Chapter III: Front Matter (3)

In the National Museum, finally, are two Egyptian mummies. It is hard to tell how they got into such outlandish boxes and mountings. There they stand, nailed and screwed into narrow, white boxes, side by side, with mouths open, as if Pompeian convulsions had seized and embalmed them by instantaneous mummification just as the curtain was falling on a grand duet. Now, these two bodies were really embalmed (embalsamed); all the other mummies were simply dried up.

The Egyptians, Peruvians, and perhaps the Alaskans preserved the bodies as integral parts of the individual, that would be needed again. The others simply dried up, their depositors cherishing no belief in the resurrection of the body.

A TRIP TO MT. SHASTA.

Report of a lecture delivered in the National Museum of Washington, D. C., by Prof. J. S. Diller, of the U. S. Geological Survey.

The Great Basin Country is bounded to the westward by the Cascade Range in Oregon and the Sierra Nevada Mountains in eastern California. The axes of these two mountain ranges make an angle of over 140° with each other, and at their point of intersection in northern California rises Mt. Shasta, one of the most conspicuous and imposing topographical features of the Pacific coast, above which it rises 14,440 feet. Early in the days of western exploration its summit was declared to be inaccessible, but whether this assertion was made to inspire greater respect for the abode of the Indian gods, or to excuse a disinclination to physical exertion, must ever remain a matter of conjecture. Certain it is that the ascent, frequently made within the last few years by ladies is not a remarkable feat of mountaineering. Under the direction of Captain Dutton of the Geological Survey, a detailed exploration of the mountain has been accomplished.

The belt of territory bordering upon the Pacific embraces two parallel mountain chains, the Sierra Nevada and Cascade Range on the east, and the illy-defined Coast Range on the west. Between these lies the valley region of the Willamette and Sacramento rivers, whose headwaters are among that complex group of mountains through which the Klamath River, in a deep cañon, finds its way to the sea.

Of all the volcanic regions of the world, the one to which Mt. Shasta belongs is the largest. It extends from Lassen’s Peak, in California, north through Oregon to Mt. Rainier in Washington Territory, and eastward far into Idaho, covering an area larger than that of France and Great Britain combined. Within this wide expanse are extensive plains, whose broad surfaces indicate that the basaltic lava beneath at the time of its eruption possessed such a high degree of fluidity that it spread out far and wide like the waters of a lake. Upon the western border the more viscous lavas built up the Cascade Range, whose mammoth arch is surmounted by numerous mighty volcanoes, among which Mt. Shasta is one of the most prominent.

Seen from all sides Mt. Shasta presents a remarkably regular outline, and its beautiful conoidal form has excited the admiration of many observers. Its slopes are exceptional for the high angle and graceful curves of their inclination. The upper 3,000 feet of the mountain, where cliffs are most abundant, dips away toward all points of the compass at an average angle of 37°. Further down the mountain the slope gradually decreases in inclination to 20°, then to 15°, 10°, and finally the long, gentle slope about the base of the mountain deviates but 5° from a horizontal plane. In all directions from the summit of Mt. Shasta its flanks increase in length as they decrease in angle of inclination, presenting a curved mountain side concave upwards, and has the greatest curvature near the top. Mr. Gilbert, in his excellent monograph of the Henry Mountains, shows that such a curve is the natural result of erosion. In the case of some volcanic mountains, however, an important coöperative cause may be found in the fact that at each successive eruption the lava decreased in quantity and became more viscous. The grandest approach to Mt. Shasta is from the north, in the broad valley of the same name, where it is presented to full view, and the deepest impression of its colossal dimensions is experienced. It stands at the head of Shasta valley, above which it rises 11,000 feet, with a volume of over 224 cubic miles, and presents, in strange contrast with the sterility of the valley, the luxuriant vegetation of the forest belt. The timbered slopes lie between the altitudes 4,000 and 7,000 feet above the sea, and belong to the most magnificent forest regions of the world. Above the forest belt the mountain rises more than a mile into the heights of eternal snow, and its brilliant white slopes present an imposing contrast to the deep green of the pines beneath. Viewed from the southeast, Mt. Shasta appears to be surmounted by a single peak, but seen from the north, the upper portion is found to be double. The smaller of the two cones, broad topped and crater shaped, has been designated Shastina, to distinguish it from the other acute cone, which rises 2,000 feet higher and forms the summit of Shasta proper.

The influence of temperature upon precipitation, and the limits which it throws about arboreal vegetation, are here most forcibly illustrated. In Shasta valley, at an elevation of about 3,000 feet above the sea, where the average temperature is high as compared with that upon the mountain itself, the precipitation is always in the form of rain, but not sufficient in quantity, especially on account of its unequal distribution throughout the year, to support more than a scanty growth of stunted trees. In the autumn storm clouds gather about the summit, and showers become frequent, spreading over the land in copious rains. Before the spring eight ninths of all the annual rain has fallen and the country is brilliant with living green. As summer advances the refreshing showers disappear and the cloudless sky affords no protection from the burning sun; the bright green fades away and the earth gradually assumes that uninviting seared aspect which pervades all nature in the season of drought. Upon the lower slopes of the mountain, by its cooling influence upon the atmosphere, the rainfall is greatly increased, and the vegetation is luxuriant. The vegetation is almost wholly coniferous. Among nearly a score of species the sugar-pine is monarch, frequently attaining a diameter of twelve and a height of over two hundred feet. Farther up the mountain these gradually give way to the firs, whose tall, graceful forms are in perfect keeping with the majestic mountain behind them. Their black and yellow spotted trunks and branches, draped in long pendant moss, present a weird, almost dismal aspect, making a fit promenade for the mythical deities supposed by the aborigines to inhabit the mountains. To assume that in the timber belt the slopes of the mountain are everywhere covered with majestic trees, would certainly be wide of the truth, for within the forests are large treeless tracts, sometimes hundreds of acres in extent. From a distance these green, velvety acres appear to be very inviting pastures, and present the most desirable path of ascent. A closer examination, however, discovers to the observer that instead of grass these green fields are clothed in such a dense shrubbery of manzanita, ceanothus, and other bushy plants, as to be almost impassable. One attempt to cross a patch of chaparral, or “Devil’s acre,” as it is sometimes appropriately called in western vernacular, will convince the traveler that his best path lies in the forest.

As the timber gradually dwindles away from the foot of the mountain to almost nothing in Shasta valley, so also it diminishes in stature, from an altitude of 7,000 feet upwards to the snow region, where the precipitation is generally, if not always, in a solid form of snow in winter and sleet in summer.

Of the tree-like vegetation, one of the pines reaches farthest up the slopes. Its stem grows shorter and the top flattens until, at an elevation of about 9,000 feet, the branches are spread upon the ground, so that not unfrequently the pedestrian finds his best path upon the tree-tops. Beyond these, on the snowless slopes, are found only scattered blades of grass, and the welcome little hulsea, the edelweiss of our Alpine regions, with its bright flowers to alleviate the arctic desolation of the place. The red and yellow lichens cling to the rocks and the tiny prolococcus flourishes in the snow, so that one is frequently surprised, upon looking back, to see his bloody footsteps.

In the Alps, between the forests and the snow, are often found extensive pastures where the herds which furnish milk for the celebrated Swiss cheese are grazed during the milder seasons of the year. In northern California similar pastures do not occur about the snow-capped summits, probably on account of the unequal distribution of the annual rainfall.

To those who are fond of novelty, the greatest interest of the upper portion of Mt. Shasta attaches to its glaciers. They are five in number, and all are found side by side upon its northern half, forming an almost continuous covering above 10,000 feet for that portion of the mountain point. Upon the northern and western slope of the mountain is the Whitney glacier, with its prominent terminal moraines. Next to the eastward is the Bulam glacier, with the large pile of debris at the lower end. Then comes the broad Hottums glacier and the Wintum. The Konwakitong, which is the smallest of the group, lies upon the southeast side of the mountain. Whitney glacier is more like those of the Alps than any other one of the group. Its snow-field lies upon the northwestern slope of the mountains, from whence the icy mass moves down a shallow depression between Shasta and Shastina. Mr. Ricksecker, who has made a careful topographical survey of the mountain, has measured the dimensions of all its glaciers. The limits of the Whitney glacier are well defined; its width varies from 1,000 to 2,000 feet, with a length of about two and one-fifth miles, reaching from the summit of the mountain down to an altitude of 9,500 feet above the sea. It is but little more than a decade since the first glaciers were discovered within the United States, and we should not be disappointed to learn that the largest of them, about the culminating point of the Cascade Range, would appear Liliputian beside the great glacier of the Bernese Oberland, and yet the former are as truly glaciers as the latter. In the upper portion of its course, passing over prominent irregularities in its bed, the Whitney glacier becomes deeply fractured, producing the extremely jagged surface, corresponding to the surfaces of the Alpine glaciers. Lower down the crevasses develop, and these, with the great fissure which separates it from the steep slopes of Shastina, attest the motion of the icy mass. They frequently open and become yawning chasms, reaching 100 feet into the clear, green ice beneath. Near its middle, upon the eastern margin, the Whitney glacier receives large contributions of sand, gravel and bowlders, from the vertical cliffs around which it turns to move in a more northerly direction. In this way a prominent lateral moraine is developed. From the very steep slopes of Shastina, upon the western side, the glacier receives additions in the form of avalanches. Here the snow clings to its rocky bed until the strain resulting from accumulation is great enough to break it from its moorings and precipitate it upon the glacier below. The most striking feature of the Whitney glacier, and that which is of greatest interest from a geological point of view, is its terminal moraine, which appears to be fully a mile in length. Its apparent length is much greater than the real, from the fact that the glacial ice extends far down beneath the covering of detritus. It is so huge a pile of light colored debris, just above the timber line, that it is plainly visible from afar off.

In comparing the morainal material about Mt. Shasta with that of Alpine glaciers, a feature that is particularly noticeable is the smallness of the bowlders. Upon Alpine glaciers they frequently have a diameter greater than ten feet, but about the Whitney and other glaciers of Mt. Shasta they are rarely as much as three feet in diameter. This is readily explained by the fact that the glaciers of Mt. Shasta do not move in deep valleys bounded by long, deep slopes, with many high cliffs which afford an opportunity for the formation of large bowlders. Although the Whitney glacier has its boundaries more clearly defined than any of the other glaciers about Mt. Shasta by the depression in which it moves, the valley is very shallow, and one looks in vain along its slopes for traces of polished rocks like those so magnificently displayed on the way from Meiningen to Grimsel, in the valley of the Aar. Below the terminal moraine the milky water of Whitney creek wends its way down the northern slope, plunges over a fall hundreds of feet high, into a deep cañon, and near the base of the mountain is swallowed up by the thirsty air and earth. The presence of marginal crevasses, lateral and terminal moraines, and the characteristic milky stream which issues from the lower end, are proofs that the Whitney glacier still moves, but the rate of motion has not yet been determined. The row of stakes planted last July were covered with snow before the party could reach them again in the latter part of October.

Upon the northwestern slope of the mountain, besides the Whitney glacier, there is the Bulam, differing chiefly in that it is contained in a broader, less definite valley, and forming an intermediate step toward the Hottum glacier, which is one of the most important and remarkable of the group. Unlike ordinary glaciers, it has no valley in which it is confined, but lies upon the convex surface of the mountain. Its upper surface, instead of being concave anywhere, is convex throughout from side to side, and its width (123 miles) is almost as great as its length (162 miles). At several places the surface of the glacier is made very rough by the inequalities of its bed. This is especially true of its southern portion, where prominent cliffs form the only medial moraine discovered upon Mt. Shasta. Throughout the greater part of its expanse the glacier is deeply crevassed, exposing the green ice occasionally to the depth of a hundred feet. The thickness of this glacier has been greatly overestimated. In reality, instead of being 1,800 to 2,500 feet thick, it does not appear where greatest to be more than a few hundred, for at a number of places it is so thin that its bed is exposed. Its terminal moraine is a huge pile, nearly half a mile in width, measured in the direction of glacial motion.

Next south of the Hottum glacier is the Wintum, which attains a length of over two miles, and ends with an abrupt front of ice in a cañon. Upon the southeastern slope of Mt. Shasta, at the head of a large cañon, is the Konwakitong glacier. Notwithstanding its diminutive size, its crevasses and the muddy stream it initiates indicate clearly that the ice mass continues to move. The amount of moraine material upon its borders is small, and yet, of all the glaciers about Mt. Shasta, it is the only one which has left a prominent record of important changes. The country adjacent to the west side of the Konwakitong cañon has been distinctly glaciated so as to leave no doubt that the Konwakitong glacier was once very much larger than it is at the present time. The rocks on which it moved have been deeply striated, and so abraded as to produce the smooth, rounded surfaces so common in glaciated regions. At the time of its greatest extension the glacier was 5.8 miles in length and occupied an area of at least seven square miles, being over twenty times its present size. Its limit is marked at several places by a prominent terminal moraine. The thickness of the glacier where greatest was not more than 200 feet, for several hills within the glaciated area were not covered. The striated surfaces and moraines do not extend up the slopes of those hills more than 200 feet above their bases. The thinness of the glacier is completely in harmony with the limited extent of its erosion, although the rocks are distinctly planed off, so that the low knobs and edges have regularly curved outlines. It is evident that a great thickness of rock has been removed by the ice, and that the period of ice erosion has been comparatively brief. During the lapse of time, however, there have been important climatic oscillations, embracing epochs of glacial advance and recession. None of the glaciers about Mt. Shasta, excepting the Wintum, terminate in cañons, but all of them give rise to muddy streams which flow in cañons to the mountain’s base. The cañons are purely the product of aqueous erosion, and contain numerous waterfalls, whence the streams in descending leap over the ends of old lava flows 50 to 300 feet in height.

In strong contrast with the arctic condition of Mt. Shasta to-day, are the circumstances attending its upbuilding, when it was an active volcano belching forth streams of fiery lava that flowed down the slopes now occupied by ice. It is the battlefield of the elements within the earth against those above it. In its early days the forces beneath were victorious, and built up the mountains in the face of wind and weather, but gradually the volcanic energy died away and the low temperature called into play those destructive agents which are now reversing the process and gradually reducing the mountain toward a general level. A microscopical examination of the rocks of Mt. Shasta reveals the fact that it is composed chiefly, if not wholly, of three kinds of lava. Several small areas of metamorphic rocks occur within its borders, but there is no evidence to show that they form any considerable portion of the mountain.

The range in mineralogical composition of the lavas is not extensive. There are only four minerals which deserved to be ranked as essential and characteristic constituents: they are plagioclase, feldspar, pyroxene, generally in the form of hypersthene hornblende, and olivine. The kind of lava which has by far the widest distribution upon the slopes of Mt. Shasta is composed essentially of plagioclase, feldspar and hypersthene, with some angite, and belongs to the variety of volcanic rocks which, on account of composition, and the place where first discovered, has been designated hypersthene andesite. Lava of this type has been shown by Messrs. Cross and Giddings of the Geological Survey to be widely distributed beyond the Mississippi. Upon the western slope of the mountain, especially in the vicinity of the prominent volcanic cone, the form of which suggests its name sugar loaf, the lava contains prominent crystals of hornblende instead of so much hypersthene and angite, and closely resembles the celebrated hornblende andesite lava from among the extinct volcanoes of central France. The third variety of lava which enters into the structure of Mt. Shasta is familiar to every one as basalt. It occurs in relatively small quantities, and has been extruded low down upon the slopes of the mountain. From the fact that there are three kinds of lava in the structure of Mt. Shasta, it must not be concluded that they all issued from the same volcanic vent, nor that they were effused from three separate and distinct openings. In reality, contributions to the upbuilding of Mt. Shasta have been made by over twenty volcanic orifices, of which two have been principal and far more prolific than all the parasitic events combined. This enumeration does not include those large fissures in the side of the cone, which are evidently attributable to the hydrostatic pressure of the molten mass within. The small number of parasitic cones on the slopes of Mt. Shasta is somewhat remarkable, especially when we compare it with the largest volcano in Europe. Although it is much higher than Etna, its base is less expansive, and its size about half that of the mighty monarch of the Mediterranean. Upon the irregular slopes of Etna there are 200 prominent subsidiary cones, beside over 400 of smaller size. On the contrary, Mt. Shasta has but a score of such accessories, and the remarkable regularity of its acute form forcibly expresses the highly concentrated type of volcanic energy which it represents.

From none of the vents upon its slopes have all three kinds of lava escaped, but from the summits of Shasta and Shastina, which are the products of the two largest and most prolific vents, both hornblende and hypersthene andesite have been effused. All the other orifices were subordinate, and each furnished but one kind of lava; from seven of them came hypersthene andesite; eight, hornblende andesite; and the remaining five, basalt. The relative age of the cones which mark the position of the volcanic vents is indicated by the amount of degradation which each has suffered. Judged by this criterion, those of hornblende andesite are the oldest and those of basalt the youngest. The latter are for the most part made of lapilli, and are not crater-shaped as is usually the case in other portions of the Cascade Range, but are elliptical in form, with dome-shaped summits. The presence of considerable piles of ejectments about the subsidiary vents indicates that the eruptions from these orifices were often of a violent character. On the other hand there are some without a trace of lapilli, or anything else to indicate an interruption in the quiet flow of lava welling out of the depths.

Upon the eastern slope of the mountain the cañon, excavated by Mud creek, brings to light the oldest Shasta lavas now exposed, and they are seen under such circumstances that their succession can be readily understood. The oldest lava known is hornblende andesite, which is now in an advanced state of disintegration, and it seems probable that in the early stages of its development a large proportion of the lavas ejected from Mt. Shasta were of the same mineralogical constitution. These were succeeded by extensive effusions of hypersthene andesite. Later in its history, several small streams of hornblende andesite again burst forth from the northeastern side of the cone, but the final effort of the volcanic energy was spent in the ejection of hypersthene andesite. The conditions which determine the oscillation in mineralogical composition of the lavas are as yet conjectural, but when discovered, and their influence demonstrated, an important step forward will have been made in determining the relations of many volcanic rocks.

A striking feature in the structure of Mt. Shasta is the paucity of volcanic ashes, lapilli, and other ejected matter. Only one important deposit of the kind has been discovered. It clings about the summit of the mountain, and is evidently the product of its last eruption. The summit of Shastina is so regular in outline, and the shape of its crater so well preserved, that many have supposed it to be composed chiefly of scoria and ashes; but this is not the case, for its slopes are of angular fragments of compact lava.

Mt. Shasta is almost a pure lava cone, and its remarkably regular form is a matter of wonder. That it is so regular is a sequence of several favorable circumstances. Although a score of parasitic cones spring from the side of the mountain, and have contributed to its upbuilding, yet their additions have been so small compared with the vast effusions from the summit craters Shasta and Shastina, as not to greatly modify the outline of the mountain. More important circumstances are to be found in the non-explosive character of the eruptions and the successive changes in the physical properties of the erupted lava, as the development of the mountain progressed.

It is well known that among the volcanoes of the Hawaiian Islands the eruptions are quiet and effusive. The fiery streams of liquid lava course down the gentle slopes for many miles.

Although the mountain is 14,000 feet high, its lavas have such a high degree of liquidity, and retain their mobility so long after eruption, that the base of the mountain spread by them has a diameter of about seventy miles, and an average slope of 5° 1,800 feet below its summit. Mauna Loa is nearly twenty miles in diameter. On the contrary, at a corresponding position its greatest diameter is less than two miles, a very remarkable difference, which is due chiefly to the unequal fluency of the two lavas. The very oldest lavas of Mt. Shasta lie buried within its mass, and we know nothing of their physical properties, but from an examination of the oldest ones now visible, it is evident that at the time of their eruption they possessed a higher degree of fluidity, and were more voluminous than those of later date. The long, gentle slopes about the base of the mountain are formed by comparatively old lavas. Ascending the mountain, one goes up as if upon a giant staircase, with long, inclined steps rising abruptly over the ends of successive shorter and newer lava flows.

It is evident in comparing the older and newer lava flows of Mt. Shasta that there has been a more or less regular decrease in the quantity of lava extruded during successive eruptions, and this is exactly what we should expect when we consider that as the pipe is lengthened by successive effusions, the hydrostatic pressure of the columns of lava within is gradually augmented. The increased compress of the lava flows toward the summit of the mountain indicates that the lava of successive extrusions became more and more viscous until at last the eruptions became explosive, and gave rise to the ejectments now clinging upon the upper slopes of the mountain to evidence the character of the final outburst.

It is not only possible, but very probable that the increased viscosity of lava toward the closing scenes of the volcano is correllated to the diminution of temperature. Since the beginning of the historic period there have been no eruptions from Mt. Shasta, but the freshness of its lavas indicate that not many centuries ago, with other volcanoes of the Cascade Range, it was in a state of vigorous activity, and groups of hot springs and fumeroles about the summit still attest the presence of smouldering volcanic energy, which may perhaps some day break through its confining walls.

The upbuilding of Mt. Shasta is but a matter of yesterday, as compared with the lapse of ages, since the birth of some of its neighbors. The complex group of mountains to the westward, embracing the Scott, Trinity, Salmon and Siskiyou, are composed in large part, at least, of ancient crystalline rocks of both aqueous and igneous origin; through these the rivers have cut deep cañons, the Klamath, on its way to the Sacramento southward, from the very base of Mt. Shasta to its broad valley stretching from the Sierra Nevada to the Coast Range. The cañon of the Sacramento was cut down to nearly its present level, and the mountains sculptured into existing forms long before the eruptions of Mt. Shasta had ceased, for a fiery deluge escaping from the southern slope of Mt. Shasta entered the Sacramento cañon, and as a lava stream 200 feet deep followed its course for over fifty miles.

Towering more than a mile above its neighbors, perhaps the youngest of the group, Mt. Shasta is the end of a long series of volcanoes in the Cascade Range, stretching northwest to Mt. Tacoma. This range, composed chiefly of volcanic material, is cut across by the cañons of the Columbia and the Klamath rivers, in the former of which, beneath a thickness of 3,500 feet of lava, are found strata containing Tertiary fossils. At the southern base of Mt. Shasta, in the cañon of the McLoud River, similar beds of volcanic debris are found, but without fossils, nevertheless it is evident that the main mass of the Cascade Range and its volcanoes originated in recent geologic times, and from the fact that solfataras, fumeroles, and hot springs are still abundant upon their slopes, they can not be reckoned among those which are wholly extinct.

A frontiersman in Washington Territory tells of an outburst of Mt. St. Helens in the winter of 1841-2.

Upon somewhat more trustworthy authority it is said that to the southward of Mt. Shasta, about forty miles, a small cone which may be considered parasitic to Lassens Peak, has been in eruption as late as January, 1850, ejecting considerable ashes and cinders, and pouring forth a mass of lava, which gradually spread, attaining a circumference of over four miles, and presenting an abrupt embankment-like termination upon all sides eighty to ninety feet in height. Trees, blackened by the fiery stream, are still standing to furnish incontestable evidence of its recency.

The country is full of rumors of subterranean rumblings, and the people are prone to attribute them to the dying throes of volcanic energy.

One of the most striking features of the region is the strongly contrasted types of volcanic action in Mt. Shasta. Both have approximately the same area. In the valley there have been many scores of volcanic vents, among which the energy has been so widely diffused that none of them have furnished lava sufficient to form a hill more than a few hundred feet in height.

On the contrary, the mountain represents a small number of vents, and the volcanic was nearly all concentrated in one place, so that the extrusions were all piled up, one upon another, and resulted in the upbuilding of one majestic elevation.

Thus it has been from a small beginning, probably in early Tertiary times, that by successive boilings over, so to speak, additions have been made to the mountain until it attained a height beyond its present altitude. The constructive agents reached their limit, dissipated their energy, and gave way to destructive ones, which are gradually undoing the work.

Mt. Shasta must ever be one of the most popular mountains among tourists of the West. It is easily accessible from a main line of travel which passes by its base, at Berryvale, where comfortable quarters and necessary outfit for the ascent can be obtained.

The streams are filled with trout, and the forest with game, so that the region affords many attractions for the sportsman.

Several hours’ travel by a good trail brings the party to Camp Ross, at the timber line, from which the ascent can easily be made in a day without danger.

REASSUREMENT.

BY ADA IDDINGS GALE.

Fear not, heart—though round thee ply
Battle’s emblems—far and nigh.
Though thy comrades round thee fall—
Ensigns totter on the wall—
Though the long battalions grim
Seem to cloud thy future’s rim.
If amidst the wild affray
Thou grow sick, and turn away—
Pause: that would be worst of all,
If in fleeing, thou should’st fall.
Stand fast, girt with sword and shield—
If thou fall, fall in the field.
What matters it if sad defeat
Meet thy eager, hurrying feet;
What, if when the banners wave
Thou should’st find a shallow grave.

Foeward, bravely turn thy face,
Seek no measure small of grace;
And when loud the trumpets call,
Bravely stand or bravely fall.
Whether vict’ry or defeat,
Laurel wreath or winding sheet
Be thy meed—’twill differ not,
Soon or late ’twill be forgot.
Only thou, heart, e’er shalt know
Thy deserved praise here below.
Thou, and One that on his throne
Ne’er forgets to watch his own,
One that marks where sparrows flee,
Thee will guard with equity.
Then be brave with all thy might—
This thy guerdon—for the right.

WILL IT PAY?

BY CHARLES BARNARD.

There are some people who always ask this question. You may suggest anything, a book to read, a science to be studied, or some new work to be done, and, though they may not be so rude as to say so, they will wonder how it will pay. “Better not go into farming, my boy. It doesn’t pay.” “Better not do this or do that. It won’t pay you.” After a little more of this sort of thing you wonder if it pays to be born, or to live, or to do anything whatever. Now, what do they mean by this question? By far the larger part of those who ask it mean that the work, whatever it may be, does not pay a handsome return in money. A few mean something quite different. They know all about it, they have seen the world, and it is all a hollow show, and their favorite dolls are full of sawdust. These people are dead, but they have forgotten it.

Let us see about this. If there is any one business in the world about which the people in it are sure it does not pay, it is farming. “It does not pay.” So many people have said this that people who are not farmers have really come to think it must be so. Is it true? Here is an ear of field corn with twelve rows of grains, and twenty grains to a row. Fair average corn, with 240 grains to the ear. We can take off one grain and plant it in the ground, and within six months have two ears of the same corn, or 480 grains from one grain. How big a profit is that? One grain increases to 480 grains. Is there any manufacturing business, art or profession that pays such an enormous return? In spite of this they say it does not pay. Then there must be something the matter with the business. Nature has provided that the increase of plants shall be very great. One seed may increase a hundred fold, or five hundred fold, or a thousand fold. Clearly the work of raising plants with such advantages in its favor ought to pay, and if it does not, it is equally clear that something is wrong, some one to blame.

The city housekeeper finds at her store on the avenue a head of lettuce. Rather wilted and damaged by rough handling. Six cents. You can plant 43,560 heads of lettuce on one acre of ground. At six cents a head that is $2,613.60 taken out of one acre of land inside of eight weeks. And yet this person gravely tells us lettuce raising does not pay. What can the matter be, and where has all this money gone? A city like New York will calmly eat 40,000 heads of lettuce in a day or two, and pay out over $2,000 for it, and be ready to eat and pay as much more the next week. The money is certainly paid to somebody, and if the farmer still insists it does not pay to raise the lettuce, there must be a reason for it.

Ask the groceryman. He replies that he must live and must have a good slice out of the money to pay him for buying the lettuce down town and bringing it up to his store. It isn’t so evident that he must live as he fancies, because there was a time when there were no storekeepers and the world got along beautifully without them. However, he is convenient, and we will allow him his slice out of the profits. The teamster, the wholesale dealer, the freight handler, the railroad people all say that they too must live, and to please them we will admit that is so, though there is not much to prove it. They must share in the $2,000 paid for the acre of lettuce. Lastly, the farmer gets what the others decide he may have after they have had what they decide is their share. If we ask each one of this row of men, it is quite possible each one will say it does not pay, but, somehow, none except the farmer says anything about it. The last man, the actual producer of the lettuce, is the only one to complain. His business is the only one concerned that people say does not pay.

There was once a young man who started out bravely in life, resolved to reform the world. After trying for some time he gave it up and was ever after entirely contented if he paid his board regularly every week. It is useless to think we can reform this matter all in a day. The day will come when these things will be changed and equity and justice will take the place of the utter selfishness that now marks competition in business. Our best plan is to see what we can do to become producers ourselves. We want the lettuce ourselves. We must pay the retail price for it, and if at this price there is a big profit in raising it, we would like the entire profit placed in our hands. The people in these United States are divided into two great classes—the producers and the consumers—those who raise things to eat, and those who are in other trades and eat without producing. The producers are the farmers and fishermen. The consumers make all the rest of the people. The producers also eat, but their food costs them very much less than the food used by the non-producers. Of course we can see there must be non-producers or the trades and arts would perish, and the nation would become a mere agricultural community, content with sleeping and eating. At the same time, we must observe that a very large proportion of those who produce nothing live in small towns and villages and own land. We see everywhere in our smaller cities and towns hundreds of homes having gardens about the house. A little discouraged grass, a dyspeptic tree or two, a forlorn grape vine straggling over the fence, plenty of dusty gravel, and a mortgage on the house and lot. Within the house bitter complaints against the high price of food, much fretfulness and weariness at the scant, monotonous bill of fare. Boys and girls growing up with white hands and narrow chests (to say nothing of stomachs that they should be ashamed to own) and the storekeeper saving money on the next corner.

This is the reason it does not pay. We want to have white hands and be genteel and all that. We want to be consumers, and we unwittingly combine to get all we can out of the selling and handling of food and leave the producer as little as we think he can be forced to take. We must get rid of this imported nonsense about work. (It all came from Europe, and is wholly un-American.) We must make the land give us more food. Our boys and girls must go out of doors, must learn to be producers. They should be shown that it is disgraceful to live in a mortgaged house, that it is disgraceful to stand on any part of God’s ground and complain that food is scarce or high when that food might come out of the very ground under our ungrateful feet. The Chinese, the Japanese, the Dutch, the French, the Swiss cultivate every rod of ground they own. No barren yards about their houses, taxed and yet paying no return. Why, in England even the strips of waste land along the railway tracks are cultivated, and the trains move between rows of cabbages half a hundred miles long.

This is the way for thousands of families to make it pay. Produce your own food and sell it to yourselves. A head of lettuce grown on your own ground and eaten on your own table saves the retail price of a head of lettuce, and if there is a profit on it for all the people who touch it, clearly you have the entire profit for yourself. On reading this about five hundred people will calmly remark that this is not so. They have tried it and it cost more to raise their own vegetables than it did to buy them at the stores. The wages of the gardener come to more than all the things were worth. So much the worse for the gardener. You should be your own gardener. Where are your boys and girls? At the base ball grounds, or the rink, or at the foolish piano—doing nothing—earning nothing and trying to be genteel? Garden work is hard on the back and hurts the hands. Yes, because your hands are weak and your back is not strong, and of these things you should be ashamed.

The price of land in this country is steadily rising. All the best farm land is being taken up. The cost of food is advancing. It will never again be as cheap as it has been in the past. The time has come when we must economize. We can not longer afford to carry those neglected garden plots and waste spaces about our houses. They must produce food for the people who own them. We must be our own producers. We must study plants and animals. These represent food and wealth, and it is simply an untruth to say it will not pay to raise them. If your garden costs more than the retail price of food in your neighborhood the fault is your own. There is something the matter with your soil or your seeds, or your method of culture. Think of the profit of raising lettuce at $2,000 an acre, and yet that is the return that an acre will produce if paid for at the retail price. Moreover, the lettuce would be removed from the ground in ample time for another crop, likewise bringing a profit. Of course, if your land is worth five dollars a foot, the interest on one foot would be more than the value of the single lettuce plant you could raise upon it. In such a case you had better sell out and buy cheaper land. For the majority of homes where there is a garden the land is cheap enough to produce more or less of the food needed in the house, and there is no reason whatever why it may not be raised at a handsome profit.

The Chautauqua University recognizes the importance of this matter. Its aim is to help, to guide, and to instruct, and it is now, through the liberality of its friends, able to help, guide and instruct all who wish to learn something of the art of producing food and saving money. It sees hundreds of boys and girls totally ignorant of these common things. It sees young people wondering what they shall do, perplexed and worried over this question of earning a living, and discouraged at the high cost of living, when a part of their living is going to waste beneath their feet. The Chautauqua Town and Country Club was formed to help those who wish to help themselves. It aims to show by simple lessons how to raise plants of all kinds, how to care for animals, how to take care of your garden so that it will be a source of pleasure and profit. Half a thousand people have already joined the club and are now at work in good earnest. Should you wish to know more about it, write to Miss K. F. Kimball, Plainfield, N. J.

All this is meant for you.

What are you going to do about it?

GEOGRAPHY OF THE HEAVENS FOR JULY.

BY PROF. M. B. GOFF,

Western University of Pennsylvania.

THE SUN,

Of which so much has been said in these pages, continues to be discussed with increasing interest by astronomers of both hemispheres, who every day supply their quota of new ideas as the result of their investigations. In THE CHAUTAUQUAN for March, 1884, the statement was made that “it has already been demonstrated that the colored prominences may be examined at any time when the sun can be seen; and it is believed that Mr. Huggins has accomplished the difficult feat of photographing the corona, so that it, too, may be scrutinized _at leisure_.” In the April number of the _Nineteenth Century_, we find a very interesting account by Mr. Huggins himself, of his operations in this line. As yet the experiments have not been in all respects satisfactory; but so much has been done as to leave no doubt of the final result. As Mr. H. tells us, the great obstacle to overcome is the immense curtain of air, which “hangs” between us and the sun, and absorbs some forty per cent. of the sun’s light (and heat). This absorption renders our atmosphere as light at least as the sun’s corona, and makes it as difficult of observation as a lesser light placed behind a greater. The same atmosphere being as bright, or brighter, than the stars, prevents our seeing the latter in daylight. During an eclipse of the sun, the shadow of the moon affords us a long, funnel shaped tube through this great air curtain (which may be forty, or one hundred, or more miles in thickness) and we are enabled through it to see the sun’s corona. But “on an average, once in two years this curtain of light is lifted for from _three_ to _six_ minutes”—a very contracted period in which to obtain a knowledge of a phenomenon that we know is constantly changing. If we had a Joshua, who could command sun, moon and earth to stand still for the space of a few hours even, we might discover what we so much wish to know, what is this corona. Or, if we could go beyond this atmosphere of ours—place it between us and the earth, we might do without a Joshua. But we can not get outside. Then the next best thing is to get as nearly outside as possible. Dr. Copeland tried this by climbing an elevation of 12,400 feet. Prof. Langley ascended Mt. Etna, and on Mt. Whitney ascended to the height of 15,000 feet; but at these heights the curtain was still too heavy, and no view of the corona was obtained; or, as Prof. Langley expressed it, he “met with entire non-success.” From reports in regard to observations made in Egypt of the total eclipse of 1882, Mr. Huggins conceived the idea of making a photographic plate so sensitive that it would distinguish differences imperceptible to the eye, and on this plate take a picture of the corona, and then examine it as one would the “photo” of a friend, and mark its peculiarities. He made his first experiment in 1882, and as a result “there seemed to be good ground to hope that the corona had really been obtained upon the plates.” In 1883, a second attempt, under more favorable circumstances was made, and “images of the sun exquisitely defined, and free from all sensible trace of instrumental imperfection were obtained.” On the 6th of May of the same year (1883) a total eclipse of the sun occurred at Caroline Islands, and was there photographed by Messrs. Lawrence and Woods, photographers of the Royal Society; and on a comparison of these photographs of the sun’s corona during an eclipse with his own taken both before and after the time of the eclipse (which was not visible to Mr. H.), he had the satisfaction of seeing so strong a resemblance as to convince him that he had photographed the corona without an eclipse. Although having no doubt of the success of his experiment, yet, on account of the unfavorable conditions of the climate, it was determined to try a higher elevation; and the Riffel, near Zarmatt, Switzerland, was selected as a suitable place to make further trials. Mr. Ray Wood was selected as artist, and reached Riffel in July, 1884. But unfortunately, the “veil of finely divided matter of some sort,” “of which we have heard so much in the accounts from all parts of the earth of gorgeous sunsets and after-glows” seriously interfered with the work; nevertheless, a number of plates were obtained on which the corona showed itself with more or less distinctness. Not satisfied with these results, Mr. Woods was deputed to go to the Cape of Good Hope, where, under the direction of Dr. Gill, he is to make, or is, perhaps, now making daily photographic representations of the corona, and laboring fully to realize the anticipations of the esteemed Mr. Huggins.

Meantime our sun makes his accustomed rounds, bringing with him the usual accompaniments, hot weather and the “dog days.” He will on the 1st rise at 4:34 a. m. and set at 7:33 p. m.; on the 16th, rise at 4:43 a. m., set at 7:28 p. m.; and on the 30th, rise at 4:56 a. m., and set at 7:17 p. m. During the month the length of the day will decrease from 15 h. 1 m. on the 1st to 14 h. 21 m. on the 30th. The declination will in the same time decrease four degrees and forty-three minutes.

THE MOON

Enters upon its last quarter on the 5th, at 7:18 a. m.; new moon occurs on the 12th, at 12:07 a. m.; first quarter on the 18th, at 7:11 p. m.; full moon on the 26th, at 9:14 p. m. In perigee, or nearest the earth, on the 11th, at 8:24 p. m.; in apogee, or farthest from the earth, on 25th, at 4:18 a. m. Reaches its greatest elevation above the horizon, 66° 55′, on the 11th; least elevation, 30° 7′, on the 23d. On the 1st, rises at 10:00 p. m.; on the 16th, sets at 10:26 p. m.; on the 30th, rises 9:05 p. m.

MERCURY

On the 13th, at 6:57 a. m., is 5° 39′ north of the moon; on the 17th, at 9:00 a. m., 11′ south of Venus; and on the 26th, at 2:00 a. m., 11′ south of _Alpha_ in the constellation _Leo_, a very interesting conjunction, but not visible to the naked eye. Mercury has a direct motion during the month of 51° 51′; and his diameter increases from 5″ to 6.8″. On the 1st, he rises at 4:56 a. m., and sets at 7:56 p. m.; on the 16th, rises at 6:23 a. m., and sets at 8:31 p. m.; on the 30th, rises at 7:16 a. m., and sets at 8:22 p. m.

VENUS

Makes but little show this month, being too near the “Source of Light.” She will be evening star throughout the month, growing brighter as the days pass by; her diameter increasing from 10.4″ on the 1st to 11.2″ on the 30th. She has a direct motion of 38° 8′ 45″. On the 1st, rises at 5:50 a. m., sets at 8:34 p. m.; on the 16th, rises at 6:25 a. m., sets at 8:33 p. m.; and on the 30th, rises at 6:57 a. m., sets at 8:23 p. m. On the 13th, at 10:21 p. m., 5° 22′ north of the moon; on 17th, at 9:00 a. m., 11′ north of Mercury.

MARS

Will be a morning star during this month. On the 1st rising at 2:30 a. m., and setting at 5:08 p. m.; on the 16th, rising at 2:11 a. m., setting at 5:01 p. m.; and on the 30th, rising at 1:54 a. m., setting at 4:50 p. m. His diameter increases one tenth of a second of arc, and he makes a direct motion of 22° 56′. On the 9th, at 3:44 p. m., he is 5° 1′ north of the moon.

JUPITER.

_Et tu, Jupiter_, art on the wane. Each day he sets more nearly with the sun, and his diameter grows smaller, though monarch still of all the planets. He rises on the 1st, 16th and 30th, at 9:00, 8:14, and 7:33 a. m., respectively, and sets on the corresponding days at 10:19, 9:28, and 8:39 p. m. He makes a direct motion of 5° 25′ 42″. On the 15th, at 2:02 a. m., is 3° 7′ north of the moon.

SATURN.

Those who have not improved the past few months to obtain a view of the beauties of this planet can not blame the writer. Their attention has been called to the fact that his rings stand more widely open now than they will again for fifteen years. But they need not despair; for in the delightful coolness of a summer morning they may still improve their opportunities; for Saturn rises the latter part of this month nearly with the dawn, and those who care to leave their “downy couch” can catch him before the rising of the sun. 3:56, 3:05, and 2:18 a. m., on the 1st, 16th and 30th will find him “at home;” and in August an earlier hour will suit as well. During the month his diameter increases two tenths of a second. On the 10th, at 5:48 p. m., he may be found 4° 7′ north of the moon; and on the 20th, one minute south of the star _Eta_ in the constellation _Gemini_.

URANUS.