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[MEXICO AND THE MEXICANS.]
BY W. B. HOLDEN.
Americans know but little of the great country that lies to the south of us. They would consider it an evidence of ignorance if a Mexican had never heard the name of one of the United States, yet not one American in a hundred can name five of the twenty-seven States, which, with two territories and a federal district, make up the great republic of Mexico. As to size, an equal ignorance prevails. The average person thinks that Mexico is about as large as Pennsylvania, and is surprised to hear that it has one-fifth the area of the United States, including Alaska.
Here are some figures which may serve to show its size. It is six times as large as Great Britain, more than three times as large as Germany, and you could lose three countries as big as France inside it. Across the top of it, where, like a great horn, it is fastened to the United States, it is as long as Topeka is distant from New York city, and a line drawn from the root of the horn at California, diagonally across it to its tip at Guatemala, would be as long as the distance from New York to Denver. This horn is about 150 miles wide at the bottom, or tip, and 1550 miles wide at its beginning, where it joins on to us. In its curve it embraces the Gulf of Mexico, and the Pacific Ocean washes its other side.
It is true that Mexico is not thickly settled, the total population being less than 12,000,000; but it has one city—the capital—containing 300,000, one of 100,000, and a number of cities of 25,000 inhabitants, of which the ordinary American never heard the names. But Mexico has an incomparable climate, and the land contains riches in minerals, precious stones and agricultural resources, unsurpassed by any other country.
Mexico is a land of different civilization from ours, and we know very little about it. The ruling classes, numbering a few thousands, are descendants of Spaniards, while the millions of people who are ruled are descendants of the Aztecs. They are called Indians, but they have nothing in common with our aborigines. They speak Spanish, but they have their own tongues as well, and there are said to be a hundred dialects in use. Some of the most striking men in Mexican history have come from this class. Juarez was an Indian, and Diaz has Indian blood in his veins.
It is a land of many climates. Along the coast is the tropics, with all their rich vegetation, malarial diseases, fevers and poisonous reptiles; in the higher mountain regions, intense cold and fierce storms prevail, while between the two, and often within a few hours ride of either, lies the plateau which constitutes the greater part of Mexico, and there the climate is like a balmy June day all the year round. Clear skies, perpetual sunshine and pure air combine to give this favored region the ideal climate of the world.
This plateau is like a garden, and everything temperate or semi-tropical grows with very little care. Yet Mexico does not figure as a great agricultural country, because, like every other land where nature is kind, man is lazy. Yet the people are picturesque, like all indolent people.
In every hamlet and town the traveler sees stout, handsome men, their dark faces shrouded by great sombreros, the crowns of which come to a point a foot above their heads, and the brims of which seem to be a foot wide all around.
These hats are gorgeous in their silver and gold trimmings. Some of them have ropes of silver around them as thick as your finger.
The clothes below them shine with silver buttons and braid. The pantaloons of some of the men are striped, with silver buckles, while to the waist of each, fastened by a leather belt filled with cartridges, hangs a big silver-mounted revolver.
The lower classes of the men of Mexico dress in cotton, but they wear blankets of all the colors of the rainbow about their shoulders, and they drape these around themselves in a way that adds dignity and grace to their bearing.
The women are as peculiar as the men, though their plumage is less gay. Those of the wealthier classes are dressed in black. In the interior cities of Mexico the better class of women wear no hats, and their heads are either bare or covered with a black shawl, out of which their olive-complexioned faces shine and their dark, lustrous eyes look at you with a strange wonder.
The Indian women are especially picturesque. They often wear dark-blue cottons, and about their heads they drape a cotton shawl or reboso, so that only the upper half of the face shows. Some of them wear bright-red skirts and white waists, and many of them go barefooted.
The future of this great republic is difficult to foresee. At present it is in a transition state, and is not making very rapid progress, according to our ideas. But great results are expected from the railroad which now extends to the City of Mexico.
As the "feeders" are gradually extended on either side it is believed that many abandoned mines will be reopened, new ones discovered and a great impetus given to agriculture and commerce.
Just now, however, the railroad is chiefly of value to the tourist, who can, by its means, visit with ease and comfort a land as strange in many respects as ancient Egypt.
[SOMETHING ABOUT COAL-TAR.]
BY B. SHIPPEN, M. D.
Most people know and dislike the odor of coal-tar, which is distilled from soft or bituminous coal in making gas, as well as in other processes.
It seems to have been first collected by a German, named Stauf, in 1741. Of course there was no question of gas-making then, and the German, who was more of an alchemist than a chemist, was looking for other things than the coal-oil which he obtained.
The coarse oil which Stauf procured had little in it to his eye, but it contained, nevertheless, many bright and varied colors, delicate perfumes, useful medicines and the sweetest product ever known to man.
From coal-tar is derived benzine and naphtha, and colors—especially purples—which are used in dyeing. From one ton of good cannel coal, distilled in gas retorts, there comes ten thousand cubic feet of gas, twenty-five gallons of ammoniacal liquor, thirty pounds of sulphate of ammonium, thirteen hundred weight of coke and twelve gallons of coal-tar.
From this tar are produced a pound of benzine, a pound of toluene, a pound and a half of phenol, six pounds of naphthalene, a small quantity of a material called xylene and half a pound of anthracene, which is used in dyeing.
From benzine are derived fine shades of yellows, browns, oranges, blues, violets and greens; from the toluene are obtained magentas and rich blues; from phenol, beautiful reds; from naphthalene, reds, yellows and blues; from xylene, brilliant scarlets, and from anthracene, yellows and browns.
Out of one pound weight of cannel coal can be produced dyes sufficient to color the following lengths of flannel, three quarters of a yard wide: Eight inches of magenta, two feet of violet, five feet of yellow, three and a half feet of scarlet, two inches of orange and four inches of Turkey red.
There are immense varieties of these colors, and the best part about them is that no illness comes to the hands employed in mixing or using them, as is the case with some other dyes.
Some years ago, quinine became very dear, but it had no equal as a medicine for certain purposes, and so experiments were made to produce artificial quinine by chemical means. In this way "kairene" and "quinoline" were produced, at about half the price of quinine. But the most important result of the search was the discovery of anti-pyrine, which is extensively used in high fevers.
Coal-tar is about the last substance from which a sweet perfume could be expected, and yet it gives many. All the "extract of new-mown hay" now comes from it. This lovely scent used to be produced, at great expense, from scented grasses. Then there is the scent of vanilla, and the growers of the vanilla bean have lost greatly in consequence. There is also heliotrope perfume prepared from coal-tar, and other extracts for scenting toilet soaps.
But the most remarkable of all the products of coal-tar is saccharine, which was first discovered by Fahlberg, a German, who was conducting experiments in coal-tar under the direction of Professor Remsen, of the Johns Hopkins University, in Baltimore.
This substance is infinitely sweeter than any cane-sugar—more than two hundred times as sweet—so that the smallest drop sweetens more than a tablespoonful of sugar. But it does not nourish like cane or beet sugar, while at the same time it is not injurious, and it preserves fruit perfectly.
Persons suffering from certain diseases, when sugar in any form cannot be taken, can have their diet rendered much more acceptable by the use of saccharine. The taste is very pure, and more quickly communicated to the palate than that of cane-sugar.
It seems wonderful that from a substance which, a generation ago, was used only as wagon grease and for kindling fires, such colors, medicines, perfumes and sweetness should be extracted!
[BE SURE HOW YOU BEGIN.]
BY GEORGE BIRDSEYE.
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"When once begun, The work's half done," So says the proverb old; But even here, You'll see it clear, The truth is but half told; For wisdom says There are two ways, One loses and one wins; You'll find, young friends, That all depends Upon how one begins. If wrong begun, And work half done, So much the worse for you; If right—go on Until you've won The goal you had in view. In life you gaze Upon the ways Of virtue and of sin; Be led by truth, And in your youth Be sure how you begin. |
[ECLIPSES AND HISTORICAL DATES.]
In a total eclipse of the sun the point of the shadow cone, which is constantly projected into space by the moon, touches a narrow strip of the earth's surface, from which region alone the sun is totally obscured.
These total eclipses occur about three times in four years, but a total eclipse for any given region does not occur oftener than once in two hundred years.
It is therefore possible when an eclipse of the sun is described in connection with some remote historical event, and the hour is mentioned, to fix the period of the occurrence exactly.
Historical research is thus aided, and, to facilitate reference, Professor Von Oppolzer, Viennese Astronomer Royal, has, with the aid of ten assistants, fixed the date of 8000 eclipses of the sun and 5200 eclipses of the moon, extending over a period from 1200 B. C. to 2163 A. D., the calculations filling 242 thick folio volumes.
Two applications of these data may be cited. The oldest recorded eclipse, which occurred in China 4000 years ago, is mentioned in the Chinese book "Schuking" as taking place in the early morning, in the last month of harvest, in the fifth year of Emperor Tschung-hang's reign. Other sources show that this reign was undoubtedly in the twenty-second century B. C., and the only eclipse that would apply took place on October 22, 2137 B. C.
It is recorded that Christ suffered in the nineteenth year of Tiberias, in which year the sun was darkened, Bithynia shaken and much of Nicea laid in ruins. One writer mentions that a total eclipse of the sun, lasting from the sixth to the ninth hour, occurred in the reign of Tiberias, during full moon, and another adds that it occurred on the 14th day of the month.
Now, an eclipse of the sun at full moon is impossible. Reference to Oppolzer's work shows that the only total eclipse of the sun in that region, between eight years before our reckoning and 59 A. D., took place Thursday, November 24-29 A. D.
This is not reconcilable with the scriptural account, which places the crucifixion at the Jewish Easter. An eclipse of the moon, however, was visible at Jerusalem on April 3, 33 A. D., so that it is most probable that the ancient historians confused the two events, and that the eclipse of the moon was the phenomenon which signalized the crucifixion.
[THE VOLUNTEER WRITER.]
BY EFFIE ERSKINE.
"To whom are you writing, Amos?" asked his mother, as she gave a loving glance at the wasted form of the crippled boy, bent over his father's desk.
Amos Franklin had never known what it was to be straight or strong like other boys. From infancy his legs had been crooked and his back bent, while pain and disease had shrunken his frame until, at fourteen, he looked no older than nine. But, as if to make amends, his mind was very active and his intelligence far in advance of his years.
"I will soon have finished, mother," he answered, with a smile, "and then I will read it."
His pen scratched away for a few minutes, and then he held up the sheet and read this:
"To the Girl with the Broken Leg:— I hope you will not fret or worry too much over your misfortune, because it will not be many days before you are out again, and in a short time be well and strong as ever. You have many happy days before you, when you can romp and run in the bright sunshine; and you must think of those days and not of the present. I will write to you again, if you say so.
"Your friend,
"AMOS FRANKLIN."
Mrs. Franklin listened to the reading of this letter with an amazed look.
"I don't understand it," she said. "Who is this girl, and where did you hear about the accident?"
"I don't know her name, or who she is," replied Amos, with a quiet laugh. "But I know that in the three or four hundred patients in the big hospital there must be one girl with a broken leg, and they will give it to her, and it will make her feel glad."
Mrs. Franklin looked at Amos with a smile on her face, but without speaking.
"Then I have written," continued the little cripple, "three other letters to boys and girls in the hospital, directing them to what I think they're most likely to be laid up with. And I mean to watch the papers hereafter for the 'casualty cases,' so that I can get their names. That will be so much nicer, won't it?"
Mrs. Franklin came over and stroked his hair affectionately.
"Is this your own idea?" she asked.
"Yes," he answered, brightly. "I got to thinking how lonesome the children must be, even if the nurses are kind; and you know folks can't always visit them. Then I knew no one would think of writing letters, and it would be such a treat for them to know that a strange boy was talking to them."
"My dear son," murmured his mother, fondly.
"Of course," he went on, "I'm not going to tell them that I'm an invalid, because that would make them feel badly. And, then, I'm not in the hospital; I'm home, and that makes all the difference in the world."
"It is an excellent idea," said Mrs. Franklin, cheerfully, but with tears in her eyes.
"Do you think so, really?" he asked, eagerly. "I am so glad, because, do you know, mother, I have been getting so gloomy of late, thinking how useless I am."
"Amos!" she exclaimed, reproachfully.
"Now, mother, I'm not complaining; but I know I am useless. I can never earn my living by any kind of work, and I'm not talented enough to be an artist or designer; but I thought if I could only do something to help somebody, and all of a sudden it flashed upon me that there were boys and girls worse off than I am, and I might make them happy. And you think it will?"
"Decidedly, I do. It is a noble thought, Amos, and I am proud of your idea."
"Then I will write some more," he said, simply.
A week or two passed and Amos had a dozen little correspondents, who each and all wanted to see him; but he gently evaded their requests, and only wrote longer letters.
"They must think I am well and strong," he said.
Then one day there came a handsome carriage to the door, and a gray-haired gentleman called on Amos.
"I want to see my assistant," he said, in a deep, hearty voice. "I am Doctor Parkerson. Where is the boy who has been helping me make my little patients get well?"
It was a proud moment for Amos when the great physician, whose name was world-renowned, took him by the hand and thanked him.
"You are a true philanthropist, my boy," he said, warmly. "Medicine and care are well enough, but kind words and sympathy are great helps. And you are a sufferer, yourself! Perhaps I can do something to make you happy in return."
And I am sure you would like to hear that he kept his word.