and glandular swellings. In this instance the
ancients were wiser that we. They knew of
the freedom from salt of iced or evaporated
sea-water. They obtained evaporation, or
distillation, by leaving fleeces to be soaked
with the evening dews which rise from the
ocean as from the earth. When wrung out,
the water was found to be free from salt,
sweet, and pleasant. But they knew its
unwholesome properties, and avoided it for
drinking, or in the preparation of their food.

Sea-water is lower in temperature than the
atmosphere at noon, equal in the morning and
evening, and higher at night; retaining the
day's heat longer than the earth does; also,
having iu itself more latent heat, it affords
a more plentiful evaporation. And, let
us remember, that it is not the salt which
preserves it alive, so to speak, as so many
have affirmed, but the abundant aeration
which is produced by its incessant movement.
Isolated from the tide, and kept like
other water, it decomposes and putrifies
even sooner than fresh water, because it contains
more organic and foreign substances.
Without its waves and tides, the ocean would
soon become one huge plain of corruption,
by the shores of which no living thing could
exist.

Storm-waters give nitric acid combined
with lime and ammonia; rain-waters do the
same in a smaller degree, the proportions being
very inconsiderable in a normal state. But
all rain-water possesses nitric acid. It was
Chatin who found that the presence of iodine
helped to the rendering of water wholesome.
He made a tour of inspection, and the following
are some of his principal results. At
Turin he found the water bad, even at the
celebrated springs of Valentine and Sainte
Barbe. They contained very little iodine, and
the analysis was otherwise unsatisfactory.
In London, he found a fair proportion of
iodine in the New River, but less in the
supplies of the other water companies. In
France the Arcueil was found charged with
lime, and four times less iodised than the
Seine; the selenitic springs of Saint Gervais
and Belleville had less again; while the
Artesian wells of Grenelle were strongly
impregnated with iodine. The Ourcq at Mareuil
approaches the Seine in its lightness, strong
iodisation, and the small quantity of organic
matter held in solution, the Seine being
extremely wholesome and rich in iodine. But
all its affluents, excepting the pure-natured
Yonne, take from it part of its riches, and
render it, at the close of its career, a very
different river to what it was at its source;
while Paris, with her sewers and hospitals,
her Morgue and her floating-baths and wash-
houses, does not help to improve it or add to
its drinkableness. Still, at Charenton even,
Monsieur Chatin says, it is almost perfect:
rich in iodine, bright, sweet, soft, and light.
We doubt if many English residents in Paris
will be found to echo the Frenchman's
enthusiastic praises of the river which is so
picturesque to look at and so horrible to
taste.

The Marne is the great enemy of the
Seine. It changes it immensely; and, after it
has poured its ill-humour into it just by
Charenton (where the Seine, pure and simple,
has such a glorious reputation), the brave
old river never recovers its tone or character.
The sewage of Paris of course destroys it
more than anything else; but this is nothing
compared to the deterioration of the Thames
by the sewage of London. Nevertheless, it is
quite enougn to render the water unwholesome
and even nauseous, unless mixed with
a little vin-ordinaire or Burgundy.

Most nations have been proud of their
great rivers. The Romans were as proud of
their Tiber as an Englishman is of his
Thames, or as Monsieur Chatin is of the
Seine above Paris; while the Martia,
conveyed to Rome full thirty miles from the
Lake Fucinus, was the old Latin's ideal of
aqueous purity and beauty. He did not stop
at rivers though. He had aqueducts which
could discharge three hundred and twenty-
six millions of gallons of water into the city.
They formed, and still do form, rivers in
the streets. These aqueducts were two
hundred and fifty-five miles in length;
immense covered ways supported on arches,
and built of solidest stone; passing through
the country like gigantic arteries opening
into that wonderful heart of the world, that
iron heart, with its measured beat and its
stony strength, by which all the other nations
pulsed and throbbed. Greece as well as
Rome made noble works for obtaining a good
water supply in her cities; so did ancient
Mexico and Peru. The Mexicans, indeed,
had a house to house service, a water-pipe to
every house, and an old water-god into the
bargain—one Tlaloc. Everywhere—in
mythology, poetry, history, and commerce,—
we find that water plays a more important
part than any other natural element; and
a nation without an idealised stream would
be a nation without a poem and without
a history. Yet, some places are very
badly off. For our sole, but excessive
instance, is the island of Gorea; which has not
a drop of fresh water in it, and which is
obliged to send to Hann, twelve miles from
the shore, on the mainland, for all it needs.
Yet the island is reported healthy, in spite of
this great want.

Thermal waters are generally pernicious.
One near Soracte killed all the early
birds, and the Geysers are not pleasant tea-
urns. The waters at Baden-Baden, Bath,
and other such places, may be very good
medicines; but water should not be physic.
Unwholesome waters may usually be made
better by boiling and filtering, then agitating
them in the air, to get as much admixture
of the atmosphere and its electricity as
possible.