  The world was never kept busier studying its geography than just at present. All quarters of the world are demanding attention. In China the Tonquin trouble has assumed such proportions that the daily papers have come out with a map of the disputed country. The Afghan difficulty has set us to locating Herat and learning how to pronounce the barbarous names; the Soudan is pinned up on everybody’s wall or tucked into their note-book; the revolution in Central America demands that we familiarize ourselves with a country we never did know much about, while the Oklahoma boomers of the West and rebellious Manitoba keep us interested enough in home affairs not to forget how our boundaries lie. One of the most popular places in Washington during inaugural week was the National Museum. During the 2d, 3d, 4th, 5th and 6th days of March 23,000 visitors were registered. Going to the inauguration, like “goin’ to the Fourth,” is becoming an American custom. To express the peculiar habits of those who surrendered themselves to the festivities, Washingtonians say that they have gone “inaugurating,” a noun which we may be obliged to put into the dictionary if we continue to make so much of our political moultings. A useful improvement in letter delivery is to go into effect on July 1st. A ten-cent stamp is to be provided, which, attached to a letter, entitles it to immediate delivery in all cities having 4,000 inhabitants or over, within the carrier limit of any free delivery office, or within one mile of the postoffice. It is a perfectly practical scheme, and it is apparent that there is a demand for a quicker means of communication than an uncertain and delayed letter delivery, for a class of letters which are unsuited for telegraph or telephone. The “Bird’s-Eye View of Forestry” which appears in this issue of The Chautauquan from the pen of the Rev. S. W. Powell will be read, we trust, with attention. Mr. Powell is an authority on the subject, being corresponding secretary of the New York State Forestry Association recently organized at Utica, New York. There is something new in bills of fare. For several seasons littÉrateurs have rejoiced in menus, with quotations. The “allusive” menu takes its place now. Here is a sample from a mid-Lent luncheon party in London: “Beauty draws us with a single hair” turned out to be jugged hare; “My Lord, the early village cock,” curried spring chicken; “Sing me songs of Araby,” coffee. The year 1884 did nothing brilliant for astronomy. Nine new asteroids were added to the list, giving us a family of 244. Six new comets were noted, but none of them created much of an excitement save in astronomical circles, and even there they were rather disappointing. Russia threatens to completely outstrip America in the production of petroleum. Their richest petroleum region has but 400 wells, while in America there are over 23,000; but one well of the 400 is declared to produce, in a day, more than all our daily production. Spouting or flowing wells throw out such mammoth quantities that the oil is allowed to run into the sea or is burned. Everybody knows that we get our trained artisans from Europe; that our trades unions have discouraged apprentices until it is very difficult for boys to get any instruction in trades. The re-appointment of Postmaster Pearson, of New York City, will do more for civil service reform than many speeches in favor of the measure. The wholesomeness and reasonableness of appointing men because they are competent to do the work, and not because they belong to a particular party, will be more forcibly demonstrated to the country by a few such illustrations than by any other means. In a recent crusade movement at Cornwall, N. Y., several ladies of the “Society of Friends” besieged a saloon, where they remained several days, praying and singing. Pepper was burned on the stove, the room was smoked full by the loafers, but with more valor than discretion the ladies staid in spite of every insult. It is difficult to see what has been gained. The saloon had law on its side, and the good women were arrested for trespass and fined, while the leading men of the Society published a card declaring that they did not “approve nor consent to all their unwise practices.” “Wise as serpents, harmless as doves,” is the only motto for those who contend effectually with the liquor traffic. Some one has set afloat, in the midst of all the attention which has been given to the Washington monument, a touching story of a monument erected seventy-five years ago to the “Father of his Country,” by the inhabitants of Boonesboro, Md. It was purely a labor of love. Near the town stands South Mountain, and on the most conspicuous point a site was chosen, where the farmers of the vicinity hauled and laid with their own hands the rocks which they themselves had quarried. Labor and time were given willingly until the work was complete. The humble, eloquent tribute still stands, a witness to the honest devotion of a faithful people. The Afghan frontier difficulty between England and Russia came in like a lion, and bids fair, at this writing, to go out like a lamb. War was announced to hang by a thread. The Russians were declared to be advancing into the territory of the Ameer; England to be ready with an ultimatum, which might be accepted or not, as Russia pleased. Announcements were made that no such vast stores of ammunition, unbounded supplies of provisions, and altogether gigantic preparations for a ferocious war had ever before been made. British consols and Russian securities went down, and American wheat went up. Undoubtedly the war cry has been fostered in England—a shrewd maneuver of the ministry—to take the attention from the Soudan trouble, and there is but little doubt now that the negotiations in progress will be successful. England has her hands full already, while Russia is not so hot-headed as to rush into a war without counting its cost. A pleasant surprise has stirred literary circles this past month. A favorite magazine contributor for several years has been Charles Egbert Craddock, whose striking, original stories, full of freshness and keen observation have been constantly becoming more popular. “Mr.” Craddock kept himself quietly in St. Louis until his literary position was well established, and then went to Boston to make the acquaintance of his publishers. What was the astonishment of the latter to find that this contributor was a lady, Miss M. N. Murfree by name. The revelation was almost “too good to be true,” for no one had suspected the vigorous writing to come from other than a masculine mind. The surprise has greatly increased her popularity, of course. The striking public spectacle of 100,000 visitors gathered to witness and to swell the pageant of the 4th of March is not yet at an end. The month goes, but it still leaves in Washington hundreds of office seekers, who have before themselves the belittling, wearing, unmanly business of etching their way into public service. The way in which most of the appointments have thus far been made signifies very plainly that this work is at a discount, and that we may reasonably hope to soon see the office seeker starved out. Niagara is to be preserved. The bill which passed the New York State Assembly recently, providing for the preservation of the banks of the rivers from the works of the vandals, proves conclusively how quick we Americans are to do the right thing when we are fully persuaded what is right. Most of our wrongs against good taste and our depredations against rivers and forests are rather to be attributed to a lack of thought than, is usually the case, to be laid at the doors of avarice. We are pained to record the death of our able contributor, Mr. Richard Grant White. For several months Mr. White has been seriously ill, though making a brave effort to continue his labors. The excellent series of articles on Good English, which have appeared in the Required Readings in this volume of The Chautauquan, from his pen, was interrupted by his illness, and now his death leaves a vacancy which President Wheeler kindly comes in to fill for our readers. Mr. White’s work for The Chautauquan has very deeply interested him. As late as March 18th, he wrote us: “I may be obliged to abandon the series entirely, but this I should greatly regret.” His expressions of interest in our work have been encouraging and hearty. Mr. White was only sixty-three years old at his death. He first gained public distinction as a musical critic in the Courier and Enquirer. He was subsequently attached to the staff of the World, the Albion, and the Times; and of late years he has been widely known as a writer on English topics, and especially as a critic of social and philological subjects. The news of his decease will be received with sincere sorrow by the wide circle of his friends and professional associates. The Rev. Joseph Leslie, an honored minister, who for about fifty years served churches within a few hundred miles of Chautauqua Lake, died at his home in Cattaraugus, New York, March 13th. He was a pioneer preacher in the grove at Chautauqua many years before the Assembly was held there. As a faithful preacher, a man of fine character and sunny disposition, he has made a strong impression for Christianity on the people among whom he lived. He was a trustee of the Chautauqua Assembly, and in his death the Board lose one of their most honored members. Mr. T. S. Arthur, author and publisher, died at his home in Philadelphia, on March 6th. Mr. Arthur is well and widely known as the author of one of the most effective temperance stories ever written—“Ten Nights in a Bar Room.” Temperance people, particularly, owe him a kind remembrance for his vigorous works against strong drink. Another writer of a widely popular book died the past month, Miss Susan Warner, the author of “The Wide, Wide World.” A healthy, vigorous story it is, and its continued popularity for a third of a century is an almost unknown phenomenon in American novels. Think of it! On the first day of April there were eighteen inches of snow covering the Assembly grounds at Chautauqua, and the robins were singing in the trees. A most remarkable work has been accomplished in the last twelve years by Mr. Anthony Comstock and his associates. When he put his hand to the work in 1872 there was a systemized business for spreading vile literature and vile pictures over the land. Out of 201 books published in New York, the plates of 199 have been seized, 230,955 pictures, 1,402,444 circulars and leaflets have been destroyed, and 982,010 names which the managers of this infamous business had collected from the catalogues of schools and seminaries seized. In 1877 there were six hundred open gambling dens and nine lotteries in New York City; to-day there is not an open saloon or lottery in the city where gambling can be done or lottery tickets purchased. The character of criminal papers has been so restricted by law that two out of the four worst papers scattered through the country have died of enforced respectability. The circulation of a third has been reduced from 125,000 to 67,000, and that of another has fallen fifty per cent. There is probably no doubt in the mind of the magic-working electrician that the horse car of the future, and, indeed, the railway car, will be run by electricity, and the public has seen so much of the wonderful that it is quite ready to believe in anything promised. Already a very successful experiment with a tram car has been made in Millwall, England, where it has been proven that the electric machine necessary has in weight an advantage of five to one compared with a steam or air locomotion, that the speed can be increased much more easily than with horse power, and if necessary, a propelling power equal to sixteen horses can be gained. The changing of batteries requires less time than the change of horses; the arrangement of bells and lamps is much superior, and the cost per mile just one half. Another consideration suggests itself to the member of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals—it will prevent much wicked abuse of horses. There is a society in London which has undertaken to furnish two-cent dinners to poor children. The first thought would be that such a scheme must fail entirely of paying its own way, and sooner or later collapse if not endowed. The organization sends out a report, however, which declares that it is a financial success—such a success, in fact, that a second society has undertaken to furnish one-cent dinners to the very poor children. This latter enterprise, it is believed, will nearly pay its way. Here is one of the worthiest schemes for the philanthropists of our cities and larger towns, and one which can be conducted without taxing anybody’s pocket-book. Mr. Richard Proctor says: “One of the most remarkable inventions of the age is the ammoniaphone.” The inventor, Dr. Carter Moffat, has for years believed the beauty of Italian vocal tones was due to something in the air of Italy. Visiting Southern Italy he made over seventy-five analyses of the air and dew, and finally became convinced that its peculiar characteristic was its saturation with ammonia and hydrogen peroxide. He has spent nine years in perfecting an instrument for inhaling vapors. Mr. Proctor says after testing the instrument: “One draught of air was inhaled, when, to our great astonishment, the intensity of the voice was about doubled, while its cleanness was as greatly increased.” The inventor claims that the “employment of the ammoniaphone according to direction Italianizes the voice, and makes a weak voice or a drawing room voice strong, rich, clear, and ringing.” |
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