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Page 36
The great invention of Mr. Morse is his register and alphabet. He
himself eagerly disclaims any pretension to the original conception of
the use of electricity as an errand-boy. Hundreds of people had thought
of that and suggested it: but Morse was the first to give the errand-boy
such a written message, that he could not lose it on the way, nor
mistake it when he arrived. The public, eager to thank Morse, as he
deserves, thanks him for something he did not invent. For this he
probably cares very little; nor do I care more. But the public does not
thank him for what he did originate,--this invaluable and simple
alphabet. Now, as I use it myself in every detail of life, and see every
hour how the public might use it, if it chose, I am really sorry for
this negligence,--both on the score of his fame, and of general
convenience.
Please to understand, then, ignorant Reader, that this curious alphabet
reduces all the complex machinery of Cadmus and the rest of the
writing-masters to characters as simple as can be made by a dot, a
space, and a line, variously combined. Thus, the marks .-- designate the
letter A. The marks --... designate the letter B. All the other letters
are designated in as simple a manner.
Now I am stripping myself of one of the private comforts of my life,
(but what will one not do for mankind?) when I explain that this simple
alphabet need not be confined to electrical signals. _Long_ and _short_
make it all,--and wherever long and short can be combined, be it in
marks, sounds, sneezes, fainting-fits, canes, or children, ideas can be
conveyed by this arrangement of the long and short together. Only last
night I was talking scandal with Mrs. Wilberforce at a summer party at
the Hammersmiths. To my amazement, my wife, who scarcely can play "The
Fisher's Hornpipe," interrupted us by asking Mrs. Wilberforce if she
could give her the idea of an air in "The Butcher of Turin." Mrs.
Wilberforce had never heard that opera,--indeed, had never heard of it.
My angel-wife was surprised,--stood thrumming at the piano,--wondered
she could not catch this very odd bit of discordant accord at all,--but
checked herself in her effort, as soon as I observed that her long notes
and short notes, in their tum-tee, tee,--tee-tee, tee-tum tum, meant,
"He's her brother." The conversation on her side turned from "The
Butcher of Turin," and I had just time on the hint thus given me by Mrs.
I. to pass a grateful eulogium on the distinguished statesman whom Mrs.
Wilberforce, with all a sister's care, had rocked in his
baby-cradle,--whom, but for my wife's long and short notes, I should
have clumsily abused among the other statesmen of the day.
You will see, in an instant, awakening Reader, that it is not the
business simply of "operators" in telegraphic dens to know this Morse
alphabet, but your business, and that of every man and woman. If our
school committees understood the times, it would be taught, even before
phonography or physiology, at school. I believe both these sciences now
precede the old English alphabet.
As I write these words, the bell of the South Congregational strikes
dong, dong, dong,--dong, dong, dong, dong,--dong,--dong. Nobody has
unlocked the church-door. I know that, for I am locked up in the vestry.
The old tin sign, "In case of fire, the key will be found at the
opposite house," has long since been taken down, and made into the nose
of a water-pot. Yet there is no Goody Two-Shoes locked in. No one except
me, and certainly I am not ringing the bell. No! But, thanks to Dr.
Channing's Fire Alarm,[M] the bell is informing the South End that
there is a fire in District Dong-dong-dong,--that is to say, District
No. 3. Before I have explained to you so far, the "Eagle" engine, with a
good deal of noise, has passed the house on its way to that fated
district. An immense improvement this on the old system, when the
engines radiated from their houses in every possible direction, and the
fire was extinguished by the few machines whose lines of quest happened
to cross each other at the particular place where the child had been
building cob-houses out of lucifer-matches in a paper warehouse. Yes, it
is a very great improvement. All those persons, like you and me, who
have no property in District Dong-dong-dong, can now sit at home at
ease;--and little need we think upon the mud above the knees of those
who have property in that district and are running to look after it. But
for them the improvement only brings misery. You arrive wet, hot/or
cold, or both, at the large District No. 3, to find that the
lucifer-matches were half a mile away from your store,--and that your
own private watchman, even, had not been waked by the working of the
distant engines. Wet property holder, as you walk home, consider this.
When you are next in the Common Council, vote an appropriation for
applying Morse's alphabet of long and short to the bells. Then they can
be made to sound intelligibly. Daung ding ding,--ding,--ding
daung,--daung daung daung, and so on, will tell you as you wake in the
night that it is Mr. B.'s store which is on fire, and not yours, or that
it is yours and not his. This is not only a convenience to you and a
relief to your wife and family, who will thus be spared your excursions
to unavailable and unsatisfactory fires, and your somewhat irritated
return,--it will be a great relief to the Fire Department. How placid
the operations of a fire where none attend except on business! The
various engines arrive, but no throng of distant citizens, men and boys,
fearful of the destruction of their all. They have all roused on their
pillows to learn that it is No. 530 Pearl Street which is in flames. All
but the owner of No. 530 Pearl Street have dropped back to sleep. He
alone has rapidly repaired to the scene. That is he, who stands in the
uncrowded street with the Chief Engineer, on the deck of No. 18, as she
plays away. His property destroyed, the engines retire,--he mentions the
amount of his insurance to those persons who represent the daily press,
they all retire to their homes,--and the whole is finished as simply,
almost, as was his private entry in his day-book the afternoon
before.[N]
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