Peace, peace, good friends! This seeming inconsistency is readily

explained. In this century, when the wage of battle has cost our land an

army of her sons, when widows mourn, and unwedded thousands are forced to

meet the hard-faced world (from which rose-water theorists would shield

them), America is coming to the rescue of her daughters! For the nearer

perfect—that is, the more Christian—a civilization has become, the more

carefully are the _exceptional_ classes of society provided for. All our

philanthropic institutions under state or private patronage illustrate

this. In less enlightened days, your ideal woman composed the single,

grand class for which public prejudice set itself to provide. She was to

be the wife and mother, and she was carefully enshrined at home. But,

happily, this is the world’s way no longer. The exceptions are so many,

made by war, by the thousand misunderstandings and cross-purposes of

social intercourse, by the peculiar features of the transition period in

which we live, by the absurdly extravagant customs of our day, and the

false notions of both men and women—that not to provide for them would

be a monstrous meanness, if not a crime. And the provision made in this

instance is the most rational, indeed, the only rational one which it is

in the power of society or government to make for any save the utterly

incapable, namely: _a fair chance for self-help_. Nor (to pursue the line

of our argument still further) can we forget that skeleton hand which, in

utter disregard of “the proprieties” in destiny’s drama, thrusts itself

so often into the charmed domestic circle, and snatches the beloved

“provider” away forever, while it sets gaunt famine by the fireside in

his stead? Can we forget that, in ten thousand families, wives are this

moment waiting in suspense and agony the return of wretched husbands to

homes made hideous by the drunkard’s sin—wives whose work of brain or

hand alone keeps their children from want, now that their “strong staff

is broken, and their beautiful rod?” There are delicate white fingers

turning the page on which I print these words, that will never wear the

marriage ring; there are slight forms bending over my friendly lines,

which, not far down the years, will be clothed in widow’s weeds. Alas,

there are as surely others, who, when they have been wooed and won, shall

find that they are worse than widowed. And what of these three classes of

women, sweet and helpless? Clearly, to all of them I am declaring a true

and blessed gospel, in this good news concerning honest independence and

brave self-help! Clearly, also, no one is wise enough to go through the

assembly of my readers, and tell me who, in future years, shall need a

bread-winning weapon with which to defend herself and perchance, also,

the helpless ones between whom and the world there may be no arm but

hers. But it is a principle in public as well as private economy, that

_the wisest foresight provides for the remotest contingency_, and thus,

in its full force, all that I have been saying applies to every woman who

may read this article on “How to Win.” Suppose that many of you, dear

girls, are destined to a downy nest, instead of a strong-winged flight.

What then? Will the years spent in making the most of the best powers

with which God has endowed you be worse employed than if you had given

them to fashion and frivolity? Those “_ad interim_” years which separate

the graduate’s diploma from the bride’s marriage certificate, can they

possibly be invested better than in the acquisition of some useful trade

or dignified profession? And then, aside from this, I would help the

youngest of you to remember (even in the bewildered years of her second

decade) what noble Margaret Fuller said: “No woman can give her hand with

dignity, or her heart with loyalty, until she has learned _how to stand

alone_.” It is not so much _what comes to you_ as _what you come to_,

that determines whether you are a winner in the great race of life. Never

forget that the only indestructible material in destiny’s fierce crucible

is _character_. Say this, not to another—say it to yourself; utter it

early, and repeat it often: _Fail me not, thou_.

THE LIFE OF MINERALS.

BY M. J. THOULET.

Translated for THE CHAUTAUQUAN from the _Révue Scientifique_.

The definition given to-day to mineralogy places it among the exact

sciences. Long continued study has shown that it possesses all the

inflexibility of chemistry, of physics, of mathematics. The work of one

making a specialty of this subject is similar to that of a millwright who

collects the different pieces, forged and cast and prepared in various

ways by other workmen, and arranges them all in their proper relations to

one another, joins them, and forms the mill with all its complication of

machinery in good order, ready to run without friction, without jar. The

mineralogist gathers up the facts and theories wrought out by workers in

other fields of science, studies their variations, their agreements and

connections, demonstrates their presence and their union in inorganic

bodies, and sums up and announces all the results of his labor in the

form of laws which shall be exact rules for events past, present, and

future; for a science incapable of foreseeing and foretelling is not a

true science. Mineralogy is not chemistry, nor physics nor mathematics,

any more than the millwright is the smith or the smelter. It is a

distinct science pursuing a particular aim, and which, although borrowing

from other sciences certain of their results, nevertheless possesses

its own individuality. It might be said to be a direct application of

these three sciences, together with geology, to the study of the life of

minerals.

I have just used a very significant expression: _The life of minerals_.

Others have used it before me. “Not only do stones live, but they suffer

from sickness, from old age, and death,” wrote Cardan in the sixteenth

century. And he was right. Eternal matter performs an eternal cycle; the

incessant variations which it experiences; the movement which is never

arrested, which from modification to modification, from transformation

to transformation draws it along without a single moment of rest; the

continual births and deaths and resurrections _are life_. Every man,

every animal, every plant, and every stone obey without any power to

resist, and they are all borne along without relaxation or repose toward

a vortex whose beginning and ending are concealed within the shadows of

eternity. There is no difference between the mineral and vegetable, or

animal. Inorganic life is identical with organic life, varying only in

degree.

From the moment which we call birth, that is to say at the commencement

of one of these periods of transformation, our eyes see, hour by hour,

moment by moment, the living being develop. The atoms entering into

its construction seek like atoms to which they ally themselves, and

molecules combine with other molecules. What matters it about the form

of being? Simple or complicated, the law is the same, and it is obeyed.

The individual appears with its own chemical constitution, its own form

and look, its own variations, all decided under its predetermined

conditions. Among these conditions a single one is variable, but the

equilibrium is constantly preserved; the individual changes from time to

time in its own appointed way, but it never ceases to exist.

In the same manner as organic life bears the impress of its surroundings,

so do minerals submit themselves to external influences. The one perhaps

is more frail, more delicate, less able to resist, more susceptible to

impressions; the natural forces of the other, more powerful because

they are simpler, yield less readily to circumstances. Both alike are

forced to take their part in the great concert of forces in which they

fare only infinitely feeble notes; both alike are influenced by the

majestic assembly of powers which act upon them, and upon which they, in

turn, also act, conformably to one of the first laws of matter, that of

equality between action and reaction.

Let us take any mineral whatever and subject it to a constantly

increasing temperature. We notice first that it undergoes a change

of form. Cease the application of heat and it will gradually resume

its former shape. Let us heat it again, and more intensely. All the

properties of the matter which constitutes it become changed, some

quickly, some slowly, and it is incapable now of taking back its first

appearance. Its crystalline form is different, and its mechanical

elasticity, its hardness, and its electric properties; even its color

is changed. We will still increase the heat. The molecules disperse,

following certain directions, and, following others, gather themselves

together. Suddenly a limit, varying according to the chemical

composition, the crystalline type, or the pressure, is broken; the solid,

beginning to melt, becomes a liquid. Heat it still higher and we shall

see new phenomena appearing, volatilization and dissolution. Another

limit is passed and the atom, becoming isolated, is free henceforward

from the laws of chemistry, and must now obey laws yet unknown, the task

of discovering and formulating which is awaiting some worker in the

realms of physics or mechanics.

The dissolution of a mineral, is it not death? Every abrupt limit of all

the powers of a body is death, and all death precedes a resurrection.

As a child, which at the same moment when it opens its eyes upon the

light and utters its first cry, begins already to die, so with the

mineral scarcely formed, death commences. Feldspar, which constitutes

in great part the soil pressed by our feet, under the influence of

air and of water, of drought by day and dews by night, of the heat of

summer and the cold of winter, of all agents mechanical, chemical and

physical acting upon it, is reduced to its elements by a series of almost

insensible transformations. Its fragments are broken to still finer

bits, and when they have become dust disintegration still goes on, and

gradually the silicon, the aluminum, the iron, the lime, the magnesium,

and the potassium which composed them form clay. The iron oxydizes, the

silicon separates itself, is dissolved by rain and carried off by the

streams. Each element then enters into a new combination; sometimes it

again becomes part of a stone; sometimes it helps to form the structure

of a plant; sometimes that of a man. Where can birth, signifying the

beginning of all existence, be placed, or where shall we find any real

death? I perceive only periods of life.

Of old, naturalists made more frequent and much stronger affirmations

than they do to-day. Confidence in self is the property of youth;

maturity learns to doubt, which is the beginning of wisdom, provided

that it does not remain content, but rather compels man to seek with

increased ardor the truth which seems to fly from him. The ancients

placed between the animal and the vegetable limits which in reality did

not exist. Up to the present time limits of the same nature have been

set between organic and inorganic life. But in proportion as we examine

minerals we shall see the differences disappear and the resemblances

increase. Man is born of parents; the whole animal and vegetable worlds

are perpetuated in obedience to the laws of reproduction, each after his

own kind. It was this absolute identity between parent and offspring that

separated distinctly the other kingdoms from the mineral; but recently

a scientist has discovered that the same fixed law is established in

this department of life also. M. Gernez prepared a solution consisting

of octahedral borax in five equivalents of water, and rhomboidal borax

in ten equivalents of water. The two bodies, excepting their proportion

of water, had the same chemical composition. The liquid, treated with

suitable precaution, remained perfectly limpid, and he could place in it

fragments of all imaginable substances, without causing it to give rise

to any remarkable phenomena. But when even an infinitely small crystal

of octahedral borax was dropped into it, the temperature rose, and in a

few minutes all the octahedral borax contained in the solution took the

crystalline form. Meanwhile, the rhomboidal borax was held in solution,

and in order to crystallize it in its turn, there was needed only the

contact of a rhomboidal crystal.

The mineral was evidently born of a parent; it was identical with this

parent; its symmetry was the same under the same circumstances. Similar

results from numerous experiments with other substances were obtained.

… Under the influence of agents whose masters we are, molecules group

themselves, following fixed laws, and arrange themselves in their

relative positions. Just as soldiers off drill, and scattered throughout

the camp, when the order of the commander is given, obey and fall into

line, so do molecules obey the forces in command over them.

Stranger still, this crystal perfectly formed, seems sometimes to have

a conception of an ideal of beauty, a perfect symmetry, the ellipsoid

of the cubic system, which is a sphere; it seeks it, tries to reach it,

and if it can not be attained, it falls to acting a part. It disguises

itself, just as is sometimes done among men, and strives to appear the

being it is not. The crystal, no more than the man, will ever assume a

place in a lower rank; each seeks to appear better than he is. To attain

its object the crystal will unite itself with the other crystals of the

same kind; then these will gather into groups. As they can not modify

their own angles they will crowd one against another. Let it cost what

it may, if it is a possible thing they will have their imperfections

removed, and will improve their individual appearance, and if any measure

of success is attained, the little crystals will enjoy in silence their

usurped glory.

If science, with the apparent rigidity of her measures, weights and

figures holds for the scholar oftentimes disagreeable surprises, she

sometimes cheers him by rewards full of a strange grandeur. Azote, or

nitrogen in its free state, constitutes more than three fourths of the

volume of the atmosphere, and is in its appearance the type of inertia.

Its presence seems to have no other rôle than to reduce the over-exciting

action of the oxygen upon our organs of respiration. In order to cause it

to enter into combination with other substances, it is necessary to have

recourse to the most energetic forces. Among these in nature only one,

electricity, lightning, is able to accomplish this result. But the union

once effected, the gas is capable of undergoing a thousand variations.

As passive as it was while free, so active does it become after entering

into any combination. As it is found in the constitution of all animal

and vegetable life, we find that without the storm-cloud no organic life

could exist. The origin of all creatures is to be found in a clap of

thunder.

Such examples as these show that imagination as well as science derives

great profit from the intimate study of the phenomena presented by

minerals. One commences their study by measuring, by weighing, by

carefully analyzing; one gathers now and then slowly a little knowledge;

then suddenly this apparently barren field disappears to give place to

large horizons, to vast generalizations of majestic simplicity, resting

upon the solid foundation of experimentation. Let us not underestimate

the rôle of the imagination in scientific researches. It gives to the

scholar persistence in his daily toil; it is his hope at the moment he

begins an undertaking, his guide during the work, and his recompense when

he has finished. What a charm in the frequent discoveries of analogies

between the highest orders of beings and those which occupy the lowest

rounds in the ladder of perfection!

Similarity is to be observed also in the growth of individuals in the

different kingdoms. One sees at first crystal skeletons, then gradually

the crystals developing into perfection. Neither the chemist with all his

delicate tests, nor the physician armed with his accurate instruments can

decipher the feeblest trace of heterogeneity; the child grown has become

a man; the mineral fully developed has reached also its age of virility.

Minerals may be hindered in their development, may become irregular,

imperfect, deformed; upon certain of their angles new facets may

appear, in other parts facets may slowly become obliterated. As soon

as the obstacle causing the trouble is removed the wounds will heal

over, perhaps leaving their scars, and the crystals will pursue their

normal course. Sometimes an accidental circumstance, as that of too

ardent a sun, or a season too wet, will cause a fissure, and a malady

commences. Oxydation or hydration is produced, and the mineral begins to

disintegrate; finally, as a result of the accident, the last particles

are lost to sight. We think it has been destroyed. But it is dead; it

has died just as a man dies. Its elements are just as imperishable as

are those of man’s body, which, when it is laid away in the grave are

not annihilated, but, as they are resolved, enter again into new forms

in the great torrent of life. Their atoms are immutable, what they have

been, they are, and will be to all eternity; eternally young, eternally

the same, moving without rest, unmindful of time or of combinations. The

ancient symbol of the serpent with his tail in his mouth well represents

the cycle of life. Periods succeed periods.

The day ends in twilight and the night is followed by a new dawn. All

limits are effaced. The stone, the flower, the animal intermingle their

natures. With this thought in mind all life seems like a great net-work,

whose meshes are interlaced in countless ways, before which the seeker

after truth stands with ardent soul. But at the moment he thinks to

grasp the solution of the absorbing problem, he is only made more deeply

aware of his own weakness. And looking forward over the great expanse

stretching out before him to infinity, he experiences only one sentiment,

that of admiration; and his desire ever increases to learn still, and to

learn always.

THE MACHINERY OF OUR FOREIGN SERVICE.

Report of a lecture delivered by Hon. Eugene Schuyler in the National

Museum, Washington, D. C., on Saturday, February 28th.

This topic is especially interesting from the fact that so little is

known of it except by those in the service of the government whose duties

are connected with the foreign service. The government of the United

States, in uneventful times at least, is a despotism in the hands of five

or six men, working under and through constitutional forms, and subject

only to the penalty which is always exacted from very grave mistakes.

These men are the President, the Secretary of State, the Secretary of

the Treasury, the Speaker of the House of Representatives, the chairman

of the standing Committee on Appropriations, and the chairman of the

standing Committee on Ways and Means. In times of disorder, others are

added to this list, both from the Senate and from the Cabinet officers.

The chairmen of committees for other branches of the service also, at

such times, rise into prominence. Without the consent of some one, two

or three of these dignitaries no important step in public affairs can be

taken. The Secretary of State and the Secretary of the Treasury are the

only Cabinet officers who in ordinary times can influence, not only the

policy of the government, but also the welfare of the country, without

the permission of Congress; it may be, even without the knowledge of the

President.

The currency question, the silver coinage, the position taken recently

by the Clearing House in New York, and the state of the gold market,

show how a sudden emergency may induce, if not compel, the Secretary of

the Treasury to take action which might strongly affect for good or for

evil the most vital interests of the nation. Nor is it otherwise with

the Secretary of State, who by an intemperate or ill-timed insistence

on national or individual rights, or by even a want of tact may cause

irritations hard to be appeased. On the other hand, by an ignorance of

precedence, an unguarded admission or an act of good nature, he may give

up rights which the nation has jealously claimed for a century, or has

held in reserve for future use. However, judging by the past, I think

our Secretary of State will do none of these things. This official is

selected with greater care than any other public officer. He is usually a

statesman of high rank or of long experience, and frequently a cautious

and shrewd lawyer into the bargain. The _possibilities_ of diplomatic

mistakes, however, are such that it is necessary for the Secretary of

State to be surrounded by thoroughly trained and skilled subordinates.

This department is among the earliest of the great divisions of the

administration created by Congress in 1789 for facilitating public

business, and during the first forty years of our national existence was

in reality, as now in rank, the leading department of the government.

Years ago, indeed, our foreign policy was of far more consequence to the

country than our domestic policy, although we still had to struggle, if

not for our existence, at least for our position and our national rights.

The Secretary of State, therefore, is the leading statesman of the party,

and at one time in the nation’s history was almost sure of succeeding

to the presidency. The duty of the Secretary of State not only is the

supervision and management of all the foreign relations of the United

States, but also those duties which in other countries are generally

given to the Keeper of the Seals, or to the Minister of Justice: such,

for instance, as the keeping, promulgation, and publication of the laws;

the custody of the great seal, and the preservation of the government

archives, as well as the charge of all special relations between the

general government and the several states. The first Assistant Secretary

is to be considered as a political officer, in the full confidence of

his chief, able to advise him, and even at times to replace him; while

the second and third Assistant Secretaries have by necessity and custom

become permanent officers. The affairs of the department are managed

with great secrecy, not only because the officials are careful and

trustworthy persons, but because the general public, as a rule, is but

slightly interested in matters pertaining to our foreign relations,

save when some great subject is under dispute. In England, France or

Italy the case is different, since the Minister of Foreign Affairs has a

place in Parliament, and can be interrogated at any time with regard to

particular questions arising with foreign countries, by which means the

public can not help being more or less informed on such matters, even

though the progress of negotiations may be kept secret. Here the only

method for obtaining such information is by a resolution of either house

of Congress, asking from the President the papers on the question in

point, and making an investigation, if considered necessary, through the

Committee on Foreign Affairs. These papers, however, may be refused, if

thought by the President that their publication would be disadvantageous

to the interests of the government. There is probably no other country,

even Russia or Germany not excepted, where so little is known by the

public of the negotiations carried on at any one time by the Secretary of

State. This has great advantages, enabling the government to conduct with

tranquility a negotiation which may be extremely necessary, and often to

settle disputes which, if public opinion were excited, might result in

a breach of friendly relations. On account of this quiet way of doing

business, many people are of the opinion that very little work is done

by the State Department. Clerks often work till late at night and all

Sunday, sometimes, preparing commercial and statistical information in

response to a question asked in Congress. The work of the chief clerk, in

one sense, is the hardest of all, for he has to work in a public room,

accessible to all, must inspect every paper that comes in or goes out,

must carry the whole business of the department in all its details in

his head, must see every one who calls, assist those who have legitimate

business, listen to others, giving “suave answers, but no information,”

and withal be patient and keep his temper. During the last fiscal year

the real expense of the State Department to the nation was less than

$400,000; since the total sum expended ($1,288,355.28) was in great part

met by the fees, which amounted to $899,652.67.

The State Department has not sole authority for the administration of

foreign affairs, for the consideration and approval of the Senate is

required, not only regarding nominations to diplomatic and consular posts

made by the President, but also regarding treaties made with foreign

powers before they can be ratified. It is fortunate, however, that the

Senate can only affirm or reject a treaty; but, owing to the wording of

the article of our Constitution, which says that the President “with the

_consent and advice_ of the Senate shall conclude treaties,” the Senate

considers that it has the right to amend a treaty already negotiated, a

practice which causes great difficulty, as frequently a Senator to whom

the subject under discussion is not quite clear, insists on the addition

of two or three words to an instrument, which causes a long delay and

frequently protracted negotiations. Treaties are discussed in secret

session, partly because the Senate is acting as a privy council to the

President, and partly because, if the debates were open, things might be

said which would give offense to foreign governments. As to this latter

point, I can only observe that the practice of debating a treaty in open

session has not been found to work badly in those countries in which it

is the habit.

A feeling of jealousy has been growing up between the House of

Representatives and the Senate, and has become very evident during the

last few months, the House maintaining that, as it alone was empowered

to initiate measures touching the revenue, the President had no right to

negotiate a commercial treaty without previously consulting that body.

I do not think that this contention is supported by the Constitution,

but at the same time the practice of our government has changed so much

of recent years, in giving larger and larger powers to the lower House,

that it is not without some reason that such a view is supported. In

order to obviate such disputes, the Secretary of the State Department,

before making a commercial treaty and engaging the country in a new

commercial system, should, as was done in the negotiation of the Mexican

treaty, ask Congress for authority to conclude it. Again, the powers

allowed by the Senate to its standing committees form another obstacle

to the ratification of treaties, since it is impossible, except by an

actual vote of the Senate, to compel the committee to report to the full

Senate a treaty which has already been referred to it for consideration.

In the Senate committees are elected; in the House they are named by

the Speaker. The sub-committee of three, which is in charge of the

appropriations for the diplomatic and consular service, is generally

named by the chairman of the Committee on Appropriations, and in

nine cases out of ten is composed of persons possessing no previous

acquaintance with the subject. To the sub-committee are presented the

estimates made up by the Secretary of State, and a bill is then prepared.

It can raise a grade here, establish a consul there, pare down a salary

in one place, or abolish a mission in another. Of course some of the

changes made by this sub-committee are often very excellent, and even

necessary but its main idea seems to be to reduce the appropriation to

the lowest limit from motives of economy; not that the nation at large

cared for a saving of ten or twenty thousand dollars, but because by

gaining the reputation of being economical, constituents might believe

its members worthy of a new election. The bill is next reported to the

House, where party strength is drilled to support the committees. Every

amendment is there voted down, for the men whose salaries are sometimes

retroactively voted down, are too far away to be heard. From the House

the bill is passed to the Senate. The general theory of the Senate

committees is to reject every change made by the House, and to hold

pretty closely to the law of the last Congress, restoring what had been

omitted, and adding some appropriations for unforeseen expenses, secret

service money, or as technically expressed, for “expenses in carrying out

the Neutrality Act,” etc. The Senate generally passes the amended bill

with slight debate, except in unusual cases. The House next, on motion

of the sub-committee, is wont to reject without debate all the Senate

amendments, and very often suggests a committee of conference. In like

manner the Senate refuses to recede from its amendments, and accepts the

conference. Then a secret meeting is held of the two sub-committees,

who bargain with each other, giving and taking, each yielding part, and

reporting the results to their respective houses in such a technical form

that it is impossible to understand it without a careful examination of

all the papers. This the clerk reads hastily, and it is passed without

debate, often containing new matter never before proposed in the open

House. I am not blaming either body, but simply explaining a system which

is becoming the habitual way of passing all appropriation bills. How can

an already underpaid consul perform his duties properly and vigorously,

when every few months he has to consider the chances of having his salary

cut down, or when engaged in an important investigation by order of his

government, he is quietly informed that his salary ceased a month or six

weeks before?

The interests of our country demand that our diplomatic and consular

service should be fixed by a general law, subject of course to necessary

changes, to be recommended by the department, and not undergo this annual

tinkering, to which no other branch of the government and no other class

of officials are subjected.

Let us next consider the duties of the agents of the government under the

control of the State Department, which belongs to one of two classes,

those in the consular and those in the diplomatic service.

Consuls differ from diplomatic agents (by whatever name they may be

known), in that while the latter are the representatives of one state or

government to another, consuls are the representatives of the individuals

of the nation sending them, empowered to protect individual interests,

and to procure for their fellow-citizens, as far as possible, the same

protection to their rights that they enjoy at home. They represent

commercial interests only. They can address themselves directly to

the local authorities when the rights of their fellow-citizens are

infringed, but if redress be not given, they can not apply to the

supreme government, except in cases specially provided for by treaty.

They must refer the matter to legation or their own government. In other

words they have _no_ diplomatic or representative rights, powers or

privileges. Formerly consuls had power as arbitrators, but gradually

the legal jurisdiction over disputes was withdrawn in nearly all except

non-Christian countries, although for purposes of wills or intestate

property this jurisdiction has still been in some measure preserved.

With regard to maritime matters the case is different; and here, for the

purpose of avoiding protracted disputes in the courts of the country, the

consuls are still allowed large jurisdiction. This is nowadays in most

cases regulated by special treaties.

Consuls are in a certain way charged with watching over the execution

of treaties, for they must protect any of their countrymen whose rights

are invaded, and must immediately bring to the attention of their

government any such infringement. In general, they observe the movements

of naval forces of all nations on the coast near the port in which

they are placed, and it is their duty also to watch over the dignity

of their own country in maintaining the rights of their flag. Not only

are they obliged to give aid, advice, and assistance to the ships of

their commercial marine, but they should in their correspondence with

their government report all events touching the navigation, the various

changes in the commerce of the countries where they live, and especially

anything touching the special commerce with the country which sends them.

In fine, they are bound to keep pace with the state and progress of

manufactures, the rise of new branches of industry, and in general, the

increase or diminution of the public wealth, taking especial care to be

well acquainted with all matters where other countries may gain advantage

over their own. They are given a sort of police jurisdiction over the

commercial vessels of their own country; they are generally charged with

the duty of investigating shipwrecks and saving property from the wrecked

or stranded vessels; with all disputes between captains and sailors; with

arresting deserters; and with sending back shipwrecked or discharged

seamen. In time of war their duties in these respects are still more

important, for they are obliged, so far as the international law, the

special treaties, or the laws of the country in which they are placed

will permit them, to protect at all hazard the commercial and naval

interests of their country against arbitrary acts, whether committed by

the country to which they are sent, or by the nation at war with it.

On the death of one of their countrymen they in general take possession

of his effects, and in case of property left in the country, manage,

keep, and dispose of it for the benefit of the heirs. They are charged,

beside, with notarial duties of all kinds, and in most cases they are the

only authorities who can validate legal instruments between citizens of

their country, or others to be used at home.

In addition to the general duties of a consul various special duties are

imposed on American consuls by our tariff system, which do not generally

exist in the services of other countries.

It is necessary for our consuls to verify in triplicate every invoice of

goods sent to the United States. Not only is he obliged to take the oaths

of the manufacturer or exporter, but he is expected to have a special

knowledge of the trade of the place and of the actual value of the goods,

so that he can control the statements made to him; for our system does

not accept the valuations of goods always at the actual price paid for

them, but at the market value of the place where they are manufactured

or chiefly sold. Besides keeping a number of official records,

registers, and fee books, carrying on his ordinary correspondence with

the Department of State, and carefully prescribed forms relating to the

business of his office, and of everything of interest of a commercial

nature to the government, the consul is obliged to make quarterly,

semi-annual and annual returns, both to the State Department and to the

Treasury. He must, for instance, at the end of each quarter give a digest

of the invoices verified by him during that period; of the arrivals and

departures of American vessels, a return nowadays exceedingly simple;

of deceased American citizens; a record of his notarial services, or

unofficial fees; a summary of the whole consular business; and, in case

the consul has extraterritorial jurisdiction, a return of the business of

the consular coast, and also a record of his official fees.

Still other duties are the submitting of quarterly, semi-annual, and

annual reports. The consul at Shanghai has such duties placed upon him

as give him supervisory control over all consulates in China, vest him

with semi-diplomatic powers, cause him to participate in the municipal

government of the foreign settlement, make him a judge in civil causes,

give him charge of the gaol in which American prisoners are confined,

constitute him judge of a criminal court, of a court of probate and

divorce, of an equity and _nisi prius_ court, appoint him United States

postmaster, give him the duties of a seaport consulate, and place under

his control the protection of the revenue of his government.

Diplomats are agents of a higher class and with different functions.

According to Caloo, who is now generally accepted as the best modern

writer of international law, diplomacy is the science of the relations

existing between different states, such as result from their reciprocal

interests, the principles of international law, and the stipulations of

treaties and conventions; or, more concisely, diplomacy is the science

of relations, or simply the art of negotiations. According to Caloo, the

essential nature of diplomacy is to assure the well-being of peoples,

to maintain between them peace and good harmony, while guaranteeing the

safety, the tranquility, and the dignity of each of them. The part played

by diplomatic agents consists principally in conducting negotiations

relative to these important objects, in watching over the execution of

treaties which follow from them, in preventing anything which might

injure the interests of their fellow-citizens in the countries where they

reside, and in protecting those of them who may be obliged to ask for

their assistance. According to rules adopted by the Congress in Vienna in

1815, diplomatic agents were divided into three classes: (1) Ambassadors,

legates, or nuncios; these two latter being sent only by the Pope;

(2) Envoys, ministers plenipotentiary, or other persons accredited to

a sovereign or sovereign state; and, (3) _Chargés d’Affaires_, who are

accredited only to the Minister of Foreign Affairs. According to the

old custom, ambassadors represented the person of the sovereign, and

accordingly enjoyed higher ceremonial honors than were paid to other

diplomatic agents. They could also address themselves personally to the

sovereign or chief magistrate of the country to which they were sent for

matters of business, instead of having to negotiate with the Ministers of

Foreign Affairs. Nowadays ambassadors differ from other diplomatic agents

only in rank and precedence. The United States having no ambassadors, and

but few envoys and ministers plenipotentiary, does not always receive

equal privileges of rank with some other countries. Our interests

certainly demand that in every country we should be represented by agents

of the highest title known or accepted there. More questions are settled

by a few informal words at a dinner table than by a formal process of

correspondence, although, of course, when great principles are at stake

a formal mode of procedure is necessary. It is therefore evidently to be

desired that diplomatic agents in a given place should be of equal rank

and on a friendly footing with each other.

There are several cases in which the Minister of the United States, if he

had more official authority, could manage to have matters arranged which

ultimately affect our interests. At Constantinople, for instance, where

there is an effort to undermine the treaty rights of all foreigners,

the ambassadors have of late adopted the habit of meeting one another

in an unofficial way, and of laying down rules and taking action

regarding extraterritorial matters, which are then proposed to the rest

of the diplomatic body. In general, the representatives of the smaller

states are asked for their approval or dissent, but given no chance

to suggest or argue. Three years ago, indeed, our government found it

necessary to protest against this course, for it was beginning to be

tacitly understood that only the ambassadors of what were called the

Signatory Powers—those who were represented at the Congress in Berlin in

1878—should have any voice in matters which affected the interests of all

foreigners in Turkey. Our protest had the theoretical result of bringing

about occasional conferences of all foreign representatives, but the

practice remains much as before.

Foreign ministers of the United States should be enabled to live in a

style suitable to their rank. Nor is this simply a question of display,

but for a minister to be useful he must make acquaintance with the

leading persons of the country, and entertain them at his house.

The necessary qualifications for employment in the diplomatic service

are a knowledge of French, and generally at least of one other language;

a good acquaintance with history, treaties and international law. It

is also necessary that he be a gentleman: _i. e._, acquainted with the

ways of the world, and the usages and manners of the best society in

each capital in which he is expected to move. The word “gentleman” does

not necessarily imply a man of good birth, or belonging to a well known

family, although the son or grandson of the President of the United

States would always have more credit and influence in the place to which

he was sent than one of whom nothing was known.

* * * * *

It is hard to create among a Christian people, enthusiasm for an infidel,

however talented he may have been, or however much good he may have done;

for his revelation to man, even if true, is an unwelcome and painful

revelation, adding nothing to his happiness or comfort in life or in

death; while the faith of the believer is an inspiring one, filling

his life with the sunshine of hope, and surrounding it with a halo of

imperishable glory. Most people have an instinctive dread of the man who

with ruthless hand, attempts to destroy all those sacred hopes and fears

which have been instilled into their minds by their nearest and dearest

benefactor, their mother.—_“How to Get On in the World,” by Robert

Waters._

MADURA AND ITS PAGODA.

BY BISHOP JOHN F. HURST.

When I was buying my ticket at Tuticorin for Madura, the station agent

was kind enough to say:

“Don’t you know there is cholera in Madura?”

“What, real Asiatic cholera?”

“It’s real Asiatic cholera, and nothing else,” he answered.

“I have not heard it before,” I replied. “I have only this moment landed

from the steamer ‘Nerbudda,’ and have had no news of any kind. Many

deaths?”

“Oh, no. Nothing compared with last year. Five thousand died during the

season. Only about ten die a day just now, and we don’t consider that

anything.”

I mused a moment on the mortality of ten cholera patients a day in a

place of fifty thousand, and then asked: “Do you think it safe to go?”

“I can’t answer that. It all depends.”

Two facts now came to my relief. One was, that few people in India think

cholera contagious. There are no separate hospitals for such cases.

Cholera patients are put in the same wards with patients suffering from

fever and other diseases. The other fact was, that two weeks before,

when I was in Puna, there had been a cholera case in the native bazar,

and yet I had a most pleasant ride through that part of the city, and

had suffered no harm, and saw no alarm anywhere. The truth is, nobody

thinks of cholera as any more likely to happen than any mild disease. Dr.

Waugh told me only yesterday that cholera prevailed more or less in all

Indian towns, but that nobody minded it. It might be next door, but it

frightened no one. The only thing is to watch its beginning, and manage

it, as you can, with care and caution. Another is, to take care of one’s

diet. This must be said, however, that when cholera does come, and its

first stage is neglected, the collapse is very sudden.

Taking all things together it did not seem much of a risk to spend my

intervening day, before meeting an engagement at Bangelore, in the

Mysore, in making a halt in Madura, and using my only opportunity to see

the famous Pagoda there—the largest, not only in India, but in the world.

Long before reaching Madura one can see the great towers which rise above

the Pagoda, and dominate not alone the city, but the whole surrounding

country. In many of the Indian cities the temple is in the suburbs, and

even completely alone, in the country, having been left by the drift of

the population far out into other directions. But this is not the case in

Madura. The Pagoda is in the very heart of the old city. The bazars lead

directly toward it, and overflow into it. It is the city in miniature,

with its dirt, ill odors, poverty, wealth, superstition, and infamous

idolatry. All the surging tide of tradesmen drifts toward and about

it. No adequate conception of an Indian temple can be formed from any

European illustration of sacred places. Perhaps the Troitskoi Monastery

in Russia, where many cathedrals are grouped around one central sacred

place, making the whole a very Canterbury, is as near an approach to an

Indian temple and its spaces as can be found anywhere west of Asia.

Madura has long been celebrated for this Pagoda. There are conflicting

opinions as to its antiquity. It is probable that the place itself was

regarded sacred, and was the site of a temple long before a city was

built here. It is not unlikely that the temple was the first building,

and that the city grew out of it, and all about it. The immense structure

gives clear evidence of its own antiquity. It was built in the third

century before the Christian era, by King Kula Shekhara. It is evidently

a case where the city has sprung into life from religious associations,

and become the capital of a large territory. Some parts of the Pagoda

are modern, and were built by Nurmala Nark, in the former half of the

seventeenth century, but one can easily distinguish the newer from the

older. The effect, throughout, is one of great and undisturbed antiquity.

The Pagoda space is an immense parallelogram, extending 744 feet from

east to west, and 847 feet from north to south. This area is enclosed

by a light wall, and is flanked, at various points, by nine colossal

towers. These towers are of peculiar structure, all after the same model,

and so disposed toward each other as to form a symmetrical combination.

Each constitutes a kind of gateway, for entrance from different sides

of the wall. As you enter you find yourself passing through a great

open corridor. The _gopura_ is shaped like a tent, and on every side is

ornamented with carvings. These represent the fabulous doings of the god

Shiva and his wife, Minakshi, and ascend in lessening rows, or stories,

until the apex is reached, which is sharp and curved, and reminds one of

the general form of an old Roman gallery. The colors of these _gopuras_

are very rich, and, in the case of several, shine like fine tiling, or

even gay enamel. The blue is especially rich, and is fairly dazzling

in the bright sunlight. While Shiva is the god to whom the temple is

supposed to have been dedicated, the more frequent representations of his

wife Minakshi prove her to be the favorite of the people.

THE SCENE IN THE MADURA TEMPLE.

Two _gopuras_ constitute the great entrances. Through one of these I

went, with a crowd of about fifty ill-clad beggars following me. They

held high carnival as they passed around and against me, and called for

alms. I noticed many sleepers in the darker corners, in various parts

of the temple spaces. They lie in every position. It seems a habit of

the Maduran when he gets thoroughly tired in his tent, or in the bazar,

to drop into this temple and fall down for a good nap at the feet of

Shiva, or some other idol, for Madura is a spot which for ages has been

held strangely sacred by the Hindoo worshiper. Having passed through the

_gopura_, and completed the passage of the great corridor, you see the

beginnings only of this wonderful temple. There stretch out before you

great reaches of passages, and halls, and still farther corridors, in

all possible directions. But for my safe guide, who added to his other

duties the good one of keeping off the crowd of ragged and starving and

ill-smelling beggars with a stout bamboo rod, I should have lost my way

at once. At your right you see an immense hall, the Hall of One Thousand

Columns, which extends far away until it is lost in such dark and distant

spaces as I cared not to explore. But, beyond it—for I came back that

way—there is a special temple sacred to the ruling god, Shiva. At your

left are venders of images, sweetmeats, toys, and various other articles,

which, for some reason, are permitted to be sold within the sacred walls.

The men who sell them are squatted over the floor, on mats of palm,

and their wares lie about them. Think of a seller of small wares, in a

temple, sitting or standing, with his goods arranged on a counter or row

of shelves! Such a thing would be preposterous beyond measure. The drift

is downward. No Hindoo will stand if he can possibly drop on the floor.

He doubles up his legs under him. That is his normal position. He may

be talking with you this moment, and as much interested in standing or

walking as any one. But a sudden change comes over him. Down he drops,

and no boy ever closed the two blades of a jack-knife more quickly than

the Hindoo doubles himself up, either on the temple floor, or at the side

of the street, or in his own doorway. And there he can sit by the hour,

nay, the whole day, and be as calm as the serene face of Buddha himself.

Perhaps these sellers in the Madura Pagoda have some ancestral claim

on the favors of the authorities, by which they receive the privilege

of spreading out their wares in the holy place. Over your head there

flies about a flock of doves. They are sacred, and woe to the hand that

would hurt a feather on their sweet heads! The worshipers feed them.

It is a sacred privilege. Yonder, to your left, three sacred elephants

are feeding and frisking their trunks about as if they really knew that

they were picking up great wisps of straw and hay within the most holy

place in all this region. Come, I must hasten, or their priestly keepers

will loosen the chains of one of them in a trice, and have the mammoth

dropping down on all fours, and pulling me up on his back, to take an

elephant ride through this labyrinth of marvels. Imagine the absurdity

of an elephant ride on a temple floor! Yet that is what you can do here,

and take a long promenade, and never have him repeat his pathway. I have

had two elephant rides, and want no more for a decade, at least. But by

going through this first doorway I get away from the venders, and the

elephants, and pass out of sight of the Hall of a Thousand Columns, and

its great, interminable spaces. Here one is in a corridor nearly two

hundred feet long, with pillars groaning beneath a wealth of sculptured

images. Now comes a brazen door. The frame is vast and heavy, and is

entirely surrounded with brazen lamps, all of which are lighted during a

festive season, perhaps the _Tailotsava_, “the oil festival.”

Monier Williams happened to visit the Madura Pagoda at the time of the

“oil festival,” and thus describes the wretched scene: “A coarse image

of the goddess (Minakshi), profusely decorated with jewels, and having a

high head-dress of hair, was carried in the center of a long procession,

on a canopied throne, borne by eight Brahmans, to a platform in the

magnificent hall, opposite the temple. There the ceremony of undressing

the idol, removing its ornaments, anointing its head with oil, bathing,

redecorating and redressing it was gone through, and shouting, singing,

beating of tom-toms, waving of lights and cowries, ringing of bells, and

deafening discord from forty or fifty so-called musical instruments,

each played by a man who did his best to overpower the sound of all the

others combined. At the head of the procession was borne an image of

Ganesa. Then followed three elephants, a long line of priests, musicians,

attendants bearing cowries and umbrellas, with a troop of dancing girls

bringing up the rear.

“No sight I witnessed in India made me more sick at heart than this.

It presented a sad example of the utterly debasing character of the

idolatry which, notwithstanding the counteracting influences of

education and Christianity, still enslaves the masses of the population,

deadening their intellects, corrupting their imaginations, warping their

affections, perverting their consciences, and disfiguring the fair soil

of a beautiful country with hideous usages and practices unsanctioned by

even their own minds and works.”—“Religious Thought and Life in India.”

Part I, pp. 442-443.

You are now introduced into a darker corridor, and then again into a

broad and pillared space, where the columns are sculptured, being cut

through and through into figures of dancing gods, like Shiva when he

played his flute to the shepherds. You now look out upon a little sheet

of water with a miniature temple in the middle of it. This is the

Lake of the Golden Lilies. Near by it is the little chapel where Queen

Mangammal’s subjects starved her to death in 1706, having placed food

so near that she could see and smell it, but not taste it. We now enter

another department of the temple; above there are stone images, up around

the pillars, in all corners, and hanging down over you wherever you go,

near walls or archways. These images are not grave and majestic, but,

in the main, grotesque, bacchanalian, in fantastic attitudes, and often

combining the bodies of man and beast. They represent, for the most

part, the escapades of Shiva. Every now and then one comes to a shrine,

where worshipers lie prostrate before it, and remain motionless for a

long time. No one knows how long it has taken these poor dusty pilgrims

to reach this sacred place. Perhaps they have been three months on the

journey. They come from the very base of the Himalayas, or the borders of

Thibet, and now that they have reached the end of their pilgrimage, would

die with a happy heart. There are several gold plated images, veiled from

view, which represent the god Shiva, or his wife, in some part of their

marvelous career. The representations in stone, both of men and the brute

world, are frequent everywhere. Elephants, horses, cattle, and every kind

of animal held sacred in the Hindoo mythology, are cut out of stone, and

made to portray the supposed divine attributes of Shiva and his wife.

Here, too, are the very _vehanas_, or great chariots, plated with gold,

in which the god and his wife are taken out on special days in the year,

to ride. Beside these there are silver litters, which serve the same

divine purpose on other days.

One grows weary of the procession of splendid but gross images and idols

in this vast space. Now you are out for a time in the open air, where

a vacancy has been left in the roof, and the beautiful sky throws down

its blessed sunlight upon this terrible picture of idolatry. But very

soon you are brought again under the shadowing and lofty ceiling, and

before you are aware of it, you are almost lost in a dark labyrinth of

sculptured pillars, black idols in gold wrappings, dusty and absorbed

pilgrims, cheerful doves, and the constant crowd of men and boys, who

follow you, either to sell you their sweets, or beg for your loose

coppers. All at once you come out from a corridor to the marble steps

of a miniature lake. Be careful now. Only the real Hindoo dares to step

down into its waters. For every drop is sacred, and must touch only the

skin of Shiva’s children. Over the calm surface the towers stand as

gay sentinels, from century to century. Turning again, you must look

carefully, or you will tread upon a sleeping form, which has dropped

in from the hot air, and let fall its burden, and eaten its crust, and

now rests an hour. There is a mother, with a nose-ring so large that it

hangs down over her mouth, and she must eat through it, or starve. Her

ankles are encircled by heavy silver anklets, cut like serpents. Her toes

are glittering with jeweled rings. She has led her child up before an

image of Shiva’s wife, and is explaining what it all means. Poor woman!

Little she knows the truth. The One Name above all others she has never

once heard. Here is a dwarf, who stands beside a shrine, and holds out

his withered hand for an _anna_. Here, in a place where the statuary has

given way to the wear of ages, are workmen in stone, who are making new

pillars, with sculptured flutings, to take the place of the old. All the

work, every stroke of mallet and chisel, must be done right here, where

everything is holy, and Shiva smiles down upon the labor.

* * * * *

ANECDOTE OF JERROLD.—His heart was as kindly a one as ever beat in a

human bosom; and his hand most liberal, and often far more liberal

than his means might have justified. He was once asked by a literary

acquaintance, whether he had the courage to lend him a guinea. “Oh, yes,”

he replied, “I’ve got the courage; but I haven’t got the guinea.” He had

always the courage to do a kind action, and when he had the guinea it was

always at the command of the suffering, especially if the sufferer was an

honest laborer in the field of literature.—“_Personal Traits of British

Authors._”

GEOGRAPHY OF THE HEAVENS FOR MAY.

BY PROF. M. B. GOFF, Western University of Pennsylvania.

THE SUN.

Although at the time these lines are written the sun has not in his

northern course reached the equator, and with us here in the north the

ground is covered with snow, yet by the time our readers see these words

in print a great change will have taken place in the face of nature; the

beautiful green of the winter wheat will cover the fields, the tulips

and hyacinths exhibit their brilliant colors, and our forests begin

to display their refreshing foliage, and “Old Sol” himself will have

completed half his journey to the tropics and have measured for us many

days of the “little span” allotted to the life of man.

“Men may come and men may go,

But I go on forever.”

And thus are we ever reminded of the “flight of time.” The days grow

longer and the shadows shorter; but “all too soon” the shadows begin

again to lengthen and the nights increase. Of this, perhaps, we should

not complain; for the many long days of summer give us ample opportunity

to perform our duties during the “noble sunlight,” and we shall probably

be glad of the rest that comes with the “shortening hours.”

During May our time is slow, the sun coming to the meridian about three

minutes before noon, as indicated by our clocks. Sunrise occurs at 4:58,

4:42, and 4:32 a. m., on the 1st, 16th, and 30th, respectively, while

sunset is at 6:55, 7:10, and 7:22 p. m. on the corresponding days. Day

breaks on the 16th at 2:43 a. m., and twilight ends at 9:09 p. m., giving

eighteen hours and twenty-seven minutes from “early dawn to dewy eve.”

The length of day varies from thirteen hours fifty-seven minutes to

fourteen hours fifty minutes. Increase in right ascension, north 6° 36′.

THE MOON’S

Phases occur as follows: last quarter, on 7th, at 3:35 a. m.; new moon,

14th, at 10:09 a. m.; first quarter, 21st, 12:37 a. m.; full moon, 28th,

3:22 p. m. Rises on the 1st, at 9:16 p. m.; sets on the 16th at 9:29 p.

m.; rises on the 30th at 8:49 p. m. Farthest from the earth (in apogee)

on the 4th, at 5:18 a. m., and again on the 31st, at 6:54 p. m. Nearest

to earth (in perigee) on the 16th, at 4:54 a. m. In latitude 41° 30′,

least elevation on the 3d, amounting to 30° 11′ 56″, and again on the

30th, amounting to 30° 5′. Greatest elevation on the 17th, equal to 66°

51′ 38″.

MERCURY

Affords sharp-eyed early risers before and after the 25th, a few days’

opportunity to get a glimpse of his countenance, as he reaches his

greatest western elongation at 7:00 a. m. of the above named date. On the

11th, at 4:00 a. m., he is farthest from the sun; same date, at 2:00 p.

m., stationary; on the 12th, at 10:59 p. m., 22′ south of the moon; on

13th, at 3:00 a. m., 2° 27′ south of Mars, and again on the 30th, at 4:00

p. m., 2° 56′ south of same planet. Motion 2° 27′ 12″ retrograde up to

the 11th; and from 11th to end of the month, 14° 54′ 35″ direct. Diameter

diminishes from 12″ on the 1st to 7.4″ on the 31st. The times of his

rising are as follows: On the 1st, 4:49 a. m.; on the 16th, 3:59 a. m.;

and on the 30th, 3:36 a. m.

VENUS.

During the month the beauty of this planet is quite overshadowed by the

superior light of the sun. Her times of rising and setting are nearly his

own, and her diameter ranges from 9.8″ to 10″. On the 4th, about noon,

the sun is between her and the earth (in superior conjunction). On the

11th, at 6:00 p. m., she is 1° 15′ north of Neptune; on the 14th, at

1:17 p. m., 3° 47′ north of the moon; motion direct, amounting to 39° 15′

47″. On the 1st, she rises at 5:05 a. m., and sets at 6:45 p. m.; and on

the 16th, rises at 4:59 a. m., sets at 7:21 p. m.; on the 30th, rises at

5:03 a. m., sets at 7:53 p. m.

MARS,

Like Venus, keeps near the sun during the entire month, rising on the

1st at 4:24 a. m.; on the 16th, at 3:43 a. m., and on the 30th, at 3:25

a. m., and setting on the corresponding days at 5:22, 5:21, and 5:19

p. m. respectively. His diameter is 4.4″, and his motion 22° 14′ 33.6″

eastwardly (direct). On the 12th, at 10:55 p. m., he is 2° 3′ north of

the moon; on the 30th, at 4:00 p. m., 2° 56′ north of Mercury.

JUPITER,

Now that Venus “hides her diminished head,” “does himself proud,”

attracting the eye of the most casual observer. His proximity to the star

_Alpha Leonis_ (Regulus), particularly on the 30th, when he is about

two thirds of a degree north of the latter, detracts nothing from his

prominence; but on the other hand, rather renders him more conspicuous.

On the 17th, at 10:00 a. m., he is just 90° east of the sun; and on the

20th, at 9:37 p. m., 4° 17′ north of the moon. His diameter decreases

during the month from 37.2″ to 34.2″ and he makes a direct advance of 2°

3′ 51″. On the 1st, he rises at 12:25 p. m., and sets next morning at

2:03; on the 16th, he rises at 11:30 a. m., and sets on the 17th at 1:04

a. m.; on the 30th, rises at 10:42 a. m., and sets at 12:14 a. m. on the

31st.

SATURN.

Those who wish to see in all his grandeur this planet with his rings,

must not longer delay. Each day brings him nearer the sun, so that by

the close of the month his time of setting is only about one hour after

sunset. His diameter decreases four tenths of a second of arc, and his

motion is 3° 44′ direct. On the 16th, at 9:35 a. m., he is 4° 2′ north of

the moon. He rises on the 1st at 7:23 a. m. and sets at 10:05 p. m.; on

the 16th, rises at 6:31 a. m., sets at 9:15 p. m.; on the 30th, rises at

5:44 a. m., sets at 8:28 p. m.

URANUS.

This planet will be an evening star, and afford a fine opportunity for

observation to those who have the means at hand profitably to view it.

Our limited knowledge of its physical properties make it, to the ordinary

observer, a matter of little interest. It rises on the 1st at 3:15 p. m.,

and sets on the 2nd at 3:21 a. m.; on the 16th, it rises at 2:15 p. m.,

and sets at 2:21 the next morning; on the 30th, it rises at 1:18 p. m.

and sets on the 31st at 1:26 a. m. It maintains the same diameter, 3.8″,

throughout the month, and makes a direct motion of 2° 13′ 45″. On the

23d, at 4:38 a. m., will be 1° 11′ north of the moon.

NEPTUNE.

And now we come to the “last but not least,” by any means, of our

planets—a planet, however, that interests us but very little, as we

can only see it through a quite powerful telescope, and then only as a

small, pale disk. Yet its movements are ascertained and recorded just

as those are of other planets, and so far as we know them, we are just

as confident of the obtained results. As much so as we are of the some

two hundred and twenty small bodies that are so much nearer to us, whose

orbits lie between that of Mars and that of Jupiter; more confident

than we are of the orbits of those erratic bodies we call _comets_,

which seem to come and go at pleasure, and were formerly the terror

of all who beheld them; and of those other bodies known as _meteors_,

_meteorites_, or _aerolites_, which not only terrify those who behold

them, but frequently injure and destroy the beings with which they come

in contact. In fact, we know that Neptune, although apparently so small,

is a globe 34,500 miles in diameter, and so far away as to do us no harm,

while there _may_ be thousands of little invisible globes flying around

our earth waiting for some favorable opportunity to break away from their

restraints and hurl themselves, as those did at Stannern in 1812, or at

Orgueil, in France, in 1864, upon our devoted heads or our cherished

treasures. Let us, then, respect our obscure and distant friend, with

whom we are definitely acquainted, and record his acts as follows: For

the first part of the month he will be an evening star; from the 13th, on

which date he will be in conjunction with the sun, he will be a morning

star; and on the 14th, at 7:47 a. m., will be 2° 15′ north of the moon.

His motion will be direct, and amount to 1° 10′; his diameter 2.5″. On

the 11th, at 6:00 p. m., he will be 1° 15′ south of Venus. On the 1st he

will rise at 5:44 a. m. and set at 7:42 p. m.; on the 16th, rise at 4:48

a. m., set at 6:48 p. m.; on the 30th, rise at 3:54 a. m., set at 5:34 p.

m.

THE HOMELIKE HOUSE.

BY SUSAN HAYES WARD.

CHAPTER IV.—THE BEDROOM.

“The Pilgrim they laid in a large upper chamber whose windows

opened towards the sunrising; the name of the chamber was

Peace, where he slept till break of day, and then he awoke and

sang.”—_John Bunyan._

It is impossible to treat of house furnishing and decoration without some

allusion to what hygiene requires of the house builder. In the properly

constructed house the bedroom will be light, airy, and if possible,

sunny, like the pilgrim’s chamber. The bedroom windows should not be so

heavily hung with curtains as to obstruct the free passage of air. Thin

curtains of chintz or muslin are better for sleeping rooms than heavily

lined damask or cretonne, as sunlight and pure air are bedroom essentials.

The cheapest and most convenient treatment for the wall is paper hanging;

but Dr. Richardson, the well known English writer of house and health

papers, inveighs against wall paper upon bedroom walls, and specially

against the practice of papering one layer over another, on the ground

that germs of disease are liable to be cased up behind wall paper, and to

remain a source of danger in after years. No doubt a painted or washable

surface is best from a hygienic point of view, but with proper care paper

can be risked.

Light, airy patterns are preferable, of varying tints, but the same

general color as the ground, for the bedroom should never be gloomy,

and the less sunshine it gets from without the more sunny should be the

paper that decks its walls. Violent contrasts in color, and spotty or

staring designs are a source of irritating annoyance to the sick. Let the

purchaser, in selecting wall paper, stand at a distance of a dozen feet

or so and look with half closed eyes, and he will get much more of the

general effect, and will see more as the invalid will who may occupy the

room when the paper is hung.

Then, in the matter of drainage and plumbing, there has been a great

overturning in the past few years. People began to discover, about ten

years ago, that their modern improvements were followed by a long train

of sore throats, diphtheria, and typhoid fevers, and the wise householder

was led to study the various systems of pipes and drains. Thanks to our

boards of health, and to the efforts and writings of such men as Col.

Waring, much has been done to improve and perfect the drainage of city

houses, but in spite of the advance that has been made in this direction,

modern conveniences often prove in the end to be inconvenient, if not

pernicious, and the fewer set washbowls and water closets with which our

houses are furnished the safer we may feel. With faucets for hot and cold

water on each floor from which to replenish the water jugs, no reasonable

servant could complain of the extra drudgery, much less the sensible

woman who “does her own work,” and all could sleep sounder at night

without fear of being haunted by any of those frightful demons of the

drain pipe which were represented in a number of _Harper’s Weekly_ some

years ago, as issuing from a set washbowl and hovering over the innocent

slumberer.

Upon this point all the writers upon house decoration are as one, and Mr.

Cook, in his “House Beautiful” says: “Seeing no certain way to prevent

the evil so long as drain pipes are allowed in bedrooms, many people

nowadays are giving up fixed washstands altogether, and substituting the

old fashioned arrangement of a movable piece of furniture, with movable

apparatus, the water brought in pitchers, and the slops carried away in

their native slop jars.” Whether healthier or not, I think there can be

no doubt that the old way is more comfortable by far.

Setting both health and comfort to one side for a moment, there can be

no doubt that the movable washstand, with its paraphernalia of bowls and

pitchers, is a more sightly and decorative object in the bedroom than

any set washbowl arrangement that has yet been contrived. Of course I am

referring to the introduction of waste pipes into the bedroom proper, not

to toilet or bath-rooms outside its walls.

In cold weather the bedroom air should be a little cooler, perhaps, than

that of the living rooms of the house, but not many degrees lower.

Our fathers and mothers, when boys and girls, slept in rooms freezing

cold, and broke the ice in their water pitchers in the morning; but they

lived in spite of this, not because of it. There is a deal of loose

thinking on this subject. Cold air is no healthier than warm. It is

impure air, warm or cold, that is unhealthy, the cold being specially

pernicious; witness the church influenza, that most obstinate and

unconquerable of all colds, because contracted by sitting in a chilling

atmosphere after the body’s vitality has been reduced through breathing

air that has not been renewed since the last service held in the room.

There was a clever story called “Lizzie Wilson,” published in _Littell’s

Living Age_, years ago, in which a clergyman’s poor widow is represented

as bringing up satisfactorily, through many straits, a family of young

children. As their bedrooms were not heated, they had a joint dressing

room, where the boy of the household first lighted the fire, and then

dressed himself, his mother and sisters occupying the room later, in

turn. This indulgence in the way of comfort, which might have been deemed

an extravagance by others as poor as themselves, was paid for by going

without dessert three days of the week; and the children, when cosily

warming their backs before the dressing room fire, were pleased to call

it “taking a slice of pudding.” A wise household economy of this sort,

less pudding and pie and more fires, would not be amiss in many American

homes. To keep one room intolerably hot, and all others without any heat,

is a wasteful retrenchment, which must be paid for in doctors’ bills and

funerals.

The question of single or double beds is also one of some hygienic

importance. When a room is to be occupied by more than one person,

the European custom of placing two single beds side by side has great

advantage over the English double bed fashion. I have known mothers to

assert that they observed a marked improvement in the health and temper

of nervous, irritable children, after the little ones had been removed to

single beds, where they could rest without disturbance from a bedfellow;

and no one doubts that sickly or delicate people should occupy single

beds.

As to color, I confess to a stout prejudice against getting up rooms all

in one hue. I would banish altogether the young-ladyish dainty pink or

blue room, and confine the green room to the theater. It is very hard

to so manage a symphony in blue, for example, that it shall be truly

symphonious. The cretonne furniture covers are apt to contain some

analine dyes that fade to forlorn and sickly hues in place of their

original smartness. The blue of the wall paper will never agree with that

of the carpet, and the cheap paper cambric or stouter jean that peeps

through the muslin toilet cover grows paler with age, and each passing

day increases the general discord.

White rooms with snowy and spotless walls, curtains and bedcovers, such

as certain nun-like story-book young ladies affect, are chilling in the

extreme. Their immaculate purity alone renders them endurable, and even

then the obtrusiveness of their Dutch-like cleanliness is exasperating. A

dingy white room is even more ugly than an ill-assorted blue one.

If the walls are plain, let the curtains be figured with various colors;

if the walls are papered with figured polychrome hangings, let the

curtains be plain, but harmonizing with some one color of the wall paper.

That same color can be emphasized and repeated in carpet, rugs, and table

or bureau cover, but no one color should be used to the exclusion of all

others, as the eye wearies of neutral tints unrelieved by positive color

without a large proportion of neutral tinted space.

A bedroom should look as if intended for the use of its occupants.

Much millinery, quilled and ruffled muslin, and toilet tables in fine

petticoats are only allowable in the room of a dainty young girl who

has plenty of time to spend in renewing and freshening up her ephemeral

finery, or in a guest chamber that is seldom used, and is thus made to

look pretty at slight expense. Knick-knackeries of this sort provoke the

righteous wrath of sturdy men, and they are quite out of taste in that

most home-like of all gathering places, the mother’s room. For the name

of that chamber should always be Peace and Comfort. It should be of all

bedrooms the most commodious, the most convenient of access, with the

largest of drawers, the roomiest of closets, the most restful of chairs,

and a boundless welcome to all the household.

Closet room should be struggled for in the building of a house. This is a

point where the masculine intellect shows its weakness and the feminine

its strength. A quick-witted woman will suggest to her architect, nook

after nook of waste space to be utilized as closet room which would

altogether escape his notice. No bedroom should be unfurnished in this

regard. When closets are not built in, portable wardrobes should be

supplied.

There is fallacy in the supposition that the most attractive portion of

the house should be reserved as a “spare room” for the casual guest. The

family should first be made comfortable; when that has been done, if one

would use hospitality without grudging, it will be necessary to imitate

the great woman of Shunem, and at least furnish a little chamber with

the necessary bed, table, stool and candlestick. Moving out of one’s own

room and doubling up with another for a night or two does very well in

the holiday season, when the spirit of hospitality and good nature is in

the air; but, ordinarily speaking, it is quite a task to empty the upper

drawer of one’s bureau, and leave one’s own comfortable quarters.

So far as health, neatness and style are concerned, brass bedsteads are

the best. They are very simple in form and construction, and so are some

of the iron bedsteads, which can be kept absolutely nice and clean in any

climate, and are, unlike brass, quite inexpensive. The most objectionable

of all bedsteads is that

“Contrived a double debt to pay,

A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day,”

which is only to be tolerated where a parlor must serve temporarily

as sleeping room. A well made bed is the essential piece of bedroom

furniture, which may be hidden from view by a screen or curtains, but

should not be slammed up and boxed in against the wall, or made to stand

upon anything but its own merits.

Wire net springs are probably as good as can be got, and a feather bed

under the mattress is an improvement to the best modern bed, if properly

aired, turned and shaken daily. Mattresses should be remade and their

contents pulled lightly apart before they grow matted or ridgy. Curled

hair mattresses are, of course, the best, but English flock, excelsior,

and straw, all make respectable beds, and can be made easier by covering

them with thick comfortables or blankets, under the sheet. It is quite

worth while to make slip covers for mattresses.

Sheets should have an allowance of at least three quarters of a yard for

tucking in. Three yards will not be found too long for comfortable home

sheets. Blankets are apt to be too short. It is better to tear a pair of

blankets apart, and finish the edge with a buttonhole stitch in worsted.

The old fashioned “blanket stitch,” as it was called, a long and short

stitch alternating, is very pretty. This finish is better than binding,

which is apt to shrink and tear off.

It seems a waste of time to make cotton patchwork when pretty quilts can

be bought so cheap. In the days when cotton cloth was costly, every scrap

was worth saving, but now patchwork seems only serviceable in teaching

little girls to sew overhand seams.

Hand-wrought spreads look well when pulled up over the pillows, covering

the whole bed, and should be treated with respect and carefully folded

and laid away at night.

Pillow shams are troublesome to keep in place, and can be discarded

without regret, when a pretty covering of this sort conceals the whole

bed. Of my own choice I would never make use of anything with so

disreputable a name.

The fault of crazy quilts is their craziness. To be really pleasing

they should have some design, like a Turkish rug which, though very

irregular in detail, has yet a general plan, a distinct centerpiece, and

a plainly defined border. One of the most objectionable features of the

ordinary “crazy” quilt is the huddling together in the same piece of

work of painting upon silk and embroidery, two widely differing sorts of

decoration, which will not bear being brought heedlessly in juxtaposition.

Very pretty comfortables, to be folded like a silk quilt, and thrown over

the foot of the bed, can be made of paper muslin, in dainty colors, or

of cheese-cloth, lightly filled with cotton batting, and knotted with

bright colored wools. Cotton comfortables are not so serviceable as

blankets, but they are much cheaper, and it is well to keep a supply on

hand for use in cold winter weather, or to make up an extra bed with in

case of emergency. They can be folded under the sheet to soften a hard

mattress, or white palliases filled with cotton can be made for the same

purpose, but great care should be taken to air bedding of this sort very

thoroughly.

A roomy lounge in a bed chamber is a great convenience. It affords an

opportunity for an afternoon nap without disarranging the well made bed,

and many a careworn woman would lie down for a few minutes upon a lounge

in her bedroom who would not think of resting in the daytime upon the

bed. A long, broad, pine box, with wooden castors attached, makes an

admirable lounge frame, or a narrow cot bedstead could be cut down to be

of suitable height for a lounge frame. This should be supplied with a

good mattress, or a covering of chintz or cretonne could be drawn over

it, with a frill falling nearly to the floor. From one to three square

pillows, similarly covered, would perfect this lounge, which could serve

readily for a bed in time of need.

Bed hangings and canopies are pretty and unnecessary, except in

mosquito countries, where lace net, gathered full upon a hoop suspended

horizontally from the ceiling, and falling in ample folds to the floor,

will serve to keep many out, and one or two teasing marauders in, the

long night through. Bed hangings proper are prettiest when made in the

form of a canopy over the bed head, and should be of a material that will

bear washing.

An ample supply of choice bed linen and towels, all handsomely marked, is

no less a subject of pride with housekeepers than dainty table damask,

and people of wealth in these days spend lavishly upon hemstitched linen

or silk sheets, elegant towels, and elaborately embroidered letterings.

This fondness for well stocked linen presses is a womanly and pardonable

weakness, inherited from our far away ancestresses, who strewed stalks

of lavender between the sheets in their chests and presses, a custom

that has not gone altogether out of date among old fashioned European

housekeepers.

Other comforts of the sleeping room where bath-rooms are not attached

are plenty of water and bath towels, a washstand for each occupant of

the room, generous bowls, a well filled pail with which to replenish the

pitchers, foot tub, a portable bath tub, capacious slop jars, a rubber or

enameled leather cloth to spread upon the floor, a screen for seclusion’s

sake, and room to splash. If the bedroom china, pails and jars be pretty

in shape and color, so much the better, but at any rate, let them be

large enough.

A wooden topped washstand should be protected with a piece of enameled

leather, over which a plain towel can be spread for look’s sake. Fanciful

fringed and colored mats are out of place on the washstand, where water

should be free to spatter.

Where “splashers” are used to protect the wall, they should be simple

of design and easy to wash, and mottoes, if introduced, should be

appropriate to the place. “Sweet Rest in Heaven,” which I have known

used for this purpose, can hardly be considered suitable; nor yet the

prophet’s command to the leprous Syrian captain, “Wash and be clean,” a

too suggestive motto, wholly subversive of the theory that bathing is a

luxury indulged in for refreshment’s sake; nor yet again a representation

of birds dipping into a stream, with the scriptural allusion to the

Good Samaritan’s washing and binding up of wounds, “Go and do thou

likewise.” These sentences might be appropriate in the accident ward of a

charity hospital, but hardly suit the wall decoration of a lady’s dainty

bed-chamber.

Something more suggestive of the sparkling, limpid purity of the crystal

spring would be in better taste—such as:

“See the face of Laughing Water.”—_Longfellow._

“She sprinkled bright water from the stream.”—_Shelley._

“From a thousand petty rills

That tumble down the snowy hills.”—_Milton._

There can be no lack of good mottoes to those who look for them.

A roomy, deep drawered bureau is best for a woman’s use, a dressing table

or bureau with small and large drawers for a man. There should be looking

glasses suited to the needs of each, but for a lady it is convenient to

have a glass so placed as to reflect her full figure, so that she may

judge of the “hang” of a skirt or the looping of dress drapery.

A candle-stand by the bed, with candlestick and matches, a table or desk

for writing purposes, chairs low enough for sewing or lounging in, and a

big, old-fashioned stuffed chair for the solace of the sick, these are

all bedroom comforts.

I have said nothing of servants’ rooms, though much might be written on

the thoughtless neglect which generally makes such rooms unpresentable. I

can recall to memory but one house containing a model room for servants’

use. That bed-chamber was as exquisitely nice in its appointments as the

room of the mistress herself, though its furnishing was, of course, much

less costly.

Boys’ rooms, also, especially in country homes, are apt to be cheerless,

neglected spots, wholly unattractive to their occupants. Boys ought not

to be burdened in their rooms with the care of those little prettinesses

in which their sisters delight; still they should be educated to enjoy

what is truly refined and beautiful. Their bedrooms should be tasteful

and comfortable, and they should be taught to keep them in order, to

hang clothes tidily in the press, to lay away neckties carefully in the

drawer, and to take pride and pleasure in making their rooms attractive

to themselves and their young friends. They should be encouraged to feel

at home in their rooms, and if no attic or shed room can be given up for

their boyish gatherings, for whittling, tinkering, kitemaking, and other

important youthful manufactures, to say nothing of choice collections

of sticks and stones, then banish the carpet, retaining only a warm rug

before the bed, and let them make whatever clutter their legitimate

pursuits involve, so long as they are rigidly required to right all

disorder when the work is done. Free permission to carry on such innocent

occupations within his own domain, with a kindly winking of the maternal

eye at an occasional pillow fight, would tell more as a means of grace

on the boy who now slips out of the house to find doubtful recreation

elsewhere, than a whole barrelful of Sunday sermons. The boy who has once

learned to take pleasure and pride in the appointments of his own room

will want some time for enjoying them, other than the hours spent in

bed, and as he of choice lives more within the walls of home, and enters

more and more into the spirit of home he will be so much the more likely

in his turn to be one day the master and joint possessor of a homelike

house.

“CONSIDER THE LILIES.”

BY MRS. MARY N. EVANS.

Pure white the lily’s cup!

Reminding thee of those whom God hath clad

In linen robings—fine, and clean, and white—

The righteousness of saints!

Perfumed, the lily’s cup!

Reminding thee of incense-breathing lives

Whose fervent prayer, whose loving words and deeds

All earth with fragrance fill!

With honey stored, its cup!

Reminding thee of pure heart-chalices

Whose limpid depths are wells of heavenly love

Whence all who will may draw.

The lily’s cup shall fade!

But withered flower and body death-destroyed,

Or Spring, or Angel-trump shall wake again

To resurrection, life!

This, then, the lily saith:

“Pure, perfumed, stored with sweetness be _thy_ life,

On earth a benison—then, glory-crowned,

Immortal be in heaven!”

A BIRD’S-EYE VIEW OF FORESTRY.

BY THE REV. S. W. POWELL.

In this country many people have only just begun to know that there is

such a thing as forestry. Very few understand clearly that it is both a

science and an art, and is one of the most important subjects which can

come before the mind. For convenience we will treat it under two heads:

A, the value or benefit of forests; and

B, How shall we get the greatest benefit from them?

A. We may regard forests:

I. As yielding a vast amount of products necessary for civilized people.

II. As efficient in preventing certain evils, such as:

(_a_) Washing soil from hillsides;

(_b_) Depositing this material where it does great and lasting

mischief;

(_c_) Droughts and floods;

(_d_) Harm done by drying, chilling or malarious winds;

(_e_) The shifting of wind-driven sands which, when not held in

place by forests, often cover and ruin fertile land, and even

bury fences and buildings;

(_f_) The undue multiplication of insects harmful to vegetation.

III. As beautifying a region and affording healthful retreats for tired

and sick people.

But forestry treats not only of this use and value in the woods, but also

tells us:

B. How to make them of use: that is, how to manage forest property so

as to make it yield the greatest benefit _in the long run_, to the

individual owner, to the community, and to future generations. This

involves the study of a great many questions which we may classify as

follows:

I. On what kinds of soil and in what situations shall we keep or plant

trees?

II. What kinds of trees shall we raise in any particular place?

III. At what age, and in what way shall we cut the trees of each kind in

a given region?

IV. What are the methods of marketing forest products which will secure

the greatest profit?

V. How shall we protect trees from disease, from robbery, and from fires?

Few Americans have studied forests with any other design than that of

getting from them the greatest possible amount of _immediate_ profit.

Scarcely anywhere has care been taken to so use them that they should

continue to yield their many sided benefits to succeeding generations.

Neither have they been regarded as of much use in the _present_ except as

sources of certain products, such as lumber, timber, tan-bark, charcoal,

turpentine, resin, tar, wood-pulp, etc. As a rule, no consideration has

been given to the effect they have upon climate, rainfall, droughts,

floods, health, or the beauty and attractiveness of a region.

The first settlers cleared off, in the quickest and cheapest way, great

forests of the finest trees which, if standing now, would be worth far

more than the ground on which they stood can ever be worth for farming.

These splendid forests of species of timber that now bring a high

price—from $45 to $150 per thousand feet for the best quality—were cut

down, hauled together, skidded up in piles and burned to get rid of them.

And this was called _improvement_ of that land!

They often cleared in this way steep hillsides which, after yielding two

or three good crops by means of the rich vegetable mould that always

accumulates under a forest, were almost worthless, even as pastures, and

entirely so for tillage. As a result, in large regions so _improved_,

springs and brooks fail in the dry season, and in a wet time floods

become more and more destructive. Had these hillsides been kept as

forests—that is, cut over in such a way as to ensure a new growth of

equally good trees—they would have kept on affording in winter steady

and remunerative employment; springs and streams would have preserved

a more even and permanent flow; climate would have been more favorable

for the production of all kinds of crops, and especially of fruits; men

and animals would have enjoyed better health; and regions now barren,

uninviting, and thinly inhabited by poverty-stricken and unambitious

people would furnish a good living to large and vigorous populations,

and would beside be attractive to summer visitors in search of health or

recreation.

In a word, we may say that forestry—using the term as meaning the

science and art of getting from the woods the greatest and most lasting

benefits—has never been studied except by a very few of our people.

One reason for this is that until quite recently all forest products

have been abundant, and the injury to water supply, health, farming,

manufacturing and navigation resulting from the destruction of the woods

has only just begun to appear.

Besides, these mischievous results are not by most folks assigned to

their true cause, _e. g._, certain parts of the lower peninsula of

Michigan are far less adapted for raising wheat, corn, clover and peaches

than they were before, to so great an extent, the great sheltering

forests of that State were cut off.

A commission appointed in 1867 by the legislature to examine the subject,

reported that for forty years the winters had been growing more severe;

and that thirty years before the peach had been abundant, and the crop

rarely failed, frost being unknown from May to October; but that at the

time of the report it was very uncertain on account of unseasonable

frosts. The further statement was made that:

“The destruction of the wheat as well as the corn crop is becoming

a matter of great anxiety to our farmers in many sections, and the

winter-killing of the clover in the eastern part of the State last

winter, not by ‘heaving,’ but, apparently, by being frozen dead in the

ground, as it appears black and rotten in the spring, may be another

proof of climatic changes of great significance to the farmers and the

dairymen.”

It was estimated that the damage to winter wheat by its exposure to cold,

wind and sun for want of its former usual covering of snow, caused a loss

of half the crop, or 5,000,000 bushels in a single year. (United States

Department of Agriculture, Report on Forestry, 1877, p. 271.)

Yet, notwithstanding this evidence of the injury done by forest

destruction, it aroused no such general demand for the preservation of

at least shelter-belts across the tract of injurious winds that the

legislature felt obliged to interfere and secure such preservation. Since

1867 the destruction of the forests of Michigan has gone on much faster

than before.

Prof. B. G. Northrop, of Connecticut, who has done so much to promote the

observance of “Arbor Days,” says that in visiting the regions where the

floods in the Ohio river in 1883-4 did so much damage—that of 1883, it

was estimated, destroyed $60,000,000 worth of property, beside a great

many lives, and that of 1884, which was five feet higher, did less harm

only because that of 1883 had left less property within reach—he often

met, even among the sufferers, a doubt or denial that cutting away the

forests on the head-waters of the Ohio had much effect in causing the

floods.

Another reason for our apathy is that people get used by degrees to

changes in climate, springs and streams; in the adaptedness of a region

to raise fruit, vegetables, grain or stock; or in the price and quality

of forest products. In all these respects, large portions of the country

are already suffering great loss, but most of it has come on gradually.

Of late years, however, so much has been said in the papers and magazines

that floods, drought and injurious changes of climate are more generally

attributed to forest destruction. But people do not seem as yet to be

very uneasy about the waste and destruction of the valuable material

afforded by the woods. We had so much when we received this continent

from God’s hand that it never seemed as if we could suffer from lack of

it. In fact, few people realize how great is the money value of what

every year we draw from this bank. Most folks would be greatly surprised

to learn that what we get from the woods is worth more than any other

one crop. No one yield of cotton, corn, wheat or hay is worth so much in

dollars and cents.

In 1880, the last census year, these products were worth _the enormous

sum of $700,000,000_, which is one and two-fifths times the value of our

breadstuffs; two and one-eighth times that of the meat we raise; two

and one-half times that of all the steel and iron we make; almost three

times that of the woolen, and three and one-eighth times that of the

cotton goods turned out by our mills; more than three and one-half times

that of the boots and shoes; four and one-half times that of the sugar

and molasses; _eight and one-fourth times our total outlay for public

education_; ten times the output of our gold and silver mines, and three

times that of the entire product of coal and ores of all sorts.

Now, this immense sum is what the raw materials afforded by the forests

are worth. But these raw materials are themselves the necessary

foundation of a vast number of the most important industries, such as

the manufacture of furniture, wagons, agricultural implements, railroad

cars, pianos, organs and other musical instruments, house-building, etc.,

etc. It would be a useful exercise to write out a list of the trades

and occupations one can think of which must have forest products, or

something more costly, as their raw material. We should find that those

industries which depend directly on these products include the most

important ones, while every branch of manufacture and every kind of work

is indirectly dependent on them. Different branches of industry are more

and more interwoven with and dependent upon each other, as civilization

advances. The greater the number of parts entering into a machine, the

greater is the loss from the stoppage of the whole if any one breaks

down. A chain is no stronger than its weakest link.

Another reason for our indifference is that most things made from forest

products are, as yet, cheap, because improved methods and machinery,

together with sharp competition, have lessened the cost of finished

articles. Men employed in getting these products out of the woods and

carrying them to the consumer, are constantly devising more efficient

methods of work. A modern saw mill, planing mill, sash and blind or

furniture factory, is as much more efficient than anything known fifty

years ago as an express train is better than a stage coach. Then, too,

wherever the ground is moderately level, the narrow-gauge railroad often

takes the place of the old fashioned sleds or trucks drawn by teams. This

makes loggers independent of high water for floating their logs. A train

of twenty-five cars, containing 40,000 feet of logs, is on the average

loaded in seventy-five and unloaded in nine minutes, and the train will

run, one day with another, 160 miles. By this means much timber is now

reached that grows so far from streams that it would not have paid to

carry it to the mills by the old methods. A dollar or a day’s work will,

by means of these contrivances, accomplish so much more now than it used

to, that under the pressure of competition, most of the finished articles

made of wood in whole or in part, are sold cheaper than formerly. But

really good lumber and timber in the tree or log is very much dearer, and

this because our enormous consumption is exhausting the stock. But since

people in general are impressed by what a finished article costs when

they buy it, we are not likely to be goaded into the necessary measures

by feeling the lack of forest products until the greater part of our

woods have been used up. Nothing but agitation and educational work,

such as that done by “Arbor Days,” will arouse us in time to prevent the

destruction of our forests.

Before leaving this part of our subject, which has to do with the value

of the forests as sources of valuable products, it may be well to say a

word about the important matter of forest fires. All experts agree that

they consume at least as much as the axe and saw, and that is not less

than $300,000,000 worth a year, which is about $5.00 for every man, woman

and child in the country. But the indirect damage they do by preventing

the proper care of old, and the planting of new woodland, will, quite

possibly, prove greater than that which they do by destroying what we

already have. The most profitable tree culture is that which produces

mature and good timber, because it always will command a high price;

while there is now, and probably for a long time there will be, a large

supply of, and a low price for, immature and cheap timber. But to raise

mature trees, we must wait longer for the profit on the time and money

expended. Most of our hasty people want quick returns, and if anything

makes the long investment risky, these two objections—delay and risk—will

weigh more than any arguments that can be put into the other side of the

scale, and it is so hard with our present laws and habits to keep fires

out of the woods, that it makes it hazardous to spend time and labor in

keeping and caring for trees long enough to get the best timber from

them, and therefore few undertake it.

II. But we were to give a glance at the usefulness of forests as

_preventing certain evils_. Taking these up in the order named, we come

first to (_a_) _The washing of the soil from hillsides_. It was estimated

by the exact and cautious George P. Marsh (“Earth as Modified by Human

Action”—a book that no one can afford not to read—pp. 282-3), that during

the last two thousand years there has been washed away from the portion

of Italy drained by the river Po, enough soil to raise the _entire

surface forty-five feet_! Had the woods been left on the steep hillsides

as they should have been, most of this havoc would never have occurred.

For lack of that soil many districts once fertile are barren, and much

of the material of which they have been robbed has been deposited where

it is an almost unbearable nuisance. _E. g._, it has little by little

raised the bottom of the Po itself, and the dykes have been built higher

and higher to keep the river from flooding the plains through which in

the lower part of its course it flows, so that it runs far above the

surrounding country, in a sort of aqueduct. The same thing has occurred

in the lower part of the Mississippi. From the deck of a steamboat, for

a long distance above New Orleans, one looks down on the plantations.

This elevation, of course, makes the pressure of the water and the cost

of keeping up the dykes, or levees, greater every year, and when a break

occurs in time of high water, of course it is more destructive, because

it pours down from a higher level.

Now, were all the steep land in the Mississippi valley kept covered with

trees, as it should be, this enormous amount of sediment would not come

down to raise the bottom and the dykes, and to do much other harm. In

time it may break through its banks and make new channels for itself,

leaving important towns high and dry, and, of course, destroying much

property where its new route is cut. The vast mass of vegetable mould,

ashes, etc., which will be washed down into the Hudson—if the forests

of the Adirondacks are ever destroyed by fire, as there is danger that

they may be—by the great floods which denudation of those mountain sides

will often cause, will quite possibly ruin the navigation of that river

and the harbor of New York, not to speak of the destruction of farms,

factories, and towns lying where those floods can reach them.

Next in our list of evils prevented by forests come Droughts and Floods

(_c_). The annual supply of water from rain and snow, if held back by

woods on steep hillsides until it can soak down to the underground

sources of springs, or if stored up as in a sponge by the mass of fine

roots, dead leaves, decayed wood, moss, etc., which often accumulate on

the surface under old forests to the depth of two or three feet—may be

made to last through a whole summer. There falls from the clouds—one year

with another—only a certain amount of water in any particular region.

If there is nothing on the hillsides to hinder its rush down into the

streams, it is lavished like the money of a spendthrift, where it does

little or no good, and very likely much harm. The difference between the

two is that between feverish, riotous waste and sober plenty. “Waste not,

want not,” is as good a maxim for the management of water as for that of

cash.

A torrent is a stream liable to extreme and sudden increase and

decrease—usually very small or quite dry in a dry time, but liable to

rise suddenly to a great height, and as quickly to shrink to its former

size. By the loss of its once rich forests, the Ardêche, a tributary

of the Rhone, became such a torrent, its principal branch often being

entirely dry. It has been known to rise sixty feet and dwindle back to

almost nothing within a few days. The upper Hudson has apparently all the

conditions necessary for becoming such a torrent if once its forests are

exterminated. It descends some 4,000 feet in a short and steep course,

from a region where there falls a great deal of rain and snow.

As the headwaters of this important river, unlike those of the Ohio, lie

almost within the limits of a single state, and the control of a single

legislature, great efforts have, within the last two years, been made

to secure the appropriation of the great Adirondack region, which is

entirely unsuited for farming, to be kept forever as a forest. It has

been objected that this would cost too much, and that if such laws were

enacted as would enable the State (which now holds mostly by tax title

some 750,000 acres) and the permanent owners of large tracts to protect

their land from fire and timber stealing, those who hold smaller lots,

and do not care to keep them after cutting off the spruce and hemlock

they contain, would let them pass into the possession of the State by

non-payment of taxes. But a recent judicial decision renders it very

doubtful whether in this way a sufficiently valid title could be secured.

There are strong arguments against any effective measures. Most men who

have invested money in lumbering, tanning and pulp mills, and iron works

requiring charcoal, have been accustomed to carry on their work in such

a way that it has made the destruction of the woods liable or almost

certain to occur sooner or later; and they are not willing—indeed, they

declare they are not able—to go on with their business if there is added

the cost which would be involved in the changing to safer methods. They

are certainly mistaken in their violent opposition to legislation which

aims to protect the woods. They would, were a proper system of forestry

once put in practice, find that their tracts of land would yield so much

more, and so much better material, and that their losses from fires,

floods, etc., would be so diminished, that in the long run they would

be gainers, and at any rate the damage which would result from the

denudation of those mountains would be so vast and so lasting that all

the possible cost of paying these men a fair equivalent for any loss

such protective measures might occasion would be a mere trifle in the

comparison.

As to the value of forests in preventing damage done by drying, chilling

or malarious winds (_d_), there can be no doubt that it is very great.

It is probable that all through the region between the eastern boundary

of the Indian Territory, Kansas and Nebraska, and 105° west longitude,

dry winds from the south and west are very detrimental to both vegetable

and animal life. If any species of trees can be made to grow there—and by

doing this over areas large enough to warrant the cost of irrigation and

other protective measures the undertaking might succeed where it would

not if attempted on a smaller scale—it is very probable that in the line

of such belts of timber other species and many crops might thrive which

can not now be raised.

It is certain that everywhere in the northern prairie states a grove that

breaks the force of the cold winds from the north and west adds greatly

to the value of a farm. And it is gratifying to learn that so much tree

planting has already been done in those states. Some have even been so

sanguine as to predict that when the soft and hard timber of Michigan,

Wisconsin and Minnesota is gone these new prairie states may be able—at

least partially—to supply the needs of those just named, whose forests

were confidently asserted to be inexhaustible.

The effect of certain trees—indeed, of almost any—as fences against

malarious winds has been carefully studied in France and Italy, and the

verdict is that it is very great.

Marsh (“Earth as Modified by Human Action,” p. 159) says: “It is well

known that the great swamps of Virginia and the Carolinas, in climates

nearly similar to that of Italy, are healthy even to the white man,

so long as the forests in and around them remain, but become very

insalubrious when the woods are felled.” He quotes Jules Clavé, a French

expert, as authority for the statement that “the flat and marshy district

of the Sologne, in France, was salubrious till its woods were felled. It

then became pestilential, but within the last few years its healthfulness

has been restored by forest plantations.” Marsh also thinks that in

Germany and India belts of trees have been found very beneficial in

warding off cholera. A lumber journal recently asserted that cholera has

never prevailed in pine-producing districts.

Lanisci says that in the time of Gregory VIII. (who came to the

papal chair in 1572 and reformed the calendar) Rome became much more

unhealthful when a pine forest lying to the south was cut down because

infested by brigands. The abbey of Trois Fontaines, considered one of the

worst places in the fever infested Roman _campagna_, was much improved

in three years by plantations of the Eucalyptus, and this tree has been

used with good effect for the same purpose in the French settlements in

Algeria (Hough, U.S. Forestry Report for 1877, p. 285).

Of the service rendered by forests in preventing the drifting of sands

(_e_) the most remarkable instance is afforded by the once dreary regions

in the extreme southwestern part of France, where plantations of the

maritime pine have, in the departments of the _Landes_ and _Gironde_

transformed over 4,000 square miles of poverty-stricken country into

populous hives of an intelligent and thrifty population. In the lower

part of the valley of the Wisconsin river, much loss and inconvenience is

experienced by the drifting of the sand which, driven by the prevailing

west winds, covers and ruins fields and gardens, and in many cases, even

fences. A few belts of timber running across that valley would be worth

many times their cost in preventing this nuisance.

Woods prevent the increase of noxious insects (_f_) in two ways: They

shelter birds, nature’s great insect-police, and they stop the progress

of many species, such as the grasshoppers, which scourge some of the

western states, and the chinch-bug, so much dreaded by wheat growers.

It is said that the latter pest never traverses a belt of thick trees

as much as seven or eight rods in width. So, too, it is affirmed on

apparently good authority, that winds carrying the fungus called

wheat-rust deposit their baleful load if they find a forest in their

track.

III. Scarcely any room remains to speak of the important service

which forests render in beautifying a region. Besides preventing the

disfiguring ravages of wind and water, they add a positive element of

beauty. No one accustomed to the palpitating glow of autumn color in the

Berkshire Hills of Massachusetts; or to the more subtle attractions of

the shifting half-tints in which spring drapes budding trees in the same

region; or to the splendor of a wooded mountain side with the diamonds of

an ice-storm glittering in the sun; or to the restful coolness of a dark

hemlock grove in July heat, can ever feel quite at home in a treeless

region.

B. _How shall we manage forest property so as to make it yield these

benefits and ward off these evils?_ The questions arranged under our five

heads have for more than a hundred years been exhaustively studied in

Germany and France. Germany thinks that before a man is put in charge of

the immense interests which center around her forests, he needs from ten

to fourteen years of hard work and study after he has as much education

as the average graduate of an American college. The science elaborated in

these schools, and in the forests under the charge of their graduates,

is embodied in a large, learned and rapidly growing literature. The

application of these principles to any particular region must be learned

upon the spot. For this purpose, one of the first things which our

national and state governments should do is to establish in different

parts of the country experiment stations connected with large tracts of

land.

At these stations we could work out specific answers to the questions

suggested under our second main division (B). It is plainly impossible

in the limits of a single article to do more than give a hint of some of

these practical questions. Not even the most expert German forester could

give adequate answers until he had before him the results of years of

experiment conducted in different parts of the country by able men. Even

then such answers would fill many books.

The end aimed at in this paper has been reached, if the numerous readers

of THE CHAUTAUQUAN get from it some distinct impression of the magnitude

of the interests with which the science of forestry has to do, and of the

pressing need that the American people begin at once, and in earnest,

to protect, to improve, and to extend the forest estate which up to the

present we have been so heedlessly wasting.

GOVERNMENT EMPLOYMENT FOR WOMEN.

BY MRS. PATTIE L. COLLINS.

Since the appearance of my first article on this subject, in the October

number of THE CHAUTAUQUAN, I have received letters, asking further

information, from New York, Connecticut, Massachusetts, Virginia,

Maryland, Iowa, Indiana, Missouri, Ohio, Pennsylvania and Wisconsin. I

have tried to answer all of them, but to none could I return more than a

brief, and I fear unsatisfactory reply. I therefore resume the subject in

this public way, with the hope of furnishing full information to all who

are interested.

My former article was much criticised by my friends, scarcely one of whom

agreed with me entirely. Some said that my view of the Civil Service was

an ideal one—as it should be, not as it is—and others that I wrote from

the standpoint of a successful (!) woman. A person high in authority gave

me food for reflection in the following inquiry: “Do you not think that

in justice to those who wish to apply for examination, you ought to say

how many have already successfully passed, for whom places can not be

found?”

This was a new phase of the question, and quite staggered me. With my

accumulating correspondence around me, I began to feel as if I had

ignorantly committed a serious blunder which I must lose no time in

explaining. The fact that the Commission already had on file the names

of many women, with a bare possibility of the list being exhausted at

a remote period, was an aspect of the case which I had not adequately

considered.

The reason for the great excess in the number of women’s names over

those of men left on file, is officially stated to be that, whenever

vacancies occur in any of the departments a demand is usually made for a

male instead of a female clerk. I think that I am not mistaken in saying

that appointments have hitherto been made in the ratio of six to one.

The Commission has been allowed no discretion. When a demand was made

for a male clerk, a female could not be supplied. With my observation

and experience among department clerks, this appears to me an unjust

discrimination. I have often asked the reason for this of those who ought

to be able to furnish intelligent opinions upon the subject, but have

never succeeded in eliciting anything satisfactory. One general argument

used is that it is more difficult to enforce discipline among women.

This, however, is such a weak statement, though oft repeated, that I am

not inclined to discuss its merits or demerits. A really strong point

is made in their average loss of time. It is claimed by some of the

aggrieved class that this would be rectified by a just apportionment of

salary as it would relieve them of much additional labor after office

hours. I am not prepared to suggest the remedy, I only desire to speak of

the service as it exists. Whenever a proposition is made to introduce a

woman clerk into one of the cosy, well-furnished apartments occupied by

three, four or six clerks of the opposite sex, it is met by a prompt and

indignant protest.

Why? Well, this is a question I will answer myself, and if it be treason,

I am absolutely indifferent to the consequences. Pass along the corridors

and glance through the half-open doors into these pleasant offices;

observe the occupants engaged with fresh newspapers, their chairs tipped

back, barely preserving a perilous balance by making footstools of the

desks; observe also the clouds of fragrant smoke; if the weather be warm,

graceful negligé costumes will not escape you; a vacant chair, perhaps

many vacant chairs will be sadly suggestive to the unenlightened, but if

you inquire, the answer will be reassuring: “He has only stepped out”

(for an hour or two). Paradoxical as it may appear, the affairs of an

entire department may be administered while the $8,000 head, accompanied

by his bureau officers, is fishing in the Adirondacks, making an

excursion to Florida, crossing the plains, or summering at Mount Desert;

and all along the line there are delicious masculine privileges which

the ambitious female must not even cherish a profane desire to possess.

In the light of these exclusive dispensations I have often seriously

considered the tenets of the Arcadian settlement upon the bayou Têche. No

woman is allowed to enter its peaceful borders who can read and write,

consequently they are lovely cooks and have no wrinkles. The difficulty

seems to begin when they are allowed to master the alphabet—after

that there is no stopping them. In a word, the intelligent, deft,

skillful, conscientious women workers of the departments have trespassed

alarmingly upon the ancient, solidified rights of the original “lords

of the territory,” and that, too, just as they were most aggressively

and menacingly arrayed. The passage of the Civil Service act was “a

trumpet pealing news of battle above the unrisen morrow”—to women.

Visions of the beautiful “equal work, equal pay” doctrine rose thick and

fast beyond the dark limit line of a hitherto narrow horizon; visions

of regular promotions for well performed work. Alas, instead of this,

the departments are permitted to discriminate in favor of male clerks,

and no laws have yet been enacted in reference to promotion. In view

of these two truths perhaps I ought to take back all that my former

article contained. If the operation of the law is to practically exclude

women, while it offers no opportunities of advancement to those already

within the gates, certainly I owe it to my readers to admit it. But this

admission—even with the six to one, or even greater ratio confronting

me, I am not prepared to make. I have shadowed forth the reasons for

this state of things, and I shall continue to hope and to believe that

wise legislation will regulate the system, and time will adjust it to

harmonious working order.

In reading the complete and exhaustive work upon the Civil Service

of Great Britain, by the Hon. Dorman B. Eaton, chairman of our own

Commission, I find that when women were first employed in that

enlightened land they were considered too dishonest to be trusted with

letters that had not been first cut open by men clerks, and all valuables

removed! They were also under the constant surveillance of a “matron.”

Now they fill numberless places of trust and responsibility, and a large

class of earnest, self-reliant, independent women has been the outgrowth

of an experiment which had this puny, almost despicable beginning.

Therefore, despite facts and figures, we need not be discouraged in this

country. It ought to be comforting to those clamoring upon the outside

that there are friends and allies within. It is said that there are

twelve hundred women in the Treasury alone, while those in the other

departments must aggregate many hundreds more. A certain historian

affirms that the Bourbons mainly owed their restoration to the throne

of France to the following message sent by Prince Talleyrand to the

allied sovereigns and their generals: “You may do everything and you

dare nothing; for once, then, be daring.” I repeat the warlike sentiment

to women desiring work here. If you do not ask for it, assuredly you

will not receive it. If you do ask—you, or you, my sister—from the

North, East, South or West, may be successful. Some of you certainly.

In direct response to questions which have been asked me by numerous

correspondents, I make the following statements: Each state and territory

is entitled to a quota of appointments based upon its population,

without reference to present incumbents who were appointed under the old

system. Examinations are held in various places, thereby affording all

who desire an opportunity to attend. A letter addressed “Civil Service

Commission, Washington, D. C.,” containing a request for information,

will obtain a printed form containing full particulars as to every step

of procedure. Age, moral character, previous employment, where educated,

etc., must be testified to under oath, and each applicant must be

endorsed by not less than three nor more than five reputable persons to

whom he or she must be personally known. All applicants will be informed

when and where the first examination most convenient to them will be

held. A thorough, rudimentary education is all that is necessary for

the $900 examination. For the $1,200 places something more is required;

a knowledge of book-keeping, and our civil government, and wider

historical and geographical information. There are special and technical

examinations for linguists, mechanical experts, etc. The ordinary work—by

which I mean all that is usually performed by clerks of the lower

grades—is never of an intricate character. It is easily learned, whether

it be keeping books of records, copying or briefing letters, counting

money or reckoning percentages. I do not wish to convey the impression

that there is any child’s play in the matter—far from it. There is an

abundant field in which industry and intelligence can exhibit themselves

advantageously. The extracts appended are from the first annual report

of the Commission, submitted to the President in February, 1884. I have

endeavored to outline the difficulties that lie all along the way, and

to show that long waiting may follow even a successful examination. I

am not conscious of being even at heart a strong partisan, and think

that I have presented a calm and impartial statement. In conclusion, I

may add that although good penmanship may be considered as a rather low

accomplishment, it is an important factor of success in this special

direction.

APPENDIX No. 5.

The questions below are an example of those used in the grades which fall

under the first and fourth clauses of Rule 7, known respectively as the

general and limited examinations. They are a fair sample of all those

used in those grades. It is at one or the other of those grades that

fully 95 out of every 100 applicants have been examined under the rules.

The questions are frequently varied, indeed almost at every examination,

without materially changing their grade, and there are special adaptions

of them to various places in the postal and customs offices. For the sake

of brevity the ample spaces for the answers on the examination papers are

omitted.

GENERAL EXAMINATION UNDER CLAUSE 1 OF RULE 7.—FIRST SUBJECT.

Question 1.—One of the examiners will distinctly read (at a rate

reasonable for copying) fifteen lines from the Civil Service Law or

Rules, and each applicant will copy the same below from the reading as it

proceeds.

Question 2.—Write below, at length, the names of fifteen states and

fifteen cities of the Union.

Question 3.—Copy the following, which is section five of the Civil

Service act, in the blank below: