Television has been operated across the Atlantic, to the United States, and the demonstration was very successful. The essential parts of a television apparatus are (1) the light cell, (2) the disc, and (3) the motor to rotate the disc. The cell is placed in a position to pick up the light, reflected from the object to be televised; behind the disc is a powerful arc lamp, which shines through holes made in the disc ; each hole is made slightly to the side of the preceding one, and they are bored all round the disc. The motor rotates the disc at a given speed, and the object is scanned by a beam of light. The principal thing is synchronism; that is, for the transmitting and receiving motors to be exactly in step. The receiver has a disc similar to the one above, and behind it is placed a neon tube, which is connected to the output terminals of the receiver (the neon tube acts in the same way as a loud speaker, but instead of producing sound waves, it produces light waves), and an image is built up of strips of light on the screen.
F. WALKLING
OVER 6,000 DAILY PINTS OF MILK.
What a tremendous amount of milk this is! One can hardly realize that this amount of milk is sold by one dairyman, whose business in London I had the pleasure of visiting. This dairy has a very elaborate machine that washes the bottles; it is driven by steam, which forces boiling water into the bottles at an extraordinary pressure.
The bottles are put into a tray and are taken through a machine, which only needs one man to work it, thus saving both labour and time. Then they are taken into the filling room, where they are put on to a revolving platform and are so conveyed to the machine which fills them. This is done by the bottles going round on a small platform, which in turn rises, and in so doing the milk is allowed to pour into the bottles; when filled, they are automatically lowered and go on to another platform, where the cardboard disc is pressed on. Next they roll down a platform out into the yard, where the milkmen are waiting to put them in their carts. Consequently, neither the bottles nor the contents arc handled by human hands until they reach the carts.
It is surprising how one man can make headway as the owner of this dairy did. He started by selling two pints the first day (190C), and now his daily average is 6,070 pints.
F. VIDLER
THE GREAT QUESTION.
The village of Brickhurst had already become a suburb of the busy manufacturing town of Radlington, on the West entral Railway, noted for its cakes, its boots and its straw hats. Great things were expected of its incorporation in the extended borough. Gas they already had, but there was to be electricity, a better water supply, and drainage for the first time. Of course, there were some who looked askance at these things, and predicted higher rates : but still---
It was the evening of Friday, 29th October. It had been a stormy and rainy day, and though the heavily-laden sky had cleared a bit, it was still chequered by clouds, driven before a brisk breeze which came hurrying in from the Bristol Channel, and a half-moon, low down over the southwest, chased in and out among the scurrying clouds.
It was ten minutes to 8 when a group of some half-dozen men, mostly brick-makers, having passed through the iron gate of the Rectory garden, walked slowly up the broad pathway to the semi-circular stone steps of the front door. The leader of the group was a short, thick-set man with red hair and a freckled face. He was well known in the village as the Radical of the brickyard. His voice was heard on every conceivable question that could be called politics (incorporation included). If anybody in Brickhurst suffered the misfortune of failing to be informed of that politician's views on the government of India, or as to the position in which the Brickhurst parish pump ought to be, it would not be the fault of Mr. Tom Jenkins. He was always putting up for the Parish and District Councils, but instead of being voted on to the local Councils, he was generally voted a cantankerous fellow.
Meanwhile, Canon Smythe-Cowper, his wife, and daughter (aged 19), were sipping their post-prandial coffee, when a very neat maid, all black and white, knocked at the room door. "Some men from the brickyard would like to see you, sir." "Tom Jenkins?" queried the Rector. " I think so, sir," answered the discreet maid, and promptly disappeared. "Wants my vote, does he?" murmured the Rector, as he hurried from the room; "not if he comes to church twice next Sunday.''
"What a nasty day. Cleared up a bit, eh?" said the Rector. "Anything I can" But here the leader of the group cut him short with—
" Look here, Mister, we want to know what happens when the breath of man goes forth."
For the moment Rector and parishioners stood facing