has been lost to us; in Mr. George Moore a candid student of sociology; in Mr. Stanley Weyman a historian of the school of Robertson. Among the departments of literary energy which are now the most neglected is scientific philosophy of the sort so brilliantly illustrated by two of the great men who have disappeared since 1888, by Tyndall and Huxley. The class of writer which they represented, the pioneer in physical discovery, who is also a splendid popular exponent, combining accurate research with the exercise of imagination and style, has ceased to exist in England. Mr. Wells might have risen in it to the highest consideration, but he prefers to tell little horrible stories about monsters. On all sides we may see, and we ought not to see without acute alarm, the finer talents being drawn from the arduous exercises to which nature intended to devote them to the facile fields of fiction.

The result of all this is that, to an extent which ought to occasion all serious observers no little alarm, the great reading public is rapidly becoming unable to assimilate any ideas at all, and to appreciate impressions it requires to have them presented to it in the form of a story. The multitude of readers grows every hour, but with these masses those individuals become fewer and fewer who are

able to follow the pathways of thought without the help of knowing what Edwin did and what Angelina wore. Specialists push the

subdivision of observations about fact to an even more extreme nicety; but they only address other specialists. The rest of the world prefers to take its information and its excitement from two sources of entertainment, the newspaper and the novel. It is almost certain that if "Modern Painters" or "The Gram

mar of Assent" or even "The History of Civilization" had been published within the last ten years, it would have scarcely attracted any attention at all, outside a narrow circle. It is more than probable that Buckle and Newman if not Mr. Ruskin, would have resigned themselves to the inevitable, and have tried to present their views and convictions in the form of tales. From "Ten Years of English Literature." Edmund Gosse in The North

American Review.

THE SCHOOL ROOM.

GEORGE BANCROFT.

His Life. 1800-1891.

Mr. Bancroft was the son of a clergyman, and was born at Worcester, Mass., October 3, 1800. He entered Harvard at thirteen, thor

oly prepared and graduated four years later. He went to Germany at once for further study, and received the degree of Ph. D. at Goettingen when twenty years of age, having studied Arabic, Hebrew, history, philosophy and science. His first literary work was translations from the German and essays which he began to write before he was twenty-five. In 1834 he commenced his History of the United States, which was only completed a year or two before his death. It ends with the adoption of the constitution. Mr. Bancroft was collector of the port of Boston in 1838, and candidate for governor of Massachusetts in 1844. He was secretary of the navy under President Polk for one year, on retiring from which post he was sent as minister plenipotentiary to England. He was subsequently minister to Berlin, and in 1871-74 minister plenipotentiary to the German empire. Thus

a considerable portion of his life was passed as a diplomatist, and he made for himself a brilliant record in this capacity.

His History of the United States.

Within its limits the work aims to be ex

haustive. Everywhere is manifest the author's ruling thought, which he declared to be a "fixed purpose to secure perfect accuracy in the relation of facts, even to their details and their

coloring, and to keep truth clear from the clouds, however brilliant, of conjecture and tradition." To secure this accuracy, Bancroft examined, both in America and in Europe, vast collections of documents and state papers, many of which had never before been explored. The extent and thoroughness of this preliminary work is seldom manifest to the

reader. There are no references nor footnotes, and startling statements are often made with seeming carelessness. But many a critic

has found to his cost that the author could

verify even his most trivial statements by a formidable array of authorities.

treats.

Bancroft's history has now become the standard authority on the period of which it Notwithstanding its slightly partisan nature, since it contends that the development of our government was according to the principles formulated by Jefferson and put into practice by Jackson, it is accepted with confidence by all parties.

The literary merits of the work are very moderate. While its style is clear and definite, it is often labored and diffuse; its author lacked the art of graphic narration so fully possessed by Prescott and Parkman; his pages are often "hard reading," but his scholarship, his analytical and critical powers, and his insistence upon perfect accuracy, more than com

pensate for the defects of his style.-Pattee's History of American Literature.

Andre and Arnold.

In going to the place of execution, a constrained smile hid the emotions of André. Arrived at the fatal spot, the struggle in his mind was visible; but he preserved his selfcontrol. "I am reconciled," he said, "to my fate, but not to the mode." Being asked at the last moment if he had anything to say, he answered: "Nothing but to request you to witness to the world that I die like a brave

man."

Tried by the laws of morals, it is one of the worst forms of dissimulation to achieve by corruption and treachery what cannot be gained by honorable arms. If we confine our judgment within the limits of the laws of war, it is a blemish on the character of André that he was willing to prostitute a flag, to pledge his word, even under the orders of his chief, for the innocence and private nature of his design, and to have wished to make the lives of faultless prisoners hostages for his own. About these things a man of honor and humanity ought to have had a scruple; "but the temptation was great, let his misfortunes cast a veil over his errors." The last words of André committed to the Americans the care of his reputation; and they faithfully fulfilled his request.

The firmness and delicacy observed in his case was exceedingly admired on the continent of Europe. His king did right in offering honorable rank to his brother, and in granting pensions to his mother and sisters; but not in raising a memorial to his name in Westminster Abbey. Such honor belongs to other enterprises and deeds. The tablet has no fit place in a sanctuary, dear from its monuments to every friend to genius and mankind.

As for Arnold, he had not feeling enough to undergo mental torments, and his coarse nature was not sensitive to shame. Bankrupt and escaping from his creditors, he preferred claims to indemnity, and received between six and seven thousand pounds. He suffered only when he found that baffled treason is paid grudgingly; when employment was refused him; when he could neither stay in England nor get orders for service in America; when, despised and neglected, he was pinched by want. But the king would not suffer his children to starve, and eventually their names were placed on the pension list.-Bancroft's History of the United States.

ALASKA AND THE NEW GOLD-FIELD.

Ordinary woollen clothing for the body, and leather boots for the feet, are of course utterly

unsuitable, and can be worn only at serious risk when traveling. Indian snow-shoes are essential; the Norwegian variety proved worthless.

but not in the woods.

As the season advances the snow settles; and at night a firm crust forms. The most favorable months for traveling are March and April. The midwinter days are short, with sunlight in some latitudes from ten in the When morning to three in the afternoon. necessary, one can travel fairly well by starlight and moon-light over the snowy tundra, In May, the snow is Pools of wet and heavy, and travel difficult. water and the first mosquitoes then begin to appear. By May 20th, the river bursts its bonds of ice, and floods the lowlands; ice débris, and broken timber pouring, with a grindFor at ing noise, headlong toward the sea. least a week, navigation is impossible. Summer, swift-footed, trips upon the heels of winter. The sun pours down with a violence not soon forgotten, though in the shade it is always cool. The cry of the brant, northward bound, is continually heard; and myriads of smaller water-fowl appear on every hand. All the minor forms of life, native to the region or migrants from the south, with startling suddenness, people the copses and pervade the air. Vegetation springs into leaf and flower at a bound; and, with hardly a hint of spring, summer is upon us.

Mosquitoes, the pest of the north, appear in clouds. Except in mid-stream, or where a brisk breeze is blowing, life without a net and leather gloves is misery. The Indians smear their faces with a mixture of grease and charcoal, and paddle with a smudge on a square of turf in the bows of their birch canoes. The caribou, moose, and bear, driven from the thickets, plunge into the river for a temporary respite. Curiously enough, during three summers, black flies and midges, so plentiful to the eastward, were encountered only once on the Yukon: possibly, near its head-waters, our luck would have been worse.

The records show that the lower Yukon val

ley has a summer temperature much in excess of that normal to the latitude. As the days are long, the traveller will prudently sleep at noon, and utilize for his work the cooler hours when the sun sweeps low along the northern horizon and the mosquitoes are less active.

Frosts appear in mid-September. Early in October, the Yukon begins to be covered with ice; though it is not fully ice-bound until late in November. So the round is completed.

One serious danger menaces the large population now pouring into the district. The upper Yukon is a country where subsistence

Thus it is possible for invalid or epicurean to select a climate, or to change it as often as may be desired. Something like the rotation of the reasons in "temperate" latitudes may be had with no danger of meeting those sudden lapses of temperature so shocking to sensitive organizations.

Each of the principal islands is an immense but extinct volcano. Only one active crater exists-Kilauea, on a spur of Mauna Loa, on Hawaii. A charming laboratory imbedded in ferns, it serves as an escape-valve, its dangerous freaks easily avoided-in fact, these are quite under the control of the friendly goddess Pele. As the traveler gradually ascends, he finds the air becoming cooler and usually clearer with the increasing elevations and the cooler temperature often as equable as the warmer at the base of the mountain island. By way of illustration: a few hours' ride from the hot marge of Kawaihe, on Hawaii, palmfringed, and with the thermometer ranging between 80° and 92° Fahrenheit, brings the horseman well up the plains of Waimea, a region keenly inspiring to every sense. Here the air, save for a short rainy season, is clear and quite sharp with occasional frosts. Over the mountain-side roam immense herds of cattle and wild horses; the pursuit of these is the chief occupation of natives, and of whites whose noble muscular development is clearly the effect of a lawful tonic in the mode of life.

On island Maui, at an elevation of four thousand feet, is a belt of large sugar plantations. In these little worlds of varied industrial requirements hospitality is generously dispensed. Here the climate is ideally delightful-sufficiently cool, while yet no frosts nor chilling winds are ever known. Through admirably irrigated grass tracts multitudes of violets appear, with many another flower and fruit of New England, growing at peace with their tropic-born comrades. Perhaps nowhere else out of doors will so varied a collection of plants thrive. From "Hawaiian Island Climate," by C. F. Nichols, M. D., in Review of Reviews for August.

--

ORIGIN OF MOUNTAIN RANGES.

The situation of mountain ranges in relation to the oceans is explained in the following way. The shore line is the seat of a vast accumulation of sediment; often many thousand feet in thickness. In past time these enormous beds of sand and clay become hardened or consolidated throughout their underlying portions from the pressure exerted by the increasing weight of the top layers, and strata

of sandstone, shales, and slates were thus formed. The immense weight and pressure of these rock beds induced a greater degree of heat in that portion of the crust included in the area of marginal sea bottoms, and this heat tended to soften the rock mass. As a result of unequal shrinkage a certain amount of lateral pressure took place from time to time, causing the crust to bulge at its most pliable point, namely, the marginal sea bottoms, and this bulge finally appeared above the surface of the ocean as new land added along the beaches of the old. Increased pressure upon the edges of these great beds of softened rock, from movements in the surrounding portions of the crust, would continue to push the new land higher and higher until it appeared as a mountain range flanking the shores of the ocean. The experiment of taking layers of clay in a suitable vessel of water and pressing on the sides of the clay with the hands gives a similar result. Indeed, it is highly probable that mountains originated in this way, as is shown by the following proofs. I. The flanks or sides of mountain ranges consist of immense beds of stratified rocks, and stratified rocks are the consolidated sediments formed by water. 2. These stratified rocks contain the fossil remains of marine animals in abundance, showing that at one time they must have formed a part of the sea bottom. 3. The interior or central core of a mountain range consists of granite-like rocks, massive and domeshaped, over which the stratified rocks lie like a saddle. Granite, gneiss, and various other crystalline and glassy rocks form the great bulk of the crust underlying the sedimentary or stratified rocks, outcroppping here and there upon the surface. They are igneous or fire rocks, having cooled and crystallized from an original highly heated, molten mass. Mountain ranges thus appear as upheaved marginal sea bottoms.-Lessons in the new Geography. D. C. Heath.

SOME VAGARIES OF THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER.

Dwellers in the east, accustomed to such placid and well-ordered streams as the Hudson and the Susquehanna, can have little conception of the unruly character of the Mississippi, its impatience of restraint, its turbulence in high water, and its general desire to go where it pleases. Many hundreds of miles along its course it flows between bluffs anywhere from one to twenty miles apart, and save where restrained by dykes, wanders at will over the alluvial plain.

For a great many years the government has

been endeavoring to bridle the stream, and make it go where it should. It must be confessed that up to date the engineers have come out second best.

One of the most insurmountable difficulties is the tremendous freshets that occur every few years, and which destroy and entirely obliterate thousands of dollars of government work. No sort of provision will guard against a stream which in times of flood rises anywhere from twenty-five to fifty feet above low-water mark.

One of the earliest attempts was to straighten out the stream, and deprive it of its innumerable bends, but it was soon found that if it was straightened in one place it was sure to make a bend in another. Owing to the immense amount of sediment which the Missouri river brings down, the stream has a continual tendency to form bars and to seek new channels. The only remedy for this so far has been the jetty system.

The walls of the jetties are made of willow mattrasses from the willows which grow plentifully along the banks. These are bound together, then sunk with stones on top of them. They soon make a very compact bank. The trouble has been that just at the upper portion of a jetty the stream, being checked in its course by the sudden narrowing of the channel, immediately begins to deposit its sediment, and form bars, so that it becomes necessary to continually build the jetties further back up the river. The principle of the jetties is very simple, being the narrowing of the channel of the river, thus increasing the speed of the current and causing it to scour out its own bed.

The cities along the river's banks frequently suffer from its tendency to leave them entirely and make its channel on the other side. One of the earliest attempts to obviate this was the construction placed straight across the new channel, hoping in this manner to turn the river back to its bed.

Very much to the astonishment of the engineers, the river simply flowed up against the construction, turned squarely at right angles, went to the extreme edge of the construction, turned around it again at right angles so that the last state of this channel was worse than the first.

Then a new plan was tried, which has been quite successful, notably at Alton, Ill. The city of Alton is situated on very high bluffs, and opposite are the low, flat shores of Missouri. A short time ago the river channel began to get over toward the Missouri side, threatening to leave Alton high and dry.

Then was tried the plan of commencing a dyke at some distance up the river with a gradual inclination.

The stream was thus gradually diverted towards Alton, and a very large sand-bar is now forming on the Missouri side.

In

The errosive power of the river is best illustrated by a sight which I once witnessed. Illinois, some ten or twelve miles above St. Louis, there was formerly a little village, called the "City of Madison," consisting of some four or five houses and an apple orchard. One spring, in going up the river we stopped and landed there, and I noticed that the last house was probably half a mile back from the river. Two months afterwards, during high water, I was again on the river, and when we came to where the "City of Madison" had been I saw that the river had taken a sudden shoot towards the Illinois side, and completely washed away this city, all of the houses having fallen into the river, and the channel was now something like half a mile east from where it had formerly been. Some distance below St. Louis, emptying into the Mississippi river above Chester, Ill., is a little stream called the Kaskaskia river. For some distance it flowed almost parallel with the Mississippi, but one day the latter cut straight across the intervening line, so that the old Kaskaskia is now the present channel of the Mississippi.

A distinct superiority is observable in the recent text-books on geography over those which have been in use for many years. With the latter, location of places is the point of importance, as location of cities, capes, bays, gulfs, rivers, mountains, boundary lines, etc. Hence there is an abundance of map questions. Such knowledge is useful, for in our civilization one would be ashamed to be without it, and because each form discussed influences man in his relation to the earth. But, nevertheless, it is an extremely dead kind of knowledge. It acts as a check to thought rather than as a stimulus to it.

The new geographies, on the other hand, give relatively less attention to location of places, and much more to vivid descriptions, for example, descriptions of manufacturing processes, of rivers, of cities, etc. Consequently they have fewer map questions and

more