water, give it a species of flavour, which habit renders agreeable; these salts do not, in any degree, affect its transparency; and the filtration it undergoes, through gravel and sand, cleanses it from all foreign matter, which it has not the power of dissolving.

Emily. How is it that the rain water does not continue to descend by its gravity, instead of collecting together, and forming springs?

Mrs. B. When rain falls on the surface of the earth, it continues making its way downwards through the pores and crevices in the ground. When several drops meet in their subterraneous passage, they unite and form a little rivulet; this, in its progress, meets with other rivulets of a similar description, and they pursue their course together within the earth, till they are stopped by some substance, such as rock, or clay, which they cannot penetrate.

Caroline. But you say that there is some reason to believe that water can penetrate even the pores of gold, and it cannot meet with a substance more dense?

Mrs. B. But if water penetrate the pores of gold, it is only when under a strong compressive force, as in the Florentine experiment; now in its passage towards the centre of the earth, it is acted upon by no other power than gravity, which is not sufficient to make it force its way, even through a stratum of clay. This species of earth, though not remarkably dense, being of great tenacity, will not admit the particles of water to pass. When water encounters any substance of this nature, therefore, its progress is stopped, and it is diffused through the porous earth, and sometimes the pressure of the accumulating waters, forms a bed, or reservoir. This will be more clearly explained by fig. 9, plate 13, which represents a section, of the interior of a hill or mountain. A, is a body of water, such as I have described, which, when filled up as high as B, (by the continual accession of water it receives from the ducts or rivulets a, a, a, a,) finds a passage out of the cavity, and, impelled by gravity, it runs on, till it makes its way out of the ground at the side of the hill, and there forms a spring, C.

Caroline. Gravity impels downwards towards the centre of the earth; and the spring in this figure runs in an horizontal direction.

Mrs. B. Not entirely. There is some declivity from the reservoir, to the spot where the water issues out of the ground; and gravity, you know, will bring bodies down an inclined plane, as well as in a perpendicular direction.

Caroline. But though the spring may descend, on first issuing, it must afterwards rise to reach the surface of the earth; and that is in direct opposition to gravity.

Mrs. B. A spring can never rise above the level of the reservoir whence it issues; it must, therefore, find a passage to some part of the surface of the earth, that is lower, or nearer the centre, than the reservoir. It is true that, in this figure, the spring rises in its passage from B to C; but this, I think, with a little reflection, you will be able to account for.

Emily. Oh, yes; it is owing to the pressure of fluids upwards; and the water rises in the duct, upon the same principle as it rises in the spout of a tea-pot; that is to say, in order to preserve an equilibrium with the water in the reservoir. Now I think I understand the nature of springs: the water will flow through a duct, whether ascending or descending, provided it never rises higher than the reservoir.

Mrs. B. Water may thus be conveyed to every part of a town, and to the upper part of the houses, if it is originally brought from a height, superior to any to which it is conveyed. Have you never observed, when the pavements of the streets have been mending, the pipes which serve as ducts for the conveyance of the water through the town?

Emily. Yes, frequently; and I have remarked that when any of these pipes have been opened, the water rushes upwards from them, with great velocity; which, I suppose, proceeds from the pressure of the water in the reservoir, which forces it out.

Caroline. I recollect having once seen a very curious glass, called Tantalus's cup; it consists of a goblet, containing a small figure of a man, and whatever quantity of water you pour into the goblet, it never rises higher than the breast of the figure. Do you know how that is contrived?

Mrs. B. It is by means of a syphon, or bent tube, which is concealed in the body of the figure. This tube rises through one of the legs, as high as the breast, and there turning, descends through the other leg, and from thence through the foot of the goblet, where the water runs out. (fig. 1, plate 14.) When you pour water into the glass A, it must rise in the syphon B, in proportion as it rises in the glass; and when the glass is filled to a level with the upper part of the syphon, the water will run out through the other leg of the figure, and will continue running out, as fast as you pour it in; therefore the glass can never fill any higher.

Emily. I think the new well that has been made at our country-house, must be of that nature. We had a great scarcity of water, and my father has been at considerable expense to dig a well; after penetrating to a great depth, before water could be found, a spring was at length discovered, but the water rose only a few feet above the bottom of the well; and sometimes it is quite dry.

Mrs. B. This has, however, no analogy to Tantalus's cup; but is owing to the very elevated situation of your country-house.

Emily. I believe I guess the reason. There cannot be a reservoir of water near the summit of a hill; as in such a situation, there will not be a sufficient number of rivulets formed, to supply one; and without a reservoir, there can be no spring. In such situations, therefore, it is necessary to dig very deep, in order to meet with a spring; and when we give it vent, it can rise only as high as the reservoir from whence it flows, which will be but little, as the reservoir must be situated at some considerable depth below the summit of the hill.

Caroline. Your explanation appears very clear and satisfactory; but I can contradict it from experience. At the very top of a hill, near our country-house, there is a large pond, and, according to your theory, it would be impossible there should be springs in such a situation to supply it with water. Then you know that I have crossed the Alps, and I can assure you, that there is a fine lake on the summit of Mount Cenis, the highest mountain we passed over.

Mrs. B. Were there a lake on the summit of Mount Blanc, which is the highest of the Alps, it would indeed be wonderful. But that on Mount Cenis, is not at all contradictory to our theory of springs; for this mountain is surrounded by others, much more elevated, and the springs which feed the lake must descend from reservoirs of water, formed in those mountains. This must also be the case with the pond on the top of the hill; there is doubtless some more considerable hill in the neighbourhood, which supplies it with water.

Emily. I comprehend perfectly, why the water in our well never rises high: but I do not understand why it should occasionally be dry.

Mrs. B. Because the reservoir from which it flows, being in an elevated situation, is but scantily supplied with water; after a long drought, therefore, it may be drained, and the spring dry, till the reservoir be replenished by fresh rains. It is not uncommon to see springs flow with great violence in wet seasons, which at other times, are perfectly dry.

Caroline. But there is a spring in our grounds, which more frequently flows in dry, than in wet weather; how is that to be accounted for?

Mrs. B. The spring, probably, comes from a reservoir at a great distance, and situated very deep in the ground: it is, therefore, some length of time before the rain reaches the reservoir; and another considerable portion must elapse, whilst the water is making its way, from the reservoir, to the surface of the earth; so that the dry weather may probably have succeeded the rains, before the spring begins to flow; and the reservoir may be exhausted, by the time the wet weather sets in again.

Caroline. I doubt not but this is the case, as the spring is in a very low situation, therefore, the reservoir may be at a great distance from it.

Mrs. B. Springs which do not constantly flow, are called intermitting, and are occasioned by the reservoir being imperfectly supplied. Independently of the situation, this is always the case, when the duct, or ducts, which convey the water into the reservoir, are smaller than those which carry it off.

Caroline. If it runs out, faster than it runs in, it will of course sometimes be empty. Do not rivers also, derive their source from springs?

Mrs. B. Yes, they generally take their source in mountainous countries, where springs are most abundant.

Caroline. I understood you that springs were more rare, in elevated situations.

Mrs. B. You do not consider that mountainous countries, abound equally with high, and low situations. Reservoirs of water, which are formed in the bosoms of mountains, generally find a vent, either on their declivity, or in the valley beneath; while subterraneous reservoirs, formed in a plain, can seldom find a passage to the surface of the earth, but remain concealed, unless discovered by digging a well. When a spring once issues at the surface of the earth, it continues its course externally, seeking always a lower ground, for it can no longer rise.

Emily. Then what is the consequence, if the spring, or, as I should now rather call it, the rivulet, runs into a situation, which is surrounded by higher ground?

Mrs. B. Its course is stopped; the water accumulates, and it forms a pool, pond, or lake, according to the dimensions of the body of water. The lake of Geneva, in all probability, owes its origin to the Rhone, which passes through it: if, when the river first entered the valley, which now forms the bed of the Lake, it found itself surrounded by higher grounds, its waters would there accumulate, till they rose to a level with that part of the valley, where the Rhone now continues its course beyond the Lake, and from whence it flows through valleys, occasionally forming other small lakes, till it reaches the sea.

Emily. And are not fountains, of the nature of springs?

Mrs. B. Exactly. A fountain is conducted perpendicularly upwards, by the spout or adjutage A, through which it flows; and it will rise nearly as high as the reservoir B, from whence it proceeds. (Plate 14. fig. 2.)

Caroline. Why not quite as high?

Mrs. B. Because it meets with resistance from the air, in its ascent; and its motion is impeded by friction against the spout, where it rushes out.

Emily. But if the tube through which the water rises be smooth, can there be any friction? especially with a fluid, whose particles yield to the slightest impression.

Mrs. B. Friction, (as we observed in a former lesson,) may be diminished by polishing, but can never be entirely destroyed; and though fluids, are less susceptible of friction, than solid bodies, they are still affected by it. Another reason why a fountain will not rise so high as its reservoir, is, that as all the water which spouts up, has to descend again, it in doing so, presses, or strikes against the under parts, and forces them sideways, spreading the column into a head, and rendering it both wider, and shorter, than it otherwise would be.

At our next meeting, we shall examine the mechanical properties of the air, which being an elastic fluid, differs in many respects, from liquids.

CONVERSATION XII.
ON THE MECHANICAL PROPERTIES OF AIR.

Emily. I think I understand the elasticity of the air very well from what you formerly said of it; but what perplexes me is, its having gravity; if it is heavy, and we are surrounded by it, why do we not feel its weight?

Caroline. It must be impossible to be sensible of the weight of such infinitely small particles, as those of which the air is composed: particles which are too small to be seen, must be too light to be felt.

Mrs. B. You are mistaken, my dear; the air is much heavier than you imagine; it is true, that the particles which compose it, are small; but then, reflect on their quantity: the atmosphere extends in height, a great number of miles from the earth, and its gravity is such, that a man of middling stature, is computed (when the air is heaviest) to sustain the weight of about 14 tons.

Caroline. Is it possible! I should have thought such a weight would have crushed any one to atoms.

Mrs. B. That would, indeed, be the case, if it were not for the equality of the pressure, on every part of the body; but when thus diffused, we can bear even a much greater weight, without any considerable inconvenience. In bathing we support the weight and pressure of the water, in addition to that of the atmosphere; but because this pressure is equally distributed over the body, we are scarcely sensible of it; whilst if your shoulders, your head, or any particular part of your frame, were loaded with the additional weight of a hundred pounds, you would soon sink under the fatigue. Besides this, our bodies contain air, the spring of which, counterbalances the weight of the external air, and renders us insensible of its pressure.

Caroline. But if it were possible to relieve me from the weight of the atmosphere, should I not feel more light and agile?

Mrs. B. On the contrary, the air within you, meeting with no external pressure to restrain its elasticity, would distend your body, and at length bursting some of the parts which confined it, put a period to your existence.

Caroline. This weight of the atmosphere, then, which I was so apprehensive would crush me, is, in reality, essential to my preservation.

Emily. I once saw a person cupped, and was told that the swelling of the part under the cup, was produced by taking away from that part, the pressure of the atmosphere; but I could not understand how this pressure produced such an effect.

Mrs. B. The air pump affords us the means of making a great variety of interesting experiments, on the weight, and pressure of the air: some of them you have already seen. Do you not recollect, that in a vacuum produced within the air pump, substances of various weights, fell to the bottom in the same time; why does not this happen in the atmosphere?

Caroline. I remember you told us it was owing to the resistance which light bodies meet with, from the air, during their fall.

Mrs. B. Or, in other words, to the support which they received from the air, and which prolonged the time of their fall. Now, if the air were destitute of weight, how could it support other bodies, or retard their fall?

I shall now show you some other experiments, which illustrate, in a striking manner, both the weight, and elasticity of air. I shall tie a piece of bladder over this glass receiver, which, you will observe, is open at the top as well as below.

Caroline. Why do you wet the bladder first?

Mrs. B. It expands by wetting, and contracts in drying; it is also more soft and pliable when wet, so that I can make it fit better, and when dry, it will be tighter. We must hold it to the fire in order to dry it; but not too near, lest it should burst by sudden contraction. Let us now fix it on the air pump, and exhaust the air from underneath it—you will not be alarmed if you hear a noise?

Emily. It was as loud as the report of a gun, and the bladder is burst! Pray explain how the air is concerned in this experiment.

Mrs. B. It is the effect of the weight of the atmosphere, on the upper surface of the bladder, when I had taken away the air from the under surface, so that there was no longer any reaction to counterbalance the pressure of the atmosphere, on the receiver. You observed how the bladder was pressed inwards, by the weight of the external air, in proportion as I exhausted the receiver: and before a complete vacuum was formed, the bladder, unable to sustain the violence of the pressure, burst with the explosion you have just heard.

I shall now show you an experiment, which proves the expansion of the air, contained within a body, when it is relieved from the pressure of the external air. You would not imagine that there was any air contained within this shrivelled apple, by its appearance; but take notice of it when placed within a receiver, from which I shall exhaust the air.

Caroline. How strange! it grows quite plump, and looks like a fresh-gathered apple.

Mrs. B. But as soon as I let the air again into the receiver, the apple, you see, returns to its shrivelled state. When I took away the pressure of the atmosphere, the air within the apple, expanded, and swelled it out; but the instant the atmospheric air was restored, the expansion of the internal air, was checked and repressed, and the apple shrunk to its former dimensions.

You may make a similar experiment with this little bladder, which you see is perfectly flaccid, and appears to contain no air: in this state I shall tie up the neck of the bladder, so that whatever air remains within it, may not escape, and then place it under the receiver. Now observe, as I exhaust the receiver, how the bladder distends; this proceeds from the great dilatation of the small quantity of air, which was enclosed within the bladder, when I tied it up; but as soon as I let the air into the receiver, that which the bladder contains, condenses and shrinks into its small compass, within the folds of the bladder.

Emily. These experiments are extremely amusing, and they afford clear proofs, both of the weight, and elasticity of the air; but I should like to know, exactly, how much the air weighs.

Mrs. B. A column of air reaching to the top of the atmosphere, and whose base is a square inch, weighs about 15 lbs. therefore, every square inch of our bodies, sustains a weight of 15 lbs.: and if you wish to know the weight of the whole of the atmosphere, you must reckon how many square inches there are on the surface of the globe, and multiply them by 15.

Emily. But can we not ascertain the weight of a small quantity of air?

Mrs. B. With perfect ease. I shall exhaust the air from this little bottle, by means of the air pump: and having emptied the bottle of air, or, in other words, produced a vacuum within it, I secure it by turning this screw adapted to its neck: we may now find the exact weight of this bottle, by putting it into one of the scales of a balance. It weighs, you see, just two ounces; but when I turn the screw, so as to admit the air into the bottle, the scale which contains it, preponderates.

Caroline. No doubt the bottle filled with air, is heavier than the bottle void of air; and the additional weight required to bring the scales again to a balance, must be exactly that of the air which the bottle now contains.

Mrs. B. That weight, you see, is almost two grains. The dimensions of this bottle, are six cubic inches. Six cubic inches of air, therefore, at the temperature of this room, weighs nearly 2 grains.

Caroline. Why do you observe the temperature of the room, in estimating the weight of the air?

Mrs. B. Because heat rarefies air, and renders it lighter; therefore the warmer the air is, which you weigh, the lighter it will be.

If you should now be desirous of knowing the specific gravity of this air, we need only fill the same bottle, with water, and thus obtain the weight of an equal quantity of water—which you see is 1515 grs.; now by comparing the weight of water, to that of air, we find it to be in the proportion of about 800 to 1.

As you are acquainted with decimal arithmetic, you will understand what I mean, when I tell you, that water being called 1000, the specific gravity of air, will be 1.2.

I will show you another instance, of the weight of the atmosphere, which I think will please you: you know what a barometer is?

Caroline. It is an instrument which indicates the state of the weather, by means of a tube of quicksilver; but how, I cannot exactly say.

Mrs. B. It is by showing the weight of the atmosphere, which has great influence on the weather. The barometer, is an instrument extremely simple in its construction. In order that you may understand it, I will show you how it is made. I first fill with mercury, a glass tube A B, (fig. 3, plate 14.) about three feet in length, and open only at one end; then stopping the open end, with my finger, I immerse it in a cup C, containing a little mercury.

Emily. Part of the mercury which was in the tube, I observe, runs down into the cup; but why does not the whole of it subside, for it is contrary to the law of the equilibrium of fluids, that the mercury in the tube, should not descend to a level with that in the cup?

Mrs. B. The mercury that has fallen from the tube, into the cup, has left a vacant space in the upper part of the tube, to which the air cannot gain access; this space is therefore a perfect vacuum; the mercury in the tube, is relieved from the pressure of the atmosphere, whilst that in the cup, remains exposed to it.

Caroline. Oh, now I understand it; the pressure of the air on the mercury in the cup, forces it to rise in the tube, where there is not any air to counteract the external pressure.

Emily. Or rather supports the mercury in the tube, and prevents it from falling.

Mrs. B. That comes to the same thing; for the power that can support mercury in a vacuum, would also make it ascend, when it met with a vacuum.

Thus you see, that the equilibrium of the mercury is destroyed, only to preserve the general equilibrium of fluids.

Caroline. But this simple apparatus is, in appearance, very unlike a barometer.

Mrs. B. It is all that is essential to a barometer. The tube and the cup, or a cistern of mercury, are fixed on a board, for the convenience of suspending it; the brass plate on the upper part of the board, is graduated into inches, and tenths of inches, for the purpose of ascertaining the height at which the mercury stands in the tube; and the small moveable metal plate, serves to show that height, with greater accuracy.

Emily. And at what height, will the weight of the atmosphere sustain the mercury?

Mrs. B. About 28 or 29 inches, as you will see by this barometer; but it depends upon the weight of the atmosphere, which varies much, in different states of the weather. The greater the pressure of the air on the mercury in the cup, the higher it will ascend in the tube. Now can you tell me whether the air is heavier, in wet, or in dry weather?

Caroline. Without a moment's reflection, the air must be heaviest in wet weather. It is so depressing, and makes one feel so heavy, while in fine weather, I feel as light as a feather, and as brisk as a bee.

Mrs. B. Would it not have been better to have answered with a moment's reflection, Caroline? It would have convinced you, that the air must be heaviest in dry weather; for it is then, that the mercury is found to rise in the tube, and consequently, the mercury in the cup, must be most pressed by the air.

Caroline. Why then does the air feel so heavy, in bad weather?

Mrs. B. Because it is less salubrious, when impregnated with damp. The lungs, under these circumstances, do not play so freely, nor does the blood circulate so well; thus obstructions are frequently occasioned in the smaller vessels, from which arise colds, asthmas, agues, fevers, &c.

Emily. Since the atmosphere diminishes in density, in the upper regions, is not the air more rare, upon a hill, than in a plain; and does the barometer indicate this difference?

Mrs. B. Certainly. This instrument, is so exact in its indications, that it is used for the purpose of measuring the height of mountains, and of estimating the elevation of balloons; the mercury descending in the tube, as you ascend to a greater height.

Emily. And is no inconvenience experienced, from the thinness of the air, in such elevated situations?

Mrs. B. Oh, yes; frequently. It is sometimes oppressive, from being insufficient for respiration; and the expansion which takes place, in the more dense air contained within the body, is often painful: it occasions distention, and sometimes causes the bursting of the smaller blood-vessels, in the nose, and ears. Besides in such situations, you are more exposed, both to heat, and cold; for though the atmosphere is itself transparent, its lower regions, abound with vapours, and exhalations, from the earth, which float in it, and act in some degree as a covering, which preserves us equally from the intensity of the sun's rays, and from the severity of the cold.

Caroline. Pray, Mrs. B., is not the thermometer constructed on the same principles as the barometer?

Mrs. B. Not at all. The rise and fall of the fluid in the thermometer, is occasioned by the expansive power of heat, and the condensation produced by cold: the air has no access to it. An explanation of it would, therefore, be irrelevant to our present subject.

Emily. I have been reflecting, that since it is the weight of the atmosphere, which supports the mercury, in the tube of a barometer, it would support a column of any other fluid, in the same manner.

Mrs. B. Certainly; but as mercury, is heavier than all other fluids, it will support a higher column, of any other fluid; for two fluids are in equilibrium, when their height varies, inversely as their densities. We find the weight of the atmosphere, is equal to sustaining a column of water, for instance, of no less than 32 feet above its level.

Caroline. The weight of the atmosphere, is then, as great as that of a body of water of 32 feet in height.

Mrs. B. Precisely; for a column of air, of the height of the atmosphere, is equal to a column of water of about 32 feet, or one of mercury, of from 28 to 29 inches.

The common pump, is dependent on this principle. By the act of pumping, the pressure of the atmosphere is taken off the water, which, in consequence, rises.

The body of a pump, consists of a large tube or pipe, whose lower end is immersed in the water which it is designed to raise. A kind of stopper, called a piston, is fitted to this tube, and is made to slide up and down it, by means of a metallic rod, fastened to the centre of the piston.

Emily. Is it not similar to the syringe, or squirt, with which you first draw in, and then force out water?

Mrs. B. It is; but you know that we do not wish to force the water out of the pump, at the same end of the pipe, at which we draw it in. The intention of a pump, is to raise water from a spring, or well; the pipe is, therefore, placed perpendicularly over the water, which enters it at the lower extremity, and it issues at a horizontal spout, towards the upper part of the pump; to effect this, there are, besides the piston, two contrivances called valves. The pump, therefore, is rather a more complicated piece of machinery, than the syringe.

Caroline. Pray, Mrs. B., is not the leather, which covers the opening, in the lower board of a pair of bellows, a kind of valve?

Mrs. B. It is, valves are made in various forms; any contrivance, which allows a fluid to pass in one direction, and prevents its return, is called a valve; that of the bellows, and of the common pump, resemble each other, exactly. You can now, I think, understand the structure of the pump.

Its various parts, are delineated in this figure: (fig. 4. plate 14.) A B is the pipe, or body of the pump, P the piston, V a valve, or little door in the piston, which, opening upwards, admits the water to rise through it, but prevents its returning, and Y, is a similar valve, placed lower down in the body of the pump; H is the handle, which in this model, serves to work the piston.

When the pump is in a state of inaction, the two valves are closed by their own weight; but when, by working the handle of the pump, the piston ascends; it raises a column of air which rested upon it, and produces a vacuum, between the piston, and the lower valve Y; the air beneath this valve, which is immediately over the surface of the water, consequently expands, and forces its way through it; the water, then, relieved from the pressure of the air, ascends into the pump. A few strokes of the handle, totally excludes the air from the body of the pump, and fills it with water, which, having passed through both the valves, runs out at the spout.

Caroline. I understand this perfectly. When the piston is elevated, the air, and the water, successively rise in the pump, for the same reason as the mercury, rises in the barometer.

Emily. I thought that water was drawn up into a pump, by suction, in the same manner as water may be sucked through a straw.

Mrs. B. It is so, into the body of the pump; for the power of suction, is no other than that of producing a vacuum over one part of the liquid, into which vacuum the liquid is forced, by the pressure of the atmosphere, on another part. The action of sucking through a straw, consists in drawing in, and confining the breath, so as to produce a vacuum in the mouth; in consequence of which, the air within the straw, rushes into the mouth, and is followed by the liquid, into which, the lower end of the straw, is immersed. The principle, you see, is the same, and the only difference consists in the mode of producing a vacuum. In suction, the muscular powers answer the purpose of the piston and valve.

Emily. Water cannot, then, be raised by a pump, above 32 feet; for the pressure of the atmosphere will not sustain a column of water, above that height.

Mrs. B. I beg your pardon. It is true that there must never be so great a distance as 32 feet, from the level of the water in the well, to the valve in the piston, otherwise the water would not rise through that valve; but when once the water has passed that opening, it is no longer the pressure of air on the reservoir, which makes it ascend; it is raised by lifting it up, as you would raise it in a bucket, of which the piston formed the bottom. This common pump is, therefore, called the sucking, or lifting pump, as it is constructed on both these principles. The rod to which the piston is attached, must be made sufficiently long, to allow the piston to be within 32 feet of the surface of the water in the well, however deep it may be. There is another sort of pump, called the forcing pump: it consists of a forcing power, added to the sucking part of the pump. This additional power, is exactly on the principle of the syringe: by raising the piston, you draw the water into the pump, and by causing it to descend, you force the water out.

Caroline. But the water must be forced out at the upper part of the pump; and I cannot conceive how that can be done by the descent of the piston.

Mrs. B. Figure 5, plate 14, will explain the difficulty. The large pipe, A B, represents the sucking part of the pump, which differs from the lifting pump, only in its piston P, being unfurnished with a valve, in consequence of which the water cannot rise above it. When, therefore, the piston descends, it shuts the valve Y, and forces the water (which has no other vent) into the pipe D: this is likewise furnished with a valve V, which, opening upwards, admits the water to pass, but prevents its return.

The water, is thus first raised in the pump, and then forced into the pipe, by the alternate ascending, and descending motion of the piston, after a few strokes of the handle to fill the pipe, from whence the water issues at the spout.

Emily. Does not the air pump, which you used in the experiments, on pneumatics, operate upon the same principles as the sucking pump?

Mrs. B. Exactly. The air pump which I used (plate 1, fig. 2,) has two hollow, brass cylinders, called barrels, which are made perfectly true. In each of those barrels, there is a piston; these are worked up, and down, by the same handle; the pistons, are furnished with valves, opening upwards, like those of the common pump: there are valves also, placed at the lower part of each barrel, which open upwards; there are therefore two pumps, united to produce the same effect: two tubes, connect these barrels with the plate, upon which I placed the receivers, which were to be exhausted.

Emily. I now understand how the air pump acts; the receiver contains air, which is exhausted, just as it is by the common pump, before the water begins to rise.

Mrs. B. Having explained the mechanical properties of air, I think it is now time to conclude our lesson. When next we meet, I shall give you some account of wind, and of sound, which will terminate our observations on elastic fluids.

Caroline. And I shall run into the garden, to have the pleasure of pumping, now that I understand the construction of a pump.

Mrs. B. And, to-morrow, I hope you will be able to tell me, whether it is a forcing, or a common lifting pump.