Isles of Safety.
They are trying out in American cities the plan of "isles of safety," which consists of slightly elevated regions in the center of intersecting streets, protected by posts. In these spaces, about fifteen feet long and five feet wide, pedestrians may take refuge, and gather breath in the midst of their precarious transit between dashing teams and in front of wildly rushing automobiles.
We need such breathing spaces all through our over-swift and tumultuous modern life. We need little vacations scattered through our arduous days. We need little recreations to brighten our routine, little avocations to relieve our vocations, little prayers and hopes and dreams to rest us from our worries.
He is a wise man who establishes such isles in his life. They will be safety spots for him, and will preserve and prolong his life.
Chasing a Pill.
Once when Colonel Roosevelt was approached by a friend who wanted to interest him in golf the former President replied with emphasis that he did not "feel like chasing a pill over a ten-acre lot."
Golf enthusiasts would vigorously resent this characterization of their favorite sport, which certainly calls for a sureness of eye and hand and a poise of body quite equal to the demands made by the Colonel's favorite pastime, the shooting of big game. However that may be, there are many sports that are nothing more than "chasing a pill over a ten-acre lot"; that is, they are trifling in their essential nature, barren of worthy result, and entirely unworthy the attention of sensible men and women.
Playing games by proxy is that kind of sport. It is worthwhile, of course, to watch an occasional game of baseball or football; but what is the use of giving day after day and week after week simply to watch other men chase a baseball or football over the lot? Games of cards are in this same category. They do not cultivate the imagination or the skill. The intellectual gain from them is very slight, entirely too meager for the time spent in them. Moreover, they teach one to rely upon chance, which is about the worst kind of teaching for a self-respecting worker.
Dancing is certainly chasing—not a pill, but a tune, and usually a very poor tune, around a ten-acre lot. There is some skill in it, but how little may be known from an estimate of the athletic powers of the society youth engaged in it. Would many of them shine on a tennis field, or at the oars, or in a cross-country race?
Strong, thoughtful men and women will not spend their time and strength chasing pills around ten-acre lots. Even in play they insist upon something better worthwhile. "The game must be worth the candle." It must result in firmer muscles, keener eyes, stauncher nerves, more abounding spirits. And if it does this-whether it is golf or baseball or football or tennis—Colonel Roosevelt and all the rest of the truly "Progressives" will join in it.
An Edible Guide-Rope.
Walter Wellman, when preparing to journey to the North Pole by air, contrived a balloon with many interesting points.
One of these ingenious features was the guide-rope. It was a rather formidable "rope," being six inches in diameter, and 130 feet long. It was made of the very best leather, covered with steel scales to protect it as it glided over the icy ground.
The peculiar thing about this 130-foot serpent was the material with which it was stuffed. It was filled with bacon, ships' biscuit, butter, ham, dried meats, desiccated vegetables-a great variety of the very best food for use in cold climates. The leather and steel of the whole snake weighed only 260 pounds, while the food stuffing weighed 1,150 pounds. This was, of course, nothing but an auxiliary food supply, and yet it might well have "come in quite handy."
And that is the sort of contrivance I want for my life balloon! It needs ballast, of course. It needs something analogous to the guide-rope. It cannot all be machinery and gas-an upward pull and a forward push, my religion and my labor. It must also have play-play to serve as a relief from work and keep the too-eager spirit from running away with itself, too far upward and too fast ahead. O yes, I must have some play.
But the play may be stuffed with food! It may be nutritious! It need not be mere empty sport. It may feed the mind and the soul. If it does not, it is no guide-rope for a ship that is bound for the Pole!
Air-Cooled Lives.
The engine of an automobile moves so rapidly and the explosions of the gasoline are so powerful that the cylinders would become red-hot in a very few seconds, and the expensive apparatus would fuse together, if it were not cooled in some way. There are two modes of cooling: one is by the circulation of water through the radiator and through the jackets surrounding the cylinders; the other is by the circulation of cold air. Water-cooling is usually more dependable and thorough, but the water evaporates constantly, and in winter it freezes and has to be mixed with about fifty per cent of expensive alcohol.
The complicated engine of our human life also needs constant cooling. The whirl of society, the swift revolution of our tasks, the wear and tear of our daily life, make severe demands upon us. We are in danger of breaking down, of going to pieces.
Recreation is what restores us, and it is of two kinds, corresponding to the water-cooling and the air-cooling systems of automobiles. Water-cooled lives need expensive and complicated and troublesome forms of recreation. They require country clubs and automobiles and parties and extended journeys. Air-cooled lives delight in simple recreations, quiet games of chess, quiet reading, pleasant conversation, walks, little trips. The results are perhaps the same; the means are very different.
My automobile is cooled by water, but my life shall be cooled by air.
Life Radiators.
An automobile uses gasoline, air, oil and electricity. It also uses water. It is an education in mechanics fully to understand an automobile. The lighting system is as complicated as the lighting of a house; the water-circulating system is as complicated as the water system of a house; the air system is as complicated as the ventilating system of a public building.
Water is used to cool the engine. Remember that the engine compresses the gas before it is fired, and that compression produces heat. Then the gas is exploded, and that produces intense heat. If it were not artificially cooled, the cylinders would soon become very hot. In that case, while the gas would explode all the more readily, the oil would be burned up and the engine would no longer be lubricated, the casting would crack, and many parts of the engine would be mined.
In front of every car is an upright grating called a "radiator." This is full of little tubes, through which water circulates. At the top is a cup through which fresh water is poured in order to make good the loss from evaporation. The water passes from the bottom of this radiator back into the engine, and up around the cylinders. The gas explodes in the cylinders, and drives the engine and the car, heating the cylinders. The water absorbs this heat, and becomes so hot that sometimes it boils. It then rises and flows to the top of the radiator. From here it falls through the radiator tubes, cooling as it falls. When it reaches the bottom, it is ready to repeat the process.
The cooling in the radiator is greatly aided by the current of air drawn into the radiator as the car moves. Back of the radiator is a rapidly moving flywheel, which makes a current of air, even when the car is not moving. Some engines are cooled just by this air circulation, without any water. Since cool water falls and hot water rises, some engines depend upon gravity for their water circulation. Most engines, however, work a pump which draws in cool water from the radiator, forces it up to and around the cylinders, and then out again to the top of the radiator.
It is very plain that the autoist will have trouble with all this in cold weather. The water will freeze, the pump will not work, the water jackets around the cylinders will burst, the cylinder will soon become red-hot, the gas will be exploded without waiting for the spark, the car will not move, and the engine will be spoiled. The difficulty is met by the use of anti-freezing mixture—glycerin and alcohol added to the water.
Most of the operations of an automobile remind me of work, and teach me lessons regarding labor, but the radiator and its circulating system remind me of recreation. For recreation keeps work from wearing one out. Without recreation, our life engines soon become red-hot. The more energetic we are, the more we need to know how to play. Play cools the hot brain and revives the whole system. Without recreation, our life machinery soon would wear out. Recreation recreates it daily, however, and keeps it from cracking. In an automobile engine there are springs, the temper of which would soon be destroyed by heat, were it not for the important action of the cooling water.
So, also, is the temper of our nerves kept keen by recreations. The electric spark is conducted into the cylinder for the exploding of the gasoline through the spark plug of porcelain, which would be cracked by the great heat, were it not for the water circulation. So the finer influences of thought and worship cease to come into our lives, if we work all the time and do not sometimes seek a little recreation.
If you observe men, it will be very clear to you that we need life radiators. The best players always are the best workers, while those who play too little, or not at all, or who play in ineffective ways, become sodden, stupid and stagnant and their work suffers.
Just one caution: it is possible for an engine to become too cold, just as it is possible to spoil the effect of play by playing too much. Use an anti-freeze mixture, made up of fifty per cent common sense, and fifty per cent earnestness, and your life engine will work all right in winter, as well as in summer!