Scientific American Supplement, No. 1157, March 5, 1898
Author: Various
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NEW YORK, March 5, 1898.

Scientific American Supplement. Vol. XLV., No. 1157.

Scientific American established 1845

Scientific American Supplement, $5 a year.

Scientific American and Supplement, $7 a year.

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PAGE I. ARCHAEOLOGY.—Requirements of Palestine Explorer 18489

II. BIOGRAPHY.—Emperor William II. of Germany.—An interesting biographical account of the German Emperor, with his latest portrait.—1 illustration 18486

III. CIVIL ENGINEERING.—Heat in Great Tunnels 18492

IV. ECONOMICS.—Causes of Poverty 18490

V. ELECTRICITY.—Liquid Rheostats.—By H. S. WEBB 18498

The Neutral Use of Cables 18489

VI. ETHNOLOGY.—The Influence of Scenery upon the Character of Man 18488

VII. FORESTRY.—Apparatus for Obtaining the Cubature of Trees.—3 illustrations 18493

VIII. GYMNASTICS.—A Novel Way of Riding a Bicycle. —1 illustration 18489

IX. HYDROGRAPHY.—Influence of Ocean Currents on Climate 18490


XI. MARINE ENGINEERING.—The Newfoundland and Nova Scotia Passenger Steamer "Bruce."—1 illustration 18492

XII. MECHANICAL ENGINEERING.—Machine Moulding without Stripping Plates.—By E. H. MUMFORD.—A full description of an ingenious moulding machine.—7 illustrations 18494

XIII. MEDICINE.—The Progress of Medical Education in the United States 18499

Deaths under Anaesthetics 18499


Engineering Notes 18491

Miscellaneous Notes 18491

Selected Formulae 18491

XV. NATURAL HISTORY.—Tapirs in the Zoological Garden at Breslau.—1 illustration 18488

XVI. STEAM ENGINEERING.—An English Steam Fire Engine. —1 illustration 18493

XVII. TRAVEL AND EXPLORATION.—My Recent Journey from the Nile to Suakim.—By FREDERIC VILLIERS.—The advance to Khartoum.—An important account of the recent travels of the celebrated war correspondent. 18486

XVIII. TECHNOLOGY.—Artificial India Rubber.—This article describes some important experiments which have been made in which India rubber substitutes have been produced from oil of turpentine 18495

Deep and Frosted Etching on Glass 18496

The Koppel Electric Locomotives.—This article describes a system of electric trolley traction for narrow gage railroads.—7 illustrations 18497

Slate and its Applications.—This article details some of the various uses to which slate is put in the arts, with a view of slate store vats for breweries. 18496

Birthplace of the Oilcloth Industry. 18496

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Since William II. of Germany ascended the throne as German Emperor and King of Prussia, on June 15, 1888, the eyes of Europe have been fixed on him. He has always been rather an unknown quantity, and he is regarded by the powers as an enfant terrible. The press of the world delights in showing up his weak points, and the "war lord" undoubtedly has them, but, at the same time, he has qualities which are to be admired and which make him conspicuous among the rulers of Europe.

He is popular in Germany, and it is not surprising, for, in spite of being autocratic to the last degree, he is honest, courageous, ambitious, hard working, and, withal, a thorough German, being intensely patriotic. Indeed, if the people of the Fatherland had the right to vote for a sovereign, they would undoubtedly choose the present constitutional ruler, for, while the virtues we have named may seem commonplace, they are not so when embodied in an emperor. One thing which places William at a disadvantage is his excessive frankness, which is, in him, almost a fault, for if he couched his utterances in courtly or diplomatic phrases, they would pass unchallenged, instead of being cited to ridicule him. His mistakes have largely resulted from his impulsive nature coupled with chauvinism, which is, perhaps, justifiable, or, at least, excusable, in a ruler.

Since the time when William was a child he evidenced a strong desire to become acquainted with the details of the office to which his lofty birth entitled him. It is doubtful if any king since the time of Frederick the Great has studied the routine of the public offices and has made such practical inspections of industries of all kinds; indeed, there is hardly a man in Germany who has more general knowledge of the material development of the country.

In the army he has worked his way up like any other officer and has a firm grasp on all the multifarious details of the military establishment of the great country. He believes in militarism, or in force to use a more common expression, but in this he is right, for it has taken two hundred and fifty years to bring Prussia to the position she now holds, and what she has gained at the point of the sword must be retained in the same way. The immense sacrifices which the people make to support the army and navy are deemed necessary for self-preservation, and with France on one side and Russia on the other, there really seems to be ample excuse for it. To-day the German army is as ready as in 1870, when Von Moltke walked down the Unter den Linden, the day after hostilities were declared, looking in the shop windows.

No ruler, except possibly Peter the Great, ever gave so many ex cathedra opinions on so many different subjects in the same length of time, and of course it cannot be supposed that he has not made mistakes, but it shows that it is only by prodigious industry that he has been able to gather the materials on which these utterances are based. He is indeed the "first servant of the state," and long before his court or indeed many of the housemaids of Berlin are awake, he is up and attending to affairs of all kinds.

He is a great traveler, and knows Europe from the North Cape to the Golden Horn; and while flying across country in his comfortable vestibuled train, he dispatches business and acquires an excellent idea of the country, and no traveler can speak more intelligently of the countries through which he has traveled, and this information is brought out with good effect in his excellent after-dinner speeches.

In speaking of the versatility of the Emperor, something should be said of him as a sportsman. He has given a splendid example to the Germans. He has tried to introduce baseball, football and polo, three American games. This may be traced to the time when Poultney Bigelow and J. A. Berrian were the Emperor's playmates. Fenimore Cooper was one of the favorite authors with the young scion of royalty. The Emperor is fond of hunting, yachting, tennis and other sports and is never so happy as when he stands on the bridge of the royal yacht Hohenzollern. He is a well known figure at Cowes and won the Queen's Cup in 1891.

William II. was born January 27, 1859, in Berlin, and until he was fourteen years old his education was intrusted to Dr. Hintzpeter, assisted by Major Von Gottberg, who was military instructor. At this time his corps of teachers was increased by the addition of Prediger Persius, who prepared him for his confirmation, which took place September 1, 1874, at Potsdam. As William was to lead an active life, it was thought best to send him to the gymnasium at Cassel.

Orders were given that he and his younger brother Henry, who accompanied him, should receive the same treatment as the other pupils, and this order was strictly obeyed. He graduated from this school January 24, 1877, just before his eighteenth birthday. After this his military career began with his entrance as an officer into the first Garde-regiment at Potsdam, that he might become thoroughly acquainted with practical service. The young prince was assigned to the company which his father had once commanded. After serving here for a short time he went to the university at Bonn, and from there he went back to the army again. Emperor William ascended the throne in June, 1888, upon the death of his father Frederick III.

In 1880 he was betrothed to Augusta Victoria, Princess of Schleswig-Holstein, and on February 9, 1881, they were married. The Empress is about a year younger than the Emperor, and makes an excellent mother to her four little sons, to whom she is devoted. Their oldest child, little Prince William, the present Crown Prince, was born at Potsdam, May 6, 1882. His father's devotion to the army will doubtless prompt him to make a soldier of his son at an early age; in fact, he wore the uniform of a fusilier of the Guard before he was six years old.

The imperial family consists of seven children. The eldest, the Crown Prince of Germany and Prussia, is Prince Friedrich-Wilhelm-Victor-August-Ernst, born May 6, 1882. The second child is Prince Wilhelm-Eitel-Friedrich-Christian-Karl, born July 7, 1883. The third is Prince Adalbert-Ferdinand-Berenger-Victor, born July 14, 1884. Prince August-Wilhelm-Heinrich-Victor was born January 29. 1887. The fifth child, Prince Oscar-Karl-Gustav-Adolf, was born July 27, 1888. The sixth child is Prince Joachim-Francois-Humbert. He was born December 17, 1890. The youngest is a girl, Princess Victoria-Louise-Adelaide-Mathilde-Charlotte. She was born September 13, 1892.

Our engraving is from the last portrait of the Emperor William, and we are indebted for it to the Illustrirte Zeitung.

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The recent campaign in the Soudan was a bloodless one to the correspondent with the expedition, or, rather, on the tail of the advance. Yet I think, in spite of this little drawback, there is enough in the vicissitudes of my colleagues and myself during the recent advance of the Egyptian troops up the Nile to warrant me addressing you this afternoon. Especially as toward the end of the campaign the Sirdar, or Commander-in-Chief of the Egyptian army, Sir Herbert Kitchener, became more sympathetic with our endeavors to get good copy for our journals, and allowed us to return home by the old trade route of the Eastern Soudan, over which no European had passed since the revolt of the Eastern tribes in 1883. Unfortunately, the period for campaigning in the Soudan is in the hottest months in the year, on the rising of the Nile at the end of July, when the cataracts begin to be practicable for navigation. At the same time, in spite of the heat, it is the healthiest period, for the water, in its brown, muddy, pea soup state, is wholesomer to drink, and the banks of the river, which, when exposed at low Nile, give off unhealthy exhalations, are protected from spreading fever germs by the flood. To show you how much the people of Egypt depend for their very existence on this extraordinary river, the average difference between high and low Nile, giving favorable results, is 26 feet. Twenty-eight feet would cause serious damage by inundation, and the Nile as low as 20 feet would create a famine. The flood of the river depends entirely on the equatorial rains which cause the Upper White Nile to rise in April and the Blue Nile early in June. The muddy Atbara, joining her two sisters about the same time, sends the flood down to Lower Egypt toward the end of August at the rate of 100 miles a day. The Blue Nile in the middle of September falls rapidly away, while the Atbara leaves the trio in October. The White Nile is then left by herself to recede slowly and steadily from a current of four knots an hour to a sluggish and, in many parts, an unwholesome stream. Flies and mosquitoes increase, and fever is rife.

I arrived in Cairo on a sweltering day in July, and found four colleagues, who had been waiting for a week the Sirdar's permission to proceed to the front, still waiting. Luckily, the day after my arrival a telegram came from headquarters, saying that "we might proceed as far as Assouan and their await further orders." This, anyhow, was a move in the right direction; so we at once started. It was rather a bustle for me to get things ready, for Sunday blocked the way and little could be done, even on that day, in Cairo. I procured a servant, a horse and two cases of stores, for the cry was "nothing to be had up country in the shape of food; hardly sufficient sustenance to keep the flies alive." My colleagues, who had the start of me, were able to procure many luxuries—a case of cloudy ammonia for their toilet, and one of chartreuse, komel and benedictine to make their after dinner coffee palatable, and some plum pudding, if Christmas should still find them on the warpath, were a few of the many items that made up the trousseau of these up-to-date war correspondents, though at least one of them had been wedded to the life for many years. Unfortunately I had no time to procure these luxuries, and I had to proceed ammonialess and puddingless to the seat of war. My comrades were quite right. Why not do yourself well if you can? One of them even went in for the luxury of having three shooting irons, two revolvers and a double-barrel slug pistol, so that when either of the weapons got hot while he was holding Baggara horsemen at bay, there was always one cooling, ready to hand. He also, which I believe is a phenomenal record with any campaigner, took with him thirteen pairs of riding breeches, a half dozen razors and an ice machine. Even our commander-in-chief, when campaigning, denies himself more than two shirts and never travels with ice machines. But the thirteen pairs impressed me considerably. Why thirteen, more than fifteen, or any other number? I came to the conclusion that my colleague must certainly be a member of that mystic body the "Thirteen Club," and as he had to bring in the odd number somewhere to keep the club fresh in his memory, he occasionally sat upon it.

I found, after all, there was some wisdom in his eccentricity, for, when riding the camel, mounted on the rough saddle of the country, I often wished that I had my friend's forethought, and I should have been glad to have supplemented mine with his odd number. No doubt my colleague's idea in having such a variety of nether garments was to use them respectively, on a similar principle to the revolvers, when he rode in hot haste with his vivid account of the latest battle to the telegraph office.

But, unfortunately, this recent campaign did not, after all, necessitate these elaborate preparations, for there were no dervishes for us to shoot at or descriptions of bloody battles to be telegraphed. At all events, the cloudy ammonia and the thirteen breeches, with the assistance of a silken sash—a different color for each day of the week—made the brightest and smartest looking little man in camp. However, when I reflect on this new style of war correspondent, who, I forgot to mention, also carried with him two tents, a couple of beds, sundry chairs and tables, a silver-mounted dressing case, two baths, and a gross of toothpicks, and I think of the severe simplicity of the old style of campaigning when a famous correspondent who is still on the warpath, and who always sees the fighting if there be any, on one arduous campaign took with him the modest outfit of a tooth brush and a cake of carbolic soap, I joyfully feel that with the younger generation our profession is keeping pace with the luxury of the times.


Toward the end of the campaign four colleagues—Messrs. Knight, Gwynne, Scudamore, Maud—and myself, took this opportunity of traversing a country very little known to the outside world, and a route which no European had followed for fourteen years, from Berber to Suakim. Moreover, there was a spice of adventure about it; there was an uncertainty regarding an altogether peaceful time on the way—a contingency which always appeals strongly to Englishmen of a roving and adventurous disposition. Only quite recently raids organized by the apparently irrepressible Osman Digna had been successfully carried out a few miles north and south of Berber. At the moment General Hunter, with two battalions of troops, was marching along the banks of the River Atbara to hunt for Osman and his followers, but there was much speculation as to whether five-and-twenty dervish raiders were still this side of the river, and drawing their water from the wells on the Suakim road.

I was hardly prepared for this journey—one, probably, of twelve days—for my campaigning outfit, which I was compelled to leave on board my nugger on the Nile, had not yet arrived in Berber. Unfortunately, I could not wait for the gear, as the Sirdar insisted on our departure at once, for the road would be certainly insecure directly General Hunter returned from covering our right flank on the Atbara. I had no clothes but what I stood up in, and I had been more or less standing up in them without change for the last two weeks.

Our caravan of nineteen camels, with two young ones, quite babies, following their mothers, and a couple of donkeys, about seven in the evening of the 30th of October quitted the mud-baked town of Berber, sleeping in the light of a new moon, and silently moved across the desert toward the Eastern Star. Next morning at the Morabeh Well, six miles from Berber, our camels having filled themselves up with water, and our numerous girbas, or water skins, being charged with the precious liquid—till they looked as if they were about to burst—our loads were packed and we started on a journey of fifty-two miles before the next water could be reached.

We made quite a formidable show trailing over the desert. Probably it would have been more impressive if our two donkeys had restrained their ambition, and kept in the rear instead of leading the van. But animals mostly have their own way in these parts, and asses are no exception to this rule. The two baby camels commenced "grousing" with their elders directly we halted or made a fresh advance; they probably had an inkling of what was in store for them. After all, the world must seem a hard and unsympathetic place when, having only known it for two or three weeks, you are compelled to make a journey of 240 miles to keep up with your commissariat. One of these babies was only in its eighteenth day. In spite of its tender youth the little beast trotted by the side of its mother, refreshing itself whenever we came to a halt with a pull from her teats, and, to the astonishment of all, arrived in Suakim safe and sound after twelve days' marching.

To the uninitiated regarding the "grousing" of camels, I should explain that it is a peculiar noise which comes from their long funnel necks early or late, and for what reason it is difficult to tell. Sometimes the sound is not unlike the bray of an ass, occasionally it reaches the dignity of the roar of a lion with the bleating of a goat thrown in, then as quickly changes to the solemnity of a church organ. It is altogether so strange a sound that nothing but a phonograph could convey any adequate idea of it. It is a thing to be heard. No pen can properly describe it. After a long march, and when you are preparing to relieve the brute of his load, he begins to grouse. When he is about to start in the morning he grouses. If you hit him, he grouses; if you pat his neck gently, he grouses; if you offer him something to eat, he grouses; and if you twist his tail, he makes the same extraordinary noise. The camel evidently has not a large vocabulary, and he is compelled to express all his various sensations in this simple manner.

The first part of our journey was monotonous enough, miles and miles of weary sandy plains, with alternate stretches of agabas or stony deserts, scored with shallow depressions, where torrential rains had recently soaked into the sand, leaving a glassy, clay-like surface, which had flaked or cracked into huge fissures under the heat of the fierce sun. And at every few hundred yards we came to patches of coarse camel grass, which had evidently cropped up on the coming of the rain, and, by its present aspect, seemed to feel very sorry that it had been induced to put in an appearance, for its sustenance was now fast passing into vapor, and its green young life was rapidly dying out as the sun scorched the tender shoots to the roots. But camels thrive on this parched-up grass, and our brutes nibbled at it whenever one slackened the head-rope.

We traversed the dreary plain, marked every few yards by the bleached bones of camels fallen by the way; the only living thing met with for two days being a snake of the cobra type trailing across our path. The evening of the second day we camped in a long wadi, or shallow valley, full of mimosa trees, where our camels were hobbled and allowed to graze. They delighted in nibbling the young branches of these prickly acacias, which carry thorns at least an inch in length, that serve excellently well for toothpicks. Yet camels seem to rejoice in browsing off these trees, and chew up their thorns without blinking. This I can partly understand, for the camel's usual diet of dry, coarse grass must become rather insipid, and as we sometimes take "sauce piquante" with our cold dishes, so he tickles his palate with one inch thorns.

Climbing ridge after ridge of the dunes, we at last saw stretching before us in the moonlight the valley of Obak, an extensive wadi of mimosa and sunt trees. Our guides halted on a smooth stretch of sand, and I wondered why we were not resting by the wells. Near were three native women squatting round a dark object that looked to me, in the faint light of the moon, like a tray. I walked up to them, thinking they might have some grain upon it for sale, but found to my surprise that it was a hole in the sand, and I realized at once that this must be a well. One of the women was manipulating a leather bucket at the end of a rope, which after a considerable time she began hauling up to the surface. It was about half full of thick, muddy water. Further on along the wadi I now noticed other groups of natives squatting on the sand doing sentinel over the primitive wells. I never came across a more slovenly method of getting water. The mouths of the holes were not banked or protected; a rain storm or sand drift at any moment might have blocked them for a considerable period.

Not being able to get water for the camels was a serious matter, as our animals were not of the strongest, nor had they been recently trained for a long journey without water. This was the evening of the third day from Berber, and many of the poor brutes were showing signs of weakness. We resolved, therefore, to hurry on at once to the next well, that of Ariab; so we left the inhospitable wadi, and started at three in the morning on our next stretch of fifty-three miles.

These night marches were pleasant enough; it was only the hour or two before dawn when the heaviness of sleep troubled us; but just as we began nodding, and felt in danger of falling off our camels, the keen change in the temperature which freshens the desert in the early morning braced us up, and, fully awake, we watched for the coming of Venus. As she sailed across the heavens, she flooded the desert with a warm, soft light, which in its luminosity equaled an English summer moon, and shortly seemingly following her guidance, the great fiery shield of the sun stood up from the horizon, and broad day swept over the plain.

Toward the evening we found ourselves in a bowlder-strewn basin amid rocky, sterile hills, evidently the offshoots and spurs of the Jeb-el-Gharr, which stood out a purple serrated mass on our left, and here we saw for the first time for many a month rain clouds piling up above the rocky heights. Their tops, catching the rosy glow from the declining sun, appeared in their quaint forms like loftier mountains with their snowy summits all aglow. This was, indeed, a grateful sight to us; the camels already pricked up their ears, for the smell of moisture was in the air. We knew that the end of our waterless journey was not far off; for where those clouds were discharging their precious burdens the valley of Ariab lay. But many a weary ridge of black rock and agaba must still be crossed before our goal was reached.

We camped at six that evening till midnight, when we started on our record march. Unfortunately at this time my filter gave out, owing to the perishable nature of the rubber tubing; the remaining water in our girbas was foul and nauseating from the strong flavor of the skins. I resolved to try and hold out without touching the thick, greasy fluid, and wait till the wells of Ariab were reached. As we advanced, the signs of water became more and more apparent; the camel grass was greener down by the roots, and mimosa and sunt trees flourished at every few hundred yards. When morning came, for the first time we heard the chirruping and piping of birds. The camels increased their pace, and all became eager to reach our destination before the extreme heat of the day. But pass after pass was traversed, and valley after valley crossed, and yet the wadi of Ariab, with its cool, deep wells of precious water, was still afar. It was not till past two o'clock in the afternoon that a long, toilsome defile of rugged rock brought us on the edge of a steep descent, and before us lay the winding Khor of Ariab, with its mass of green fresh foliage throwing gentle shadows on the silver sand of its dry watercourse. It seemed an age as we traversed that extended khor before our guide pointed to a large tree on our right, and said "Moja." We dismounted under the shadow of its branches, and found awaiting us the sheikh of the valley, who pressed our hands and greeted us in a most friendly way; but I was almost mad with thirst, and asked for the well. I was taken to a mound a few yards from our retreat, on the sides of which were two or three clay scoop-outs, all dry but one, and this held a few gallons of tepid water, from which camels had been drinking. The man took a gourd, half filled it, and offered it to me to drink. "But the well, the well!" I cried. "Oh! that's a little higher up," said he, and he led me to a wide revetted well about fifty feet deep, at the bottom of which, reflecting the sky, shone the water like a mirror. "That's the water I want," said I. The man shook his head. "You cannot drink of that till your baggage camels arrive; we have no means of reaching it." I almost groaned aloud, and with the agony of the Ancient Mariner could well cry, "Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink." There was no help for it. I made my way back to the shadow of the tree, threw myself on my blanket, and, racked with thirst, tried to wait patiently for the coming of the camel men. Fortunately, the sheikh of the well was inspired with hospitality, and after a while brought us some fresh milk in a metal wash basin, a utensil which he evidently produced in honor of our visit. I took a long draught, and though it was associated with native ablutions, I shall always remember it with the greatest satisfaction. We camped for 24 hours in the sylvan vicinity of Ariab Wells—stretched ourselves in the broad shadows of its mimosa trees, and drank of and bathed in its sweet, cool waters.

This long rest improved our camels wonderfully. By the bye, there was much speculation between two of our party regarding the behavior of these curious animals on arriving at the wells after their long waterless march. A general impression was that for the last few miles the camels would race for the waters, and thwart all endeavors to hold them in. My experience of the strange beast was otherwise, and subsequent events proved that I was right. When the Hamleh, as we christened our caravan, arrived, the camels quietly waited awhile after their burdens were taken from their humps. Then, as if an afterthought had struck them, they slowly approached the scoop-outs and with the most indifferent air would take a mouthful of the liquid, then, stiffening their necks, they would lift their heads and calmly survey the scenery around them, till their drivers would draw their attention to the fact that there was at least another draught of water in the pool. It should be remembered that these animals had just come off a continuous journey of nearly fifteen hours, without a halt, and had been for three whole days without water.

We left our camping ground as the sun began to dip behind the hills shutting in the khor. Our way now lay in a more northeasterly direction, and the sun threw the hills and valleys we were approaching into a marvelous medley of glorious color, and more than one of us regretted that we had not brought our color boxes with us. Sometimes we seemed to catch a glimpse of the heather-clad Highlands of Scotland. Then a twist in the khor we were traversing suggested the rugged passes of Afghanistan. Gazelle and ariel stole among the foot hills or stood gazing at us as near as a stone's throw. One of our party, Mr. Gwynne, commenced stalking a gazelle, but, darkness setting in, the beast got away. For the rest of the journey to Suakim, however, he had good sport, and saved us many a time from going hungry with his shooting for the pot.

About 34 miles from Ariab we came to one of the most interesting spots of the whole journey—the extensive Valley of Khokreb, wherein lay the deserted dervish dem, or stronghold. Here some followers of Osman Digna used to levy toll on all caravans and persons moving toward Suakim, or taking routes south. The dem consisted of a number of well built tokuls, or straw huts, standing in their compounds, with stabling for horses and pounds for cattle. The whole was surrounded with a staked wall, in front of which was a zariba of prickly mimosa bush, to stop a sudden onrush of an enemy. The place was intact, but there was not a living soul within it, or in the vast valley in which it stood, that we could see. In fact, our whole journey up to the present seemed to be through a country that might have been ravished by some plague or bore some fatal curse. As the light of the moon prevailed, we came upon an extensive plain shelving upward toward steep hills. Specks of bright light stood out against the distant background, and we presently found that the moonlight was glinting on spear heads, and soon a line of camels crept toward us, and marching as escort was a small guard of Hadendowahs, with spear and shield.

We found the convoy to be a detachment of a caravan of 160 camel loads of stores sent from Suakim to Berber by that enterprising Greek, Angelo, of the former town. They had been on the road already eight days, having to move cautiously owing to rumors of dervish activity, but had arrived so far safely. We bivouacked for several hours in the Wadi of Salalat, which was quite parklike with its fine growth of sunt trees.

When we had crossed the frontier between Bisheren and Hadendowah country we were in comparative safety regarding any molestation by the natives, for we were escorted by the son of the sheikh of one of the subtribes of the latter country. At all events, I must have been a sore temptation for any evil disposed Fuzzy Wuzzy; for, owing to my camel being badly galled by an ill-fitting saddle, I would find myself for many hours entirely alone picking my way by the light of the moon, the poor brute I was riding not being able to keep pace with the rest. All the following day our route lay over stony plains of a bolder type than any we had yet seen, and when in the heart of the Hadendowah Hills we came suddenly upon a scene in its weirdness the most extraordinary and most appallingly grand I had ever seen. A huge wilderness lay before us like the dry bed of a vast ocean, whose waters by some subterranean convulsion had been sucked into the bowels of the earth, leaving in its whirling eddies the debris of submarine mountains heaped up in rugged confusion or scattered over its sandy bottom. Porphyry and black granite bowlders, in every conceivable form and size, lay strewn over the plain. Sometimes so fantastic did their shapes become that the least imaginative of our party could picture the gigantic ruins of some mighty citadel, with its ramparts, bastions and towering castle. For many hours we were traversing this weird and desolate valley, and when the sun cast long shadows across our track as he sank to rest, his ruddy light falling upon the dark bowlders, polished with the sand storms of thousands of years, stray pieces of red granite would catch his rosy glint, and sparkle like giant rubies in a setting of black pearls.

We found more life in ten miles of the Hadendowah country than during the whole of the first part of our journey. Flocks of sheep, goats and oxen passed us coming to the wells, or going to some pasturage up in the hills, but few natives came near us, and there were no signs of habitation anywhere. The wells we now passed were mere water holes similar to those met with up country in Australia. The flocks of the natives would hurry down at eventide and drink up all the water that had percolated through the sand during the day, befouling the pools in every conceivable way. Natives seem to revel in water contaminated by all kind of horrors. They wash the sore backs of their camels, bathe their sheep and drink from the same pool. At one large hole round which a number of natives were filling their girbas we halted, and procured some of the liquid, which was muddy and tepid, but wholesomer. A native caravan had camped near by and the Hadendowah escort of spearmen crowded round us.

The Fuzzy Wuzzy is a much more pleasant object when seen through a binocular than when he is close to you. His frizzy locks are generally clotted with rancid butter, his slender garment is not over clean. He is a very plucky individual, as we know, thrifty, and lives upon next to nothing, but many live upon him. Several graybeards came up to salute their sheikh, who was traveling with us, and this they did by pressing his hand many times, and bowing low, but they glanced at us with no amiable eyes, and suddenly turned away. There was no absolute discourtesy; they simply did not want to be introduced. Probably they remembered the incident at Tamai, where many of their friends were pierced with British bullets. So they slung their shields, trailed their spears and turned away.

My camel had much improved by gentle treatment and I was able to ride on ahead. Just as I neared the narrow neck of the Tamai Pass, two men and a boy climbed down toward us from a small guard house, on a lofty rock to our left. My camel man and I instinctively came to a halt, for the manner of the comers, who were fully armed, was impressive. They confronted us and immediately began questioning my camel man, after much altercation, during which I quietly leaned over my saddle and unbuttoned my revolver case, for they looked truculent and somewhat offensive. My camel man mysteriously felt about his waist belt, and eventually handed something to the foremost native, whereat he and his companions turned and began to reclimb the hill. As we went on our way, I inquired the reason of the men barring our path. "Oh," my man said, "it is simply a question of snuff." "Snuff," I exclaimed, in astonishment. "Yes; that was all they wanted—a little tobacco powder to chew." Here was a possible adventure that seemed as if it were going to end in smoke, and snuff was its finale.

After all the Suakim-Berber road, that was looked upon as full of dramatic incident—for even our military friends in Berber, when they bid us goodby, said, "It was a very sporting thing to do. Great Scott! They only wished they had the luck to come along"—was a highway without even a highwayman upon it, and apparently for the moment as pleasantly safe, minus the hostelries en route, as the road from London to York. Prom the top of Tamai Pass, 2,870 feet—though of the same name, not to be confounded with the famous battle which took place further south—we began to make a rapid descent, and the last sixty miles of our journey were spent in traversing some of the most lovely mountain scenery I think I have ever visited. Sometimes one might be passing over a Yorkshire moorland, with its purple backing of hills, for the sky was lowering and threatened rain. Then the scene would as quickly change to a Swiss valley, when, on rounding the base of a spur, one would strike a weird, volcanic-torn country whose mountains piled up in utter confusion like the waves of the stormy Atlantic; and further on we would come out upon a plain once more scattered with gigantic bowlders of porphyry and trap, out of which the monoliths of ancient Thebes might have been fashioned.

On the morning of the tenth day out from Berber, we sighted the fort and signal tower of the Egyptian post at Tambuk, on a lofty rugged rock, standing out in the middle of an immense khor. This was practically the beginning of the end of our long journey, and here we rested a few hours, once more drinking our fill of pure sparkling water from its revetted wells.

About half an hour in a northeasterly direction, after a continual descent from the Egyptian fort, we noticed, at intervals between the hills in front of us, a straight band of blue which sparkled in the sunlight. At this sight I could not refrain from giving a cheer—it was the Red Sea that glistened with the sun—for it meant so much to us. Across its shining bosom was our path to civilization and its attendant comforts, which we had been denied for many a month. Night found us steadily descending to ward the seaboard, as we neared Otao, in the vicinity of which we were to bivouac for the night. My camel nearly stumbled over an old rusty rail thrown across my path, and further on I could trace in the moonlight the dark trail of a crazy permanent way, with its rails all askew.

We were passing the old rail head of the Suakim-Berber Railway, that was started in 1885. I wondered, as I followed fifteen miles of this rusty line, a gradual slope of 1,800 feet toward the sea, whether the road I had only just traversed had ever been surveyed for a railway, and whether anybody had the slightest notion of the difficulties to be contended with in carrying out the scheme. Of course, modern engineering, with such men as Sir Benjamin Baker at the fore, can overcome any difficulty if money be no object, but who can possibly see any return for the enormous outlay an undertaking of this kind would entail?

To start with, there is one up grade of 2,870 feet within forty miles from Suakim, and the khors, through which the railway must wind, are sometimes raging torrents. To obviate this, if the line be built of trestles (timber elevations), as with the Canadian Pacific Railway, there is no wood in the country but for domestic purposes. Material, for every detail, must be imported. A smaller matter, but also somewhat important—though water apparently can be found in the khors for the digging, it is a question whether a sufficient quantity can be got at all times for the requirements of a railway. The natives themselves are often very badly off for water, as in the case of the Obak wells.

Wells run dry at odd times in this country, and can never be depended upon. Of course, water can be condensed at Suakim and stored. Further, a rival line is already in progress, which will connect Wady Halfa with Berber early this year. European goods coming by that line from Alexandria would be free of the Suez Canal dues, and certainly the directors of that line would treat freights favorably if Suakim should ever be connected with Berber by rail. As for the interior trade of the country, nearly all the population have either died from recent famine or have been killed off in the Mahdi's cause. There is no commercial center or even market to tap from one end of the road to the other.

The next morning we came in view of Suakim, the city of white coral, with her surf-beaten opalesque reefs stretching as far as the eye could follow. It seemed strange to me to be peacefully moving toward her outlying forts, for when I was last in her vicinity one could not go twenty yards outside the town without being shot at or running the gauntlet of a few spears. But here I was, slowly approaching its walls, accompanied by some of the very men who in those days would have cut my throat without the slightest hesitation. Suakim had changed much for the better; her streets were cleaner, and mostly free from Oriental smells. But these sanitary changes always take place when British officers are to the fore.

Surgeon Capt. Fleming is the medical officer responsible for the health of the town, and he has been instrumental in carrying out great reforms, especially in doing away with the tokuls and hovels, in which the Arabs herded together, and removing them to a special quarter outside the town.

The principal feature about Suakim to-day is its remarkable water supply. In 1884 our troops had to depend on condensed sea water, supplied from an old steamer anchored in the harbor, and the town folk drew an uncertain supply from the few wells outside the town. But now Suakim never wants for water, and that of the best. She even boasts of a fountain in the little square opposite the governor's house. Engineer Mason is responsible for this state of efficiency, to which Suakim owes much of her present immunity from disease. During the last twelve years immense condensing works have been erected on Quarantine Station; but, better still, about two years ago Mr. Mason discovered an apparently inexhaustible supply near Gemaiza, about three miles from the town. There is a theory—which this water finding has made a possible fact—that as coral does not grow in fresh water, the channel which allows steamers to approach close up to the town, through her miles of coral reefs, is caused by a fresh water current running from the shore.

However, on this theory Mason set to work and found a splendid supply at Fort Charter; an excavation in the khor there, about 200 feet long and 40 deep, is now an immense cistern of sweet water, the result of which the machines condensing 150 tons of water a day are now only required to produce one-half the quantity, saving the Egyptian government a considerable outlay.

The natives look upon Mason as a magician, the man who turns the salt ocean into sweet water. But metal refuse, scraps of iron, old boiler plates, under his magic touch, are also turned into the most useful things. For instance, the steam hammer used in the government workshop is rigged on steel columns from the debris of an engine room of a wrecked vessel. The hammer is the crank of a disused shaft of a cotton machine, the anvil is from an old "monkey," that drove the piles for the Suakim landing stage in 1884; the two cylinders are from an effete ice machine, and the steam and exhaust pipes come from a useless locomotive of the old railway. A lathe, a beautiful piece of workmanship, is fashioned out of one of the guns found at Tamai. And the building which covers these useful implements was erected by this clever engineer in the Sirdar's service, who had utilized the rails of the old Suakim-Berber line as girders for its roof, and, in my humble opinion, this is probably the very best purpose for which they can be used.

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A fine pair of shabrack (Tapirus indicus) and another pair of American tapirs (Tapirus americanus) constitute the chief attraction of the house devoted to pachyderms in the Zoological Garden at Breslau, and interest in this section of the garden has recently been greatly enhanced by the appearance of a healthy young shabrack. This is only the second time that a shabrack tapir has been born in captivity in Europe, and as the other one, which was born in the Zoological Garden at Hamburg, did not live many days, but few knew of its existence; consequently, little or nothing is known of the care and development of the young of this species, although they are so numerous in their native lands. Farther India, Southwestern China and the neighboring large islands, where they also do well in captivity. The tapir was not known until the beginning of this century, and even now it is a great rarity in the European animal market, and as the greatest care is required to keep it alive for any length of time in captivity, it is seldom seen in zoological gardens; therefore, the fact that the shabrack tapirs in the Breslau garden have not only lived, but their number has increased, is so much more remarkable.

Our engraving shows that the five days old tapir resembles its mother in form, although its marking is quite different. Its spots and stripes are very similar to those of the young of the American tapir, several of which have been born in captivity in Europe. They shade from yellow to brown on black or very dark brown ground, and the spots on the legs take a whitish tone. This little one's fur is longer on the body than on the head and extremities, and is soft and thick, but has not the peculiar glossiness of the full grown animal. Its iris is a beautiful blue violet, while that of the old one is dark violet, and its little hoofs are reddish brown, while those of the mother are horn gray. When standing, the new comer measures about two feet in length and one foot two inches in height, having gained about one inch in height in five days. Its fine condition is doubtless due partly to the great care given it and partly to the healthy constitution of the mother, and it is the pet of its keepers and of the public.—Illustrirte Zeitung.

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The effect of scenery upon the mind of man has often been noticed and much has been written about it. Illustrations of this are generally drawn from the historic lands and from the ancient people of the East. The civilized races, such as the Greeks, Romans and other nations who formerly dwelt on the coast of the Mediterranean, are taken as examples. The Greeks are said to have owed their peculiar character and their taste for art to the varied and beautiful scenery which surrounded them. Their mythology and poetry are full of allusions to the scenes of nature. Mountains and springs, rivers and seas all come in as the background of the picture which represents their character and history. The same is true of the Romans, Egyptians, Phenicians, Syrians, Hebrews, the ancient Trojans and Carthaginians. Each one of these nations seems to have been affected by scenery. They were all, with the exception of the Carthaginians, confined within the limits of a narrow territory, and remained long enough in it to have partaken fully of the effect of their surroundings.

The Romans were warlike at the beginning, and bore the air of conquerors, but their taste for art and literature resembled that of the Greeks. The Egyptians were sensuous and luxurious people. Their character bore the stamp of the river Nile with its periodical overflow, its rich soil and mild climate. The type of their religion was drawn from the gods who inhabited the same river valley. The Phenicians were a maritime people; they were the first navigators who reached the great seas. Their gods resembled those of the Assyrians and Chaldeans, but their character resembled the seas over which they roved; they did not originate, but they transported the products and inventions of the ancient world.

The Hebrews had a national character which seemed to have been narrowed down to a small compass by their isolation and by their history, but their religion was as grand as the mountains of the desert, and their poetry as beautiful as the scenery along the river Jordan, which ran as a great artery through their land. It was a holy land which gave impress to the Holy Book. The effect of scenery upon human character is also illustrated in the case of the ancient inhabitants of America. This land was isolated from the rest of the world for many centuries—perhaps for thousands of years. It is supposed that up to the time of the discovery the tribes were permanent in their seats.

Each tribe had its own habitat, its own customs, its own mythology and its own history. The effect of scenery must be considered, if we are to understand the peculiarities which mark the different tribes. Some imagine that the Indians are all alike, that they are all cruel savages, all given to drunkenness and degradation and only waiting their opportunity to wreak their vengeance upon helpless women and children. Those who know them, however, are impressed with the great variety which is manifest among them, and are especially convinced that much of this comes from the scenery amid which they have lived. The Eastern tribes may have had considerable sameness, yet the Algonquins, who were the prairie Indians, and the Iroquois, who dwelt in the forest and amid the lakes of New York, differed from one another in almost every respect, and the Sioux and Dakotas, who were also prairie Indians, differed from both of these. They were great warriors and great hunters, but had a system of religion which differed from that of any other tribe.

The Sioux were cradled amid the mountains of the East, and bear the same stamp of their native scenery. They resemble the Iroquois in many respects. The same is true of the Cherokees, who were allied to the Iroquois in race and language. They were always mountain Indians; but the Southern tribes were very different from either. They were a people who were well advanced in civilization so far as the term can be applied to the aborigines. Their skulls are without angles and differ greatly from the keel-shaped skulls. They were dolichocephalic rather than kumbocephalic. They resemble the Polynesians, while the northern tribes resembled the Mongolians. Whatever their original home was, their adopted habitat was in accord with their tastes and character. It did not change them but rather made their traits more permanent and stable.

The tribes of the northwest coast were seafarers; they inhabited the forest and worshiped the animals which were peculiar to the forest and took as their totems the eagle, wolf and raven, but they drew their subsistence in great part from the sea. They worshiped the animals of the seas, such as the shark, the whale and the sculpin. Their skill and courage as navigators have never been equaled. Taking their families and the few articles of commerce gathered from the forest they entered the symmetrical and beautifully carved canoes and breasted the storms and waves of the great sea near which they lived. There was a wildness in the waves which just suited them. The sea brought out the best traits and developed the heroic character. They were the "sea kings" of the Northwest. They were great navigators and great hero worshipers.

The tribes of the interior, the Pueblos, the Zunis, differed from all other tribes. They were surrounded by wild tribes, such as the Apaches, Comanches and Navajoes. Whatever their origin, they had remained long enough in this territory to be affected by the scenery and surroundings. They were mild, luxurious, given over to religious ceremonies, made much of mythology and had many secret societies. They built their terraced houses, taking the cliffs and mesas as their patterns, and made them so similar to the rock and cliffs that it was difficult to recognize them at a distance. They did not mould the mountains into villages as the Mayas did, but they made their houses to conform to the mountains, and took the mountain gods and their nature divinities as chief objects of worship.

The contrast between the ancient tribes of this region and the wild tribes which intruded upon them was very great. The Navajoes were a mountain people and drew their religion from the mountains. They borrowed many myths and customs from the ancient Pueblos, and like them, settled down to an agricultural life; but their sand paintings and their ceremonies reveal a taste for art and a poetical imagination which are very remarkable. The lone Indian who places his wigwam in the midst of the mountains seems to be always a stranger. The scenery has no effect upon him. It makes his spirit sad and his music plaintive, for he breathes out his spirit in his music. He never has had and never will have the character which some of his ancestors cultivated amid the wild scenes. His race is doomed; his fate is sealed. He can never catch up with the progress of the time.

The railroad is bound to take the place of the Indian trail; the miners' cabin must supplant the Indian wigwam. Great cities will rise near where ancient villages stood, but the savage fails to appreciate the thought or the character of the people who have supplanted him. The wigwam amid the mountains is a symbol of what he is, but the locomotive at its side is an emblem of progress and of promise to those who will use their opportunities. The mountains are in the background—they suggest the possibilities which are before the settler. They interpose barriers, but the barriers themselves are fraught with good influences. Freedom has always dwelt among the mountains. Reverence for the Almighty has also prevailed. The leveling process must cease and man become more elevated in his thoughts as he rises to the altitude of these great heights.—The American Antiquarian.

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"Artists" of the variety stage and the circus are always trying to find something new, for the same old trapeze performances, trials of strength, performances of rope dancers, etc., have been presented so many times that anyone who invents an entirely new trick is sure of making a large amount of money out of it; the more wild and dangerous it is, the better. Anything that naturally stands on its feet but can be made to stand on its head will be well received in the latter attitude by the public. Some such thought as this must have been in the mind of the man who conceived the idea of riding a bicycle on the ceiling instead of on the floor. The "trick" originated with the Swiss acrobat Di Batta, who, being too old to undertake such a performance himself, trained two of his pupils to do it, and they appeared with their wheel in Busch Circus in Berlin. The wheel, of course, ran on a track from which it was suspended in such a way that it could not fall, and the man who operated it used the handle bar as he would the cross bar of the trapeze. One would think that the position of the rider was sufficiently dangerous to satisfy any public, but the inventor of the trick sought to make it appear more wonderful by having the rider carry between his teeth a little trapeze from the crosspiece of which another man hung.

Different colored lights were thrown on the performers as they rode around the ceiling, and at the end of the performance first one and then the other dropped into the safety net which had been placed about sixty feet below them. We are indebted to the Illustrirte Zeitung for the cut and article.

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Lieut.-Col. Conder says that the requirements for exploration demand a knowledge not only of Syrian antiquities, but of those of neighboring nations. It is necessary to understand the scripts and languages in use, and to study the original records as well as the art and architecture of various ages and countries. Much of our information is derived from Egyptian and Assyrian records of conquest, as well as from the monuments of Palestine itself. As regards scripts, the earliest alphabetical texts date only from about 900 B. C., but previous to this period we have to deal with the cuneiform, the Egyptian, the Hittite and the Cypriote characters.

The explorer must know the history of the cuneiform from 2700 B. C. down to the Greek and Roman age, and the changes which occurred in the forms of some 550 characters originally hieroglyphics, but finally reduced to a rude alphabet by the Persians, and used not only in Babylonia and Assyria, but also as early as 1500 B. C. in Asia Minor, Syria, Armenia, Palestine and even by special scribes in Egypt. He should also be able to read the various Egyptian scripts—the 400 hieroglyphics of the monuments, the hieratic, or running hand of the papyri, and the later demotic.

The Hittite characters are quite distinct, and number at least 130 characters, used in Syria and Asia Minor from 1500 B. C. or earlier down to about 700 B. C. The study of these characters is in its infancy. The syllabary of Cyprus was a character derived from these Hittite hieroglyphics, and used by the Greeks about 300 B. C. It includes some fifty characters, and was probably the original system whence the Phenician alphabet was derived. As regards alphabets, the explorer must study the early Phenician and the Hebrew, Samaritan and Moabite, with the later Aramean branch of this alphabet, whence square Hebrew is derived. He must also know the Ionian alphabet, whence Greek and Roman characters arose, and the early Arab scripts—Palmyrene, Nabathean and Sabean, whence are derived the Syriac, Cufic, Arabic and Himyaritic alphabets.

As regards languages, the scholars of the last century had to deal only with Hebrew, Aramaic, Syriac, Coptic and Greek, but as the result of exploration we now deal with the ancient Egyptian whence Coptic is derived, and with various languages in cuneiform script, including the Akkadian (resembling pure Turkish) and the allied dialects of Susa, Media, Armenia and of the Hittites; the Assyrian, the earliest and most elaborate of Semitic languages; and Aryan tongues, such as the Persian, the Vannic and the Lycian.

The art and architecture of Western Asia also furnish much information as to religious ideas, customs, dress and history, including inscribed seals and amulets, early coins and gems. The explorer must also study the remains of Greek, Roman, Arab and Crusader periods, in order to distinguish these from the earlier remains of the Canaanites, Phenicians, Hebrews, Egyptians and Assyrians, as well as the art of the Jews and Gnostics about the Christian era, and the later pagan structures down to the fourth century A.D.—Nature.

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Eleven submarine cables traverse the Atlantic between 60 and 40 degrees north latitude. Nine of these connect the Canadian provinces and the United States with the territory of Great Britain; two (one American, the other Anglo-American) connect France. Of these, seven are largely owned, operated or controlled by American capital, while all the others are under English control and management. There is but one direct submarine cable connecting the territory of the United States with the continent of Europe, and that is the cable owned and operated by the Compagnie Francais Cables Telegraphiques, whose termini are Brest, France, and Cape Cod, on the coast of Massachusetts.

All these cables between 60 and 40 degrees north latitude, which unite the United States with Europe, except the French cable, are under American or English control, and have their termini in the territory of Great Britain or the United States. In the event of war between these countries, unless restrained by conventional act, all these cables might be cut or subjected to exclusive censorship on the part of each of the belligerent states. Across the South Atlantic there are three cables, one American and two English, whose termini are Pernambuco, Brazil, and St. Louis, Africa, and near Lisbon, Portugal, with connecting English lines to England, one directly traversing the high seas between Lisbon and English territory and one touching at Vigo, Spain, at which point a German cable company has recently made a connection. The multiplication under English control of submarine cables has been the consistent policy of Great Britain, and to-day her cable communications connect the home government with all her colonies and with every strategic point, thus giving her exceptional advantages for commercial as well as for political purposes.

The schedule blanks of rates of the English companies contain the following provisions: "The dispatches of the imperial government shall have priority when demanded. The cable must not, at any station, employ foreigners, and the lines must not pass through any office or be subject to the control of any foreign government. In the event of war, the government (of Great Britain) may occupy all the stations on English territory or under the protection of Great Britain, and it may use the cable by means of its own employes."

It is not a pleasing reflection that in the actual situation the United States is at a great and embarrassing disadvantage. Meanwhile it would seem to be the policy of the United States to overcome this disadvantage by the multiplication of submarine cables under American or other than English competing foreign ownership and control.

Although somewhat indeterminate, the policy of the United States in respect to the landing of foreign submarine cables, so far, at least, as the executive branch of the government is concerned, appears to be based chiefly upon considerations that shall guard against consolidation or amalgamation with other cable lines, while insisting upon reciprocal accommodations for American corporations and companies in foreign territory. The authority of the executive branch of the government to grant permission is exercised only in the absence of legislation by Congress regulating the subject, and concessions of the privileges heretofore have been subject to such further action by Congress in the matter as it may at any time take. Several bills are now pending in Congress relating to the landing of foreign submarine telegraph cables within the United States, and regulating the establishment of submarine telegraphic cable lines or systems in the United States. As this article is going to press, it is reported that the President has refused permission to a foreign cable company to renew a cable terminus within the territory of the United States, and that the question raised as to the power of the federal government to deny admission to the cable will be referred to the Attorney-General for an opinion. Meanwhile, the executive branch of the government holds to the doctrine that, in the absence of legislation by Congress, control of the landing and operation of foreign cables rests with the President. The question of the landing of foreign cables received some consideration from the late Attorney-General, in connection with an injunction suit brought by the United States against certain corporations engaged in placing on the coast of New York a cable having foreign connection. And he suggested for the consideration of Congress whether it would not be wise to give authority to some executive officer to grant or withhold consent to the entry of such foreign enterprises into this country on such terms and conditions as may be fixed by law.

The principal and most important submarine cables traversing or connecting the great oceans are owned and operated by private corporations or companies. They are in number 310, and their length in nautical miles is 139,754. The length of cables owned or operated by state governments is, in nautical miles, 18,132.

The policies of states, the movements of fleets and armies, and the regulation of the markets of the commercial world, depend upon devices, communications and orders that are habitually transmitted through the agency of submarine cables. In this view, the first aim is to safeguard from wanton destruction the delicate and expensive mechanism of these cables; the second is to restrain within the narrowest limits practicable interruptions in the operation of cables, even in the midst of hostilities; and the third is to encourage the establishment and extension of submarine cables owned and operated by American capital. All these ends may be advanced by the agreement of the powers to neutralize absolutely the submarine cable systems of the world. To do this will be a step in the direction of extending international jurisdiction, which is to be a controlling feature of the new periodical about to be established at Berlin, and to be printed in German, French and English, under the name of "Kosmodike." —Alexander Porter Morse in The Albany Law Journal.

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Those who make public parks are apt to attempt too much and to injure not only the beauty, but the practical value of their creations by loading them with unnecessary and costly details. From the time when landscape gardening was first practiced as a fine art to the present day, park makers have been ambitious to change the face of nature—to dig lakes where lakes did not exist and to fill up lakes where they did exist, to cut down natural hills and to raise artificial ones, to plant in one place and to clear in another, and generally to spend money in construction entirely out of proportion to the value of the results obtained.

The best art is simple in its expression, and the highest form of art in gardening is perhaps that which, taking advantage of such natural conditions as it finds, makes the best of them with the smallest expenditure of labor and money. Simplicity of design means not only economy of construction, but, what is of even more importance, economy of maintenance. The importance of making it possible to keep a great park in good condition without excessive annual expenditures for maintenance is a simple business proposition which would not seem to require much demonstration. Yet park makers, with their unnecessary walks and drives; with their expensive buildings which are always getting out of repair; their ponds, in which there is rarely water enough to keep them fresh; their brooks, which are frequently dry; their elaborate planting schemes, often ill suited to the positions where they are wanted, make parks expensive to construct and impossible to maintain in good condition, especially in this country, where the cost of labor is heavy and there is difficulty in obtaining under existing municipal methods skilled and faithful gardeners to keep anything like an elaborate garden in good condition. The most superficial examination of any of our large urban parks will show that wherever elaborate construction and planting have been attempted they have failed from subsequent neglect to produce the effects expected from them, and that broad, quiet, pastoral and sylvan features are the only permanent and really valuable ones we can hope to attain in our great city parks.

It is needless, perhaps, to repeat what has been said so often in the columns of this journal, that in our judgment the greatest value and only justification of great urban parks exist in the fact that they can bring the country into the city and give to people who are obliged to pass their lives in cities the opportunity to enjoy the refreshment of mind and body which can only be found in communion with nature and the contemplation of beautiful natural objects harmoniously arranged. Parks have other and very important uses, but this is their highest claim to recognition. If it is the highest duty of the park maker to bring the country into the city, every road and every walk not absolutely needed to make the points of greatest interest and beauty easily accessible is an injury to his scheme, and every building and unnecessary construction of every kind reduces the value of his creation, as do trees and shrubs and other flowering plants which are out of harmony with their surroundings. Such things injure the artistic value of a park; they unnecessarily increase its cost and make the burden of annual maintenance more difficult to bear. Simplicity of design often means a saving of unnecessary expenditure, but it should not mean cheapness of construction. The most expensive parks to maintain are those which have been the most cheaply constructed, for cheap construction means expensive maintenance. Roads and walks should not be made where they are not needed, and they should not be made unnecessarily wide to accommodate possible crowds of another century, but those that are built should be constructed in the most thorough and durable manner possible, in order to reduce the cost of future care. When lawns are made, the work should be done thoroughly; and no tree or shrub should be planted in any manner but the best and in the most carefully prepared soil. Only as little work as possible should be done, but it should be done in the most permanent manner. The best investment a park maker can make is in good soil, for without an abundance of good soil it is impossible to produce large and permanent trees and good grass, and the chief value of any park is in its trees and grass; and if the money which has been spent in disfiguring American parks with unnecessary buildings and miscellaneous architectural terrors had been used in buying loam, they would not now present the dreary ranks of starved and stunted trees and the great patches of wornout turf which too often disfigure them. Only the hardiest trees and shrubs should be used in park planting; for there is no economy in planting trees or shrubs which are liable to be killed any year, partially, if not entirely, by frost or heat or drought, which annually ruin many exotic garden plants, nor is it wise to use in public parks plants which, unless carefully watched, are disfigured every year by insects. It costs a great deal of money to cut out dead and dying branches from trees and shrubs, to remove dead trees and fight insects, but work of this sort must be done, unless the selection of plants used to decorate our parks is made with the greatest care. Fortunately, the trees and shrubs which need the least attention, and are therefore the most economical ones to plant, are the best from an artistic point of view; and to produce large effects and such scenery as painters like to transfer to canvas, no great variety of material is needed. The most restful park scenery, and, therefore, the best, can be obtained by using judiciously a small number of varieties of the hardiest trees and shrubs, and the wise park maker will confine his choice to those species which Nature helps him to select, and which, therefore, stand the best chance of permanent success. No park can be beautiful unless the trees which adorn it are healthy, and no tree is healthy which suffers from uncongenial climatic conditions and insufficient nourishment. Even if they are not inharmonious in a natural combination, the trees and shrubs which need constant pruning to keep them from looking shabby are too expensive for park use and should, therefore, be rejected when broad, natural effects in construction and economy of maintenance are aimed for by the park maker.

The sum of the matter of park construction is to make rural city parks less pretentious and artificial in design and to so construct them that the cost of maintenance will be reduced to the minimum. This will save money and lessen the danger of exhibitions of bad taste and encourage that simplicity which should be the controlling motive of sincere art.—Garden and Forest.

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Few people realize that a very large part of inhabited Europe lies to the north of the latitude which in this country is considered the limit of habitation, says Prof. Ralph S. Tarr, in The Independent. London is situated in the same latitude as southern Labrador, where the inhabitants are scattered in small villages and are mainly summer residents who come there from the more southern lands to engage in fishing. During the winter their ports are closed by ice and navigation is stopped, while toward the British Isles steamers are constantly plying from all directions. The great city of St. Petersburg, which in winter is inaccessible to ships, but in summer enjoys a moderate climate, lies in the same latitude as the northern part of Labrador, where snow falls in every month of the year and where floating ice frequently retards navigation even in midsummer. As a result of the severity of climate the only people who find northern Labrador a place fit for existence are the Eskimo tribes, who win their living under great difficulties almost entirely from the sea. No white men live there, with the exception of some missionaries and the occasional traders.

Everyone knows full well the reason for this difference in the climates of the two lands; the European coasts receive constant supplies of water that has been warmed in southern latitudes and carried northward in the great oceanic circulation and particularly in the Gulf Stream. The west winds, blowing toward the European coast, carry from this warm ocean belt air with higher temperature than that which exists over the land. On the eastern side of the Atlantic in place of a warm ocean current there is the cold Labrador current, which blows from the north and chills the water of the northwestern Atlantic. Therefore, the winds that come from the ocean blow over water that has been cooled, and the prevailing winds, which are from the west, come over the land, which is cool in winter and warm in summer.

One may see these differences in climate and the causes for them even more strikingly exhibited within the Arctic belt than in this case which has been mentioned. The great land area of Greenland, with an area of six or seven hundred thousand square miles, is a highland capped over the greater part of its area with a snow field which completely buries all the land excepting that near the margins. The tongues from this ice field, whose area is some 500,000 square miles, reach into the sea and furnish innumerable icebergs that float away, chilling the waters. Notwithstanding the immense area of ice, the summer climate of the Greenland coast is remarkably moderate, even as far north as Melville Bay. The reason for this is the same as that mentioned for the climatic peculiarities of Europe. A current from the south, probably an eddy from the Gulf Stream, carries water northward along the Greenland coast, thus raising the temperature so that the ice which forms in the sea water and the bergs which float upon its surface are made to disappear during the warm part of the year.

Sailing from the coast of Greenland at about the middle point, near Disco Island, in the early part of September, one leaves a land with a delightfully pleasant climate and warmth almost like that of the early autumn of temperate latitudes, and proceeding south-westward across Davis Straits to Baffin Land, two or three hundred miles southward, there finds himself in the midst of the conditions of early winter. The Greenland coast is not snow covered, plants are still in blossom and the hum of insects is heard; but in this more southern latitude, on the American side, the summer insects have entirely disappeared, only a few belated flowers are seen in protected places and a thin coat of snow covers all the land. Light snow may fall here during any time of the summer; but in spite of these differences Baffin Land is not ice covered, while Greenland is. The ice cap of the interior of Greenland is present less because of the severity of the climate at sea level than from the fact that the air which reaches this land has become humid in crossing the water areas, and further in the fact that the interior is a highland. On the Baffin Land side the interior is less elevated and there is less water to the westward in the direction from which the prevailing winds blow.

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[Footnote 1: Report of Richmond Mayo Smith, Franklin H. Giddings, and Fred. W. Holls, Committee on Statistics of the New York Charity Organization Society.—Condensed for Public Opinion.]

The most interesting, and at the same time the most difficult, problem connected with an analysis of cases is to determine the real cause of destitution. It requires great experience and intelligence on the part of workers in charity to give even approximately the fundamental reason why a certain family has come to destitution. To classify cases from records without personal knowledge of each case, and then simply to count the cases, is a very inadequate method of arriving at the truth. The primary difficulty, of course, is to reach a classification. The one adopted by Mr. Warner in his book on American charities is: 1. Causes indicating misconduct; 2. Causes indicating misfortune. Under the first head come drink, immorality, laziness, shiftlessness and inefficiency, crime and dishonesty, a roving disposition. Under the second head come lack of normal support, matters of employment, matters of personal capacity, such as sickness or death in family, etc. The trouble with such a classification is that one cause may lie behind another, as drink is often the cause of lack of employment, of sickness or accident. On the other hand, lack of employment may lead to drink, immorality or laziness.

With the limited number of cases that have been analyzed in this investigation, it would be impossible to expect any very conclusive results. We have endeavored, however, to make up for the small amount of the material by a careful and intelligent analysis, and by approaching the subject from three different points. We have first taken the alleged cause of distress—that is, the reason assigned by the person applying for relief. This, of course, will present the most favorable side, and the one most calculated to excite sympathy. We have, secondly, tabulated the real cause of distress, as gathered by the tabulator from the whole record. This, of course, is the judgment of an outside party, and the emphasis will be laid upon misfortune or misconduct according to the disposition of the investigator. We have, thirdly, the character of the man and woman as gathered from the record. This is supplementary evidence as to the real cause of distress. We go on now to present these three points of view. Loss of employment, 313; sickness or accident, 226; intemperance, 25; insufficient earnings, 52; physical defect or old age, 45; death of wage earner, 40; desertion, 40; other causes and uncertain, 103; total, 844. An attempt was made to follow the example of Mr. Booth and introduce supplementary causes as well as principal causes. About the only result, however, is that sickness often accompanies loss of employment, and that loss of employment often accompanies sickness or accident. It is clearly seen in this whole table how disposed applicants for relief are to attribute their distress to circumstances beyond their control.

In the following table we have an attempt to analyze the real cause of distress, according to the judgment of the tabulator as gathered from the full record. In chronic cases the same cause is apt to appear in the successive applications. It was thought that this might lead to undue accumulation of particular causes. A separate tabulation, therefore, was made for the 500 first applications, and then for the total—832 applications. The table is as follows:


First Applications. Total Applications. Number. Percent. Number. Per cent.

Lack of employment. 115 25.0 184 22.1 Sickness or accident. 102 20.4 164 19.7 Physical defects or old age. 27 5.4 42 5.0 Death of wage earner. 18 3.6 30 3.6 Desertion 15 3.0 24 2.9 Intemperance 87 17.4 166 19.9 Shiftlessness 50 10.0 101 12.2 No need 86 17.2 121 14.6

Total 500 100.0 832 100.0

In this table it will be seen that emphasis is laid on misconduct rather than on misfortune. The difference between the two sets of returns is obvious. Where lack of employment and sickness have been alleged as accounting for 62-6/10 per cent. of the total, they are believed by the tabulator to really account for only 41-8/10 per cent. On the other hand, intemperance comes in as the real cause in 19-9/10 per cent.; shiftlessness in 12-2/10 per cent. of the applications, and in 14-6/10 per cent. of the applications it was judged that there was no real need. It is very probable that these judgments are severe, but the result shows how frequently, at least, the personal character is a contributory cause of poverty.

An attempt was made when reading the records to determine the general character of the man and woman—that is, the adult members of the family. Such classification is at the best very rough, and does not give us much information. It may be said that the character was put down as good unless something distinctly to the contrary appeared. The results are given in the following table:


Male. Female. Total. Percentage. Good 122 231 353 45 Criminal 15 1 16 2 Insane .. 1 1 .. Intemperate 81 56 137 17 Shiftless 56 52 108 14 Suspicious 13 30 43 6 Untruthful 5 15 20 3 Uncertain 38 65 103 13

Total 330 451 781 100

"Shiftless" includes Male. Female. Total. Professional beggers 5 5 10 Loss of independence 1 3 4 Lack of push 2 1 3 Laziness 1 .. 1 Extravagance .. 2 2 "Worthless" 7 5 12 Prostitute .. 1 1

Total 16 17 33 Shiftless indefinite 40 35 75

Total 56 52 108

It would seem from this table that the judgment of the investigators was lenient. In nearly one-half of the cases the character of the men and women was said to be good.

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Fire tests of cast iron columns, made by order of the city authorities of Hamburg, are described in recent issues of the Deutsche Bauzeitung. The columns were 10 feet 8 inches long, 10.5 inches in diameter and of 1/13 inch or 0.5 inch metal. They were loaded centrally and eccentrically, and some were cased with a fireproof covering. A hydraulic press was placed below the column and its crosshead above it, and then a hinged oven containing twelve large gas burners was clamped about the column. The oven was furnished with apparatus for measuring heat, with peep holes and with a water jet. On an average a load of 3.2 tons per square inch, with a heat of 1,400 deg. F., produced deformation in thirty-five minutes in a centrally loaded column without casing. This showed itself by bulging all round in the middle of the heated part, especially where the metal happened to be thinner; fracture occurred finally in the middle of the thickest point of the bulge. If the load was less, this occurred at a higher temperature. Jets of water had no effect until deformation heat was reached. The casings had the effect of increasing the time before deformation began from half an hour to four or five hours.

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THE MASSILON (Ohio) Bridge Company has received an order for the construction of a cantilever bridge 562 feet long and 18 feet wide, which is to be built by the New York Dredging Company at Honda, on the Magdalena River, in Colombia, South America.

NAVIGATION ON the Amoo-Darya is to be extended considerably, so that Russian steamers will proceed upward on that river to Feisabad-Kalch, which is only about 200 miles from the scene of the recent Indian frontier troubles.—Uhland's Wochenschrift.

A NEW process of manufacturing artificial stone has been patented in England. The stone is formed in steel moulds, which can be adjusted to any size, shape or design for which the finished stone may be required, and solid blocks weighing several hundred pounds have been easily produced.

M. BERLIER, the well known engineer, has laid before the governments of Spain and Morocco a project for the construction of a tunnel under the Straits of Gibraltar. The execution of this plan would have immense economic consequences, so that its fate will be followed with interest. M. Berlier is the inventor of a new method of subterranean boring.

"THE SALE of the steamers 'Pennsylvania,' 'Ohio,' 'Indiana,' 'Illinois,' and 'Conemaugh,' by the International Navigation Company to the States Steamship Company for the Pacific trade leaves but five steamships flying the American flag crossing the Atlantic Ocean," says The Marine Record. "They are the 'St. Paul,' gross tons 11,629.21; 'St. Louis,' gross tons 11,629.21; 'New York,' gross tons 10,802.61; 'Paris,' gross tons 10,794.86; 'Evelyn,' gross tons 1,963.44, the latter three built in English shipyards and denationalized."

JOHN MURPHY, general manager of the United Traction Company, of Pittsburg, reports the average life of motor gears on his line as two years, and the average life of pinions, nine months. He is employing the gears and pinions of the Simonds Manufacturing Company. The service is an exceedingly severe one, on account of the many grades on the line. The average life of trolley wheels is 1,000 miles, and the conditions under which they operate are quite severe, as the company has on its main line eighteen railroad crossings. A tempered copper wheel is employed.

ACCORDING TO a recent correspondent of The Buffalo Express, in the Pennsylvania oil region during the last year over 300 gas engines have been placed on oil leases and are doing satisfactory work. The engines vary from 10 to 50 horse power. Every big machine shop in the oil regions is turning out gas engines. The machine shops are also using gas engines to drive their own machinery. During the last year twenty of the Standard Oil Company's pipe line pumping stations have been equipped with gas engines. In all the new stations and in old ones where new machinery is needed, the gas engine will be preferred. Where natural gas cannot be had and coal was formerly burned, gasoline is used. The pumping station engines are all provided with electric ignition.

IN A recent issue of The Railway Age is published the following, based upon the last report of the Interstate Commerce Commission: "Last year the railways of the United States carried over 13,000,000,000 passengers one mile. They also carried 95,000,000,000 tons of freight one mile. The total amount paid in dividends on stock was $87,603,371—call it $88,000,000. Of the total earnings of the railways, about 70 per cent. came from freight service and 30 per cent. from passenger service. Let us assume, then, that of the $88,000,000 paid in dividends, 70 per cent., or $61,600,000, was profit on freight service and $26,400,000 was profit on passenger service. Let us drop fractions and call it $62,000,000 from freight and $26,000,000 from passengers. By dividing the passenger profit into the number of passengers carried (13,000,000,000), we find that the railways had to carry a passenger 500 miles in order to earn $1 of profit—or five miles to earn 1 cent. Their average profit, therefore, was less than two-tenths of 1 cent for carrying a passenger (and his baggage) one mile. By dividing the freight profit into the freight mileage (95,000,000,000) we find that the railways had to carry one ton of freight 1,530 miles in order to earn $1, or over fifteen miles to earn 1 cent. The average profit, therefore, was less than one-fifteenth of a cent for carrying a ton of freight (besides loading and unloading it) one mile."

THE RAILROADS in the United States have cost about $60,000 per mile, and probably a considerable percentage of this has not entered into the construction of the railroads and the equipment of same, says "Signal Engineer" in The Railroad Gazette. The railroads of Great Britain have cost about $240,000 a mile, and yet we claim for the United States more luxurious travel than can be found in Great Britain; and this is true so long as the travel is safe. The difference in the cost of construction in the United States and England may be found in the item of safety appliances. The railroads of Great Britain carried during the last year 800,000,000 passengers, with safety to all but five, and this was possible because the railroads, instead of expending their capital in luxurious equipment and passenger stations, chose rather to equip their lines with the most improved signaling and interlocking. The railroad companies of the United States in expending large sums for handsome and convenient terminals and luxurious cars are placing monuments before the public eye which naturally lead to the belief that every appointment of such roads is on the same high plane, and it requires much less expenditure to furnish luxurious equipment to be carried over 1,000 miles of road than it does to equip 10 miles of the 1,000 so as to make it safe; and since the expenditure for safety appliances and permanent way is not seen and felt by the passenger so long as he is carried in safety, it is not, therefore, so prominent before the public gaze as is the handsome station and the palatial car. On one road in Great Britain, having but 2,000 miles of track, there are employed more men in the manufacture and installation of signal work than are employed by all the signal companies and in the signal departments of all the railroads of the United States, where we are now operating about 182,000 miles.

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ORDERS FOR large quantities of aluminum have been received within the last few weeks by the Pittsburg Reduction Company from the principal foreign nations for the equipment of their armies. The contracts aggregate about fifty tons a month, Russia being the largest consumer.

ACCORDING TO the return published by the Minister of Agriculture, the consumption of horseflesh in Paris has decreased slightly in the last year, being only 4,472 tons, as against 4,664 tons for 1895-96. This was the meat derived from 20,878 horses, 53 mules and 232 donkeys slaughtered during the twelve months; but a very strict supervision is exercised, and 575 of these animals were condemned as unfit for human food. The flesh of the remainder was sold at 190 stalls or shops, and, although the fillet and undercut made as much as 9d. a pound, the inferior parts sold for 2d. or less, and most of the meat was used for making sausages.

ACCORDING TO La Propriete Industrielle, 5,372 Austrian patents were granted in 1896 (5,215 in 1895). Of these, residents of the Austro-Hungarian monarchy received 2,070 (2,031 in 1895), Austrians coming first with 1,813 (1,683 in 1895), Hungarians second with 254 (347 in 1895), while residents of Bosnia and Herzegovina secured 3 patents (1 in 1895). Among foreigners the following show an increase over 1895: United States, 394 (335); Great Britain, 355 (313); France, 244 (243); Switzerland, 94 (79); Belgium, 66 (48); Sweden and Norway, 60 (40); Italy, 50 (45); Russia, 47 (40); Australia, 32 (10); and Netherlands, 26 (18). A decrease is shown by Germany, 1,887 (1,950); Denmark, 10 (17); Canada, 7 (14); and Spain, 6 (10). The total number of Austrian patents granted to foreigners in 1896 was 3,302, as against 3,184 in 1895.

ENGLISH AND FRENCH LIGHTHOUSES.—An English engineer named Purves has just made a comparison in regard to the intensity of light of the lighthouses on the English coasts and those which illuminate the shores of France. The comparison shows results which are altogether favorable to France. The average illumination intensity of eighty-six English lighthouses of the first class is 20,680 candle power, while thirty-six first class French lighthouses give an average of 34,166 candle power. The difference is more striking if the lighthouses constructed within the last ten years be considered. Since 1886 France has built eleven lighthouses, whose average intensity of light is 8,200,000 candle power; the new lighthouse of Eckmuehl gives 40,000,000. According to Mr. Purves, the superior intensity of light of the French lighthouse lies in the use of the flashing rays, which have not yet found favor in England.

IN AN address by Thomas Morris, before the Staffordshire, England, iron and steel works managers on the remarkable achievements that have been reached in the manufacture of fine wire, the interesting fact was mentioned that the lecturer had been presented by Warrington, the wire manufacturer, with specimens for which some $4.32 per pound were paid, or more than $8,600 per ton—drawn wire, largely used in the construction of piano and other musical and mechanical instruments. Among these specimens also was pinion wire, at a market price of $21.60 per pound, or $43,200 per ton. It took 754 hairsprings to weigh an ounce of 4371/2 grains; 27,000,000 of these were required to make a ton, and, taking one to be worth 11/2 cents, the value of a ton of these cheap little things ran up to over $400,000. The barbed instruments used by dentists for extracting nerves from teeth were even more expensive, representing some $2,150,000 per ton.

AT A fete in the Elysee Palace the other day one of the features prepared for the entertainment of the guests was a cinematograph, which contained views taken during President Faure's visit to St. Petersburg. One of the pictures settled for the President a question which had been troubling him considerably. Several months ago a German paper printed an interview with Bismarck, in which the ex-chancellor commented on M. Faure's visit to St. Petersburg, saying that the Frenchman had conducted himself according to etiquette except on one occasion, when, on his arrival in the Russian capital he had been saluted by the Cossack guard of honor, he had returned the salute with the hand, not with the hat. M. Faure being a civilian, this was a serious breach of etiquette, Bismarck said. The interview was reprinted in the French papers and caught the President's eye. He was much concerned about the matter and asked several friends who had been present if he had actually committed the breach. No one could remember. Then came the cinematograph show. As the small audience gazed upon the screen they saw the President's image advance with slow, dignified step before the Cossacks, then all at once raise his hand to his hat, which he lifted with the quick motion so familiar to Parisians. The guests burst into applause and the President smiled. Bismarck was mistaken.

"WE HEAR a great deal regarding the decline of our shipping interests, and so far as our shipping in the foreign trade is concerned it is unfortunately true," says The Boston Commercial Bulletin. "But few people realize the immensity of our coastwise commerce. The Custom House figures on the shipping of the port of New York for 1897 show that there were 4,614 arrivals of vessels from foreign ports, 7,095 from Eastern domestic ports, and 3,798 from Southern domestic ports. Of the foreign, 2,313 were British, of which 1,667 were steamships; 952 were American, of which 323 were steamships, and 517 were German of which 444 were steamships. This statement shows that the arrivals from American ports were nearly three times those from foreign countries, though of course this proportion is not borne out in tonnage, vessels on the deep sea trade averaging larger. But it will be doubtless a surprise that of the shipping from foreign ports more than one-fifth were American. At other Atlantic and Gulf ports this proportion undoubtedly does not hold true, but these figures show a less doleful condition of the American marine than some people have been led to expect. When it is remembered that the coastwise fleet numbers many steamers of 2,000 to 3,000 tons and many sailing craft of 1,000 tons and upward, it will be seen that we are yet a sea power of the first class, in fact exceeded only by England."

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