1,550,788 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - º - - - - - - - º - - - - - - - - - - - - | OF THE º º - - - - | | - - - i. - º - º | PORTFOLIO OF PHOTOGRAPHS OF OUR COUNTRY AND OUR NEIGHBORS PREPARED UNDER THE SUPERVISION OF THE DISTINGUISHED LECTURER AND TRAVELER JOHN L. STODDARD CONTAINING A RARE AND ELABORATE COLLECTION OF PHOTOGRAPHIc VIEWS OF THE United States, Canada, Mexico, Central and South America PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY T H E W E R NER COMPANY CHICAGO ºn - ºu Hº- Gº-D ） |× ſ dº — (/) º/poºr losºlº 3 haºt - ºcel º/aſ, sº INTRODUCTION 66 LIKE a well-made modern building better than any ruin in the world.” “And / would rather see a ruin, if it possessed historic interest, than the best modern structure ever framed.” The speakers were Americans, walking the deck of an Atlantic steamer. Both were intelligent, outspoken and sincere. Both represented in these words two widely different classes of their fellow countrymen. The first expressed the views of those who are intensely practical and progressive. They are “weary of Kings,” impatient of the Past, disgusted with European conservatism, and so exultant in the building up of new and prosperous communities that they regard it almost sacrilege to waste their time upon the men, events and buildings of antiquity. The second speaker represented those Americans, whose patriotism is no less strong than that of the first mentioned class, but who are nevertheless unable to regard past men, past deeds and ancient edifices as dead and useless limbs upon the tree of Time. They willingly concede that the Old World looks rather towards the Past, while the New World is gazing towards the Future; but they remember that the Past has largely formed the Present, even as the Present is now fashioning Futurity. All are connected by the links of Destiny. “Our deeds still travel with us from afar, And what we have been makes us what we are.” I am by birth and education an American. I yield to none in love and admiration for my native land. I loathe an ape-like imitation of the dress or accent of a foreigner. I take a pride in all our great inventions and material comforts; and when it comes to the selection of a residence, I much prefer a modern house to any mediaeval castle ever built. Yet I acknowledge that I sympathize profoundly with that class of which the second speaker was the type. If I have learned one thing in traveling over this old world of ours, it is that the chief benefits and pleasures in such journeyings come from the proofs of HUMAN THOUGHT recorded there in architecture, art and history. Why does the Rhine appeal to us more strongly than the Amazon, although the European river, contrasted with the South American, is but a tiny brook? It is because the equatorial stream, though vast, is well-nigh mean- ingless; while every echo on the other's shores is eloquent of history. The Amazon is vague, impersonal and uninteresting. The Rhine, on the contrary, has been for ages a boundary of nations, an avenue of progress, and a flood of civilization. Its very bed has been held sacred as the dwelling-place of Gods. Why does the Saint Bernard attract us more than others of its Alpine brethren? Far loftier peaks environ it. Compared to the Hima- layas it is but a pigmy. The secret of its fascination is the fact that Hannibal and Bonaparte have led their legions o'er its icy crest, and that even now, almost completely isolated from the world, heroic monks are living there, risking their lives to rescue travelers from the storm and avalanche. So true is it that human //ought awakens interest where Nature fails, that sometimes purely imaginary creations make otherwise dull localities actually inspiring in their suggestions of the past. What in themselves can be more dingy and prosaic than many places which Dickens has described as the abodes of some of his imaginary characters? And yet we visit them and look at them with pleasure, as if the men and women in his novels had trod the very stones on which we stand. We are held spell-bound by the subtle power of the master's thought. Now it is undeniable that in the past the Old World has been better able than the New to satisfy that craving of the mind which only thoughts and deeds of Man can possibly supply. America is not wanting in magnificent scenery. For that we have no need to look to other lands. “No incense that the Orient burns Is sweeter than our hillside ferns; No tropic splendors can outvie The glories of our sun and sky.” But till comparatively recent times much of that scenery has not been invested with the charm of human //oughſ. Note that I say particularly human Zhought, for if the people of a country have produced no ſ/houghſ, 'tis Nature only that attracts us there. But for the past two hundred years America has been making history, and will of course make more with each decade, imprinting on a hundred spots where noble men have lived, or died, or done heroic deeds, the sacred seal of immortality. There was a time when Concord, Massachusetts, was a little village, almost unknown beyond its county. To-day, as one of the earliest scenes of our great Revolutionary struggle, and as the home of Emerson, Hawthorne and the Alcotts, it ranks among the most instructive towns of our Republic. A hundred years ago, Lake Michigan displayed to the refulgence of the sun and stars no less of surface than it has to-day. But what did that vast area signify to man, when its white waves broke mournfully upon a dreary shore, or when it mirrored in its breast,-unornamented even with a sail- the frail canoes of painted savages? To-day, surrounded by a glittering girdle of fine towns and cities, it lies submissive at the feet of the New World's interior metropolis, and has acquired world-wide fame by clasping in its arms the grandest Exposition of the world's achievements that our race has seen. The glories of “Our Country,” therefore, are not alone its wondrous natura/ features, like Niagara and the Yosemite. It is a positive dishonor to our Fatherland to limit its attractive qualities to these. The ordinary foreigner does precisely that, ignoring both our history and our literature. But purely natural gifts without the elements of Zn/e//ec/ and character are like a well-proportioned body without brains. A thousand sites may be more fair than the historic battle field of Gettysburg, but that which makes us tread that earth with reverential step and bated breath is the remembrance of the valiant dead who sleep beneath its flowery turf, and the inspired words which fell there from the lips of Abraham Lincoln. A hundred streams have more commercial value than the Delaware, yet what an interest its waves acquire, as we reflect upon their wintry passage by the heroic Washington “Words pass as wind, but where great deeds were done A power abides transfused from sire to son.” No glory of America, or of any other land, is half so great as that obtained by mental and by moral grandeur. No duty to American patriots is more sacred than to preserve with love and reverence the sites and structures of our literary and political history. If this be done, the coming generations, even more than we, will have no lack of pilgrimages on these Western shores to places that must ever kindle patriotism and awaken thought. Moreover, since it is a fact that one grand sentiment begets another, one valiant deed inspires a second, and one ennobling achievement serves as a stepping-stone to loftier heights; so in the wondrous possibilities that lie before America the final cumu/a/ºve force of our best human thought is almost inconceivable. We know not in what portion of our mighty continent our future soldiers, orators and statesmen may arise; but ſ/hey wº// come, —worthy successors to the men of whom we are already proud. For now the splendid prophecy of our American poet, Oliver Wendell Holmes, is even surer of fulfillment, than when the land of which he wrote was wilder than it is to-day. Then, in regard to the locality in which our coming star of poesy should rise, he traced these noble lines: “Perchance the blue Atlantic's brink, The broad Ohio's gleam, Or where the panther stoops to drink Of wild Missouri's stream, Where Winter clasps in glittering ice Katahdin's silver chains, Or Georgia's flowery Paradise Unfolds its blushing plains. Be patient! Love hath long been grown, Ambition waxes strong, And Heaven is asking time alone To mould our child of song.” * *- º THE WASHINGTON ELM.–Gaunt, bare and barren, alone with the memories of the past, and holding up its thin arms toward the sky, as if in protest against the storms which have so cruelly riven it, stands the most precious national monument in Massachusetts' academic town. The avenues of Cambridge are lined with thousands of majestic elms which make them seem at certain seasons of the year like long cathedral aisles. But not one can approach in interest and value to the student of American history this old, decrepit monarch of the past. A tablet, almost like a funeral monument, stands before it, unsheltered now as formerly by its protecting foliage. On this we read an inscription which states that here, beneath this elm, in 1775 George Washington assumed the command of the American army. In truth Cambridge abounds in memories of Washington. One of the buildings in the neighboring college yard was used by him for his headquarters. He subsequently occupied the Craigie House, which was for years the home of the poet Longfellow. Equally old but unconnected specially with Washington is Elmwood the recent residence of James Russell Lowell. Here then is one of those immortal sights to which American patriots year by year will wend their steps. 'Tis true the tree itself will soon be gone. For fully 300 years it has withstood the wintry blasts; but the inevitable end is near. Nevertheless the sacred sites will still remain. “Historic town, thou holdest sacred dust, But memory greets with reverential kiss, No spot in all thy circuit sweet as this.” FANEUIL HALL.-In the very heart of old Boston near that perplexing labyrinth called Dock Square and only a little distance from the historic thoroughfare now called State Street, but which in revolutionary days bore the royal title “King Street,” stands that Simple and unpretending as the character of those who reared its walls, it is to Boston what Independence Hall is to Philadelphia. Erected in 1742, it was presented to the city by a public-spirited merchant, Peter Faneuil. A fire partially destroyed it in 1761, but it was soon rebuilt and enlarged tº its present dimensions in the same year that saw Napoleon victorious at Austerlitz. Though intellectual associations cluster around the upper story of this building, like many other famous things and persons “cradle of liberty,” Faneuil Hall. in this world, it is connected with the earth by quite material conditions. The basement is devoted to the body, the upper story to the mind. Beneath the historic hall, the walls of which have echoed to forensic eloquence, there is now a multitude of meat markets. The hall itself has been for years a center for political meetings and public demonstrations. The portraits of great heroes in the history of state and nation look down upon a sea of upturned faces in this Boston forum. George Washington, Samuel Adams, Daniel Webster, Edward Everett, Abraham Lincoln, Henry Wilson, Charles Sumner and the war-governor of Massa- chusetts, John A. Andrew—all these and more are represented here, and every speaker in this memorable place derives an inspiration from their pictured lineaments. CASTLE GARDEN.—New York harbor has few superiors in all the world. The bay of San Francisco, San Diego's marvelous water-rest, the Golden Horn and Bosphorus alone can rival it. The beauties of the Moslem port however, are wonderfully enhanced by the white domes and tapering minarets of Stamboul's glittering mosques. The curving point of old Manhattan Island should have been kept intact—a place of fashion and of beauty. At first a simple fort, a summer garden then ; and from these different epochs in its history we see the origin of that double name of Castle Garden. What scenes, historic, military, fashion- able, have been enacted here ! Seventy years ago when the immortal hero, Lafayette, revisited this land, for whose sweet independence he had risked his all, a grand /ete in his honor was here given. Jackson in '32, Tyler in 43, were here accorded notable receptions. Perhaps the pleasantest memory of the place is that which links it with the sweetest voice the world has ever listened to. Here Jenny Lind, the Nightingale of Sweden, compatriot of Nilsson, first appeared upon these shores. But now how changed the scene The fashion and the wealth of the metropolis have long since left old Battery Park. For forty years this memorable place has been an open door to millions. The poor, oppressed, worthy and unworthy, and the ambitious of all lands and climes have through this portal of the Western world entered to find a home beneath the sheltering folds of Stars and Stripes. ST. PATRICK'S CATHEDRAL AND THE VANDERBILT MANSIONS. —In the lap of old Manhattan’s luxury, looking across an avenue of palaces, stands in its Gothic grandeur, the Cathedral of St. Patrick. In architectural design it is a liberal copy of the thought and forms of the fourteenth century. Rheims and Cologne on the Continent, and the naves of York-minster and West-minster in England suggested, doubtless, what, on a lesser scale, is best wrought in this edifice. At the laying of the corner stone in 1858, it is said one hundred thousand men and women stood as reverential witnesses. The granite walls, the white marble spires, the windows, triumphs of high art, the altars and interior effects, have long since been the pride of the Roman Church in America, and the glory of Fifth Avenue. On the same side as the Cathedral, stand the renowned palatial residences of the Vanderbilts, which are delineated in the picture. Massive, imposing and yet unobtrusive, nor of “the grace fantastical” so often chosen for the abodes of wealth, of dark brown stone, there is little that artistic skill and cultured taste, supported by abundant means, can attain which has been omitted in the stately grace of their proportions. In the immediate neighborhood of the Vanderbilt mansions are many residences of the noted millionaires of the metropolis of the Western world. D. O. Mills, Whitelaw Reid, Wm. P. Draper, Jay Gould, the Harpers, Russell Sage, H. M. Flagler, Wm. Rockefeller and Calvin S. Brice, are all familiar names, famed for their wealth, the estimation of which is at once so fabulous that its power can not be conceived. MICHIGAN AVENUE BOULEVARD, CHICAGO.—What can be said of Chicago that is new P Superlatives have long since been exhausted. To say Chicago has no imperfections, would be foolish flattery; but it possesses some magnificent qualities which make it quite unequaled in the world. Less than a century ago it was a swamp. The first decade beheld it a small military post, abandoned in the horrors of an Indian massacre. In 1831 it was a village of twelve houses. In 1841 it possessed less than 6,000 inhabitants. In 1871 it was reduced to ashes. To-day a grand metropolis, boasting a population of more than a million and a quarter, its name is known around the globe, in every land and clime, as the most characteristic city of our Western continent; symbol of that stupendous energy, undaunted courage and continual activity, which make the United States the birthplace of inventions, the cradle of audacious enterprise, the realization of the hopes and dreams of countless millions in the past. One of the most delightful features of Chicago is its system of Boule- vards, nearly one hundred milesin length, on which no less than twenty-five parks are strung like beads upon a rosary. Macadamized, smooth, shaded with trees, and often bordered with green lawns, these thoroughfares afford delightful driving grounds and are a paradise to lovers of the wheel. Of all these Boulevards the handsomest, as well as the one which comes most closely to the city's heart, is Michigan Avenue. For miles this broad and spacious drive is lined with attractive residence. Hotels, clubs and churches, all built in striking architect- ural designs, adorn its sides at frequent intervals. The sidewalks paved with broad and level flagstones make this well nigh as pleasing to pedestrians as the smooth road itself can be to all the happy occupants of carriages which here succeed each other in a ceaseless flood of animated life. THE GOLDEN GATE (I).-Who that has ever crossed our mighty continent, can possibly forget the moment when he gains his first glimpse of the vast Pacific,+at once a startling revelation of the distance he has come and a suggestion of those Orient lands whose misty shores still seem so fabulously far away? Facing the setting sun with outstretched arms as if to welcome, or if need be to repel, all those who seek an entrance here, two mountain-covered shores stretch outward from this western portal of the United States. It gives the traveler a singular sensation to stand upon this western boundary of our country and realize that the limit of its marvelous geographical expansion has been reached. Whatever grand events may mark our future national history, the stage on which they all must be enacted is now fully known. So many years ago, that it lingers in the memory of our earliest childhood, old Bishop Berkley wrote this noble prophecy: “Westward the course of empire takes its way; The first four acts already passed, A fifth shall end the drama with the day, Time's noblest offspring is the last.” This Occidental gateway is well named, suggesting as it does the shimmer of its dazzling splendor. Two other aureate titles are recalled by it, both equally well deserved, “The Golden Horn,” (that curving arm of the blue Bosphorus), and that enchanting, orange- laden plain behind the Sicilian city of Palermo, which bears the title of “The Golden Shell.” Whether at sunset looking outward through this wondrous portal on an open sea, whose waves seem molten gold, or landward from the ocean when the rising sun comes rushing in to gild these granite walls, few scenes on earth are more inspiring. - THE GOLDEN GATE (II)-A journey of three thousand miles, from ocean ever oceanward, accomplished as rapidly as steam and steel can carry us, through changing scenes of States which rival empires in size, dotted with cities and with glowing fields, through desert wastes and cloud-encompassed mountains, we find ourselves at last in San Francisco. We breakfast at that hostelry, whose fame still rests secure as being the largest in the world, and then drive through the lovely park that bears the name of the great gateway. There, for the first time, our enraptured gaze rests on the glorious Pacific. It is at once the symbol and the fact of majesty. The changeful Oriental seas, the turbulent Atlantic, the awe-inspiring mountains even, are forgotten. Instinctively we stand uncovered in the presence of the mightiest ocean of our planet. No language seems appropriate here, unless it shapes itself in prayer. The awful sense of shoreless space: the rhythm of unmeasured and immeasurable waves: the moaning of the surf upon the sand : all these o'erwhelm us with suggestions of the Infinite. The climax of this scene is reached at sunset. Then, standing on this limit of our native land, we watch the glorious orb of day quench its celestial fires in a boundless sea. The sovereign of our solar system sinks from sight, but what transcendant glories, like a retinue of courtiers, follow in his train We know that it will rise again, but no one can behold unmoved the death of Day. “The night hath a thousand eyes, - The Day but one; Yet the light of the whole world dies With the setting sun.” BROAD STREET, PHILADELPHIA.—“If I could not be a Bostonian,” remarked a Yankee to a Quaker, “I would like to be a Philadelphian.” “If I could not be a Philadelphian,” answered the latter, “I should still wish to be a Philadelphian and nothing else.” When one stands in the splendid thoroughfare called Broad Street, he comprehends the Philadel- phian's pride in his “City of Brotherly Love.” In what is practically the geographical center of the town, at the intersection of Broad and Market streets stands one of the largest and most imposing structures in America, the City Hall. Upon a basement of fine granite, rises a veritable castle of white marble containing 520 rooms and covering an area of four and a half acres. This noble building, with its central tower 537 feet in height, would of itself make any avenue renowned, but this is only one of many architectural glories of Philadelphia's Broad Street. It seems ungracious to merely mention these, but within these limits further One noble edifice of granite, for example, is the Masonic Another, at the corner of A beautiful specimen of the Italian Renaissance is the new Odd Fellows Hall. The Broad Street Railway Station is one of the finest structures of the kind in the world. Space fails here to do justice to the many business buildings on this stately thoroughfare, but mention must at least be made of the elegant Union League Club, the Lafayette and Bellevue Hotels, the Art Club and, above all, the noble Academy of Music, which is one of the finest auditoriums in America. It is of grand proportions, and can seat about three thousand persons, and it gives the writer pleasure to testify here that from a long experience on its stage he believes that its acoustic properties are equal to, if not superior to those of any building in the United States. description of them is impossible. Temple, the cost of which was one and a half million dollars. Broad and Cherry streets, is the Academy of fine Arts, built in Venetian style. SALT LAKE CITY. —What glory and what infamy have here found voice To the enlightened world one of the gravest of all modern problems has struggled for supremacy within the confines of this granite wardened garden of the Occident. I stood once on a mountain top, more than 2,000 feet above this “Valley Beautiful” and looked down on the panorama at my feet, framed in the prodigality of every grace Dame Nature could bestow. Before me, half a hundred miles stretched out in such a glory of fair fields of green and gold, surrounding comfortable homes that nestled in rare flowers of varying hues, and orchards bending 'neath the weight of luscious fruits, that it appeared a veritable paradise. Off some- what to the left the city lay, wrapped in the calm repose that distance gives even to tumultuous action. Outlines of solid blocks of masonry disputed with the rugged mountain view, which the horizon broke into a jagged line; and there in all the majesty of granite glory the great Temple stood, a monument even to that monstrous form of faith, dug from the mouldy debris of the past, when gods were myths and rank desire was throned throughout the world. What sighs, what tears, what anguish of despair, wrung from the thousands forced to pay their tribute to the Church, were echoed from those myriad voiced walls during the forty years required to rear them The limpid streams that ceaseless, day and night, flow from their cañon fountains through the streets of this fair city, and reflect the gleams of noonday suns, soft, midnight moons and morning stars, moan as they sweep on to the river and the oblivious, inland sea where all life ends. BANFF HOTEL-Before the splendid route known as the Canadian Pacific Railroad drew its long lines of glittering steel across the continent from sea to sea, Banff was unknown. To-day it forms the center of a lovely region 4,500 feet above the ocean, reserved by the Canadian Government as a National Park. No traveler crossing North America by this route should fail to halt here and enjoy its charming scenery. A multitude of carriage roads and bridle paths wind up steep mountain sides and through ravines by lakes and Its crystal streams are tenanted by lusty trout, while through The air is marvelously sweet and pure, and rivers green as emeralds. surrounding forests roam the graceful deer. aromatic with the odors of a million pines. Some famous hot springs also give medical value to the place. Here in the midst of all that is uncivilized and wild the railroad Company has built a fine hotel that figures as the central object of this illustration. Well furnished and well managed, and capable of sheltering Soo guests, it forms a most delightful resting place, in one of the more favored spots of the Western wilds. Arriving here one morning white with frost, I found a huge log blazing in the ample fire-place; the air was eager and the morning drive exhiliarating to a rare degree. The reception of that hospitable hearth was a fair welcome not to be forgotten, even among the luxuriant resorts of any land. THE GARDEN OF THE GODS.–Not far from Manitou (that name which in itself is but a musical reminder of the only God), a short excursion brings us to two monuments of sandstone, three hundred feet in height, three-quarters of a mile in circuit, cleft only by a narrow passage-way, through which adventurous pilgrims creep like pigmies. The color of these mighty shafts is of that indescribable and neutral hue, the red of western sandstone, as if the glory of a million sunsets, fading from their rugged walls, had been in part imprisoned there. Passing through these, with reverential step, we enter on a mountain-bordered waste, yet named a Garden—“The Garden of the Gods.” Peculiar, isolated rocks are standing there like sentinels of Time, transformed to stone. Some are imposing, hundreds of feet in height. some hardy dwarfs remind us of the mediaeval jesters in the courts of Kings. mysterious light which falls within this gorge, when the declining sun has sunk behind those castled walls, these wierd, uncanny shapes appear to writhe as if in pain, doomed These look austerely down on smaller forms which from their grotesque likeness to In the evermore to linger in this spot so isolated from the active world. At such a time the appropriate title for this area would seem to be, not a fair Garden of the Gods, but rather the everlasting prison-realm of tortured souls. A Garden of the Gods it sometimes seems when o'er it falls the splendor of the rising sun, but in the waning light we realize that if it ever could be thought of as a Paradise, it must be only as a “Paradise Lost.” SITKA, ALASKA.—To those who are unfamiliar with the subject, it seems almost incredible that our great Northern province called Alaska, reaches around the shoulder of the globe to a point as far to the west of San Francisco as Maine is eastward from the Golden Gate. In other words the western boundary of California is longitudinally just half way between the outmost limits of that portion of our earth protected by the Stars and Stripes. Although the Northern coast of this mysterious country thrusts its icy cliffs into that polar sea which with a fatal fascination has lured so many brave explorers to the jaws of death, its southern coast, though in the same cold latitude which makes some other countries almost unin- habitable, receives the warm breath of that Japanese currrent which in the broad Pacific corresponds to the Gulf Stream of the Atlantic. A little distance inland from this shore one comes to everlasting snow, and frozen rivers hundreds of feet deep, which grind their passage downward to the sea. At Sitka, capital of Alaska, the harbor is comparatively free from ice, and, marvelous to relate, it has a milder climate than Boston, Massachusetts. The temperature rarely falls to zero. The constantly increasing throng of travelers to Alaska, while finding nature the supreme attraction there, are nevertheless rewarded by an inspection of the town itself. Of Russian origin, founded but ninety years ago, there are numerous Muscovite relics which still remain here, such as the mouldering castle on the hill—the Russo-Grecian Church with colored roof and bulbous spire—and the Museum filled with interesting souvenirs. - THE ZUNI INDIANS.—Ages before Columbus landed on San Salvador, a thousand favored spots upon this western continent served as the homes of powerful tribes, whose cities formed the scenes of intrigues and barbaric splendor. But of the men and deeds which moved them there we know comparatively nothing. Their origin is as silent and as trackless as the shroud of sand which folds them in its tawny sepulchre. They are the foundlings of grim history. Their fortress homes were caſion walls, and even in succeeding years, when they felt more secure from the invasions of relentless foes, they built their houses like the cliffs themselves, lofty and perpendicular, tier above tier, and, save for ladders, inaccessible as eagles' nests. Perhaps the oldest of these ancient tribes are the Zuñis. They number 1íttle more than half a thousand now. What they once numbered is a matter of conjecture. They are pathetic relics of those multitudes, which once made all these valleys palpitant with life, but over which oblivion like a tidal wave has swept in its destructive force, leaving some scattered fragments of humanity like wreckage cast upon the sands of time, or peaks arising from a submerged world. Together with their kindred races in New Mexico, they are now called by the general title of Pueblo Indians. Pueblo is however a Spanish word which merely means a village. Accordingly the fact that such a title was bestowed upon them by the Spaniards proves that they were then not a nomadic race but had been settled there for centuries. NIAGARA FALLS.–Niagara is too sublime a subject for minute description. The mighty overflow of Lakes Superior, Huron, Michigan and Erie, here makes a leap of 167 feet—magnificent in volume, dazzling in radiance, stupendous in its breadth and awe-inspiring in its ceaseless roar. Of all word-painting of this scene which man has ever tried, nothing surpasses these appropriate phrases of Charles Dickens: “It was not till I came to 7able Rock and looked–Great Heavens !—on what a fall of bright green water, that it all flashed upon me in its might and majesty. Then when I felt how near to my Creator I was standing, the first impression and the lasting one of this tremendous spectacle was—Peace, calm recol- nº wººt ( - lections of the Dead; great thoughts of an eternal rest and happiness! E’en now in many a quiet hour I think, Still do those waters roar and rush, and leap and tumble all day long | Still are the rainbows spanning them one hundred feet below ! Still, when the sun is on them, do they shine like molten gold; still, when the day is gloomy, do they seem to crumble like a great chalk cliff, or like a mass of dense, white smoke. But ever does the mighty stream appear to die, as it descends, and from its grave rises that ghost of mist and spray, which never has been laid, but which still haunts the place with the same dread solemnity as when the First Flood, Light, came rushing on Creation at the word of God!” - GREAT FALLS, IDAHO.-No phase of natural beauty is more suggestive than a water-fall.” What traveler with a particle of imagination can look unmoved on such a sight as this? Far off upon a mountain crest a blue lake, set like a sapphire amid surrounding glaciers, serves as a cradle for this river. Thence it emerges, timidly at first, to make its way down to the outer world. With each descent it gains fresh strength, and volume also from each little rivulet which joins it in its downward course. At length its power is sufficient to rebel at obstacles. Nature, as if to test the strength of her ambitious child, occasionally rears a barrier before it, or leads it to some dizzy precipice. But there is no recoil. “The die is cast.” Return is now impossible. Hence, with a shout of triumph in its leap for life, the glacier-cradled torrent _ º clears the parapet and casts itself into the yawning chasm with a roar of defiance that can be heard for miles. We almost wish that we could check its course amid this beautiful environment. It will not find a sweeter or safer spot than this retreat among the rocks and pines. Too soon it will be forced to bear great burdens on its breast, turn countless wheels, and minister to thousands on its shores. Then at the last will come old Ocean's cold and passionless embrace in which all individuality will disappear. Still, on and on it hastens, impelled by a resistless force, suggestive of our lives which guided by an unseen Power sweep around to a shoreless sea. PASADENA AND ITS ROSES.—“A Paradise of Roses.” Such is the name all travelers give to Pasadena—called by the Indians “The Valley's Crown.” This is a marvellous place for horticulture in its highest forms. For here it is that bounteous Nature manifests herself in wild extravagance of beauty and of grace to charm the higher senses. In former times it was extremely difficult to visit many of the finer points from which the natural scenery of America could best be viewed. But now not only does the railway take the place of the old trail, the saddle horse and stage coach, but hundreds of palatial hostleries, challenging the “Raymond,” give travelers an opportunity to halt and pleasantly enjoy their wonderful surroundings. There are, of course, some tourists who are pleased to break away from all conventionalities and “rough it.” on a mountain camping ground, but even these, when their brief sojourn near the heart of nature is concluded, are glad to once more feel a comfortable bed, eat daintier food, hear music from a broad veranda and join the charming mazes of the waltz in ballrooms glittering with electric lights. When the bright morning comes, flashing the glory of a southern California sun, there is no sight on mountain side or in the unkept dells, that can be quite compared with the rose-gardens and the many wondrous flowers of Pasadena’s pride. What wonder then that Pasadena has become not merely a “resort” for invalids and pleasure-seekers, but is a city of fine residences, the home of wealthy cultivated people, and a convenient starting-point for charming expeditions through a flowery Paradise. HARVARD COLLEGE YARD, CAMBRIDGE, MASS.—“Fair Harvard, we love thee” is the sentiment not only of her many graduates scattered so widely through our country, but also of the countless thousands who, though they have not studied there, revere her memory and admire the work she has accomplished. It was only six years after the settlement of Boston that the Colonists appropriated four hundred pounds for the establish- ment of this college. Two years later Rev. John Harvard bequeathed twice that amount of money for this institution which still bears his name. The early history of the place is closely connected with that of the nation. In 1769, when British troops occupied Boston, the legislature would not remain in session “while English cannon were pointing at their doors,” and adjourned to the college buildings. In 1775 the soldiers of the American army used these halls of 1earning for their barracks. Among the graduates of Harvard are many of the most illustrious men America has produced. John Adams and his son John Quincy Adams (both Presidents of the United States), Bancroft and Prescott the historians, Edward Everett, Caleb Cushing, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Emerson the philosopher, Charles Sumner, Wendell Phillips, John Lothrop Motley, James Russell Lowell, Edward Everett Hale, these and a host of other almost equally distinguished citizens of the Republic revere this institution as their Alma Mater. The College Yard itself, which figures in this illustration contains no less than twenty-two acres, yet even this is not sufficient for the many buildings of the University. There is a great difference in the architecture of the dormitories here. The older ones are usually severely plain; but some of the more recent structures are palatial in appearance, and were erected at a cost of between one and two hundred thousand dollars, each. Harvard University has now nearly three thousand students and about three hundred instructors. PARK STREET CHURCH, BOSTON.—In one of the most ancient, yet still one of the mostcentral localities in Boston, stands an old-fashioned meet- ing-house surmounted by a tall and tapering spire. It is the famous Park Street Church, erected in 1809 on the coiner of Tremont and Park streets, directly opposite the Common or “Park, ” which gave to it its name. This church was for years regarded as such a stronghold of Orthodoxy that its site was irreverently known as “Brimstone Corner.” Its first pastor was Dr. Edward D. Griffin, afterwards President of Williams Col- lege, and previously Professor of Rhetoric in Andover Theological Semi- nary. Among his successors here were Revs. Edward Beecher, A. L. Stone, W. H. H. Murray and John L. Withrow. Its lofty spire rising far above the surrounding buildings, seems to be holding aerial communica- tion with those other edifices of the past, King's Chapel, built in 1754, º º º - º º and the Old South Church, built in 1729. On the northern side of this old place of worship is the Granary Burying-ground, so-called from the old town granery, which once stood close beside it. Within the solemn shadow cast by this tall spire, lie the remains of many famous citizens of Massachusetts. Nine governors of the Colony and State, the Revolution- ary patriot, Paul Revere, Peter Faneuil, who gave the famous “Faneuil Hall” to Boston, John Hancock, the first signer of the Declaration of In- dependence and Samuel Adams, known as “The Father of the Revolu- tion; ” all these together with the parents of Benjamin Franklin, sleep in that consecrated spot, the surroundings of which are now so wildly differ- ent from the environment of a century ago, save as the venerable church and beautiful old Common still remain. º º º A. nº or on took at on AS THE FIRST ºntº or ºf D S tº of ºucº THE SUB-TREASURY, NEW YORK.—In the very heart of old New York, and echoing to the roar of crowded, busy streets, stands an imposing marble edifice embellished with a Grecian portico. It is the Sub-Treasury of the United States. Within its massive walls is stored more money than anywhere else in our country except in the Treasury vaults at Washington. Steel doors and shutters and thoroughly armed sentinels protect its mass of gold and silver coin, while on the roof there are appliances for mount- ing cannon to defend this treasure from assault. More precious than the wealth which it contains, is the historic memory of this place, which makes it dear to every citizen of our Republic. Upon the site of this majestic building stood once a structure known as Federal Hall. Here Washington was inaugurated first President of the United States. Before this flight of steps there stands a grand bronze statue representing “The Father of His Country” taking the oath of office. That ceremony took place here on the 30th of April, 1789. The oath was administered by the Chancellor of New York upon a balcony in full view of an enormous crowd which filled the street, the windows and even the roofs of the adjoining houses. On that occasion Washington was dressed in a suit of dark brown cloth, white silk stockings and silver shoe-buckles. At his side hung a steel-hilted sword. The oath was read slowly and distinctly, and when it was concluded, Washington said solemnly : “I swear—so help me God!” Then bowing down to a magnificent Bible held before him on a velvet cushion, he reverently kissed it. Waving his hand, the Chancellor exclaimed: “Long live George Washington, President of the United States 1’’ THE LOOP VALLEY. —Like all the railways which unite the Atlantic and Pacific, the Canadian passes through imposing scenery and has been forced to overcome stupendous obstacles of nature. Instance the million-dollar, snow-shed parapets against the avalanche. At times it curves upon itself like a gigantic serpent, wriggling up the mountain side, a triumph of modern engineering skill which here is visible in this Loop Valley, so named from the great loops of steel, round which the locomotive draws its precious load. On one side the first line ascends, then curves and crosses the swift river on a mass of trestle work, then doubling on its track, two hundred feet above, it cuts its silvery furrow round the wooded cliff. Yet, not content even then, it makes one loftier circuit through the black- bearded forest at the right to reach a higher level on its pathway towards the sea. This seems at first a novel mode of conquering gravitation; but after all it is but an application made in steel of the old methods of the road-builders who drew across the Alps and Pyrenees, not straight, unyielding paths, but easy curves, walled in by parapets of stone, macadamized and smoothed, on which, in place of the old mule and pack-horse, luxurious landaus roll along with happy occupants. What positive contributions, therefore, to the happiness of humanity are these magnificent chains which man, the victor, has imposed upon these vanquished cliffs' Without them few would venture here, and all the pageantry of nature would unfold itself through the revolving years without an eye to note its beauty, or voice to tell its glories to the world. MANITOU.—In a land, the sublimity of which inevitably suggests the Infinite, no more appropriate title for a city could be found than this, which in the liquid language of the Indians denotes that Being they but dimly see behind these awful forms of nature, viz: The Great spirit. The city Manitou lies at the threshold of the mountain notch, one huge pilaster of whose gate is that stupendous summit named Pike's Peak. It seems as if the Aborigines whose feet first trod this awe-inspiring pass, could not resist the impulse to adore that power of whom these earthly manifestations were imperfect symbols, and, falling on their faces, uttered there with bated breath, the one word “Manitou.” If it be true, as poets have affirmed, that undevout astronomers are mad, still more must it be said that those are blind who in the glorious environment of Manitou do not look “through Nature up to & Nature's God.” Pike's Peak itself, which figures in another of these illustrations, is only one stupendous feature in its Titanic scenery. Not far away is that grand park, sculptured by Nature's self, which mortals have named “Garden of the Gods.” Around it too are caverns of the winds, echoing cliffs, o'erhanging rocks, glens, gulches, water-falls and weird fantastic forms called “Devil's Punchbowls,” “Gates of Hell’’ and other monstrous names that tax both Indian and Anglo-Saxon to their utmost for their strongest adjectives. The scenery of Colorado served as an inspiration to a gifted daughter of America whose grave is on the side of Cheyenne Mountain. A heap of uncut stones, mute fragments of the rugged mountains she admired, covers the sacred spot in which the authoress of “Ramona” sleeps, Helen Hunt Jackson. OLD CITY GATE, ST. AUGUSTINE.-On the Atlantic coast of Florida, near the southern end of a narrow peninsula, formed by the Mantanzas bay and river on the east, and St. Sebastian river on the west, stands one of the most ancient, interesting and withal picturesque of the cities of North America, St. Augustine. Almost 400 years ago (1512) that Spaniard of a weird romantic history, Ponce de Leon, seeking the fonntain of eternal youth, firstlanded here. Baffled he re-embarked. A full half century later (1564) French Huguenots founded here a colony. In 1565, at the command of the imperial bigot, Philip II., a Spanish general landed to exterminate the Protestant intruders and erected Fort St. Augustine. The Spaniards lost no time; the French were quite destroyed. More than two centuries then elapsed, in which St. Augustine had an experience as checkered as the crossing lines upon the book of Fate. tº t w = RN tº Plundered, (1586) by Sir Francis Drake, again (1665) by Captain Davis, and frequently attacked by hostile tribes of Indians, in 1763 it was yielded to Great Britain, restored but ten years later to old Spain and finally, 1n 1821, was ceded to the United States. Of all the many interesting features of this ancient town, few can compare with what remains of the “Old City Gate.” This once formed part of the great Spanish wall which stretched across the whole peninsula, from shore to shore, and warded off invasion from the north. It is a picturesque ruin ; consisting of two pillars, twenty feet in height, adjoined by fragments of Coquina wall. Upon the inner side are two stone sentry-boxes. Outside, not far away, lies the old Hugue- not graveyard, while in the distance, on the right, Fort Marion presents itself, the one great relic rivaling in interest the City Gate. SHOSHONE FALLS.–Idaho, “Gem of the Mountains,” as its name implies in the Indian tongue, lifts its proud crest where it is loftiest, Io,000 feet above the level of the sea, wild, barren, desolate, a stolid, sombre-visaged Miser, (in whose face Time has cut deep furrows), hiding for centuries its store of gold. Idaho is noted for its swiftly flowing rivers and its crystal lakes. The largest of these is Shoshone or Snake river, a tributary of the Columbia, which rises near the Yellowstone Park and flows southward through immense plains of basalt, winding among abrupt and broken hills and cleaving its way between rock-buttressed mount- ains, through some of the most majestic scenes of the picturesque west. It abounds in foaming rapids and glittering cascades, along its sinuous journey; but its most noted falls are __ the “Shoshone” and the “American "-the former being represented in this view. This ranks with the greatest waterfalls of the Yellowstone and the Yosemite. Its breadth is 950 feet, and from an altitude of 210 feet it plunges into a profound abyss. Above this an inspiring view may be obtained of the surrounding country from the huge cliffs that rise like fortresses and are portrayed a little to the right of the center of this illustration. The great, deep cañon, unquestionably of volcanic origin, through which the maddened waters wildly plunge, possesses a rare fascination and weird interest to the adventurer who braves their threatening shades and treacherous retreats, while its waters yield to him some of the finest and most delicately flavored of the finny tribe. SAN LUIS REY, CALIFORNIA.—When this New World was suddenly revealed to the astonished gaze of Europe, it was not merely the adventurous conqueror who was tempted to these shores. Enthusiastic soldiers of the Cross embarked to bear to the benighted souls beyond the sea the tidings of salvation. Missions were not then what they are to-day. Nothing was known with certainty of the strange tribes on the other side of the globe. There was a heroism in the labors of self-sacrificing priests who came as missionaries to America, which far exceeds the courage of the brutal buccaneer. In southern California, however, the Brothers found a kind of earthly paradise. The leader of the priests who sought to christianize its savage people was Father Junípero. He and his associates labored faithfully for many years in teaching them to plant orchards and vineyards, to make clothing, and to build houses and churches. In connection with Santa Barbara allusion has been made to the prosperity of the missions thus established here. Theirs were the cattle upon a thousand hills. country bloomed like the Garden of the Lord. For more than half a century this pious, Fruits, grain and flowers grew in their cultivated valleys until the entire agricultural life continued without wars or any serious domestic troubles. Among the massive churches, cloisters and enclosures which still remain, as souvenirs of these devoted monks, is this which figures in this illustration,-San Luis Rey, erected in 1798. There is no doubt that these old Californian missions did much good. In 1821 they numbered nearly 19,000 converts. But for political reasons (perhaps because the wealth acquired here was tempting to the Mexican government), these missions were practically broken up. Their guardians (the priests), being removed, the Indians soon lost their lands and sank back to the savage level where the monks had found them. It is a melancholy feature in our country's history. No one has so well described it as Helen Hunt Jackson in “Ramona.” OLD MISSION AT SANTA BARBARA.—The earlier history of California is a record of Catholic Missions, whose work was begun by the Spanish Jesuits. In 1748 a Franciscan priest, one Junipero Serra, commenced his work in Mexico. In 1769 he and some fellow enthusiasts migrated, first to Alta, California, and then to found the missions of San Diego, Monterey and Buena Ventura. From this beginning the great mission work of California grew until, in 1834 the line of missions stretched for 700 miles from San Diego northward to Sonoma. Three quarters of a million cattle, besides horses and other useful animals almost innumerable, grazed on the Mission pastures, while gardens, vineyards and orchards every- where abounded. But now only the crumbling ruins of their ancient churches and their monasteries, with here and there some half starved monks in charge, remain. Such is the sad result of an immense amount of patient labor and of pious zeal expended here, appar- ently, in vain. Of the few remaining relics of those early times one of the most interesting is the Old Mission of Santa Barbara, founded in 1780. It lies on a hill to the north of the town and its still stately tower commands an interesting view of the pleasant city, the grand old ocean, the pretty islands, the graceful coast and the majestic mountains. In the rear, the “Mission Cañon" lies, as if shrinking from the memories of the past, hiding in the shadows of the mountains. The church, still regularly used for religious services, a few old paintings on the whitewashed walls, the refectory and dormitory and the garden—these with half a score of grave, Franciscan monks and the grim history of the past are all that is left of what was once an awe-inspiring power. GRANT'S STATUE, LINCOLN PARK, C ICAGO.—In that magnificent park which bears the name of our revered martyred President, Chicago has erected one of the most im- posing equestrian statues in America. It represents, in a colossal figure cast in bronze, the most illustrious soldier of the North, General Ulysses S. Grant. In 1885 within two hours after the great hero had at last surrendered to that power which soon or late inevitably con- quers all, there had been started in Chicago a popular subscription to his memory. Mr. Potter Palmer headed the list by promising $5,000. Within four days $42,000 was subscribed, $65,000 was soon pledged. In 1891 the monument was unveiled amid impressive cere- monies, in presence of a parade of more than 8,000 military and civic societies, together with an enormous gathering of spectators. Standing before this noble figure, which looks calmly out upon Lake Michigan, we recollect his dying words: “Bury me either at West Point, where I was trained as a youth ; or in Illinois, which gave me my first commission ; or at New York, which sympathized with me in my misfortunes.” It is upon a bluff above the Hudson that the great soldier sleeps; but no such statue rises there as that which forms the glorious ornament to the Lake Shore Drive. With character as simple, unpretending, yet as strong as the grand pedestal of granite where his steed uplifts him to the gaze of all ; with will as resolute and unyielding as the changeless bronze in which the hero's features are immortalized, Grant's fame will live as one of the brightest glories of our nation's history. Chicago has done well to make his monument an object lesson to its citizens, not only now, but for unnumbered years. BIRTHPLACE OF JAMES G. BLAINE, WEST BROWNSVILLE, PA.—The shrines to- ward which the pilgrims of this world wend their way are not of necessity pretentious. Ann Hathaway's cottage, the birthplace of Burns, the tomb of Lincoln, have no outward attrac- tiveness; yet year by year men turn from the beaten paths of travel to pay homage there. A living shrine is more satisfactory than a dead one, a man's house more attractive than his grave. To see the rooms in which he lived and talked, the bed on which he slept, the chair and table where he wrote, the very pen which his living fingers guided, their sights bring the man himself before us and he lives again. If he was one of the great men of the earth, raised far above us ordinary pilgrims who stand beside his cradle and gaze upon his library, then these familiar objects seem to bring him down to our level; he becomes one of us, and we feel a fellowship with him when we realize his daily, lowly life, and see the Thus little West Browns– James G. Blaine belongs to history. His was a career things which were both dear and necessary to him as a mere man. ville may have its pilgrims. fascinating and attractive; his a name conjure with ; his a power which influenced not only thousands but millions of men. He had an eloquence that charmed the intellect and a suavity which won the heart. His career has in it also an element of pathos. Like Webster, he aimed at nothing less than the Presidential chair, and it is perhaps not too much to say, he hazarded all things upon the cast of that one die, yet he failed, even more narrowly than Webster, to reach the goal of his ambition, and stuggling through a few brief years of declining health, he fell at last a giant in harness, still looking toward that throne on which Destiny had written: “It is not for thee.” MARKET STREET, SAN FRANCISCO.-The 1eading thoroughfare of this metropolis of the Pacific coast is Market Street, spacious, well paved and lined with handsome buildings. To make this city what it is to-day a vast amount of labor has been necessary. Steep hills have either been cut down or vanquished by the cable roads which make their summits easily accessible. Uneven mounds of sand, once shifting and impassable, have disappeared. Where large ships floated freely forty years ago, are now paved streets. Like all our cities of the west, the growth of San Francisco has been wonderfully rapid. The first house there was built in 1835. The greatest impetus to its development was the discovery of gold in 1848. Then for some years a constantly increasing flood of human life poured into this alluring Eldorado. To-day it has a population of nearly 300,000 souls. Many attractive sights make an extended sojourn in this city thoroughly enjoyable such as the Cliff House with its glorious view, the Golden Gate Park with its beautiful conservatory, the Laurel Hill Cemetery, hardly equalled in the world, the United States Branch Mint with its wonderful machinery, the Military Posts about the bay, the interesting missions of the old Franciscans, and, valuable as a study of humanity, the loathsome Chinatown, where 20,000 Chinamen live in conditions which to the Anglo-Saxon seem unspeakably disgusting. We have all heard of the “Glorious climate of California.” There is no question that in certain portions of its territory the most extravagant praises of its charms are fully justified. Even at San Francisco itself the mercury rarely rises above 80° or falls below 40°, and yet the sudden changes there, as the fresh wind sweeps inward from the sea, require care and vigilance on the part of those accustomed to an inland residence. UNION LEAGUE CLUB, PHILADELPHIA.—Fronting on Broad Street, with a handsome - façade and with a horseshoe staircase leading to its portal, reminding one of the famous steps in the historic court of Fontainebleau where Napoleon said farewell to his Old Guard, stands the Club House of the Union League. The League itself was patriotic in its origin, as its name implies. Formed in the “times that tried mens' souls” in the early days of the Civil war, it had no rivals in its staunch, unswerving loyalty to the Union cause. Under its inspiration and enthusiasm ten regiments were enlisted, and money was contributed with lavish hand by its devoted members, not only for the grim necessities of armament, but for the publication of literature deemed necessary for the public good. The club House in itself is elegantly furnished with sumptuous parlors, reading-rooms, assembly hall, smoking and billiard rooms, as well as an admirably conducted restaurant. Seated at one of its many windows, and looking out upon the busy street, what scenes recur to one as he recalls the history of this city since its founding by William Penn in 1682 | Here was set up the first Colonial printing press. Here was adopted in 1776 the Declaration of Independence. Here too was framed the Constitution of our great Republic. It was even the seat of the United States Government up to the first year of this century. And here Washington pronounced his “Farewell Address” and retired from the public life which he had so adorned. WISSAHICKON DRIVE, FAIRMOUNT PARK, PHILADELPHIA.— “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.” So sculptured stone and massive walls, however handsome in their architectural designs, grow wearisome at last, suggesting as they do the constant competition of keen- witted trade and the incessant struggle for existence. A city without pleasure parks would finally become the dreariest place on earth. Its toiling thousands would go mad from unrelieved monotony and care. Philadelphia gives to all her citizens a park unrivalled in America for extent and picturesque beauty. It covers an area of no less than 2,800 acres, not level and monotonous, but charmingly diversified with hills, ravines, the broad expanse of the river Schuylkill, and the enchanting scenery of Wissahickon's winding stream. Driving along this lovely promenade which follows all this river's curving lines, you find it difficult to realize that you are in the vicinity of one of the most populous cities on our continent. The views are beautifully varied. Now nothing but the placid stream is visible, walled in by high and richly wooded hills; then suddenly some well-kept avenue of shade leads upward to a wayside inn; perhaps a fountain then disturbs the silence of the scene with the cool murmur of its liquid song; or a stone bridge forms for the river's sheen a graceful frame. This most attractive spot is not reserved for those whose wealth enables them to drive through its romantic scenery. Paths for pedestrians are also found along the slopes of this delightful valley, and Nature can be here adored by even her most humble worshipper, DERBY DAY, WASHINGTON PARK, CHICAGO.—A “rapid.” city like Chicago has of course its votaries of horse-racing. Why not? Inveigh against them as we may, certain pleasures have always been attractive to humanity, and always will be till the end of time. The Greeks delighted in the Olympian games, the Romans in their chariot races. To see a well-contested race between swift, finely managed horses is a legitimate source of happiness to thousands. The use, and not the abuse, of everything is the line of demarkation between virtue and vice, wisdom and folly, good living and gluttony, temperance and drunkenness. “Derby Day” at Chicago is always a notable occasion. Early in the forenoon thousands of pleasure-seekers begin to wend their way to Washington Park by every possible means of conveyance from the plebeian grip-car to the elegant barouche drawn by horses often decorated with gaily colored ribbons. The season is the early summer; the weather usually delightful; the visitors to the race-course in the best of spirits. Elaborate toilets, new hats and bonnets, sunshades of the latest style, these make the representatives of the fair sex as radiant as bouquets of flowers. Not all the people who assemble there by thousands care for the races in themselves. They may not know the names of the horses, and even if they do, they may not care which of them win. They have perhaps as little interest in the sport as many wearers of new “Easter Sunday” bonnets have in the sermon. They go to the Grand Stand or the Club House to see and to be seen. For, after all, the HUMAN race is the most interesting thing on Derby Day. THE LICK OBSERVATORY...—when millionaires use their wealth wisely for the public good, they are a blessing to humanity. The money thus dispensed through useful channels is far more beneficial than the same amount would be if evenly distributed among as many mendicants as there are dollars in the rich man's treasury. Accordingly great wealth brings great responsibilities. One of the many wealthy men, who in America have realized this, was Mr. James Lick, a millionaire of San José, California. His generosity has given not only to his state and Nation, but to the world at large, an object of inestimable value. Upon the summit of Mount Hamilton, more than 4,000 feet in height, there has been built the famous Lick Observatory, from which distinguished students of the midnight skies observe the secrets of the moon and stars. No grander glass has yet been pointed heavenward to It is no less than thirty-six inches in diameter The observatory itself is splendidly equipped with every astronomical appliance worthy of the greatest telescope in existence, and probably no better site on earth could have been chosen for it than this mountain crest. So clear at times is the transparent atmosphere, that the extent of scenery disclosed is marvelous. It fills the thoughtful soul with awe to look through that unrivaled instrument. Space for the moment seems annihilated We are apparently transported from our tiny planet to the confines of our solar system, and gazing thence still further towards Infinity, we watch with bated breath the birth, the progress and the death of worlds ! catch the waves of light that pulsate through the shoreless ocean we call Space. CAPITOL AT WASHINGTON, D. C.—It is a pleasure to visit Washington, a delight to recollect it, a happiness to describe it. Our Federal Capital is something for Americans to be proud of. Its broad and well paved avenues on which a carriage wheel can roll as smoothly and as noiselessly as a billiard ball upon its soft green carpet; its public buildings, massive, dignified and grand; its numerous statues artistic, inspiring and historic; and above all the Capitol itself, one of the most imposing structures in the world; all these make Washington one of the most attractive cities to be found in any land. The dome of the Capitol, like a true “thing of beauty, is a joy forever.” Like a magnificent inverted goblet, it glitters 'neath the sun, and gleams like some grand snow capped mountain 'neath the moon and stars. Upon its crest stands a majestic statue representing Freedom. This dome contains no 1ess than 4,000 tons of iron arranged to move, when exposed to changes in temperature, like the opening and closing of the petals of a flower. Beneath it is the vast Rotunda, 180 feet in height, adorned with fine historical frescoes and reliefs; while to right and left are the imposing Halls of Congress, one of which (the House of Representatives), is the largest legis- lative hall in the world. One can profitably spend many hours in a study of this, the central edifice of our Republic. It is difficult to know which to admire most, the grand exterior with its bronze portals, stately columns and fine statues, or the interior halls, reception rooms and corridors, adorned with famous paintings and the statues of illustrious statesmen. The surroundings of the Capitol are now worthy of the building. On the west side a noble marble terrace 884 feet long has been built, approached by two Majestic staircases which give to this grand edifice a dignity befitting the legislative palace of Our Country. PROVISION MARKET, CHINATOWN, SAN FRANCISCO.-Chinatown is a small sample of China planted on American soil. If any one desires to know what Chinese cities are like let him visit Chinatown in San Francisco and then multiply its smells, filth, opium dens, gambling hells, joss houses and theatres by millions, and he can realize something of what the Celestial Empire itself may be. The writer, having been in China, speaks from experience and personal observation when he affirms that the Chinese are for the most part in their native land even more disgusting than in San Francisco. Notwithstanding all that can be said about their great achievements in remote antiquity, their commercial integrity and ability at present, as well as their acknowledged usefulness as servants and a slaborers, the fact remains that between all the Occidental races and these swarming millions of the East there is a great gulf fixed. Life is reduced among them to its lowest terms. It seems a terrible, material, unimaginative, unaspiring struggle for existence. It is the reduction of humanity to the level of the ant-hill, often to the degradation of a mass of maggots. The provisions offered in a Chinese market in C"...na consist of poultry sold by the piece (so much for a leg or a wing), of rats, mice, dogs, cats, snails, and other objects absolutely loathsome to an Amer- ican. In San Francisco more civilized food is found in the stalls of Chinatown since money is more abundant in this country, and better eatables are obtainable. But anywhere a study of Chinese customs, dwellings, food and personal habits will fill the tourist with a strange depression, which grows into a positive horror, when he reflects that this repulsive race forms fully one-fourth of all the inhabitants of our earth ! WASHINGTON'S HEADQUARTERS, VALLEY FORGE.-The winter of 1777-8 was the darkest period in the history of the Revolution. The American army with its noble com- mander-in-chief, Washington, had winter quarters in this mountainous retreat in Pennsylvania known as Valley Forge. Their sufferings here have commanded the admiration and the pity of mankind. Owing to intrigues and the intermeddling of Congress, the commissariat was in a most deplorable condition, and, without any real necessity for such misery, our troops were sometimes actually deprived of the necessaries of life. When they marched hither to their winter quarters, their route could be traced on the snow by the blood from their bare feet. On the 23d of December Washington informed Congress that he had in camp 2,898 men “unfit for duty, because they are barefoot and otherwise naked ' " For want of blankets, many had to “sit up all night by fires.” Their hospitals were mere log huts, and there was frequently no straw to put between the invalids and the frozen ground. Owing to the lack of horses and oxen, the soldiers often yoked themselves to wagons and dragged into camp such fuel and supplies as they could find in the neighboring country. Yet through the gloom of that cold, dreary winter the character of Washington shone like a fixed star, ºnchanging and unchange- able. His courage, faith and sympathy not only won the love and confidence of his troops, but fiſſed them with a portion of his steadfast patriotism. Accordingly from this Gethsemane of the Revolution the little army came forth stronger and more resolute than ever, reconsecrated by their sufferings to a work which was to end in glorious success. CITY OF MEXICO. —Standing in one of the towers of the old cathedral, one looks out over the City of Mexico and its surrounding plains with astonishment mingled with delight. Directly beneath is the great esplanade known as the Plaza Mayor, surrounded by important buildings, while closing in around this splendid nucleus are miles of streets, shops, churches, palaces and residences, until at last (as if the city were an island of brick and stone in an ocean of verdure), we see encircling it a lovely plain extending out in grace and beauty in all directions. Beyond this, however, is at last a wall of mountains rising on every side, as if to guard this peaceful valley from invasion from the outer world. This wonderful situation, nearly 8, ooo feet above the 1evel of the sea, has been inhabited for centuries. The Aztecs founded here their capital nearly 600 years ago. It was a kind of Venice then, for many of its streets were long canals, fed from the lakes which, six in number, glitter like gems upon the valley's breast. To-day these lakes are actually a source of peril to the city. Terrible inundations have occurred here. For five years (1629–1634), this capital was largly under water, and during most of the time its streets were only passable in boats. Now an immense canal is being built to drain the valley of superfluous water, and this will relieve the city from the danger which has menaced it so long. With proper drainage the climate of Mexico's metropolis should be one of the most healthful in the world. The pure, dry air, the tonic of the atmosphere at such an altitude and in such close proximity to mountains, together with the trifling difference between its summer and its winter temperature, all these make residence in this city, to one who takes a reasonable amount of care in avoiding sudden changes from the sunshine to the shade, both beneficial and delightful. HILL AND CASTLE OF CHAPULTEPEC, CITY OF MEXICO.-Two miles to the west- ward from the City of Mexico, and reached by a magnificent driveway called the Paseo de la Reforma, a hill 200 feet in height rises precipitously from the plain. In the days of the Aztecs it was surrounded by a marsh, and was at first occupied by the founders of the city, before they proceeded to establish their capital further down the valley. On one side of it gushes forth a copious spring which still furnishes the city with water, as it did in the time of Montezuma. Around it is a noble grove of ancient, moss-enveloped cypress trees, which 11ave looked down on all the dynasties which have succeeded one another here for the last 300 years; from Aztec to Austrian, from Montezuma to Maximilian, from Cortez to President Diaz. The hill itself has been a favorite residence for Mexico's rulers. Aztecs and Spaniards lavished money on the palace which surmounted it. Here the unfortunate Maximilian and Carlotta lived for several months of their brief reign. To-day it is the residence of the Presi- dent of the Republic, General Diaz. The view from the terrace of this Castle of Chapultepec is one of the finest that the writer has ever looked upon in any country on our globe. Two miles away is the historic capital; around it is the wonderful Mexican valley cultivated like a garden; while on the outer limits of this beautiful expanse is an encircling parapet of violet colored mountains, two of which (Popocatepetl and Istaccíhuatl), are huge, snow-capped volcanoes, 18,000 and 16,000 feet in height. Upon this hill is also the National Military Academy. The students of this College fought bravely here in 1847 against our American troops, who finally carried it by storm. JACKSON MONUMENT AND FRENCH CATHEDRAL, NEW ORLEANS.–In an attractive area of New Orleans formerly called the Place d' Armes but now named Jackson Square, stand two impressive reminders of the past. One is the spirited bronze statue of General Andrew Jackson, the other is the Cathedral of St. Louis, built just a hundred years ago on the site of the first church in Louisiana. Andrew Jackson, the hero of New Orleans, is one of the most picturesque figures in American history. Space fails, however, to describe this soldier—President of the United States, save in connection with this city. In 1815 a British force of more than 14,000 men made an attack upon New Orleans, but Jackson with only 3,500 Southern riflemen repulsed them with a heavy loss including three generals. This was a much warmer reception than the English had anticipated, and a few days later they deemed it best to sail away. The square thus ornamented with this fine equestrial statue, is a favorite place for promenaders. beautiful trees and plants, while in addition to the cathedral and the courts of justice the At a little distance from its circular railing are curving Mississippi river makes a noble frontispiece. One of the most important events that this historic square has ever witnessed occurred on the 18th day of December 1803. France had possessed for some time this fertile province of Louisiana, and Napoleon had intended to send hither a force of 25,000 troops to garrison his valuable acquisition in the Western world. Unable to do this successfully with England as an enemy, Napoleon sold it to the United States for $12,000,000, and amid much enthusiasm on the above mentioned date American troops entered New Orleans and raised above the old Place d' Armes the Stars and Stripes. º º CHESTNUT STREET, PHILADELPHIA.—The splendid architectural features of Broad Street, Philadelphia, which figure in another illustration and description, would seem to be enough to satisfy the claims of any city to be considered beautiful. But these are only a few specimens of what the Quaker City now possesses. It would be difficult to surpass in all America some sections of her famous retail thoroughfare, Chestnut Street. That portion of it visible in this illustration comprises seven Banks and Trust companies, while the structure partially revealed upon the right is the magnificent Drexel Building, one of the most imposing edifices of the city. Although so tall that it is visible for miles around and is itself an admir- able point for observation, it has a breadth and massiveness which rob its altitude of that unpleasant narrowness so characteristic of some recent buildings known as “sky-scrapers.” The walls of this great edifice, which covers a ground area of 30,000 square feet, are faced with pure white marble. This is a fair example, therefore, of that spotless, almost dazzling, architecture, which makes this city seem so clean and pure. After a sojourn in those cities where soft coal is invariably used, and whose inhabitants exist beneath a pall of soot, which renders them and their environment sallow and gloomy with a melancholy grime, the pure immaculate façades of Philadelphia's new structures, radiant 'neath a smokeless sky, afford the traveler genuine pleasure, and makes his recollections of its streets resemble souvenirs of sunny days. STEAMER LOADING COTTON AT NEW ORLEANS.—with the exception of Liverpool, New Orleans is the greatest cotton market in the world. It receives on the average 2,000,000 bales yearly. It is the center of several large steamship lines, and the loading of cotton on the levee is one of the characteristic sights of the city. The Mississippi river is here still 107 miles from the sea, yet its breadth at New Orleans is half a mile. A multitude of ships and steamers is always visible here, for the exports of Louisiana are not only cotton, but rice, sugar, southern lumber and iron. Sugar is said to support half the population of Louisiana. There are also more than 1,500 rice plantations, employing some 50,000 persons. Cotton is, however, King. It covers more than a third of the cultivated ground, and produces about 550,000 bales annually. One parish raises per acre more cotton than any other region in the world. New Orleans, as the gateway of the great Mississippi valley, has a commercial value, which it would seem impossible to destroy. It fills one with a feeling akin to awe to stand beside this mighty river, and realize what a journey it has made before its waters glide before this southern city. For more than 2.600 miles (or, if reckoned from the source of the Missouri, for more than 4,000 miles) it has rolled southward in a stately and imposing flood, draining a basin nearly one and a half million square miles in area The most important act of President Jefferson's administration was the purchase of Louisiana from France. The reasons for buying it are thus stated by Jefferson: “There is on the globe one single spot the possesor of which is our natural and habitual enemy. It is New Orleans, through which the produce of three-eights of our territory must pass to market.” On signing the treaty of purchase Livingston wrote: “This is the noblest act of our whole lives. The treaty we have just signed will change vast solitudes into flourishing districts. From this day the United States take their place among the powers of the first rank.” CITY HALL PARK, NEW YORK.—It seems impossible that this triangular plot of ground, which now resembles an island surrounded by a tumultuous, roaring flood of human life, was at the time of the Revolution an open field outside the town. Here, as on Boston Common, public meetings used to be held in the open air, and here Alexander Hamilton first addressed his fellow citizens. For years it was, (again like Boston Common), a place of pasturage for cattle. At present, whichever way we look upon this fragment of the past, we see some mighty buildings of the Present, either within the Park itself or in its immediate neighbor- hood. Beyond the City Hall, which figures in this illustration at the left, we behold side by side the offices of some of the most important newspapers in America. Towering far above the others with its gilded dome is the imposing building of the “World.” Beside it is the habitation of the “Sum,” that shines for many, though not for all. Adjoining this rises the palace of the “Tribune” with its tapering clock-tower. In their immediate vicinity also are the offices of most of the other great “Dailies” of New York, the famous “Times Building” appearing as a dark line in this illustration on the right. It is a curious and instructive sight to watch the newsboys and the vans assembled here at early morning and in the afternoon to seize upon the multifold editions as they issue from the press and scatter them to every portion of New York, and thence to every prominent city of our country. These structures then appear like monstrous bakeries or breweries, supplying mental nourishment to hungry thousands. What power for good or ill is represented here ! Gilent, anonymous and resistless, it seems like one of the forces of Nature. º º MONUMENT OF THE FORT DEARBORN MASSACRE, CHICAGO.— The citizens of Chicago take a pride in the marvellous growth of their city, which residents in older localities find it difficult to understand. But it is easily explained. They have themselves formed part of its history. Its growth is their growth. They have not to look back and say “Our Fathers wrought this miracle.” They are themselves the agents and creators of its wonderful development. Sons who inherit a great fortune or an established business do not appreciate them, as their fathers did, who labored patiently to found them both and rear them to an unequivocal success. The rich men of Chicago are continually giving something either to commemorate its past or to beautify its future. Mr. Geo. M. Pullman has erected near his house a monument which shall recall to present and º º to future generations an epoch in Chicago's history. On August 15th, 1812, several officers and their wives, together with seventy regular soldiers and numerous women and children were butchered here by treacherous Fort Dearborn, the earliest settlement on the site of the present city, was built in 1803. It consisted of two block-houses and a parade- ground surrounded by strong palisades. But after the above mentioned massacre this was destroyed and burned. A tablet near Rush Street bridge commemorates the situation of the Fort. This monument represents the massacre. The pedestal is of granite. Bronze tablets on the sides portray the abandonment of the Fort, the fight and final murder of the garrison and settler. The group of life-size statues shows a horrible detail of this atrocious deed. The sculptor is the well-known artist, Carl Rohl-Smith. savages. THE YOSEMITE FALL, CALIFORNIA.—Walled in by well-nigh vertical mountains from 3,000 to 5,000 feet in height, and hidden away for ages from the eye of man, like Nature's casket of most precious jewels, is the now world-renowned Yosemite valley. It contains an area of 36,000 acres, and was granted by Congress to California in 1864 to be forever after held as a State park. It is a place where words are totally inadequate to express the emotions inspired by such sublimity. Among its marvelsisthe Yosemite Fall, which in three mighty bounds descends 2,600 feet. A single one of these is 1,500 feet in height! The valley into which this torrent leaps is rarely more than three-quarters of a mile in breadth, and a river fed from this and other beautiful cascades, flow through this narrow area, which is carpeted with verdure and sweet scented flowers and ornamented with a multitude of handsome trees. Beauty and grandeur here go hand in hand; or rather Beauty—(strong in her very helplessness), lies close to the feet of Grandeur, smiling up into his stern and savage features, as if unconscious of a fear. It adds to the sublimity of nature here to learn the probable origin of this valley. Prof. Whitney holds that its formation was due to some terrific alteration of the face of nature, caused by the sinking of a limited area, forcing these awful cliffs asunder and drawing thus between them an impassible gulf, which in the course of ages has been gradually carpeted with vegetation. Above this rise the grim, divided mountains, forever gazing into each other's scowling faces, yet kept apart by this sweet flower-strewn barrier, as some fair woman intervenes between two rivals thirsting for each other's blood. BOYLSTON AND TREMONT STREETS, BOSTON, Two of the four streets which enclose old Boston Common are called Boylston and Tre- mont. Their point of union at the southeast angle of that historic park is one of the most crowded portions of the city. Bewildering lines of huge electric cars are swinging round this corner from north, south, east and west; and in the winter, when the north wind sweeps across the Com- mon's unprotected area, the wretched individuals who shiver there to take a car, wonder why places of shelter are not provided by a prosper- ous company, or by the city itself. On one side of this square of intersec- tion stands the Masonic Temple, a lofty edifice of granite. Opposite this rises the building of the Young Men's Christian Union with its tall clock tower. Near this is the old public library, whose contents are to be soon The name “Tremont” is popular in Boston. It is applied not only to this street, but to another, known as Tremont Row, as well as to the Tremont House, Tremont Temple, and Tremont Theatre. It is derived from “Trimontaine,” a name first given it by some colonists in 1629, because the site of Boston then consisted of three hills. It was not till the following year that the for- mal order was given “that Trimontaine shall be called Boston.” Only a few years ago both Tremont and Boylston Streets had many private res- idences fronting on the Common, but shops have driven them all away. One part of Tremont Street close by the Masonic Temple is called “Piano Row,” and it is a lesson in musical nomenclature to read the names dis- played on the shop windows there, removed to the magnificent new structure in Copley Square. BULL’S HEAD INDIAN, SQUAW AND DOG IN HARNESS,--In traveling through western Canada and seeing its forms of Indian life, one cannot help asking why we in the United States should have continual trouble with our Indians, while Canada has had with hers no difficulty of importance. The Indian Service of Canada is composed of a trained body of men who remain in it through life, understand the Indian character and become therefore 1