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Scientific American Supplement, No. 1178, June 25, 1898
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SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN SUPPLEMENT NO. 1178



NEW YORK, JUNE 25, 1898.

Scientific American Supplement. Vol. XLV., No. 1178.

Scientific American established 1845

Scientific American Supplement, $5 a year.

Scientific American and Supplement, $7 a year.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS.

I. ARCHAEOLOGY.—Tombs of the First Egyptian Dynasty—By LUDWIG BORCHARDT 18767

II. ANTHROPOLOGY.—The Milestones of Human Progress 18766

III. BIOGRAPHY.—The Queen Regent and Alfonzo XIII.—1 illustration 18755

IV. BOTANY AND HORTICULTURE.—Rose Psyche—1 illustration 18768

V. CIVIL ENGINEERING.—The Lock of the Dortmund-Ems Canal at Henrichenburg.—1 illustration 18776

VI. ELECTRICITY.—The Development of the Central Station—By SAMUEL INSULL 18774

VII. MARINE ENGINEERING.—Steering Gear of North German Lloyd Steamers "Coblentz," "Mainz" and "Trier."—2 illustrations 18777

VIII. MEDICINE AND HYGIENE.—Sleep and the Theories of its Cause 18768

IX. MISCELLANEOUS: Engineering Notes. 18771 Electrical Notes. 18771 Selected Formulae. 18771

X. NATURAL HISTORY—Wild and Domestic Sheep in the Berlin Zoological Garden.—8 illustrations 18772

XI. PATENTS.—Patents.—By JAMES W. SEE 18773

XII. PHOTOGRAPHY.—Amateur Chronophotographic Apparatus.—2 illustrations 18769

XIII. STEAM ENGINEERING.—Combined Steam Pumping and Motive Power Engine.—1 illustration 18778

XIV. TECHNOLOGY.—The Reclaiming of Old Rubber.—By HAWTHORNE HILL 18769

XV. WARFARE.—The American "Regular."—By the English correspondent of the London Times on board the United States transport "Gussie." 18776

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THE QUEEN REGENT AND ALFONZO XIII.



In the present war between the United States and Spain, the Queen Regent is an impressive figure, and it is entirely owing to her charm and fortitude that the present dynasty of Spain is maintained. Since his earliest youth she has constantly made efforts to fit her son to wear the crown. The Queen Regent came from the great historic house of Hapsburg, which has done much to shape the destinies of the world. All the fortitude that has distinguished its members is represented in this lady, who is the widow of Alfonzo XII. and the mother of the present king. Her father was the late Archduke Karl Ferdinand and she is the cousin of Emperor Franz Joseph. She has had a sad history. Her husband died before the young king was born, and from the hour of his birth she has watched and cared for the boy. She is the leader in all good works in Spain, and her sympathy for the distressed is proverbial. She gives freely from her private purse wherever there is need, whether it be for the relief of misery or, as recently, when the state is in peril. The young king has been carefully educated. By a curious fate, his birth deposed from the throne his sister Maria de las Mercedes, who as a little girl was queen for a few months. The boy has been brought up under the influence of family life and has a warm affection for his mother and sisters. He has never had the full delights of childhood, for he has been educated in that false, punctilious and thoroughly artificial atmosphere of the court of Spain, in which every care has been taken to fit him for his royal position. His health is far from robust, though the military education he has received has done much to strengthen his constitution. He has been taught to interest himself especially in the naval and military affairs, and the study of the models of ships and military discipline has been one of the principal occupations of his childhood. It is the earnest wish of Spain that he should prove worthy of his mother.

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THE MILESTONES OF HUMAN PROGRESS.[1]

[Footnote 1: A lecture delivered by Prof. Daniel G. Brinton at the Academy of Natural Sciences, Philadelphia.]

The subject pertains directly to the advancement of the race. Indeed, it is to the measure of this advancement I shall ask your attention. There is no doubt about the advancement. There are some people who believed and believe that man began in a state of high development and has since then degenerated into his present condition. The belief in some period of Arcadian simplicity and human perfection is still to be found in some remote nooks and crannies of the learned world; but those minds who have been trained in archaeological studies and in ethnographic observations know well that when we go back to the most ancient deposits, in which we find any sign of man at all on the globe, we find also the proofs that man then lived in the rudest possible condition of savagery. He has, little by little, through long centuries and millenniums of painful struggle, survived in made his weapons and his most effective tools for the time being would be a good criterion to go by, because these weapons and tools enabled him to conquer not only the wild beasts around him and his fellow man also, but nature as well. These materials are three in number. They particularly apply to European archaeology, but, in a general way, to the archaeology of all continents. The one is stone, which gave man material for the best cutting edge which he could make for very many millenniums of his existence. After that, for a comparatively short period, he availed himself of bronze—of the mixture of copper and tin called bronze—an admixture giving a considerable degree of hardness and therefore allowing polish and edge making. The bronze age was not long anywhere. It was succeeded by that metal which, beyond all others, has been of signal utility to man—iron. We live in the iron age, and it is from iron in some of its forms and products that all our best weapons and materials for implements, etc., are derived. We have, therefore, the ages of stone, of bronze and of iron. These are the measures, from an artistic source, of the advancement of human culture; and they certainly bear a distinct relation to all man's other conditions at the time. A tribe which had never progressed beyond the stone age—which had no better material for its weapons and implements than stone—could never proceed beyond a very limited point of civilization. Bronze or any metal which can be moulded, hammered and sharpened of course gives a nation vast superiority over one which uses stone only; and the value of iron and steel for the same purposes I need not dwell upon.

To be sure, we have here several measures; and it would seem more desirable, if we could, to obtain one single measure—one single material or object of which we could say that the tribe that uses or does not use that to an equal degree is certainly lower or, in the other respects, higher than another; but I believe that there has been no single material which has been suggested as of sufficient use and value in this direction to serve as a criterion; but, yes! I remember there was one and, on the whole, not a bad one. It was suggested by Baron Liebig, the celebrated chemist, who said: "If you wish a single material by which to judge of the amount of culture that any nation, or, for that matter, any individual, possesses, compared to another one, find out how much soap they use. Nothing," he said, "more than personal cleanliness and general cleanliness differentiates the cultured man from the savage;" and as for that purpose he probably had in view a soap, he recognized that as the one criterion. It is not amiss, but open, also, to serious objections; because there are tribes who live in such conditions that they can get neither water nor soap; and the Arabs, distinctly clean, are not by any means at the highest pinnacle of civilization.

The Germans, therefore, as a rule, have sought some other means than all those above mentioned. Almost all the German writers on ethnography divide the people and nations of the world into two great classes—the one they call the "wild peoples," the other the "cultured peoples"—the "Natur-Voelker" and the "Kultur-Voelker." The distinction which they draw between these two great classes is largely psychological. Man, they say, in the condition of the "wild people"—of the "Natur-Voelker"—is subject to nature; therefore, they call them "nature people." The "Kultur-Voelker," on the other hand, have emancipated themselves, in great measure, from the control of nature.

Furthermore, the man in the condition of the "wild people" is in a condition of practically unconscious life: he has not yet arrived at self-consciousness—he does not know and recognize his individuality—the "Ego"—"das ich;" that is a discovery which comes with the "Kultur-Voelker"—with the "cultured people;" and just in proportion as an individual (or a nation) achieves a completely clear idea of his own self-existence, his self-consciousness, his individuality, to that extent he is emancipated from the mere control of nature around him and rises in the scale of culture.

Again, to make this difference between the two still more apparent, it is the conflict between the instinctive desires and the human heart and soul and the intelligent desires—those desires which we have by instinct, which we have by heredity and which have been inculcated into us wholly by our surroundings, which we drink in and accept without any internal discussion of them: those are instinctive in character. We go about our business, we transact the daily affairs of life, we accept our religion and politics, not from any internal conviction of our own or positive examination, but from our surroundings. To that extent people are acting instinctively; and, as such, they are on a lower stage of culture than those who arrive at such results for themselves through intelligent personal effort. This is a real distinction also, although somewhat more subtle, perhaps, than the ones previously given. Therefore, the differentiation made by the German ethnographers between wild people and the cultured peoples is, in the main, right; but it does not admit of any sharp line of distinction between the two. We cannot draw a fixed line and say, "On this side are the cultured people and on that the wild," because there are many tribes and nations who are about that line, in some respects on one side of it, in others on the other; but in a broad, general way this distinction (which is now universally adopted by the German writers) is one we should keep in our minds as being based upon careful studies and real distinctions.

Usually the writers in the English tongue prefer a different basis than any of these which I have mentioned; they prefer the basis as to whence is derived the food supply of a nation, or a tribe; and on the source of that food supply they divide nations and tribes into the more or less cultured. In earliest times (and among the rudest tribes to-day) the food supply is furnished entirely by natural means; there is little or no agriculture known to speak of; there is nothing in the way of preserving domestic animals for food; hunting the wild beasts of the forests and fishing in the streams are the two sources. Therefore, we call that last condition the hunting and fishing stage of human development. You will observe that when that prevails there can be no congregation of men into large bodies. Such a thing as a city would be unknown. The food supply is eminently precarious. It depends upon the season and upon a thousand matters not under the control of man in any way. Moreover, inasmuch as the supply at the best is uncertain, it allows but a very limited population in a district; nor does it permit any permanent or stable inhabitations. The towns, such as they are, must be movable; they must go to one part of the country in the summer and another in the winter; they must follow the game and the fruits; and in that condition, therefore, of unstable life it is not possible for a nation or a tribe to gain any great advance. You observe, therefore, that when the food supply is drawn from this source it does entail a general depravity of culture everywhere.

Above that would come the food supply which is obtained from other sources. There is one which is not universal but still widely extended, and that is the pastoral life. There are many tribes (as, for instance, in southern Africa and in India and throughout the steppes of Tartary and elsewhere) who live on their herds and drive their herds from one pasture to another in order to obtain the best forage. This nomadic and pastoral life extended very widely over the old world in ancient times, but existed nowhere in the new world, for the simple reason that they had no domesticated animals. Our own remote ancestors—both the Aryans and the Semites—all the early ancestors of the white race so far as known, were pastoral or nomadic; and the Aryans of central Europe remained so until after the fall of Rome, when, for the first time, they became practically sedentary. This nomadic and pastoral life is a very great advance over the mere hunting and fishing stage. It requires considerable care and attention to domesticate the wild animals in any sufficient quantity to form a reliable source of food. Moreover, the attention which it was necessary to give to the rearing and training and the looking after domestic animals was to a certain extent, humanizing. When a man found that it was necessary to be careful about his animals, he would also be careful about his neighbors. We would say that the same sense which enabled him, or directed him, to look after the welfare of the herd would justify and, in fact, impel him to look after that of man also; so that the nomadic and pastoral life, although not stable nor favorable to the development of cities, nor the great extension of commerce, was nevertheless a decided advance over the ruder hunting and fishing stage. So far as we know, neither Aryan nor Semite ever depended upon a hunting and fishing stage. They doubtless did, but not in the time of any history that we know. The Bedouins, etc., wandering tribes to-day, and, among the Semitic, the Tuaregs of the Sahara, are a purely nomadic or pastoral race; yet are very much above the negroes of the south, who depend upon hunting and fishing.

Above it, however, and a very great improvement upon it, is the agricultural stage, where the main source of the food supply is the harvests. You observe, at once, that that means a sedentary life. When a man sows corn, he must wait thereabout and tend it and till it and finally reap it and store it and thrash it and then preserve the grain and build granaries for it; and it involves, in fact, the remaining in one place all the whole year; and then the regularity of that life led very distinctly to making men regular, generally, in their habits. They wanted to defend their homes—defend these grain fields of theirs, or starvation would result; therefore, they built towers and strong-walled cities; and they took great care in the selection of the best men among them to do the fighting, while others looked after the crop. We find that agriculture began at a very, very early period in both continents. In our own continent we cannot tell when agriculture was first in use—the main crop being the maize, or Indian corn. It was raised by the more advanced tribes from the extreme north, where its profitable culture invited, to the extreme south, from about the northern line of Wisconsin in North America to the latitude of southern Chile in South—extending, therefore, over some seven to eight thousand miles of linear distance.

In the old world (going back to the time of the lake dwellers) we know they had barley, rye and a species of millet; and later on they were introduced to oats and wheat and a variety of others. Rice was of the very earliest of our cereals, in the extreme east of the old world. Wherever we find a very ancient civilization we also find that it is intimately connected with some important cereal, and it has been said that all you have to do is to study botany—the history of botany—and you will find the history of human culture; and much there is that could be said for that.

Fourth, and finally, those who divide human culture according to the food supply consider that the highest stage is reached through commerce. Commerce brings to all the great centers of human life the food essential to their sustenance. It would be absolutely impossible—obviously so—to have a city like Philadelphia in existence for a month without constant and ceaseless commerce brought here the food for its inhabitants. It is quite likely that, were Philadelphia shut off at once from all connection with the world, within ten days there would be an absolute famine here—so closely do we depend upon our commercial supplies for our subsistence. These supplies are not drawn from any one locality; were we to draw a radius of five hundred miles around our great city of a million inhabitants, we should still find that the greater part of our food supply comes from a wider distance from us than that; and there is no one of us that will go to his table this evening but will see upon that table food products drawn from every quarter of the world. Thus it is that commerce enables man to reach an indefinite degree of consolidation; and it is through consolidation—through the more and more intimate relationship, and the closer and closer juxtaposition of man—that his real benefit and progress may be derived.

These, therefore, are the four stages of culture, as depending upon food supply: the hunting and fishing stage, the nomadic or pastoral, the agricultural and the commercial. These have been generally adopted by English writers, and they are so adopted to-day; and you will probably find them in many of the text books.

The American writers have, in many instances, followed the principles laid down and defined most clearly by Mr. Lewis H. Morgan, a distinguished ethnologist of the last generation. He divides (or accepted the division and largely defined it) the progress of man into a series of stages: beginning at the lowest point with savagery; then barbarism, semi-civilization, civilization, and fifth, enlightenment.

I may briefly refer to what he would include in these and the main criteria which he gives for each of them. He would place the savage condition as being that of the lowest tribes known to us. They have little or no agriculture; their commerce is very inchoate and rude: they have no knowledge of the metals as such; their best weapon is the bow and arrow, or the throwing stick; and their best tool is the stone hatchet and the stone spade. This is very much like the lowest condition of the "wild people" to whom I referred.

Above that he would place the condition of barbarism. In the stage of developed barbarism he would place such inventions as, for instance, pottery, the art of weaving (which is a very primitive art) and the taming of a certain number of domestic animals, some for food, some for amusement and hunting, and also the beginnings of the development of agriculture. A type of such a nation of barbarism would be the Indians who used to live here—the Algonkian—the Delaware Indians. When the first Europeans came to the shores of the Delaware River they did not find absolutely rude savages. The Delaware Indians had moderately stationary villages surrounded by pickets, the houses being built of strong timber; they had large fields of maize, pumpkins, squashes and beans, which they cultivated diligently during the summer and stored the food for their winter's supply. They depended largely, to be sure, upon hunting and fishing also; but along with that they had these simple arts: From the rushes which grew below Philadelphia, in a place called the "Neck," they used to weave mats for protecting the floors and also for building the sides of their summer houses and for sleeping upon. They had a method of tanning and dressing buckskin and using it for the purposes of clothing. They were by no means naked savages; they were clothed, and tolerably well clothed; they could make pottery, and the pottery was decorated sometimes with interesting designs, of which we have specimens in our cabinets. Therefore, we find among the old Delaware Indians who formerly lived on the site of Philadelphia a fair specimen of a nation in a barbarous stage, decidedly superior to the Australian natives of to-day or the Indians of the Terra del Fuego or the northern part of British America, who are in the state of complete savagery.

Above that is the period of semi-civilization, a stage marked by the discovery of the method of building stone walls. No Algonkian or Iroquois Indian ever built a stone wall in his life; there is no record of any and no signs of any throughout the United States east of the Mississippi; there was never a stone wall built by a native tribe that really amounted to anything more than a stone pile; but we do find that in the southwest, among the cliff dwellers, and in various parts of Central America and South America, the stone wall was not only known, but it was constructed with a great deal of durability and skill. Also, some knowledge of metals was found among most of the semi-civilized people. The Mexicans and the Peruvians were in a state of semi-civilization when they were discovered by the whites the first time. They, built many extensive temples and houses, erected frequently upon pyramids, the pyramids themselves being supported by stone walls. They knew the dressing of stone; they were distinctly agricultural and depended more on that than anything else for their food supply. They had developed a system of mnemonic records which, in the Yucatan culture, might be called picture writing, but was not phonetic writing in our true sense of the term. The also knew something about weighing and measuring. They had definite laws, laws which were carried out by properly appointed individuals. Their towns and cities would often number thousands of inhabitants; they had roads connecting them, which roads were kept in good condition; they had a regular army made up of men selected and trained for that purpose. In all these respects we see nations who were semi-civilized, but they were not yet civilized. We could call a nation civilized that had a distinct system of phonetic writing and used it; but not all nations having this are civilized. It is only when it is used freely and for purposes of business that we can call them civilized.

The wild Tuaregs of the Sahara have a system of phonetic writing used by a few of them—the women being the literati of those tribes (the men not knowing how to read or write); but civilization means more than this; it means the use of iron weapons and tools; it means also the adoption of a definite currency which is established on a fixed basis and recognized throughout the community; it means the establishment of commercial lines—a progress distinct above that which is the mere barter of the lower conditions of savagery and barbarism. In all these respects we see that civilization means a type about such as we enjoy at present. It is such as has existed in Europe since the Renaissance; because during the middle ages we could only say that Europe was in a semi-civilized condition. They knew something about writing; but at a time when Dean, the writer of the early history of England, said that throughout the whole of England there were not half a dozen men who could read what he had written, you can see that writing was a very unimportant part of the culture of that nation; so it can only be when writing becomes a common possession of the majority that we can call it an element of civilization.

It is not to be supposed that we ourselves have reached the type of the highest culture. We leave something for our descendants to do. We do not wish to relieve them of the privilege of being better than ourselves; and we shall leave them, probably, plenty of room; because it is supposed that the stage of enlightenment which is the highest stage of culture—which we foresee, but do not see—that that rather applies to the future than to ourselves. That period will come when mankind has freed itself very much more than now from the bonds of nature and the environment of society. It will come when the ideas of our equality are much more perfect than they are now; when that equality extends to the equality of women with men before the law and in all rights; when it comes to the equality of all men of all castes before the law and the equal opportunity of all men to obtain that which is best in the life of all. We are very far from that yet. It will come also when the idea of international legislation is such that it will not be necessary, in order to cure great evils, that we should have recourse to weapons of any material whatsoever; that time is not yet come; and so we have much that is left for our descendants to work out in this direction.

It would, however, appear that all these various criteria which I have named are somewhat unsatisfactory. They do not, it appears to me, quite touch the question at issue. They are in a measure external measures altogether—even that somewhat psychological one which I quoted from the German authorities. Were I to propose a criterion, or a series of criteria, of culture which could be applied to all nations, it would be that which might as well and easily be applied to each individual; and when we come to apply it in that manner it is much more easy to understand its bearing. Herbert Spencer, in defining what he means by culture, says: "It means the knowledge of one thing thoroughly and a knowledge of the groundwork of all other branches of human knowledge." He claimed that we can only understand one thing thoroughly; but that we could and ought to understand the general outline of all other things which are studied by mankind. This is somewhat defective, it appears, because it bases culture entirely from an intellectual point of view; and if man were merely a walking intellectual machine, it would be well enough; but he is not; for the intellectual man is but a small portion of his life. We are engaged, most of our time, in something which is very far from purely intellectual action. We are governed distinctly by our emotions and our feelings—our sentiments; and culture must touch them, or it is vague and empty. Therefore it is that I would say that we should think with Goethe—to whom we must often recur for an insight into the profoundest trends of human nature—must recur to him; and we find that he lays down the principle of culture in the individual to be "A general sympathy with all the highest ideas which have governed and are governing the human mind." He said: "We should keep ourselves first (each man and woman should keep himself and herself) in touch with the highest elements of his and her own nature." He said, "It is not so difficult, if we give but a little time to it—provided we give that time regularly. We must remember," he says, "to cultivate our intellect by some study, every day and our sense of the beautiful by looking at something which is beautiful; and there is much around us which costs us nothing to look at were we to observe it—the cloud, the sunlight, the tree, the flower, a butterfly—anything of that kind studied for a few minutes each day would continue to develop in man's mind the sense of the beautiful. We should also appreciate carefully our actions and govern them and measure them, as to whether they are just to others—a matter which a very few minutes a day will probably enable us to do;" and so also he would go further and seek to find, in the idea of truth itself, as to what we ought and ought not to believe—trying to discover some one test of truth which we can apply.

Indeed, we may therefore formulate and apply to nations at large what Goethe has there suggested; and we shall find it can be arranged in what I may call a pentatonic scale of culture. You may be aware that all musical scales of all savage and barbarous and primitive tribes are not in the octave, as ours, but in five notes only; they all have one musical scale only, and that is a pentatonic scale; and it is perhaps because they feel that their own minds are based upon some such arrangement as that (although that is an idea which I do not subscribe to, but only suggest); but when we come to look over the whole cycle of culture, as we find it described in the histories of culture—in the histories of civilization—we find that they are all efforts to develop one or the other, or several, of five primary ideas which are in the mind of every human being; and when they are developed, then culture is perfect, either in the individual or in the nation or the race. These five primitive ideas, innate in every human soul, are the ideas of the useful, of the beautiful, of the just, of the good and of the true, and you will not find any savage (provided he is not deficient in the ordinary mental ability of his tribe) who does not indicate an appreciation of every one of these in his own way. It is the idea of the useful which teaches him his utilitarian arts; which teaches him to build his house; to chip the flint for his weapon; to sharpen the stick to dig the place to drop the seed; and all those we call the arts of utility, the useful arts; and yet you will not find a savage tribe to-day but what goes somewhat above this; because among them all they make also an effort that these tools and weapons of theirs shall have some sign about them of the beautiful; and you will find decoration—indeed, "the painted savage" is a name we give to the lowest order of humanity; yet this same paint is to make himself beautiful; and so it is throughout all his games and amusements in life—you will find he is constantly striving at the idea of decoration—at the idea of beauty; little by little he develops this, until it becomes, in some nations, the joy of their existence and the lesson of the race, as in the ancient Greeks; as in the Italians of the time of the Renaissance. These are what we call the aesthetic emotions, based upon an innate sense and love of the beautiful: and we may also turn to the lowest savage—we shall not find him deficient in justice; on the contrary, among the rudest Australians, without shelter or clothing, you will find that the law of the tribe is well defined and also implacable; and a man who has sinned knows that he must meet it or flee; he knows that there is no avail or recourse beyond the tribal council, and he knows what they will decide in his particular case, because he knows the law and the penalty of its infringement. And this rude notion of justice develops, little by little, into the great edifice of jurisprudence, the law of nation and the law of nations. Thus we find that the idea of the just, and of what is right from man to man, is something which is found everywhere; and as that develops culture develops; but the mere just alone does not satisfy the human heart; the man who merely metes out to his fellow that which the tribal law, or the law of the land, requires of him, certainly is not up to the ideal of any man or woman in this assembly or in this city.

There is something beyond that, and what is that? We find that it rests in the idea of the good—that which is often brought forward in the beautiful forms of religion, which tells man that above justice there is something greater and nobler than mere ethics or morality—the mere right and wrong—the mere giving what is due. It is not enough to do that; there must be a giving of more than is due; because the idea of the good transcends the present life—it passes into the future life of the species; and it is only through going above what is needed to-day that we may endow our posterity with something greater than we ourselves possess. It is the idea of the good, therefore, which lifts that which is merely just into a higher—into, I might say, an immortal sphere of activity. It has always had an intense attraction for noble souls, which history shows us; and it is not to be supposed that that attraction will ever diminish; it will ever increase, although its forms may change; and finally, along with this betterment of the emotions, and of the sense of justice—of right and of ethics and of aesthetics—we find the constant effort and desire of all mankind, in all stages of culture, to find out what is true, as distinct from that which is not true. You will not be mistaken if you seek for this in the soul of the rudest savage; he, too, likes to know the truth. The methods by which he arrives at it, or seeks to arrive at it, are widely different from those which you have been taught. Nevertheless, the logical force of his mind; the methods of thought that he has; the laws that govern his intelligence, are exactly the same as yours: and it is only with your enlightenment you have gained more and more acquaintance with the methods. You know something about the great discovery which has advanced all modern science from its mediaeval condition to that of the present—of the application of the inductive system of science and thought; and you know that it is by constant and close mathematical study of analogy—of probability—that we exclude error little by little from our observations—we improve more and more our instruments of precision—we count out the errors of our observation; and we are constantly seeking those laws which are not transient and ephemeral only, but which are eternal and immortal. Upon those laws, finally, must rest all our real, certain knowledge; and it is the endeavor of the anthropologist to apply those laws to man and his development; and such, indeed, is the recognized and highest mission of that science. We thus find that the idea of truth is at the summit of this scale which I have placed before you—not separated from it. It interprets every one of the ideas and justifies them and qualifies them and lifts them up into their highest usefulness. Chevalier Bunsen, in describing what he thought would be the highest condition of human enlightenment, said, "It will be when the good will be the true and the true will be the good;" and he might have extended that further and said, when both those ideas were the inspiring motives of all these five great ideas which I have stated are at the basis of the culture of every individual and are also at the basis of the culture of the race and of the nation.

This, therefore, will serve as a sketch of the milestones of human progress. The way has been long and painful; the results have been far from satisfactory; and yet they have been enormous and wonderful, when we compare them now with what our ancestors were when history began. We can conclude, however, from looking back on this thorny and upward path, that it is still going to ascend; we do not know it for certain; progress may cease, through some unknown law, now and here; but if there is anything that we can derive from the lesson of the past—if we can project into the future any of the facts which history shows us are our own now—it guides us forward to a firm belief that the hereafter will have in its breast greater treasures for humanity, greater glories for posterity, than any that we know or can understand.

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TOMBS OF THE FIRST EGYPTIAN DYNASTY.[1]

[Footnote 1: The Independent.]

By LUDWIG BORCHARDT, Ph.D., Director of the German School in Cairo.

For many years various European collections of Egyptian antiquities have contained a certain series of objects which gave archaeologists great difficulty. There were vases of a peculiar form and color, greenish plates of slate, many of them in curious animal forms, and other similar things. It was known, positively, that these objects had been found in Egypt, but it was impossible to assign them a place in the known periods of Egyptian art. The puzzle was increased in difficulty by certain plates of slate with hunting and battle scenes and other representations in relief in a style so strange that many investigators considered them products of the art of Western Asia.

The first light was thrown on the question in the winter of 1894-95 by the excavations of Flinders Petrie in Ballas and Neggadeh, two places on the west bank of the Nile, a little below ancient Thebes. This persevering English investigator discovered here a very large necropolis in which he examined about three thousand graves. They all contained the same kinds of pottery and the same slate tablets mentioned above, and many other objects which did not seem to be Egyptian. It was plain that the newly found necropolis and the puzzling objects already in the museums belonged to the same period. Petrie assumed that they represented the art of a foreign people—perhaps the Libyans—who had temporarily resided in Egypt in the time between the old and the middle kingdoms. He gave this unknown people the name "New Race." But his theory met with little approval, least of all from German Egyptologists; and even at that time, an opinion was expressed that this unusual art belonged before the known beginning of Egyptian culture. However, in spite of much discussion, the question could not then be decided.

About the same time another riddle was presented to Egyptologists by the results of the excavations made in Abydos by the French scholar Amelineau; and another hot discussion was raised. Amelineau had excavated several large tombs and had also found objects which could not be arranged in the known development of Egyptian art. The fortunate discoverer ascribed these to the dynasties of the demigods, who, according to Egyptian tradition, reigned before the kings; but of course this idea met with determined opposition, and indeed especially among his French colleagues. The tomb of Abydos offered, however, on quiet consideration, more material for establishing its date than those of Ballas and Neggadeh. In Abydos a number of inscriptions had been found which, rude as they were, showed that the people buried in the tombs had known the hieroglyphic system of writing. The occurrence of so-called "Horus names" in these inscriptions was especially important. For every old Egyptian king had a long list of names and titles, and among them a name surmounted by the picture of a hawk (i.e., Horus), and called on that account the "Horus name." As the name is, at the same time, written on a sort of standard, it is also called the "Banner name." Such "Horus" or "Banner names" occur, then, on the objects found by Amelineau. Accidentally, one of these names occurs, also, on a statue in the Grizeh Museum which, according to its style, is one of the oldest statues which the museum possesses. Thus it became evident that the Abydos objects were, in any case, to be placed in the earliest period of Egyptian history.

The discussion stood thus when, in the spring of 1897, the fortunate hand of De Morgan, the former Directeur-general des Services des antiquites egyptiennes, succeeded by renewed excavations in Neggadeh in furnishing the connections between the objects found by Petrie in Ballas and Neggadeh and those found by Amelineau in Abydos. He discovered, not far from the necropolis, excavated by Petrie, the tomb of a king which, on the one hand, contained pottery and tablets like those found by Petrie, and on the other, objects entirely like those found by Amelineau. Thus it was proved that both Petrie's tombs and those of Amelineau belonged to the same period, and, indeed, the oldest period, of Egyptian history, before the third dynasty. They were older than the most ancient objects which we had thought that we possessed. But it was still impossible to date them exactly.

At this point, an epoch-making discovery of Dr. Sethe, privat-docent at the University of Berlin, placed the whole matter at a single stroke on a comparatively sure foundation. He pointed out that the inscriptions on a few unassuming potsherds from Abydos contained not only Banner names of old kings, but also their ordinary names. These names were not inclosed, as later, in cartouches, and even contained many unusual spellings; but they were still too clear to be misunderstood. Sethe succeeded in identifying the names of the fifth, the sixth and the seventh kings of the first Manethonian dynasty, called by the Greek authors Usaphais, Miebais and Semempses. Thus it became extremely probable that all these newly discovered objects were from the first dynasty, but still not absolutely certain; for the three names occurred only on fragments of vases, and absolutely nothing was known of how these fragments were found. The proof that they belonged to the other objects was wanting. A very skeptical investigator might still have said that the other objects were older, that the potsherds had only fallen accidentally into ruined tombs of an older period; or he might have said quite the contrary, that the potsherds were older than the tombs.

At this point occurred the possibility of finding a solution of the question in the objects found in the royal tomb of Neggadeh. For the report of the excavations at Neggadeh was more exact than that of the excavations at Abydos; and the whole contents of the tomb of Neggadeh had been kept together and preserved in a separate room in the Grizeh Museum. The possibility became a reality. One of the principal objects of this royal tomb was found to bear the ordinary as well as the Horus name of the king—a fact which had escaped the fortunate discoverer. The object is a small ivory plate with incised representations of funerary offerings before the king. Animals are being sacrificed to him; jars full of beer and other things are being offered. The figure of the king, in front of a hanging mat, is not preserved; but the upper corner still remains with the two names, which were written above the figure. First, there is the same Horus name which occurs on all the inscribed objects of this tomb and which may be translated "The Warrior." Beside the Horus name in a sort of cartouche is the title "Lord of Vulture and Serpent Crown" (Lord of Upper and Lower Egypt), and beneath the title the sign which represents a checkerboard, and has the syllabic value Mn. There can therefore be no doubt that the king buried in the royal tomb of Neggadeh, of whom we had only known the Horus name "The Warrior," had also the name Mn. Now, there is no other known Egyptian king who could be identified with this name Mn than the first king of the first Manethonian dynasty, called Menes by the Greeks. It is impossible here to go into the philological basis of the identification of Mn and Menes. The final conclusion is this: In Neggadeh, we have before us the tomb of the oldest king of whom the Egyptians had preserved any memory, and whom they considered the founder of the Egyptian monarchy.

In consideration of the importance of the questions involved, a short description of the tomb of Menes and of the objects found in it will certainly be of interest. The second part of De Morgan's book, "Recherche sur les origines de l'Egypte," which has just appeared, furnishes us with the facts concerning the tomb, and the objects found in the tomb I will describe from the originals in the Gizeh Museum.

The tomb consists of a large building, standing alone, measuring 54 X 27 m. (about 100 X 50 Egyptian ells), and built of burned brick. The outside walls were ornamented, as was usual in later Egyptian buildings, with pilasters composed of groups of smaller rectangular pilasters. It is the same motive so often to be observed in the sham doors in tombs of the old kingdom, and is really the most natural facade ornamentation for brick buildings, as it may be made by simply setting every alternate column of bricks forward or backward. The walls were, in addition, plastered. Back of the thick outside wall on each side lay a row of narrow rectangular rooms, formed by dividing a corridor by means of cross walls. Inside this surrounding row of rooms was the real tomb, a building with thick walls and five rooms in a row. The middle one of these rooms, noticeably larger than the others, is the real burial chamber. These five rooms were originally connected by doors which were afterward walled up. As to the roof, we can only make surmises, as the excavator has furnished us with no material on this point. The walls as they now stand are at the highest point about four meters high, and thus may form only the lower part of the building. Whether the roof was an arch of stone or simply of wood, is uncertain; but it seems to me probable that it was of wood. For the tomb contained a layer of ashes in which all the objects put in the grave with the dead man were found; and, assuming that the roof was of wood, it is possible that the roof was set on fire at the time when the tomb was robbed and that the ashes came from this fire. The explanation which the excavator gives of these ashes, that the body and the offerings were burned in the closed grave, hardly deserves consideration. In any case, the grave has been robbed and destroyed. That is shown by the fact that many pieces of funeral furniture, which originally could only have been put in the central rooms, were found partly broken in the outside rooms, or on the side toward the fields, the side most exposed to the attack of grave robbers.

The assumption that the grave has been robbed and intentionally destroyed agrees entirely with the fact that all the more valuable objects found in the grave were in fragments. But, fragmentary as they are, they are sufficient to give us a good idea of the art of the first period of the Egyptian kingdom, a period which is now most generally estimated to be five and a half millenniums before the present day (3600 B.C.) The skill with which ivory carving was done in that early time is indeed amazing. Reclining lions, hunting dogs and fish are so skillfully reproduced that one asks how many centuries of development must have preceded before the art of carving reached this perfection. A number of feet taken from the legs of small chairs and other similar furniture, and made in imitation of bulls' legs, show such a fixity of style and at the same time such a freedom of execution, that no archaeologist, without the report of the excavator, would dare to proclaim them the oldest dated works of Egyptian art. But it was not only in carving ivory, which is easy to work, that the Egyptian artists showed their skill. They also make bowls and vases of diorite and porphyry with the same success; and the forms presented by the smaller ivory vases are also to be found in vases made of those refractory stones. Further, the vases made of stone present not merely such forms as might be made by turning or boring, but there are also bowls with ribs which are as finely polished as the turned bowls. The hardest material used in the objects already found is rock crystal, of which several small flasks and bowls and a little lion are composed. But the lion, it must be confessed, is rather rudely worked. A few small vases of obsidian also occur—remarkable in view of the fact that we do not know of any place in or near Egypt where this stone may be found. Besides these vessels of hard stone, there are, of course, a large number made of softer stone. Alabaster vases occur in every conceivable form. Cylindrical pots, with wavy handles or simple cordlike ornamentation, appear to have been especially favored. The great beer jars, closed with enormous stoppers of unbaked clay, were made of ordinary baked clay. Of course the different stone and clay vessels, which, undoubtedly, originally contained offerings for the dead, form the bulk of the contents of the grave. The slate tablets for rubbing cosmetics for painting the body, and the flint weapons and knives of all sorts, follow in point of numbers. Remarkably enough, metal objects occur in this oldest historical period alongside the stone implements, though, of course, in less numbers. Several objects made of copper and a slender bead of gold have been found. Such, in short, is all that remains of the things put in the tomb with the king. But little as there is, it gives us an idea of the richness and splendor with which these old royal tombs were furnished.

It might certainly be productive of unusual emotions to know that the few human bones found in the tomb, and now preserved in the Gizeh Museum, once belonged to the oldest Egyptian king. But as we know almost nothing of him, except some unfounded traditions, this sort of relic worship deserves very little respect. The scientific value of the proof that Menes was the king buried in the royal tomb of Neggadeh lies rather in the fact that we have now settled the question of the age of that culture which was presented to us by the excavations of Ballas, Neggadeh and Abydos. The products of a whole period of Egyptian civilization which had been misunderstood, and had been used to support false historical conclusions, fall into their true place; and our knowledge of the history of Egyptian culture is carried back not merely a few centuries, but to a period presenting characteristics different from the oldest previously known period, but containing the germs of the later development.

Cairo, Egypt.

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ROSE PSYCHE.

The hybrid Polyantha Rose Psyche is a seedling from the dwarf Polyantha Rose Golden Fairy, crossed with the pollen of the Crimson Rambler. Its growth and habit, though more delicate, much resembles the Rambler. It is apparently quite hardy, and is very free flowering, but we fear not perpetual. The flowers are produced in clusters of from fifteen to twenty-five, and are 2 to 21/2 inches across when fully expanded. In the bud stage they are very pretty and well formed. The color is white, suffused with salmon-rose and pink, with a yellow base to the petals. It is a real companion to Crimson Rambler.—The Gardeners' Chronicle.



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SLEEP AND THE THEORIES OF ITS CAUSE.

The theory of the origin of sleep which has gained the widest credence is the one that attributes it to anaemia of the brain. It has been shown by Mosso, and many others, that in men with defects of the cranial wall the volume of the brain decreases during sleep. At the same time, the volume of any limb increases as the peripheral parts of the body become turgid with blood. In dogs, the brain has been exposed, and the cortex of that organ has been observed to become anaemic during sleep. It is a matter of ordinary observation that in infants, during sleep, the volume of the brain becomes less, since the fontanelle is found to sink in. It has been supposed, but without sufficient evidence to justify the supposition, that this anaemia of the brain is the cause and not the sequence of sleep. The idea behind this supposition has been that, as the day draws to an end, the circulatory mechanism becomes fatigued, the vasomotor center exhausted, the tone of the blood vessels deficient, and the energy of the heart diminished, and the circulation to the cerebral arteries lessened. By means of a simple and accurate instrument (the Hill-Barnard sphygmometer), with which the pressure in the arteries of man can be easily reckoned, it has been recently determined that the arterial pressure falls just as greatly during bodily rest as during sleep. The ordinary pressure of the blood in the arteries of young and healthy men averages 110-120 mm. of mercury. In sleep, the pressure may sink to 95-100 mm.; but if the pressure be taken of the same subject lying in bed, and quietly engaged on mental work, it will be found to be no higher. By mental strain or muscular effort, the pressure is, however, immediately raised, and may then reach 130-140 mm. of mercury. It can be seen from considering these facts that the fall of pressure is concomitant with rest, rather than with sleep. As, moreover, it has been determined on strong evidence that the cerebral vessels are not supplied with vasomotor nerves, and that the cerebral circulation passively follows every change in the arterial pressure, it becomes evident that sleep cannot be occasioned by any active change in the cerebral vessels. This conclusion is borne out by the fact that to produce in the dog a condition of coma like to sleep, it is necessary to reduce, by a very great amount, the cerebral circulation. Thus, both carotids and both vertebral arteries, can be frequently tied at one and the same time without either producing coma or any very marked symptoms. The circulation is, in such a case, maintained through other channels, such as branches from the superior intercostal arteries which enter the anterior spinal artery. While total anaemia of the brain instantaneously abolishes consciousness, partial anaemia is found to raise the excitability of the cortex cerebri. By estimation of the exchange of gases in the blood which enters and leaves the brain, it has been shown that the consumption of oxygen and the production of carbonic acid in that organ is not large. Further, it may be noted that the condition of anaesthesia is not in all cases associated with cerebral anaemia. Thus, while during chloroform anaesthesia the arterial pressure markedly falls, such is not the case during anaesthesia produced by ether or a mixture of nitrous oxide and oxygen.

The arterial pressure of man is not lowered by the ordinary fatigue of daily life. It is only in extreme states of exhaustion that the pressure may be found decreased when the subject is in the standing position. The fall of pressure which does occur during rest or sleep is mainly occasioned by the diminished rate of the heart. The increase in the volume of the limbs is to be ascribed to the cessation of muscular movement and to the diminution in the amplitude of respiration. The duty of the heart is to deliver the blood to the capillaries. From the veins the blood is, for the most part, returned to the heart by the compressive action of the muscles, the constant change of posture and by the respiration acting both as a force and suction pump. All of these factors are at their maximum during bodily activity and at their minimum during rest. On exciting a sleeper by calling his name, or in any way disturbing him, the limbs, it has been recorded, decrease in volume while the brain expands. This is so because the respiration changes in depth, the heart quickens, the muscles alter in tone, as the subject stirs in his sleep in reflex response to external stimuli. Considering all these facts, we must regard the fall of arterial pressure, the depression of the fontanelle, and the turgescence of the vessels of the limbs as phenomena concomitant with bodily rest and warmth, and we have no more right to assign the causation of sleep to cerebral anaemia than to any other alteration in the functions of the body, such as occur during sleep.

We may well here summarize these other changes in function:

(1) The respiratory movement becomes shallow and thoracic in type.

(2) The volume of the air inspired per minute is lessened by one-half to two-thirds.

(3) The output of carbonic acid is diminished by the same amount.

(4) The bodily temperature falls.

(5) The acidity of the cortex of the brain disappears.

(6) Reflex action persists; the knee jerk is diminished, pointing to relaxation in tone of the muscles; consciousness is suspended.

Analyzing more closely the conditions of the central nervous system, it becomes evident that, in sleep, consciousness alone is in abeyance. The nerves and the special senses continue to transmit impulses and to produce reflex movements. If a blanket, sufficiently heavy to impede respiration, be placed upon the face of a sleeping person, we know that it will be immediately pushed away. More than this, complicated movements can be carried out; the postilion can sleep on horseback; the punkah-wallah may work his punkah and at the same time enjoy a slumber; a weary mother may sleep, and yet automatically rock her infant's cradle. Turning to the histories of sleep walkers, we find it recorded that, during sleep, they perform such feats as climbing slanting roofs or walking across dangerous narrow ledges and bridges. The writer knew of the case of a lad who, when locked in his room at night to prevent his wandering in his sleep, climbed a partition eight to ten feet in height which separated his sleeping compartment from the next, and this without waking.

The brain can carry out not only such complicated acts as these, but it has been found to maintain during sleep its normal inhibitory control over the lower reflex centers in the spinal cord.

Thus, in sleeping dogs, after the spinal cord has been divided in the dorsal region, reflexes can be more easily evoked from the lumbar than from the cervical cord, because the former is freed from the inhibitory control of the brain.

The strength of stimulus necessary to pass the threshold of consciousness and to produce an awakening has been measured in various ways. It has been determined that it takes a louder and louder sound or a stronger and stronger electric shock to arouse a sleeper during the first two or three hours of slumber; after that period, the sleep becomes lighter and the required stimulus need be much less.

The alternative theories which have been suggested to account for the onset of sleep may be classed as chemical and histological.

In relation to the first, it has been suggested that if consciousness be regarded as dependent upon a certain rate of atomic vibration, it is possible that this rate depends on a store of intramolecular oxygen, which, owing to fatigue, may become exhausted; or it may be supposed that alkaloidal substances may collect as fatigue products within the brain, and choke the activity of that organ. Against this theory may be submitted the facts that monotony of stimulus will produce sleep in an unfatigued person, that over-fatigue, either mental or bodily, will hinder the onset of sleep, that the cessation of external stimuli by itself produces sleep. As an example of this last, may be quoted the case recorded by Strumpel of a patient who was completely anaesthetic save for one eye and one ear, and who fell asleep when these were closed. Moreover, many men possess the power, by an effort of will, of withdrawing from objective or subjective stimuli, and of thus inducing sleep.

The histological theories of sleep are founded on recent extraordinary advances in the knowledge of the minute anatomy of the central nervous system, a knowledge founded on the Golgi and methylene blue methods of staining. It is held possible that the dendrites or branching processes of nerve cells are contractile, and that they, by pulling themselves apart, break the association pathways which are formed by the interlacing or synapses of the dendrites in the brain. Ramon y Cajal, on the other hand, believes that the neuroglia cells are contractile, and may expand so as to interpose their branches as insulating material between the synapses formed by the dendrites of the nerve cells. The difficulty of accepting these theories is that nobody can locate consciousness to any particular group of nerve cells. Moreover, the anatomical evidence of such changes taking place is at present of the flimsiest character.

If these theories be true, what, it may be asked, is the agency that causes the dendrites to contract or the neuroglia cells to expand? Is there really a soul sitting aloof in the pineal gland, as Descartes held? When a man like Lord Brougham can at any moment shut himself away from the outer world and fall asleep, does his soul break the dendritic contacts between cell and cell; and when he awakes, does it make contacts and switch the impulses evoked by sense stimuli on to one or other tract of the axons, or axis cylinder processes, which form the association pathways? Such a hypothesis is no explanation; it simply puts back the whole question a step further, and leaves it wrapped in mystery. It cannot be fatigue that produces the hypothetical interruptions of the dendritic synapses and then induces sleep, for sleep can follow after fatigue of a very limited kind. A man may sleep equally well after a day spent in scientific research as after one spent in mountain climbing, or after another passed in idling by the seashore. He may spend a whole day engaged in mathematical calculation or in painting a landscape. He fatigues—if we admit the localization of function to definite parts of the brain—but one set of association tracts, but one group of cells, and yet, when he falls asleep, consciousness is not partially, but totally suspended.

We must admit that the withdrawal of stimuli, or their monotonous repetition, are factors which do undoubtedly stand out as primary causes of sleep. We may suppose, if we like, that consciousness depends upon a certain rate of vibration which takes place in the brain structure. This vibration is maintained by the stimuli of the present, which awaken memories of former stimuli, and are themselves at the same time modified by these. By each impulse streaming into the brain from the sense organs, we can imagine the structure of the cerebral cortex to be more or less permanently altered. The impulses of the present, as they sweep through the association pathways, arouse memories of the past; but in what way this is brought about is outside the range of explanation. Perhaps an impulse vibrating at a certain rate may arouse cells or fibrils tuned by past stimuli to respond to this particular rate of vibration. Thus may be evoked a chain of memories, while by an impulse of a different rate quite another set of memories may be started. Tracts of association are probably formed in definite lines through the nervous system, as during the life of a child repeated waves of sense impulses beat against and overcome resistances, and make smooth pathways here and there through the brain structure. Thus may be produced growth of axons in certain directions, and synapses of this cell with that. If the same stimulus be often repeated, the synapses between groups of cells may become permanent. A memory, a definite line of action which is manifested by a certain muscular response, may thus become structurally fixed. If the stimulus be not repeated, the synapses may be but temporary, and the memory fade as the group of cells is occupied by a new memory of some more potent sense stimulus. Many association tracts and synapses are laid down in the central nervous system when the child is born. These are the fruits of inheritance, and by their means, we may suppose, instinctive reflex actions are carried out.

So long as the present stimuli are controlled by past memories and are active in recalling them, so long does consciousness exist, and the higher will be the consciousness, the greater the number and the more intense the character of the memories aroused. We may suppose that when all external stimuli are withdrawn, or the brain soothed by monotony of gentle repetition, and when the body is placed at rest, and the viscera are normal and give rise to no disturbing sensations, consciousness is then suspended, and natural sleep ensues. Either local fatigue of the muscles, or of the heart, or ennui, or exhaustion of some brain center usually leads us to seek those conditions in which sleep comes. The whole organism may sleep for the sake of the part. To avoid sleeplessness, we seek monotony of stimulus, either objective or subjective. In the latter case, we dwell on some monotonous memory picture, such as sheep passing one by one through a gap in the hedge. To obtain our object, we dismiss painful or exciting thoughts, keep the viscera in health, so that they may not force themselves upon our attention, and render the sense organs quiet by seeking darkness, silence and warmth.—L.H., in Nature.

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AMATEUR CHRONOPHOTOGRAPHIC APPARATUS.

At the time that we described the Demeny chronophotographic apparatus we remarked that it had the advantage of permitting of the projection of very luminous images of large dimensions; but it is certain that the cases are somewhat limited in which there is any need of using a screen 24 or 25 feet square, and, as a general thing, one 6 or 10 feet square suffices. The manufacturer of the apparatus, M. Gaumont, has, therefore, been led to construct a small size in which the bands have the dimensions usually employed in the French and other apparatus, thus permitting of the use of such as are now found in abundance in the market.

By reducing the size, it has been possible further to simplify the construction, and at the same time to reduce the price, thus making of the new form a genuine amateur apparatus.

It will be remembered that the Demeny principle consists especially in the avoiding of traction upon the perforated part of the band, which is the portion that always presents the most fragility. This principle has naturally been preserved in the small model, and a preservation of the bands for a long time is thus assured.



The apparatus is reversible, and may be used for making negatives as well as for projecting positives. In its new form it is easily transportable and is no more bulky than an ordinary 5 by 7 inch apparatus. Nothing is simpler then than to carry it on a journey, if one desires to make his own negative bands. Since the sensitized film has to be protected against the light during its entire travel, two magazines have been arranged (Fig. 1). One of these, A, which is fixed upon the top of the camera, contains the clean film, while the other, B, which is placed beneath the objective, receives the strip after it has been acted upon by the light. A train of toothed wheels, C (Fig. 2), actuates the roller of this second magazine. This arrangement may, moreover, be utilized also when projections are made, if one does not desire the band to float in measure as it unwinds behind the objective. As the upper magazine is entirely closed when it is placed upon the apparatus, it is necessary, in order to prepare for taking a negative, to pull out a few inches of the film, pass the latter over the guide roller and fix the extremity to the winding roller in the lower magazine.

It is clear that we can have any number of magazines whatever for carrying about, all charged, just as one carries the frames of his ordinary camera.

Chronophotography presents no more difficulty than ordinary photography as regards the taking of negatives, and the amateur who has not the proper facilities for developing and printing the latter can have these operations performed by a professional. Animate projections are beginning to be introduced into parlors, and some day will entirely replace the magic lantern therein. The excitement caused by the catastrophe at the Charity Bazar is now calmed, and it has been ascertained that the accident was not due to the lamp of the projector, but to a carelessly handled can of ether. So the extension of this sort of spectacle, momentarily arrested, is taking a new impetus, which will be further aided by the apparatus under consideration, for the description of which and the illustrations we are indebted to La Nature.

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THE RECLAIMING OF OLD RUBBER.

By HAWTHORNE HILL.

The complaint of high prices of India rubber is as old as the rubber industry, one result of which has been an unceasing effort to discover a practical substitute. Never was the secret of the transmutation of metals sought more persistently by ancient philosophers than the secret of an artificial rubber has been by modern chemists, but, thus far, the one search has been hardly more successful than the other. One discovery has been made, however, by which our rubber supplies have been so far conserved that, for the want of it, we might be obliged now to pay double the current prices for new rubber. This is the reclaiming of rubber from worn-out goods, in a condition fit for use again in almost every class of products of the rubber factory.

Soon after the vulcanization of rubber became fully established, attempts began to be made to "devulcanize" the scrap and cuttings of rubber which accumulated in the factories. So extensive were these accumulations that one company are reported to have built a road with rubber scrap through a swamp adjacent to their factory, while most other manufacturers were unable to find even so profitable a use for their wastes. As time advanced there came to be large stocks, also, of worn-out rubber goods, such as car springs and the like, all of which appealed to a practical mind here and there as being of possible value, since the price of new rubber kept climbing up all the while.

No fewer than nineteen patents were granted in the United States for "improvements in devulcanizing India rubber," or "restoring waste vulcanized rubber," beginning in 1855, or eleven years after the date of Goodyear's patent for the vulcanization process. In that year Francis Baschnagel obtained a patent for restoring vulcanized rubber to a soft, plastic, workable state, by treating it with alcohol absolutus and carbon bisulphuratum, in a closed vessel, without the application of heat. Later he obtained a patent for accomplishing the same result by "boiling waste rubber in water, after it has been reduced to a finely divided state;" and still later, one for treating the waste to the direct action of steam.

Patents were granted in 1858 to Hiram L. Hall, for the treatment of waste rubber by boiling in water; also, by subjecting it to steam; and again, by combining various resinous and other substances with it. The two inventors named assigned their patents to the Beverly Rubber Company, of Beverly, Mass., controlled then by the proprietors of the New York Belting and Packing Company, and their processes became the basis of an important business in rubber clothing.

The low cost of the devulcanized rubber, as compared with new rubber, alone gave them a great advantage over other manufacturers, in addition to which they escaped the payment of a license to work under the Goodyear patents.

Many army blankets, made for the government during the civil war, were waterproofed with Hall's devulcanized rubber, and from that period little new rubber has been used in the manufacture of heavy rubber coats. The other patents in this class do not deserve special mention.

It having been established that rubber is rubber, no matter where found, manufacturers gradually turned their attention beyond the scraps and cuttings which remained after making up their goods. There was beginning to be a good demand for ground-up rubber car springs, wringer rolls, tubing and other rubber goods free from fiber, after it had been so treated as to remove the sulphur contents and restore the gum to a workable condition. But this left out of account rubber footwear, belting, and hose, not to mention the later heavy production of bicycle tires. There were only a few uses to which rubber waste containing fibrous material could be put when ground up and devulcanized without the removal of the fiber. It could be put into a cheap grade of steam packing or mixed in a powdered form with new rubber for the heels of rubber boots and shoes. There was an early patent for a process for "combining fibrous materials with waste vulcanized rubber, rendered soft and plastic." But all the other patents which come within the scope of this article had for their object the separation of fibers from the rubber.

An important advance was marked by the Hayward patent (No. 40,407), granted in 1868, for "boiling waste rags of fibrous material and rubber in an acid or alkali, for the purpose of destroying the tenacity of the fibers of the rags, so that the rubber may be reground." But this process extended only to the weakening of the fibers, and not their complete destruction. A later patent, in the same year, provided for exposing the ground rubber waste to the direct action of flames of gas or inflammable liquids, by which the foreign matters would be consumed and the rubber rendered plastic and cohesive, but it is not on record that this process received any particular application.

The principal activity of invention in the field of reclaiming rubber dates from 1870, since which year 37 patents have been granted for processes more or less distinctive from those which had for their object only the devulcanization of rubber. Prior to that time the use of rubber reclaimed from fibrous wastes had been confined practically to one large factory in Boston and one near New York. One concern, for a while, bought old rubber shoes and sent them to women in the country, whom they paid so much a pound for the rubber stripped off—a very expensive process. There were several claimants for priority in the matter of reclaiming rubber by the processes which finally became standard, and some conflicting interests were brought together under the head of the Chemical Rubber Company. This corporation controlled the leading patents for the "acid" process, licensing various parties to work under them, and bringing suits against concerns who reclaimed rubber without their license. In 1895 the United States courts decided in favor of the defendants, practically rendering the patents invalid, on the ground that the inventions claimed under them had been disclosed by the Hall patents of 1858 and the Hayward patent of 1863.

The two patents upon which the suits for infringement rested principally were No. 249,970, granted to N.C. Mitchell, in 1881, and No. 300,720, granted to the same, in 1884. About the same time the Rubber Reclaiming Company, formed in 1890 by the combination of five leading rubber reclaiming plants, and working under license from the company above named, was resolved into the original elements. There were about that time five other rubber reclaiming plants in the United States, operating either the "acid" or the "mechanical" process, besides nine general rubber factories producing their own reclaimed rubber by the "acid" process. While several of the latter—rubber shoe concerns controlled by the United States Rubber Company—have been consolidated, there has been an increase in the number of rubber manufacturers reclaiming their own rubber, since the end of the patent litigation, so that the total number of reclaiming plants now probably is twenty.

The first step in any process for reclaiming rubber is the grinding of the waste, for which purpose several machines have been designed specially, an early patent for disintegrating rubber scrap by "subjecting it to the abrading action of grindstones" having failed to meet with favor. The most usual chemical treatment is a bath in a solution of sulphuric acid in lead-lined tanks. Generally heat is employed to hasten the process, through the medium of steam, in which case the tanks are tightly closed. The next step is the washing of the scrap, to free it of acid and dirt, after which it is sheeted by being run between iron rollers and hung in drying rooms. As soon as it has become dry it is ready for sale.

In the extended litigation over the acid process patents, the points at issue related to the strength of the acid named in the various specifications and also to the methods of applying steam. Prof. Charles F. Chandler, called as an expert in one case, testified that the effects of acids, such as sulphuric or hydrochloric, upon rubber and rubber compounds, under varying strength and temperature, had been known at a period antedating all the patents then the basis of suits for infringement; also that their effect upon cotton and woolen fabrics had been equally well known. They had the same effect upon fibers, whether the latter were combined with rubber or not, but very strong acids would affect the rubber injuriously. The line of defense in this case was that "no invention was required in selecting the strength of acid; only the common sense of the manufacturer, aided by his skill and experience, was necessary to bring about the proper results." In support of this a factory superintendent testified that varied stocks required skill and judgment in their treatment and more or less variation as to the strength of acid, temperature, etc.

As to the use of steam, Prof. Henry B. Cornwall, of Princeton College, called as an expert in another case, testified that, having put to a test the specifications in all the patents involved, he had found it necessary in no case to inject live steam into the mixtures of acid and rubber scrap in order to effect the decomposition and removal of either woolen or cotton fiber. The use of the acids specified was sufficient for this, and the various high temperatures called for were not essential for the destruction of the fibers. He neglected to mention, however, that the steam served an equally important purpose in devulcanizing the rubber.

It appeared that the practice in different factories had included the use of sulphuric acid varying from a 21/2 per cent. solution to the full commercial strength of the acid, but one of the defendant companies based their case upon their use of acid of the strength of 28 deg. to 30 deg. Baume, whereas the patent they were charged with infringing specified a strength of 66 deg.. Their tanks were lead-lined and provided on the interior with steam pipes running down the sides and along the bottom, the sections at the bottom being perforated and the steam admitted at a pressure of 75 to 80 pounds. The chemical treatment lasted from 21/2 to 4 hours.

The sulphuric acid treatment, however, is confined mainly to scrap containing cotton fiber. Where woolen fibers occur, which is much less frequently, their disintegration is accomplished generally by the use of caustic soda.

In the mechanical process of reclaiming rubber, the rubber is separated from the fiber, after the whole has been finely ground, by means of an air blast, the method being not unlike that practiced by furriers for separating hair and fur from bits of pelt after skins have been finely divided. As the powdered waste comes from the blower, the rubber falls in a heap near the machine, while the particles of fiber, being lighter, are carried far enough away to make the separation complete. Devulcanization in this case is effected by exposure to live steam at a high temperature. No oil is used in the process, the sheeting of the product being facilitated by means of hot friction rollers.

The cost of reclaiming rubber by the acid process is less than by mechanical means, for which reason the former is now much more generally used. But some manufacturers are willing to pay more per pound for mechanically-reclaimed rubber, either (1) because it can be "compounded" more heavily than the acid product, or (2) because of certain inherent disadvantages of the latter. It is the testimony of these manufacturers that the action of sulphuric acid upon whiting (one of the most common adulterants used in rubber shoes) is to turn it into sulphate of lime—an ingredient which is far from advantageous in a rubber compound. Again, any acid which may remain in the reclaimed rubber is liable to rot thin textile fabrics with which it may be combined in manufacture. Finally, rubber recovered by the chemical process, it is claimed, is harder than that obtained by any other; so that it is usual to add, during vulcanization, in order to soften the product, the residuum obtained from petroleum manufactures, or palm or other oils. Unvulcanized rubber clippings also have been used for this purpose. One of the most successful of our rubber factory superintendents, who formerly made the reclaimed rubber used by his factory, has stated that his practice was to subject the material to an alkaline bath after the acid treatment, not only for the better cleaning of the rubber, but to neutralize any acid which might remain. Considering all the points involved, it was his opinion that, when scrap rubber is cheap, the mechanical process is the more economical, while, if it is high priced, the acid process has the advantage. Since this expression of opinion, however, prices of rubber scrap have ranged constantly at higher figures than before, and there is no indication that we shall have again what was known formerly as "cheap" scrap. It is not surprising, therefore, that the volume of mechanical "shoddy" should be placed by the best estimates at not above one-sixth of the total production of reclaimed rubber in the United States. And the acid product, with all its admitted shortcomings, is still superior to any of the so-called rubber substitutes.

Reclaimed rubber is not to be considered as an adulterant, except in the same sense as fillings, like whiting, litharge or barytes, the use of which in rubber compounds often gives to the product desirable qualities that are unobtainable by the use of "pure gum." It lacks some of the qualities of good native rubber, and yet it is rubber, and fills its proper place as acceptably as any raw material of manufacture. Rubber shoes made of new gum entirely would be too elastic, and for that reason would draw the feet, besides being too costly for the ordinary trade. The construction of a rubber shoe, by the way, is well adapted for the use of different compounds for the different parts. Rubber enters into twenty-six pieces of a rubber boot and nine or more pieces of a rubber shoe. Consequently, as many different compounds may be used, if desired, for the output of a single factory for rubber footwear. The highest grades of native rubber may be used for waterproofing the uppers of a fine overshoe, while reclaimed rubber, of a cheap class even, may be good enough for the heel, which requires only to be waterproof and durable, without too much weight, and with no elasticity. Reclaimed rubber goes into many classes of goods of high grade. The result is that such goods have been cheapened legitimately, placing them within the reach of immense numbers of consumers who otherwise would be obliged to do without.

While the extensive use of reclaimed rubber is a matter of common knowledge to all who are familiar with the rubber industry, there are nowhere available any statistics of either the absolute or comparative volume of its consumption, with the single exception of the official returns of imports into Canada. There separate accounts are kept of crude India rubber and of recovered rubber received in each year, and as only a consuming market exists for these commodities in the Dominion, the figures given below may be taken to represent closely the actual consumption by the rubber factories of Ontario and Quebec. It is interesting to note the heavy growth of the percentage of recovered rubber shown in the table, all the figures representing pounds:

Fiscal Crude Recovered Total Year. Rubber. Rubber. Imports. 1885-86 739,169 19,499 758,668 1886-87 785,040 46,508 831,548 1887-88 1,225,893 88,471 1,314,364 1888-89 1,669,014 221,674 1,890,688 1889-90 1,290,766 147,377 1,438,143 1890-91 1,602,644 8,254 1,610,898 1891-92 2,100,358 106,080 2,206,438 1892-93 2,152,855 195,281 2,348,136 1893-94 2,077,703 529,900 2,607,603 1894-95 1,402,844 611,745 2,014,589 1895-96 2,155,576 643,169 2,798,745 1896-97 2,014,936 1,061,402 3,076,338 Percentage, 1885-86 97.5 2.5 100 " 1896-97 65.5 34.5 100

If it were possible to examine the books of the several rubber reclaiming plants on this side of the border, including rubber shoe and mechanical goods factories producing their own reclaimed rubber, the percentage of this material used, in comparison with the total rubber consumption, might be found to be as great in the United States as in Canada. The rubber manufacture in the Dominion, in its inception, was practically an offshoot from the industry in this country. Our manufacturers supplied the Canadian demand for rubber goods until, under the stimulus of heavy protective duties, rubber works were established beyond the border, since which time, to quote a leader in the trade in the United States, "the methods of the Dominion rubber industry have mirrored the best practice in our country." Hence it seems not unreasonable to conclude that if the Canadians are using so large a percentage of reclaimed rubber, they are doing no more nor less than the older and larger concerns here. The most trustworthy authorities place the consumption of new rubber in the United States during 1897 at not far from 35,000,000 pounds. Assuming that the rate of consumption of reclaimed rubber was as great as in Canada, we have 18,435,000 pounds more, or a total of 53,433,000 pounds. But there are producers of reclaimed rubber who insist that the amount of this material used in this country equals, pound for pound, the consumption of new rubber.

The use of reclaimed rubber in Europe is increasing gradually, and especially in Great Britain. The American product is sold extensively in that country, and some native reclaiming plants have been started. The most extensive "galosh" factory in Russia, which is said to be the largest in the world, is reclaiming rubber according to American methods. But, as a rule, the Continental rubber manufacturers make more use of "substitutes," a class of materials which has not found favor in America. These rubber substitutes belong chiefly to the class of oxidized oils and may be classed in three divisions: Those obtained (1) by the action of oxygen or air on linseed oil; (2) by acting on rape oil with chloride of sulphur; and (3) by the action of sulphur on rape oil at a high temperature. The first class has little application to the rubber trade, though its use is universal in the linoleum industry. In Europe the chemist holds a more important position in the rubber manufacture than here, one result of which has been cheaper compounds of rubber and another the satisfactory employment of the refractory African rubbers long before they were used extensively in the United States. Hence the cost of raw materials in the rubber industry has been, on the whole, cheaper abroad. The Europeans have had an advantage, too, in respect to cheaper labor, which has offset somewhat our own advantage from the use of reclaimed rubber as a cheap material.

There are numerous grades of reclaimed rubber, due to differences in the quality of stock used, and also to the different degrees of care used in its preparation, according to the requirements of manufacturers. The declared value of reclaimed rubber exported from New York during July, 1897, averaged 12.6 cents per pound, while the value of exports for September averaged only 9.1 cents. The average value for the eight months ending February 28, 1898, was 10.08 cents per pound. The total declared value of such exports for the fiscal year 1896-97 was $119,440, which, at the prices prevailing since, would represent considerably more than 1,000,000 pounds. Some of the material sold at home is known to bring less than any prices quoted above. "Mechanical" stock brings about two cents per pound more than "acid" stock of corresponding grade.

The collection of old rubber has acquired large proportions as an adjunct to the trade in junk or rags. Not long ago the estimated yearly collection of rubber shoes alone amounted to 18,000 tons, and since that time the business in bicycle tire scrap has also become very large. During the past ten years the price of old rubber shoes has ranged between $60 and $120 per ton in carload lots, being at present about $90 per ton. Some 1,500 tons of rubber scrap are imported annually by the reclaiming companies in the United States.

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In the Baltic Sea there are more wrecks than in any other place in the world. The average throughout the year is one each day.

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ENGINEERING NOTES.

THE AUSTRIAN government has ordered thirty-seven engines arranged to burn kerosene, for use in the Arlberg tunnel, in which lack of proper ventilation at present causes the tunnel to remain filled with smoke.—Uhland's Wochenschrift.

One of the first essentials to modern military enterprise is the establishment of a military railway system for war purposes. To be in a position to carry out efficiently and speedily what we may expect to be called upon to do on the outbreak of serious war, previous preparation in time of peace is an absolute requisite. In connection with General Sherman's operations in Georgia, during the American civil war, an army was supplied for six and a half months over a line 473 miles long. The corps of workmen was 10,000 strong, and on one occasion replaced 35,000 sleepers and nine miles of rails in seven days. The true defense of the line was effected by the engineers always having men and material ready. In spite of the large and skilled railway population on which the army could call, and of the fact that practically the nation was in arms, it was found extremely difficult to keep this railway construction corps together until they were placed under a severe military discipline.—United Service Gazette.

A HOSPITAL car has been introduced on the Belgian railroads, says The Engineer. It is designed for use in the event of a serious railway accident, and can be run to the spot where the wounded may be picked up and carried to the nearest city for treatment, instead of being left to pass hours in some wayside station while awaiting surgical attendance. The interior of this car is divided into a main compartment, a corridor on one side and two small rooms at the end. The largest compartment, the hospital proper, contains twenty-four isolated beds on steel tubes hung upon powerful springs; each bed is provided with a small movable table, a cord serving to hold all the various small objects which may be needed, and each patient lies in front of two little windows, which may be closed or opened at will. The corridor on the outside of the hospital chamber leads to the linen closet and the doctor's apartment; in the latter is a large cupboard, the upper portion being used for drugs, while the lower is divided into two sections, one serving as a case for surgical instruments and the other as a receptacle for the doctor's folding bed.

THE DUST collected from the smoke of some Liege furnaces, burning coal raised from the neighboring mines, produces, when dissolved in hydrochloric acid, a solution from which considerable quantities of arsenic and several other metallic salts may be precipitated. Commenting on this fact, ascertained by M.A. Jorissen, M. Francis Maur asks whether this breathing of arsenic and other minerals in a finely divided state may not account for the singular immunity from epidemics enjoyed by certain industrial districts, such as that of Saint Etienne, and hopes that some mine doctor will throw additional light on the subject. In the meanwhile, it may be suggested that the ventilating effect of the numerous chimneys in iron making and other industrial centers has its due share in constantly driving off the vitiated air and replacing it by fresh quantities of pure air. At any rate, when pestilence was raging in the high and pleasant quarter of Clifton, its inhabitants migrated to the low-lying and not overclean parish of St. Philips, Bristol, where the air is black from the smoke of numerous chimneys, but where also the mortality compared very favorably with that in the fashionable quarter.

A TWO-SPEED movable sidewalk, of the Blot, Guyenet and De Mocomble type, is to be used for conveying visitors at the Paris Exposition, says Engineering News. It differs from those of Chicago and Berlin in the reduction of the weight of the moving platform by spacing the driving wheels 127.5 feet apart and using electricity as a motive power. The driving wheels are mounted in the bed of the track and impart motion to a central rail on the under side of the platform. Bearing wheels, spaced about 20 feet apart under this rail, also carry the platform, and the central rail supports one-half the total weight of the platform; small side wheels carry the other half on side tracks. This arrangement enables the platform, which is divided into sections and hinged, to pass around quite sharp curves. The high speed platform, 4 feet 3 inches wide, is supposed to move at the rate of 61/2 miles per hour on a 351/2-inch gage track; the slow platform is 311/2 inches wide, moves at half speed and runs on a 17-3/4-inch gage track. The whole structure will be elevated on girders carried by cast iron columns, with stations about 656 feet apart. The high speed platform weighs 146 pounds per lineal foot; and with passengers, nearly 400 pounds per foot. The slow speed platform weighs about half this. The track will be about 21/2 miles long; the initial motive power is figured at 472 H.P. and the carrying capacity at 38,880 per hour.

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