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 2.0
Statistical Mechanics

1 v
Entropy, Order Parameters, and
Complexity

202
James P. Sethna

ress
Laboratory of Atomic and Solid State Physics, Cornell University, Ithaca, NY
14853-2501

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The author provides this version of this manuscript with the primary in-
tention of making the text accessible electronically—through web searches
and for browsing and study on computers. Oxford University Press retains
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ownership of the copyright. Hard-copy printing, in particular, is subject to

the same copyright rules as they would be for a printed book.
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CLARENDON PRESS . OXFORD

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2020
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2.0
 Preface to the second
edition

The second edition of Statistical Mechanics: Entropy, Order Parameters,

and Complexity features over a hundred new exercises, plus refinement
and revision of many exercises from the first edition. The main chapters
are largely unchanged, except for a refactoring of my discussion of the
renormalization group in Chapter 12. Indeed, the chapters are designed
to be the stable kernel of their topics, while the exercises cover the
growing range of fascinating applications and implications of statistical
mechanics.
This book reflects “flipped classroom” innovations, which I have found
to be remarkably effective. I have identified a hundred pre-class ques-
tions and in-class activities, the former designed to elucidate and rein-
force sections of the text, and the latter designed for group collaboration.
These are denoted with the symbols p and a , in an extension of the
difficulty rating 1 – 5 used in the first edition. Human correlations,
Fingerprints, and Crackling noises are some of my favorite activities.
These exercises, plus a selection of less-specialized longer exercises, form
the core of the undergraduate version of my course.
Extensive online material [181] is now available for the exercises.
Mathematica and python notebooks provide hints for almost fifty com-
putational exercises, allowing students to tackle serious new research
topics like Conformal invariance, Subway bench Monte Carlo, and 2D
turbulence and Jupiter’s great red spot, while getting exposed to good
programming practices. Handouts and instructions facilitate activities
such as Pentagonal frustration and Hearing chaos. The answer key for
the exercises now is polished enough that I regret not being able to share
it with any but those teaching the course.
Finally, the strength of the first edition was in advanced exercises,
which explored in depth the subtleties of statistical mechanics and the
broad range of its application to various fields of science. Many sub-
stantive exercises continue this trend, such as Nucleosynthesis and the
arrow of time, Word frequencies and Zipf ’s law, Pandemic, and Kinetic
proofreading in cells.
I again thank the National Science Foundation and Cornell’s physics
department for making possible the lively academic atmosphere at Cor-
nell and my amazing graduate students; both were crucial for the success
of this endeavor. Thanks to the students and readers who stamped out
errors and obscurities. Thanks to my group members and colleagues who

Copyright Oxford University Press 2021 v2.0 --

 vi Preface to the second edition

contributed some of the most creative and insightful exercises presented

here—they are acknowledged in the masterpieces that they crafted.
Thanks to Jaron Kent-Dobias for several years of enthusiasm, insight,
and suggestions. A debt is gratefully due to Matt Bierbaum; many of
the best exercises in this text make use of his wonderfully interactive
Ising [28] and mosh pit [32] simulations.
Enormous thanks are due to my lifelong partner, spouse, and love,
Carol Devine, who tolerates my fascination with solving physics puzzles
and turning them into exercises, because she sees it makes me happy.

James P. Sethna
Ithaca, NY
September 2020

Copyright Oxford University Press 2021 v2.0 --

 Preface

The purview of science grows rapidly with time. It is the responsibility

of each generation to join new insights to old wisdom, and to distill the
key ideas for the next generation. This is my distillation of the last fifty
years of statistical mechanics—a period of grand synthesis and great
expansion.
This text is careful to address the interests and background not only
of physicists, but of sophisticated students and researchers in mathe-
matics, biology, engineering, computer science, and the social sciences.
It therefore does not presume an extensive background in physics, and
(except for Chapter 7) explicitly does not assume that the reader knows
or cares about quantum mechanics. The text treats the intersection of
the interests of all of these groups, while the exercises encompass the
union of interests. Statistical mechanics will be taught in all of these
fields of science in the next generation, whether wholesale or piecemeal
by field. By making statistical mechanics useful and comprehensible to
a variety of fields, we enrich the subject for those with backgrounds in
physics. Indeed, many physicists in their later careers are now taking
excursions into these other disciplines.
To make room for these new concepts and applications, much has
been pruned. Thermodynamics no longer holds its traditional key role
in physics. Like fluid mechanics in the last generation, it remains incred-
ibly useful in certain areas, but researchers in those areas quickly learn it
for themselves. Thermodynamics also has not had significant impact in
subjects far removed from physics and chemistry: nobody finds Maxwell
relations for the stock market, or Clausius–Clapeyron equations appli-
cable to compression algorithms. These and other important topics in
thermodynamics have been incorporated into a few key exercises. Sim-
ilarly, most statistical mechanics texts rest upon examples drawn from
condensed matter physics and physical chemistry—examples which are
then treated more completely in other courses. Even I, a condensed
matter physicist, find the collapse of white dwarfs more fun than the
low-temperature specific heat of metals, and the entropy of card shuf-
fling still more entertaining.
The first half of the text includes standard topics, treated with an
interdisciplinary slant. Extensive exercises develop new applications of
statistical mechanics: random matrix theory, stock-market volatility,
the KAM theorem, Shannon entropy in communications theory, and
Dyson’s speculations about life at the end of the Universe. The second
half of the text incorporates Monte Carlo methods, order parameters,

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 viii Preface

linear response and correlations (including a classical derivation of the

fluctuation-dissipation theorem), and the theory of abrupt and contin-
uous phase transitions (critical droplet theory and the renormalization
group).
This text is aimed for use by upper-level undergraduates and gradu-
ate students. A scientifically sophisticated reader with a familiarity with
partial derivatives and introductory classical mechanics should find this
text accessible, except for Chapter 4 (which demands Hamiltonian me-
chanics), Chapter 7 (quantum mechanics), Section 8.2 (linear algebra),
and Chapter 10 (Fourier methods, introduced in the Appendix). An un-
dergraduate one-semester course might cover Chapters 1–3, 5–7, and 9.
Cornell’s hard-working first-year graduate students covered the entire
text and worked through perhaps half of the exercises in a semester.
I have tried to satisfy all of these audiences through the extensive use
of footnotes: think of them as optional hyperlinks to material that is
more basic, more advanced, or a sidelight to the main presentation. The
exercises are rated by difficulty, from 1 (doable by inspection) to 5 (ad-
vanced); exercises rated 4 (many of them computational laboratories)
should be assigned sparingly. Much of Chapters 1–3, 5, and 6 was de-
veloped in an sophomore honors “waves and thermodynamics” course;
these chapters and the exercises marked 1 and 2 should be accessible
to ambitious students early in their college education. A course designed
to appeal to an interdisciplinary audience might focus on entropy, order
parameters, and critical behavior by covering Chapters 1–3, 5, 6, 8, 9,
and 12. The computational exercises in the text grew out of three differ-
ent semester-long computational laboratory courses. We hope that the
computer exercise hints and instructions on the book website [181] will
facilitate their incorporation into similar courses elsewhere.
The current plan is to make individual chapters available as PDF files
on the Internet. I also plan to make the figures in this text accessible
in a convenient form to those wishing to use them in course or lecture
presentations.
I have spent an entire career learning statistical mechanics from friends
and colleagues. Since this is a textbook and not a manuscript, the
presumption should be that any ideas or concepts expressed are not
mine, but rather have become so central to the field that continued
attribution would be distracting. I have tried to include references to
the literature primarily when it serves my imagined student. In the
age of search engines, an interested reader (or writer of textbooks) can
quickly find the key ideas and articles on any topic, once they know
what it is called. The textbook is now more than ever only a base from
which to launch further learning. My thanks to those who have patiently
explained their ideas and methods over the years—either in person, in
print, or through the Internet.
I must thank explicitly many people who were of tangible assistance
in the writing of this book. I thank the National Science Foundation
and Cornell’s Laboratory of Atomic and Solid State Physics for their
support during the writing of this text. I thank Pamela Davis Kivel-

Copyright Oxford University Press 2021 v2.0 --

 Preface ix

son for the magnificent cover art. I thank Eanna Flanagan, Eric Siggia,
Saul Teukolsky, David Nelson, Paul Ginsparg, Vinay Ambegaokar, Neil
Ashcroft, David Mermin, Mark Newman, Kurt Gottfried, Chris Hen-
ley, Barbara Mink, Tom Rockwell, Csaba Csaki, Peter Lepage, and Bert
Halperin for helpful and insightful conversations. Eric Grannan, Piet
Brouwer, Michelle Wang, Rick James, Eanna Flanagan, Ira Wasser-
man, Dale Fixsen, Rachel Bean, Austin Hedeman, Nick Trefethen, Sarah
Shandera, Al Sievers, Alex Gaeta, Paul Ginsparg, John Guckenheimer,
Dan Stein, and Robert Weiss were of important assistance in develop-
ing various exercises. My approach to explaining the renormalization
group (Chapter 12) was developed in collaboration with Karin Dah-
men, Chris Myers, and Olga Perković. The students in my class have
been instrumental in sharpening the text and debugging the exercises;
Jonathan McCoy, Austin Hedeman, Bret Hanlon, and Kaden Hazzard
in particular deserve thanks. Adam Becker, Surachate (Yor) Limkumn-
erd, Sarah Shandera, Nick Taylor, Quentin Mason, and Stephen Hicks,
in their roles of proofreading, grading, and writing answer keys, were
powerful filters for weeding out infelicities. I thank Joel Shore, Mohit
Randeria, Mark Newman, Stephen Langer, Chris Myers, Dan Rokhsar,
Ben Widom, and Alan Bray for reading portions of the text, providing
invaluable insights, and tightening the presentation. I thank Julie Harris
at Oxford University Press for her close scrutiny and technical assistance
in the final preparation stages of this book. Finally, Chris Myers and I
spent hundreds of hours together developing the many computer exer-
cises distributed through this text; his broad knowledge of science and
computation, his profound taste in computational tools and methods,
and his good humor made this a productive and exciting collaboration.
The errors and awkwardness that persist, and the exciting topics I have
missed, are in spite of the wonderful input from these friends and col-
leagues.
I especially thank Carol Devine, for consultation, insightful comments
and questions, and for tolerating the back of her spouse’s head for per-
haps a thousand hours over the past two years.

James P. Sethna
Ithaca, NY
February, 2006

Copyright Oxford University Press 2021 v2.0 --

Copyright Oxford University Press 2021 v2.0 --
 Contents

Preface to the second edition v

Preface vii

Contents xi

List of figures xxi

1 What is statistical mechanics? 1

Exercises 4
1.1 Quantum dice and coins 5
1.2 Probability distributions 6
1.3 Waiting time paradox 6
1.4 Stirling’s formula 7
1.5 Stirling and asymptotic series 8
1.6 Random matrix theory 9
1.7 Six degrees of separation 10
1.8 Satisfactory map colorings 13
1.9 First to fail: Weibull 14
1.10 Emergence 15
1.11 Emergent vs. fundamental 15
1.12 Self-propelled particles 16
1.13 The birthday problem 17
1.14 Width of the height distribution 18
1.15 Fisher information and Cramér–Rao 19
1.16 Distances in probability space 20

2 Random walks and emergent properties 23

2.1 Random walk examples: universality and scale invariance 23
2.2 The diffusion equation 27
2.3 Currents and external forces 28
2.4 Solving the diffusion equation 30
2.4.1 Fourier 31
2.4.2 Green 31
Exercises 33
2.1 Random walks in grade space 33
2.2 Photon diffusion in the Sun 34
2.3 Molecular motors and random walks 34
2.4 Perfume walk 35

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 xii Contents

2.5 Generating random walks 36

2.6 Fourier and Green 37
2.7 Periodic diffusion 38
2.8 Thermal diffusion 38
2.9 Frying pan 38
2.10 Polymers and random walks 38
2.11 Stocks, volatility, and diversification 39
2.12 Computational finance: pricing derivatives 40
2.13 Building a percolation network 41
2.14 Drifting random walk 43
2.15 Diffusion of nonconserved particles 44
2.16 Density dependent diffusion 44
2.17 Local conservation 44
2.18 Absorbing boundary conditions 44
2.19 Run & tumble 44
2.20 Flocking 45
2.21 Lévy flight 46
2.22 Continuous time walks: Ballistic to diffusive 47
2.23 Random walks and generating functions 48

3 Temperature and equilibrium 49

3.1 The microcanonical ensemble 49
3.2 The microcanonical ideal gas 51
3.2.1 Configuration space 51
3.2.2 Momentum space 53
3.3 What is temperature? 56
3.4 Pressure and chemical potential 59
3.5 Entropy, the ideal gas, and phase-space refinements 63
Exercises 65
3.1 Temperature and energy 66
3.2 Large and very large numbers 66
3.3 Escape velocity 66
3.4 Pressure simulation 67
3.5 Hard sphere gas 67
3.6 Connecting two macroscopic systems 68
3.7 Gas mixture 68
3.8 Microcanonical energy fluctuations 68
3.9 Gauss and Poisson 69
3.10 Triple product relation 70
3.11 Maxwell relations 70
3.12 Solving the pendulum 71
3.13 Weirdness in high dimensions 73
3.14 Pendulum energy shell 73
3.15 Entropy maximum and temperature 74
3.16 Taste, smell, and µ 74
3.17 Undistinguished particles 75
3.18 Ideal gas glass 75
3.19 Random energy model 76

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 Contents xiii

4 Phase-space dynamics and ergodicity 79

4.1 Liouville’s theorem 79
4.2 Ergodicity 81
Exercises 85
4.1 Equilibration 86
4.2 Liouville vs. the damped pendulum 86
4.3 Invariant measures 87
4.4 Jupiter! and the KAM theorem 89
4.5 No Hamiltonian attractors 91
4.6 Perverse initial conditions 91
4.7 Crooks 91
4.8 Jarzynski 93
4.9 2D turbulence and Jupiter’s great red spot 94

5 Entropy 99
5.1 Entropy as irreversibility: engines and the heat death of
the Universe 99
5.2 Entropy as disorder 103
5.2.1 Entropy of mixing: Maxwell’s demon and osmotic
pressure 104
5.2.2 Residual entropy of glasses: the roads not taken 105
5.3 Entropy as ignorance: information and memory 107
5.3.1 Nonequilibrium entropy 108
5.3.2 Information entropy 109
Exercises 112
5.1 Life and the heat death of the Universe 113
5.2 Burning information and Maxwellian demons 113
5.3 Reversible computation 115
5.4 Black hole thermodynamics 116
5.5 Pressure–volume diagram 116
5.6 Carnot refrigerator 117
5.7 Does entropy increase? 117
5.8 The Arnol’d cat map 117
5.9 Chaos, Lyapunov, and entropy increase 119
5.10 Entropy increases: diffusion 120
5.11 Entropy of glasses 120
5.12 Rubber band 121
5.13 How many shuffles? 122
5.14 Information entropy 123
5.15 Shannon entropy 123
5.16 Fractal dimensions 124
5.17 Deriving entropy 126
5.18 Entropy of socks 126
5.19 Aging, entropy, and DNA 127
5.20 Gravity and entropy 127
5.21 Data compression 127
5.22 The Dyson sphere 129
5.23 Entropy of the galaxy 130

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 xiv Contents

5.24 Nucleosynthesis and the arrow of time 130

5.25 Equilibration in phase space 133
5.26 Phase conjugate mirror 134

6 Free energies 139

6.1 The canonical ensemble 140
6.2 Uncoupled systems and canonical ensembles 143
6.3 Grand canonical ensemble 146
6.4 What is thermodynamics? 147
6.5 Mechanics: friction and fluctuations 151
6.6 Chemical equilibrium and reaction rates 152
6.7 Free energy density for the ideal gas 155
Exercises 157
6.1 Exponential atmosphere 158
6.2 Two-state system 159
6.3 Negative temperature 159
6.4 Molecular motors and free energies 160
6.5 Laplace 161
6.6 Lagrange 162
6.7 Legendre 162
6.8 Euler 162
6.9 Gibbs–Duhem 163
6.10 Clausius–Clapeyron 163
6.11 Barrier crossing 164
6.12 Michaelis–Menten and Hill 165
6.13 Pollen and hard squares 166
6.14 Statistical mechanics and statistics 167
6.15 Gas vs. rubber band 168
6.16 Rubber band free energy 169
6.17 Rubber band formalism 169
6.18 Langevin dynamics 169
6.19 Langevin simulation 170
6.20 Gibbs for pistons 171
6.21 Pistons in probability space 171
6.22 FIM for Gibbs 172
6.23 Can we burn information? 172
6.24 Word frequencies: Zipf’s law 173
6.25 Epidemics and zombies 175
6.26 Nucleosynthesis as a chemical reaction 177

7 Quantum statistical mechanics 179

7.1 Mixed states and density matrices 179
7.2 Quantum harmonic oscillator 183
7.3 Bose and Fermi statistics 184
7.4 Noninteracting bosons and fermions 185
7.5 Maxwell–Boltzmann “quantum” statistics 188
7.6 Black-body radiation and Bose condensation 190
7.6.1 Free particles in a box 190

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 Contents xv

7.6.2 Black-body radiation 191

7.6.3 Bose condensation 192
7.7 Metals and the Fermi gas 194
Exercises 195
7.1 Ensembles and quantum statistics 195
7.2 Phonons and photons are bosons 196
7.3 Phase-space units and the zero of entropy 197
7.4 Does entropy increase in quantum systems? 198
7.5 Photon density matrices 198
7.6 Spin density matrix 198
7.7 Light emission and absorption 199
7.8 Einstein’s A and B 200
7.9 Bosons are gregarious: superfluids and lasers 200
7.10 Crystal defects 201
7.11 Phonons on a string 202
7.12 Semiconductors 202
7.13 Bose condensation in a band 203
7.14 Bose condensation: the experiment 203
7.15 The photon-dominated Universe 204
7.16 White dwarfs, neutron stars, and black holes 206
7.17 Eigenstate thermalization 206
7.18 Drawing wavefunctions 206
7.19 Many-fermion wavefunction nodes 207
7.20 Cooling coffee 207
7.21 The greenhouse effect 208
7.22 Light baryon superfluids 208
7.23 Why are atoms classical? 208
7.24 Is sound a quasiparticle? 209
7.25 Quantum measurement and entropy 210
7.26 Entanglement of two spins 212
7.27 Heisenberg entanglement 213

8 Calculation and computation 217

8.1 The Ising model 217
8.1.1 Magnetism 218
8.1.2 Binary alloys 219
8.1.3 Liquids, gases, and the critical point 220
8.1.4 How to solve the Ising model 220
8.2 Markov chains 221
8.3 What is a phase? Perturbation theory 225
Exercises 227
8.1 The Ising model 228
8.2 Ising fluctuations and susceptibilities 228
8.3 Coin flips and Markov 229
8.4 Red and green bacteria 229
8.5 Detailed balance 229
8.6 Metropolis 230
8.7 Implementing Ising 230

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 xvi Contents

8.8 Wolff 231

8.9 Implementing Wolff 232
8.10 Stochastic cells 232
8.11 Repressilator 234
8.12 Entropy increases! Markov chains 236
8.13 Hysteresis and avalanches 237
8.14 Hysteresis algorithms 239
8.15 NP-completeness and kSAT 240
8.16 Ising hard disks 243
8.17 Ising parallel updates 243
8.18 Ising low temperature expansion 243
8.19 2D Ising cluster expansions 244
8.20 Unicycle 244
8.21 Fruit flies and Markov 245
8.22 Metastability and Markov 246
8.23 Kinetic proofreading in cells 248

9 Order parameters, broken symmetry, and topology 253

9.1 Identify the broken symmetry 254
9.2 Define the order parameter 254
9.3 Examine the elementary excitations 258
9.4 Classify the topological defects 260
Exercises 265
9.1 Nematic defects 265
9.2 XY defects 267
9.3 Defects and total divergences 267
9.4 Domain walls in magnets 268
9.5 Landau theory for the Ising model 269
9.6 Symmetries and wave equations 271
9.7 Superfluid order and vortices 273
9.8 Superfluids and ODLRO 274
9.9 Ising order parameter 276
9.10 Nematic order parameter 276
9.11 Pentagonal order parameter 277
9.12 Rigidity of crystals 278
9.13 Chiral wave equation 279
9.14 Sound and Goldstone’s theorem 280
9.15 Superfluid second sound 281
9.16 Can’t lasso a basketball 281
9.17 Fingerprints 282
9.18 Defects in crystals 284
9.19 Defect entanglement 285
9.20 Number and phase in superfluids 285

10 Correlations, response, and dissipation 287

10.1 Correlation functions: motivation 287
10.2 Experimental probes of correlations 289
10.3 Equal-time correlations in the ideal gas 290

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 Contents xvii

10.4 Onsager’s regression hypothesis and time correlations 292

10.5 Susceptibility and linear response 294
10.6 Dissipation and the imaginary part 295
10.7 Static susceptibility 296
10.8 The fluctuation-dissipation theorem 299
10.9 Causality and Kramers–Krönig 301
Exercises 303
10.1 Cosmic microwave background radiation 303
10.2 Pair distributions and molecular dynamics 305
10.3 Damped oscillator 307
10.4 Spin 308
10.5 Telegraph noise in nanojunctions 308
10.6 Fluctuation-dissipation: Ising 309
10.7 Noise and Langevin equations 310
10.8 Magnet dynamics 311
10.9 Quasiparticle poles and Goldstone’s theorem 312
10.10 Human correlations 313
10.11 Subway bench Monte Carlo 313
10.12 Liquid free energy 315
10.13 Onsager regression hypothesis 315
10.14 Liquid dynamics 316
10.15 Harmonic susceptibility, dissipation 316
10.16 Harmonic fluctuation-dissipation 317
10.17 Susceptibilities and correlations 317
10.18 Harmonic Kramers–Krönig 318
10.19 Critical point response 318

11 Abrupt phase transitions 321

11.1 Stable and metastable phases 321
11.2 Maxwell construction 323
11.3 Nucleation: critical droplet theory 324
11.4 Morphology of abrupt transitions 326
11.4.1 Coarsening 326
11.4.2 Martensites 330
11.4.3 Dendritic growth 330
Exercises 331
11.1 Maxwell and van der Waals 332
11.2 The van der Waals critical point 332
11.3 Interfaces and van der Waals 333
11.4 Nucleation in the Ising model 333
11.5 Nucleation of dislocation pairs 334
11.6 Coarsening in the Ising model 335
11.7 Origami microstructure 336
11.8 Minimizing sequences and microstructure 338
11.9 Snowflakes and linear stability 339
11.10 Gibbs free energy barrier 341
11.11 Unstable to what? 342
11.12 Nucleation in 2D 342

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 xviii Contents

11.13 Linear stability of a growing interface 342

11.14 Nucleation of cracks 343
11.15 Elastic theory does not converge 344
11.16 Mosh pits 346

12 Continuous phase transitions 349

12.1 Universality 351
12.2 Scale invariance 358
12.3 Examples of critical points 363
12.3.1 Equilibrium criticality: energy versus entropy 364
12.3.2 Quantum criticality: zero-point fluctuations ver-
sus energy 364
12.3.3 Dynamical systems and the onset of chaos 365
12.3.4 Glassy systems: random but frozen 366
12.3.5 Perspectives 367
Exercises 368
12.1 Ising self-similarity 368
12.2 Scaling and corrections to scaling 368
12.3 Scaling and coarsening 369
12.4 Bifurcation theory 369
12.5 Mean-field theory 370
12.6 The onset of lasing 371
12.7 Renormalization-group trajectories 372
12.8 Superconductivity and the renormalization group 373
12.9 Period doubling and the RG 375
12.10 RG and the central limit theorem: short 378
12.11 RG and the central limit theorem: long 378
12.12 Percolation and universality 381
12.13 Hysteresis and avalanches: scaling 383
12.14 Crackling noises 384
12.15 Hearing chaos 385
12.16 Period doubling and the onset of chaos 386
12.17 The Gutenberg–Richter law 386
12.18 Random walks and universal exponents 386
12.19 Diffusion equation and universal scaling functions 387
12.20 Hysteresis and Barkhausen noise 388
12.21 Earthquakes and wires 388
12.22 Activated rates and the saddle-node transition 389
12.23 Biggest of bunch: Gumbel 391
12.24 Extreme values: Gumbel, Weibull, and Fréchet 392
12.25 Critical correlations 393
12.26 Ising mean field derivation 394
12.27 Mean-field bound for free energy 394
12.28 Avalanche size distribution 395
12.29 The onset of chaos: lowest order RG 396
12.30 The onset of chaos: full RG 397
12.31 Singular corrections to scaling 398
12.32 Conformal invariance 399

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 Contents xix

12.33 Pandemic 402

Fourier methods 405

A.1 Fourier conventions 405
A.2 Derivatives, convolutions, and correlations 408
A.3 Fourier methods and function space 409
A.4 Fourier and translational symmetry 411
Exercises 413
A.1 Sound wave 413
A.2 Fourier cosines 413
A.3 Double sinusoid 413
A.4 Fourier Gaussians 414
A.5 Uncertainty 415
A.6 Fourier relationships 415
A.7 Aliasing and windowing 415
A.8 White noise 416
A.9 Fourier matching 417
A.10 Gibbs phenomenon 417

References 419

Index 433

EndPapers 465

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Copyright Oxford University Press 2021 v2.0 --
 List of figures

1.1 Random walks 2

1.2 Ising model at the critical point 3
1.3 The onset of chaos 4
x *(µ)

µ1

µ2
µ

3 4 5 6

Roll #2
1.4 Quantum dice 5 2

1
3

2
1 2
4

3
3
5

1.5 Network 10
Roll #1

1.6 Small world network 11

1.7 Betweenness 12
B A
1.8 Graph coloring 13 B/44($8;&

6#/-(5+,-./0-&
@(89&?5;&

!#12+5"$%#5."+-&
*+/5A0($8& 7/8$2.-&
A

D C
B
D
C

1.9 Emergent 15
$"(-2& C9/-2&
.+/$-(D"$-&
?"1"0"8(5/0&
!24(5"$%#5."+-&
19/-2-&

4*2-1.+
<"-2=>($-.2($&
5"$%2$-/.2& /(.01-23$.+
!#12+3#(%-&

:0/--2-;& *924(-.+,& '()#(%&

!"#$%& *+,-./0-& 34/#*0$12+
,-.*.+
5'60'&.+
!/$'()+.#*0$12+
!"#$%&'()*$+ 345*-0'67$

1.10 Fundamental 15
/01-2+0$
89:'*4$ ,-.+
6;<<')*;7$ 8)-0>-*>$ "=)*-$
<+>'&7$ >?<'06?+067$

"&'()*+,'-.$
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!%#$
./"#$-%
*+,,-%
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0123"'(#%

!"#$%&'()*$+

2.1 Drunkard’s walk 25

2.2 Random walk: scale invariance 26
S&P 500 index / avg. return
S&P
2 Random

2.3 S&P 500, normalized 27 1.5

1985 1990 1995 2000 2005

2.4 Continuum limit for random walks 28

Year

ρ
a
x

2.5 Conserved current 29 J(x) ρ(x ) ∆x J(x + ∆x)

2.6 Many random walks 32 ATP ADP, P

2.7 Motor protein 34 fext Motor

V

Free energy
2.8 Effective potential for moving along DNA 35 Focused
δ
V

∆x

laser

2.9 Laser tweezer experiment 35

Distance x

Bead
RNA
DNA
fext

2.10 Emergent rotational symmetry 36 0.4

ρ(x, t = 0) - ρ0

2.11 Initial profile of density 37 -0.4

0

0 5 10 15 20

2.12 Bond percolation network 42

Position x

2.13 Site percolation network 43

2.14 Lévy flight 47

3.1 Energy shell 50 E

E + δE P
R’

3.2 The energy surface 54

E
E +δ E
p R
1

∆E

3.3 Two subsystems 59

S (E , V , N ) S (E ,V , N )
1 1 1 1 2 2 2 2

∆V

∆N

3.4 The surface of state 60 r

3.5 Hard sphere gas 67

3.6 Excluded area around a hard disk 67 p

3.7 Pendulum energy shells 73 θ

3.8 Glass vs. Crystal 76 (a) (b)

4.1 Conserved currents in 3D 80 t

4.2 Incompressible flow 81

4.3 KAM tori and nonergodic motion 82 p
ρ(t)

4.4 Total derivatives 86

=0)
ρ(t

−π 0 x

Copyright Oxford University Press 2021 v2.0 --

 xxii List of figures

0.2 0.4 0.6 0.8

4.5 Invariant density 88
x

µ
4.6 Bifurcation diagram in the chaotic region 88
4.7 The Earth’s trajectory 89
4.8 Torus 90
Σ
C
4.9 The Poincaré section 90
Ω (E+W)

Ω (E)
4.10 Crooks fluctuation theorem: evolution in time 92
U
−1
Σ
D

4.11 Crooks fluctuation theorem: evolution backward in time 92

p0
mV x0 =∆L(
No
Collis
ion
0
V p/m

x ∆ L = L−L’ L
4.12 One particle in a piston 93
1−p

4.13 Collision phase diagram 94

0 /(m
V)) x0
∆L 2∆ L
Comp x0 =∆L(−
−mV 2p /(m
ressio 0 V))
n Expa
nsion

4.14 Jupiter’s Red Spot 94

4.15 Circles 96
T1

5.1 Perpetual motion and Carnot’s cycle 100

Q 2+W ∆ Q 2+W +∆
Carnot power ∆ impossible
refrigerator plant engine
Q2 W Q2
T1 T2

Q2

T2
P

P
a
Heat In Q1
5.2 Prototype heat engine 100
5.3 Carnot cycle P –V diagram 101
Pressure P

PV = N kBT1
Compress
b
d Expand
PV = N kBT2
V V c
Heat Out Q2

5.4 Unmixed atoms 104

Volume V

2V

5.5 Mixed atoms 104

5.6 Ion pump as Maxwell’s demon 105
5.7 Double-well potential 106
Vi

δi
T 1g
T 2g qi
T g3
T 4g
T g5
T 6g
0.4

f(λa+(1-λ)b)
5.8 Roads not taken by the glass 107
T 7g 0.3

5.9 Entropy is concave 110

f(a)
-x log(x)

0.2

λ f(a) + (1-λ) f(b) f(b)

0.1
0 0 0 0
0 0
0 0
0
0 0
0 0 0.2 0.4 0.6 0.8 1

5.10 Information-burning engine 114

0 x
0
0

0 0 1 0 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 1 0 0
5.11 Minimalist digital memory tape 114
5.12 Expanding piston 114
A
5.13 Pistons changing a zero to a one 114
B
XOR A B = (different?)

4P0 Th
5.14 Exclusive-or gate 115
5.15 P –V diagram 117
P a c Is
ot herm

P0
1 Tc b
p
V0 4V 0

5.16 Arnol’d cat map 118

0 1
V
x

p p

0 1
h
x

1.2

1
Cooling
Heating
−h
0

5.17 Evolution of an initially concentrated phase-space density 118

5.18 Glass transition specific heat 121
cp/ molecule

0 x

0.4
100 200 300

5.19 Rubber band 121

Temperature ( C)

d
Ak
1/2 1/2 1/6 L
1/3

1/3

1/4
1/3

1/3

1/4

c
1/3

1/3

1/4 1/4
1/4

1/4

1/3

q
B
5.20 Rational probabilities and conditional entropy 126
5.21 Three snapshots 128
k

(a) (b) (c)

5.22 The Universe as a piston 130

Expansion

5.23 PV diagram for the universe 131

High
Eq

Big
ui

Fusion
lib

Cru
P Bottleneck
riu

nch
m
"F
Ou

e"

Un
ive
r "H

rse
Un
"

ive Fusion
rse
Low

5.24 Nonequilibrium state in phase space 133

−27 3 V per baryon 3
10 m 1m

(a) (b)

5.25 Equilibrating the nonequilibrium state 133

Phase Conjugate Mirror
ed
ver

(a) (b)
Sil

5.26 Phase conjugate mirror 135

M alf
r
irro
H

Cloud
Mirror

5.27 Corner mirror 135

θ1 θ2 θ1
Corner

θ3
x Cloud

5.28 Corner reflector 136

z
L

6.1 The canonical ensemble 140

Bath

6.2 Uncoupled systems attached to a common heat bath 143

L R
∆E ∆E

L R
Ei Ej
∆E

∆E
System

Φ1( T1,V1, µ1)

∆N
Bath

T, µ
6.3 The grand canonical ensemble 146
System

G1(T1 ,P1 ,N1)

∆V
Bath

T, P
6.4 The Gibbs ensemble 150
h
h*
m
K(h − h0)

6.5 A mass on a spring 151

mg h* h 0

6.6 Ammonia collision 152

6.7 Barrier-crossing potential 154
Energy

x0 xB

Position x

Copyright Oxford University Press 2021 v2.0 --

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Exploring the Variety of Random
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Elizabeth walked across the large room to the door. Then she paused a moment, and
turning abruptly, she flew back to her aunt's side.
"Aunt Caroline, you said my father could not bear the sight of me when I was a baby.
Perhaps I was not a nice baby; some are not—the Brady baby, for instance. Don't you
think—don't you really think, Aunt Caroline, that if my father were to meet me now he
might like me just a teeny-weeny bit? Is there nothing nice about me, Aunt Caroline? Val,
my own brother, likes me. The Brady girls used to like me, only they don't seem to now. I
never know whether you and Aunt Rebecca do or not, but I hope you do. But don't you
think, Aunt Caroline, dear Aunt Caroline, that if my father ever does come home he might
grow to like me a little?"
Her aunt looked at her. Then she stooped and kissed her. "Yes, my dear. Yes, I think he
might."
"Then I am going to hope more than ever for him to come. Yes, I am going to pray for it.
Every night and morning of my life I am going to ask God to send my father home to me,
and I really think, Aunt Caroline, that some day he will come."
And then she went up to her room and cried for an hour.
Valentine returned to Virginia in a few days. He felt sorry for Elizabeth, forced to remain
forever in the stiff old house with those stiff old aunts, as he designated them.
"And she is not half bad," he said to himself, as he was being whirled rapidly homeward
in the train; "she is really a good sort, though she does get herself into such mighty
scrapes. She is a plucky one, though. You don't catch her shirking any of the blame. Well,
neither would I with anybody but that dragon of an Aunt Caroline. Elizabeth is more used
to her, I suppose."
And then he gave himself up to thoughts of the coming football match, for which he
would get home just in time.
With Elizabeth life went on about as usual. She missed Valentine sadly, and she felt
almost jealous of her cousin Marjorie, who would always have the pleasure of his society.
Miss Rice was engaged to stay all day now. It was shown to the child plainly enough that
she was not to be trusted. She resented this, although she knew there was reason for it.
She did hate to be watched, she said to herself.
For months the child brooded over her lonely existence, and the strange fate of having a
father who did not wish to see her, and a brother who did not live with her, and who, she
was quite sure, preferred his cousin to his sister.
Day after day when the postman rang the door-bell she looked for an answer to her
letter, and day after day she was disappointed, until she grew thin and pale, and her
aunts at length became alive to the fact that she was not well. Thoroughly alarmed, they
sent for the family physician.
He knew something of the state of affairs in Fourth Street, and of the unnatural life which
the little girl had thus far lived, and he determined to seize this opportunity for improving
matters.
"The child should live in the country," he said, when Elizabeth had been sent from the
room.
"Just what I thought," said Miss Herrick, in a relieved tone. "She will go out to our place
next week. It is nearly April, so it will not be unbearable."
"But that won't do. Does she have any playmates there?"
"No, not many."
"I thought not. And does her governess go too?"
"Certainly. We could not get along without Miss Rice. My sister and I are away so much."
"Precisely. And now, my dear Miss Herrick, I am going to speak plainly to you. Unless you
send that child away she will die before your very eyes. She should be in some happy
home where she would have companions of her own age. Boarding-school would be
better than nothing. Send her to boarding-school."
"My dear doctor! My niece at a boarding-school? Never!"
"Why not? There are plenty of good schools where she would be happy and well cared
for. Then she must go somewhere else. Send her to her mother's relatives in the South.
They live in the country, don't they? Let her grow up with Valentine. The brother and
sister had much better be together."
"It is out of the question, doctor. I do not want to give up my niece, and I cannot consent
to her being brought up in that large family of boys and girls. She would grow very rough
among them."
"The rougher the better, say I," said the doctor, rising to go, "and I tell you plainly, Miss
Herrick, unless you do something of that sort there is no saving the child. Drugs won't
keep her alive. She needs no medicine, but a natural, free child's life, and the sooner you
send her to get it the better. She behaves precisely as if she had something on her mind.
What is it?"
"I don't know, I am sure," cried Miss Herrick, who was deeply alarmed. "I can't imagine
what it is, unless it is about her father. Miss Rice says she talks in her sleep about his not
coming home to her."
"And he ought to come home to her," said the doctor, who had been a friend of Edward
Herrick's when they were boys. "What right has a man to shirk his responsibilities in this
way?"
"Poor Edward!" began Miss Herrick.
"Fudge and fiddlesticks for 'poor Edward'!" exclaimed the doctor, walking about the room.
"You have much more reason to say 'poor Elizabeth.' But I had better take myself off
before I say anything to be sorry for. Good-morning."
And the front door slammed before Miss Herrick had recovered from her astonishment at
his last speech.
She repeated his opinion of Elizabeth to her sister, and then she wrote, though much
against her will, to Mrs. Redmond. She could not understand why the life with her
father's sisters should not be the best thing in the world for Elizabeth, but apparently it
was not.
Several letters passed between Miss Herrick and Mrs. Redmond before matters were
finally arranged, and until they were Elizabeth was told nothing. When everything was
settled, even to the day and the train by which she was to go, Miss Herrick announced to
her that she was to pay a visit of indefinite length to her aunt in Virginia.
"Oh, I don't want to!" exclaimed Elizabeth.
"That makes no difference," returned her aunt. "You must."
"But I won't!" cried the child, stamping her foot. "You have no right to send me away
from home."
"Be quiet, Elizabeth! Your temper is becoming quite ungovernable. I hope your aunt
Helen will be able to control you."
"She will never have a chance, Aunt Caroline. Rather than go there I will run away from
here—I will!"
"Nonsense!" said Miss Herrick, and thought no more of the threat.
Elizabeth left the room, pondering deeply. It would be quite impossible for her to go
among strangers, and so far away. Her father might come home any day. She must be at
home herself to receive him.
And besides, she could not possibly go to live at her aunt Helen's house, where there
were so many boys and girls, among them the incomparable Marjorie of whom Val had
spoken so much. Elizabeth remembered all about her, although several months had
elapsed since his visit. Her lonely life with its burden of grief and disappointment in
regard to her father had told upon her even more than the doctor suspected. She
dreaded going among people whom she did not know, and at this distance Valentine also
seemed a stranger.
Anything would be preferable to going to Virginia, even life at the Bradys', her only
friends.
And this suggested something to her. She would disappear from her home and take
refuge with the Brady family. She had read in the newspaper of people disappearing from
their homes, therefore it would be quite possible. Life at the Bradys' would not be
altogether desirable, but anything was better than being sent away off to Virginia to live
with Marjorie.
And if she were at the Bradys' she would be near enough to hear of her father's return, if
he ever came. She would ask them to say nothing about her being there, and she would
be careful not to go near the back of the house, so there would be no chance of her
being discovered, for her aunts would never think of looking for her there.
Her mind was fully made up. She would take refuge with the Brady family.

[to be continued.]
 A VIRGINIA CAVALIER.
BY MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL.

CHAPTER XV.
George's second summer's work was less like a pleasure expedition than his first had
been. He spent only a few days at Greenway Court, and then started off, not with a boy
companion and old Lance, but with two hardy mountaineers, Gist and Davidson. Gist was
a tall, rawboned fellow, perfectly taciturn, but of an amazing physical strength and of
hardy courage. Davidson was small but alert, and, in contradistinction to Gist's taciturnity,
was an inveterate talker. He had spent many years among the Indians, and, besides
knowing them thoroughly, he was master of most of their dialects. Lord Fairfax had these
two men in his eye for months as the best companions for George. He was to penetrate
much farther into the wilderness, and to come in frequent contact with the Indians, and
Lord Fairfax wished and meant that he should be well equipped for it. Billy of course
went with him, and Rattler went with Billy, for it had now got to be an accepted thing
that Billy would not be separated from his master. A strange instance of Billy's
determination in this respect showed itself as soon as the second expedition was
arranged. Both George and Lord Fairfax doubted the wisdom of taking the black boy
along. When Billy heard of this, he said to George, quite calmly,
"Ef you leave me 'hine you, Marse George, you ain' fin' no Billy when you gits back."
"How is that?" asked George.
"'Kase I gwi' starve myself. I ain' gwi' teck nuttin' to eat, nor a drap o' water—I jes gwi'
starve twell I die."
George laughed at this, knowing Billy to be an unconscionable eater ordinarily, and did
not for a moment take him in earnest. Billy, however, for some reason understood that he
was to be left at Greenway Court. George noticed, two or three days afterwards, that the
boy seemed ill, and so weak he could hardly move. He asked about it, and Billy's reply
was very prompt.
"I 'ain' eat nuttin' sence I knowed you warn' gwi' teck me wid you, Marse George."
"But," said George, in amazement, "I never said so."
"Is you gwi' teck mo?" persisted Billy.
"I don't know," replied George, puzzled by the boy. "But is it possible you have not eaten
anything since the day you asked me about it?"
"Naw, suh," said Billy, coolly. "An' I ain' gwi' eat twell you say I kin go wid you. I done
th'ow my vittles to de horgs ev'ry day sence den—an' I gwi' keep it up, ef you doan' lem
me go."
George was thunderstruck. Here was a case for discipline, and he was a natural
disciplinarian. But where Billy was concerned George had a very weak spot, and he had
an uncomfortable feeling that the simple, ignorant, devoted fellow might actually do as
he threatened. Therefore he promised, in a very little while, that Billy should not be
separated from him—at which Billy got up strength enough to cut the pigeon-wing, and
then made a bee-line for the kitchen. George followed him, and nearly had to knock him
down to keep him from eating himself ill. Lord Fairfax could not refrain from laughing
when George, gravely, and with much ingenuity in putting the best face on Billy's
conduct, told of it, and George felt rather hurt at the Earl's laughing; he did not like to be
laughed at, and people always laughed at him about Billy, which vexed him exceedingly.
On this summer's journey he first became really familiar with the Indians over the
mountains. He came across his old acquaintance Black Bear, who showed a most un-
Indian-like gratitude. He joined the camp, rather to the alarm of Gist and Davidson, who,
as Davidson said, might wake up any morning and find themselves scalped. George,
however, permitted Black Bear to remain, and the Indian's subsequent conduct showed
the wisdom of this. He told that his father, Tanacharison, the powerful chief, was now
inclined to the English, and claimed the credit of converting him. He promised George he
would be safe whenever he was anywhere within the influence of Tanacharison.
George devoted his leisure to the study of the Indian dialects, and from Black Bear
himself he learned much of the ways and manners and prejudices of the Indians. He
spent months in arduous work, and when, on the 1st of October, he returned to
Greenway, he had proved himself to be the most capable surveyor Lord Fairfax had ever
had.
The Earl, in planning for the next year's work, asked George one day, "But why, my dear
George, do you lead this laborious life, when you are the heir of a magnificent property?"
George's face flushed a little.
"One does not relish very much, sir, the idea of coming into property by the death of a
person one loves very much, as I love my brother Laurence. And I would rather order my
life as if there were no such thing in the world as inheriting Mount Vernon. As it is, I have
every privilege there that any one could possibly have, and I hope my brother will live as
long as I do to enjoy it."
"That is the natural way that a high-minded young man would regard it; and if your
brother had not been sure of your disinterestedness you may be sure he would never
have made you his heir. Grasping people seldom, with all their efforts, secure anything
from others."
These two yearly visits of George's to Greenway Court—one on his way to the mountains,
and the other and longer one when he returned—were the bright times of the year to the
Earl. This autumn he determined to accompany George back to Mount Vernon, and also
to visit the Fairfaxes at Belvoir. The great coach was furbished up for the journey, the
outriders' liveries were brought forth from camphor-chests, and the four roans were
harnessed up. George followed the same plan as on his first journey with Lord Fairfax,
two years before—driving with him in the coach the first stage of the day, and riding the
last stage.
On reaching Mount Vernon, George was distressed to see his brother looking thinner and
feebler than ever, and Mrs. Washington was plainly anxious about him. Both were
delighted to have him back, as Laurence was quite unable to attend to the vast duties of
such a place, and Mrs. Washington had no one but an overseer to rely on. The society of
Lord Fairfax, who was peculiarly charming and comforting to persons of a grave
temperament, did much for Laurence Washington's spirits. Lord Fairfax had himself
suffered, and he realized the futility of wealth and position to console the great sorrows
of life.
George spent only a day or two at Mount Vernon, and then made straight for Ferry Farm.
His brothers, now three fine tall lads, with their tutor, were full of admiration for the
handsome, delightful brother, of whom they saw little, but whose coming was always the
most joyful event at Ferry Farm.
George was now nearing his nineteenth birthday, and the graceful, well-made youth had
become one of the handsomest men of his day. As Betty stood by him on the hearth-rug
the night of his arrival, she looked at him gravely for a long time, and then said:
"George, you are not at all ugly. Indeed, I think you are nearly as handsome as brother
Laurence before he was ill."

"NEVER WILL YOU BE HALF SO BEAUTIFUL AS OUR MOTHER."

"Betty," replied George, looking at her critically, "let me return the compliment. You are
not unhandsome, but never, never, if you live to be a hundred years old, will you be half
so beautiful as our mother."
Madam Washington, standing by them, her slender figure overtopped by their fair young
heads, blushed like a girl at this, and told them severely, as a mother should, that beauty
counted for but little, either in this world or the next. But in the bottom of her heart the
beauty of her two eldest children gave her a keen delight.
Betty was, indeed, a girl of whom any mother might be proud. Like George, she was tall
and fair, and had the same indescribable air of distinction. She was now promoted to the
dignity of a hoop and a satin petticoat, and her beautiful bright hair was done up in a
knot becoming a young lady of sixteen. Although an only daughter, she was quite
unspoiled, and her life was a pleasant round of duties and pleasures, with which her
mother and her three younger brothers, and above all, her dear George, were all
connected. The great events in her life were her visits to Mount Vernon. Her brother and
sister there regarded her rather as a daughter than a sister, and for her young sake the
old house resumed a little of its former cheerfulness.
George spent several days at Ferry Farm on that visit, and was very happy. His coming
was made a kind of holiday. The servants were delighted to see him; and as for Billy, the
remarkable series of adventures through which he alleged he had passed made him quite
a hero, and caused Uncle Jasper and Aunt Sukey to regard him with pride, as the flower
of their flock, instead of the black sheep.
Billy was as fond of eating and as opposed to working as ever, but he now gave himself
the airs of a man of the world, supported by his various journeys to Mount Vernon and
Greenway Court, and the possession of a scarlet satin waistcoat of George's, which
inspired great respect among the other negroes when he put it on. Billy loved to
harangue a listening circle of black faces on the glories of Mount Vernon, of which "Marse
George" was one day to be King, and Billy was to be Prime Minister.
"You niggers livin' heah on dis heah little truck-patch 'ain' got no notion o' Mount
Vernon," said Billy, loftily, one night, to an audience of the house-servants in the
"charmber." "De house is as big as de co't-house in Fredericksburg, an' when me an'
Marse George gits it we gwi' buil' a gre't piece to it. An' de hosses—Lord, dem hosses!
You 'ain' never seen so many hosses sence you been born. An' de coaches—y'all thinks
de Earl o' F'yarfax got a mighty fine coach—well, de ve'y oldes' an' po'es' coach at Mount
Vernon is a heap finer'n dat ar one o' Marse F'yarfax. An' when me an' Marse George gits
Mount Vernon, arter Marse Laurence done daid, we-all is gwine ter have a coach lined
wid white satin, same like the Earl o' F'yarfax's bes' weskit, an' de harness o' red
morocky, an' solid gol' tires to de wheels. You heah me, niggers? And Marse George, he
say—"
"You are the most unconscionable liar I ever knew!" shouted George, in a passion,
suddenly appearing behind Billy; "and if ever I hear of your talking about what will
happen at Mount Vernon, or even daring to say that it may be mine, I will make you
sorry for it, as I am alive."
George was in such a rage that he picked up a hair-brush off the chest of drawers and
shied it at Billy, who dodged, and the brush went to smash on the brick hearth. At this
the unregenerate Billy burst into a subdued guffaw, and looking into George's angry eyes,
chuckled,
"Hi, Marse George, you done bus' yo' ma's h'yar-bresh!" Which showed how much
impression "Marse George's" wrath made on Billy.

[to be continued.]
 A QUEER HOSPITAL.
"I went to the animals' fair,
The birds and beasts were there"—
at any rate it was the animals' hospital, and there were enough birds and beasts for a
fair. The hospital is in charge of the New York College of Veterinary Surgeons, and that, if
you please, is part of the University of New York; so if you wanted to send your dickey-
bird there for the pip, he would be in a manner under the sheltering wing of all the D.D.s
and LL.D.s that shine as the regents of that noble institution.
New York people are apt to call this the dog hospital, but that must be because they take
more interest in the dogs than in its other inmates, for here you can get medical
treatment for any living thing except a human being. Horses, cows, dogs, and cats form
the steady bulk of its beneficiaries, but elephants and white mice are among them too.
And not only animals are brought here, but the doctors go out and make them
professional visits. One of the doctors is now attending the curious dreadful-looking Gila
monster at the Zoo in Central Park; he comes—the monster, not the doctor—from
Arizona, near the Gila River, and he is two feet long, with a body like an alligator and a
head like a snake; he is in a low state of health, and neither food nor drink has passed
his lips for seven months. How is that for a poor appetite?
The doctor does not have much hope of him; the matter seems to be that he was kept
too warm and fed too much (on raw eggs) last winter, when he ought to have been
hibernating, or something like it.
A great deal of the hospital's most interesting practice is among the animals kept in
zoological gardens or in travelling shows. An old circus lion was brought here not long
ago to have his ulcerated tooth pulled. Now if the toothache makes you feel as "cross as
a bear," how cross does the toothache make a live lion feel?
To tell the truth, no one at the hospital wanted to know how cross that lion did feel—they
thought it was a case in which it would be folly to be wise. The first thing to be done was
to drop nooses of rope on the floor of his cage, and then draw them up when he put his
foot in one—he knew he had "put his foot in it" when he found himself snared—and so,
step by step, get him bound and helpless. If you will think how particularly hard it is to
tie up a cat, you may guess that it is no joke to make a lion fast; he is just like a
stupendous cat in his agility and slipperiness. The only way to render him helpless is to
get his hind quarters tied up outside his cage, and his head bound fast within it; the next
thing, for dental work, is to put a gag in his mouth; that is the easier because there is no
trouble at all about getting him to open his mouth—he does it every time any one goes
near him.
When they have these beasts of the jungle at the hospital their keepers have to stay with
them; but even then they can't always prevent mischief. A baby elephant from a big
circus was about the most disorderly patient they ever had there, though, in spite of her
naughtiness, she became quite a pet with everybody about. She had a cold and the
sniffles when she first came, and was subdued and patient, just like some stirring
children when they are sick; but as she got better she almost pulled the whole place
down in her efforts to get something to play with. She reached out of her stall and took a
large office clock off the wall. No one had supposed she could reach it, and she had
broken it to what her keeper called smithereens before he could stop her. If she could
find a crack anywhere, destruction began; if it was in the plaster, the plaster was ripped
off; if between boards, up came a board. But the baby was not so likely as some of her
grown-up relatives to just knock down the side of the house and walk out, which is an
occurrence always possible when you have an elephant come to see you. Elephants are
poor sailors; they get dreadfully seasick, and often when they are just landed they are
brought to the hospital to recuperate. Gin is the great remedy in that case; they
particularly love gin, and all their medicine is usually given to them in gin.
When medicine cannot be given disguised in drink or food, it is usually squeezed down
the patient's throat with a syringe. The horses are very good about that operation, but
the dogs are often troublesome at first; but both dogs and horses soon learn that they
are with friends, and then they are wonderfully good and grateful even when the doctors
have to hurt them.
For many dogs little can be done until they have been in the institution several days and
the doctors have made friends with them; after that they almost always turn out good
patients—not always. Do you want to know why some dogs can't be treated there at all?
Because they are so homesick; they pine and fret so that their masters, or oftener in
these cases it is their mistresses, have to come and take them away, and they must
needs have medical attendance at home. One of the most aristocratic patients ever
treated here was a French poodle supposed to be worth a thousand dollars. He wore a
little diamond bracelet on one paw, and he could do tricks enough to earn his living on
the stage; but he did not have to earn his living. He came to the hospital to have his
teeth attended to, and some of them were filled with gold. One of his tricks was to laugh,
and when he did that all his gold fillings showed.
Many of the pet lap-dogs, particularly those that belong to women, come to the hospital
because they have been overfed. The doctors tell a bad story about pugs particularly
being little gluttons. On the other hand, they say that many fine and valuable dogs don't
get meat enough. Dogs need meat, but some mistaken people think it's better to try to
make vegetarians of them, and then the dogs are apt to get the ricketts. The big baby St.
Bernards suffer much in this way; it takes a great deal of meat to make a grown St.
Bernard out of a young one, and if he does not have enough the job won't be properly
done.
The cats and dogs stay in one big ward, each one in its own iron cage, and the cats must
understand that the cages are strong, for they don't seem to mind being near the dogs at
all. In fact, one of the doctors says he put his own cat in this ward for a while, and when
she came home she showed an entire change of heart about dogs; instead of the terror
she had always felt of them, she was ready to be good friends with the canine members
of her own family. There is a big tin roof railed in that makes an exercising-ground for the
convalescent dogs, but the cats have to take the air in a big cage some six feet square
that is built on the roof; they can climb too well to be trusted loose.
One of the most cheerful patients in the place now is a canary that has had a leg
amputated; he gets on much better than you would if you had only one leg; he chirps,
and hops about comfortably, and the doctors think he will soon take to singing again—
the brave little bird.
All the appointments of the place are as careful and scientific as they can be anywhere;
there are special wards for contagious diseases, and in all operations hands, towels,
bandages, and instruments are sterilized after the most approved modern methods. Ether
and cocaine are frequently used to save pain, but best of all is the way everybody in the
place seems to have a genuine kind feeling, sometimes a warm affection, for the poor yet
lucky sufferers.
 THE VOYAGE OF THE "RATTLETRAP."
BY HAYDEN CARRUTH.

VII.
"Come, stir out of that and get the camels ready for the desert!"
This was Jack's cheery way of warning Ollie and I that it was time to get up on the
morning of our start into the sand hills.
"Any simooms in sight?" asked Ollie, by way of reply to Jack's remark.
"Well, I think Old Browny scents one; he has got his nose buried in the sand like a
camel," answered Jack.
It was only just coming daylight, but we were agreed that an early start was best. It was
another Monday morning, and we knew that it would take three good days' driving to
carry us through the sand country. We had learned that, notwithstanding what our visitor
of the first night had said, there were several places on the road where we could get
water and feed for the horses. We should have to carry some water along, however, and
had got two large kegs from Valentine, and filled them and all of our jugs and pails the
night before. We also had a good stock of oats and corn, and a big bundle of hay, which
we put in the cabin on the bed.
"Just as soon as Old Blacky finds that there is no water along the road he will insist on
having about a barrel a day," said Jack. "And if he can't get it he will balk and kick the
dashboard into kindling-wood."
A little before sunrise we started. It was agreed, owing to the increase in the load and
the deep sand, that no one, not even Snoozer, should be allowed to ride in the wagon. If
Ollie got tired he was to ride the pony. So we started off, walking beside the wagon, with
the pony just behind, as usual, dangling her stirrups, and the abused Snoozer, looking
very much hurt at the insult put upon him in being asked to walk, following behind her.
For three or four miles the road was much like that to which we had been accustomed.
Then it gradually began to grow sandier. We were following an old trail which ran near
the railroad, sometimes on one side and sometimes on the other; and this was the case
all the way through the hills. The railroad was new, having been built only a year or two
before. There were stations on it every fifteen or twenty miles, with a side track, and a
water-tank for the engines, but not much else.
There was no well-marked boundary to the sand hills, but gradually, and almost before
we realized it, we found ourselves surrounded by them. We came to a crossing of the
railroad, and in a little cut a few rods away we saw the sand drifted over the rails three or
four inches deep, precisely like snow.
"Well," said Jack, "I guess we're in the sand hills at last if we've got where it drifts."
"I wonder if they have to have sand-ploughs on their engines?" said Ollie.
"I've heard that they frequently have to stop and shovel it off," answered Jack.
As we got farther among the sand dunes we found them all sizes and shapes, though
usually circular, and from fifteen to forty feet high. Of course the surface of this country
was very irregular, and there would be places here and there where the grass had
obtained a little footing and the sand had not drifted up. There were also some hills
which seemed to be independent of the sand piles.
We stopped for noon on a little flat where there was some struggling grass. This flat ran
off to the north, and narrowed into a small valley through which in the spring probably a
little water flowed. We had finished dinner when we noticed a flock of big birds circling
about the little valley, and, on looking closer, saw that some of them were on the ground.
"They are sand-hill cranes," said Jack. "I've seen them in Dakota, but this must be their
home."
They were immense birds, white and gray, and with very long legs. Jack took his rifle and
tried to creep up on them, but they were too shy, and soared away to the south.
We soon passed the first station on the
railroad, called Crookston. The telegraph-
operator came out and looked at us, admitted
that it was a sandy neighborhood, and went
back in. We toiled on without any incident of
note during the whole afternoon. Toward
night we passed another station, called
Georgia, and the man in charge allowed us to
fill our kegs from the water-tank. We went on
three or four miles and stopped beside the
trail, and a hundred yards from the railroad,
for the night. The great drifts of sand were all
around us, and no desert could have been
lonelier. We had a little wood and built a camp
fire. The evening was still and there was not a
sound. Even the blacksmith's pet, wandering
about seeking what he could devour, and
finding nothing, made scarcely a sound in the
OUR FIRST CAMP IN THE SAND soft sand. The moon was shining, and it was
HILLS. warm as any summer evening. Jack sat on
the ground beside the wagon and played the
banjo for half an hour. After a while we walked over to the railroad. We could hear a faint
rumble, and concluded that a train was approaching.
"Let's wait for it," proposed Jack. "It will be along in a moment."
We waited and listened. Then we distinctly heard the whistle of a locomotive, and the
faint roar gradually ceased.
"It's stopped somewhere," I said.
"Don't see what it should stop around here for," said Jack. "Unless to take on a sand-hill
crane."
Then we heard it start up, run a short distance, and again stop; this it repeated half a
dozen times, and then after a pause it settled down to a long steady roar again.
"It isn't possible, is it, that that train has been stopped at the next station west of here?"
I said.
"The next station is Cody, and it's a dozen miles from here," answered Jack. "It doesn't
seem as if we could hear it so far, but we'll time it and see."
He looked at his watch and we waited. For a long time the roar kept up, occasionally
dying away as the train probably went through a deep cut or behind a hill. It gradually
increased in volume, till at last it seemed as if the train must certainly be within a
hundred yards. Still it did not appear, and the sound grew louder and louder. But at the
end of thirty-five minutes it came around the curve in sight and thundered by, a long
freight train, and making more noise, it seemed, than any train ever made before.
"That's where it was," exclaimed Jack. "At Cody, twelve miles from here, and we first
heard it, I don't know how far beyond. If I ever go into the telephone business I'll keep
away from the sand hills. A man here ought to be able to hold a pleasant chat with a
neighbor two miles off, and by speaking up loud ask the postmaster ten miles away if
there is any mail for him."
We were off ploughing through the sand again early the next morning. We could not give
the horses quite all the water they wanted, but we did the best we could. We were in the
heart of the hills all day. There were simply thousands of the great sand drifts in every
direction. Buffalo bones half buried were becoming numerous. We saw several coyotes,
or prairie wolves, skulking about, but we shot at them without success. We got water at
Cody, and pressed on. In the afternoon we sighted some antelope looking cautiously over
the crest of a sand billow. Ollie mounted the pony and I took my rifle, and we went after
them, while Jack kept on with the wagon. They retreated, and we followed them a mile
or more back from the trail, winding among the drifts and attempting to get near enough
for a shot. But they were too wary for us. At last we mounted a hill rather higher than
the rest, and saw them scampering away a mile or more to the northwest. We were
surprised more by something which we saw still on beyond them, and that was a little
pond of water deep down between two great ridges of sand.
"I didn't expect to see a lake in this country," said Ollie.
I studied the lay of the land a moment, and said: "I think it's simply a place where the
wind has scooped out the sand down below the water-line and it has filled up. The wind
has dug a well, that's all. You know the operator at Georgia told us the wells here were
shallow—that there's plenty of water down a short distance."
We could see that there was considerable grass and quite an oasis around the pond. But
in every other direction there was nothing but sand billows, all scooped out on their
northwest sides where the fierce winds of winter had gnawed at them. The afternoon sun
was sinking, and every dune cast a dark shadow on the light yellow of the sand, making
a great landscape of glaring light covered with black spots. A coyote sat on a buffalo skull
on top of the next hill and looked at us. A little owl flitted by and disappeared in one of
the shadows.
"This is like being adrift in an open boat," I said to Ollie. "We must hurry on and catch
the Rattletrap."
"I'm in the open boat," answered Ollie. "You're just simply swimming about without even
a life-preserver on."
We turned and started for the trail. We found it, but we had spent more time in the hills
than we realized, and before we had gone far it began to grow dark. We waded on, and
at last saw Jack's welcome camp-fire. When we came up we smelled grouse cooking, and
he said:
"While you fellows were chasing about and getting lost I gathered in a brace of fat
grouse. What you want to do next time is to take along your hat full of oats, and perhaps
you can coax the antelope to come up and eat."
The camp was near another railroad station called Eli. We had been gradually working
north, and were now not over three or four miles from the Dakota line; but Dakota here
consisted of nothing but the immense Sioux Indian Reservation, two or three hundred
miles long.
The next morning Jack complained of not feeling well.
"What's the matter, Jack?" I asked.
"Gout," answered Jack, promptly. "I'm too good a cook for myself. I'm going to let you
cook for a few days, and give my system a rest."
This seemed very funny to Ollie and I, who had been
eating Jack's cooking for two or three weeks. The fact
was that the gouty Jack was the poorest cook that
ever looked into a kettle, and he knew it well enough.
He could make one thing—pan-cakes—nothing else.
They were usually fairly good, though he would
sometimes get his recipes mixed up, and use his
sour-milk one when the milk was sweet, or his sweet-
milk one when it was sour; but we got accustomed to
this. Then it was hard to spoil young and tender fried
grouse, and the stewed plums had been good,
though he had got some hay mixed with them; but
the flavor of hay is not bad. We bought frequently of
"canned goods" at the stores, and this he could not
injure a great deal.
We did not pay much attention to Jack's threat about
stopping cooking. He got breakfast after a fashion,
mixing sour and sweet milk as an experiment, and "HE WOULD SOMETIMES GET
though he didn't eat much himself, we did not think HIS RECIPES MIXED UP."
he was going to be sick. But after walking a short
distance he declared he could go no farther, and climbed into the cabin and rolled upon
the bed.
Ollie and I ploughed along with the sand still streaming, like long flaxen hair, off the
wagon-wheels as they turned. In a little valley about ten o'clock Ollie shot his first
grouse. We saw some more antelope, and met a man with his wife and six children and
five dogs and two cows and twelve chickens going east. Ho said he was tired of
Nebraska, and was on his way to Illinois. At noon we stopped at Merriman, another
railroad station. Jack got up and made a pretense of getting dinner, but he ate nothing
himself, and really began to look ill.
We made but a short stop, as we were anxious to get out of the worst of the sand that
afternoon. We asked about feed and water for the horses, and were told that we could
get both at Irwin, another station fifteen miles ahead. We pressed on, with Jack still in
the wagon, but it was dark before we reached the station. We found a man on the
railroad track.
"Can we get some feed and water here?" I asked of him.
"Reckon not," answered the man.
"Where can we find the station agent?"
"He's gone up to Gordon, and won't be back till mid-night."
"Hasn't any one got any horse feed for sale?"
"There isn't a smell of horse feed here," said the man. "I've
got the only well, except the railroad's, but it's 'most dry. I'll
give you what water I can, though. As for feed, you'd
better go on three miles to Keith's ranch. It's on Lost Creek
Flat, and there's lots of hay-stacks there, and you can help
yourself. At the ranch-house they will give you other
things."
We drove over to the man's house, and got half a pail of
water apiece for the horses. They wanted more, but there
was no more in the well. The man said we could get
everything we wanted at the ranch, and we started on. The
horses were tired, but even Old Blacky was quite amiable,
and trudged along in the sand without complaint.
Jack was still in the wagon, and we heard nothing of him.
It was cloudy and very dark. But the horses kept in the
"THERE ISN'T A SMELL trail, and after, as it seemed to us, we had gone five miles,
OF HORSE FEED HERE." we felt ourselves on firmer ground. Soon we thought we
could make out something, perhaps hay-stacks, through
the darkness. I sent Ollie on the pony to see what it was. He rode away, and in a
moment I heard a great snorting and a stamping of feet, and Ollie's voice calling for me
to come. I ran over with the lantern, and found that he had ridden full into a barbed-wire
fence around a hay-stack. The pony stood trembling, with the blood flowing from her
breast and legs, but the scratches did not seem to be deep.
"We must find that ranch-house," I said to Ollie. "It ought to be near."
For half an hour we wandered among the wilderness of hay-stacks, every one protected
by barbed wire. At last we heard a dog barking, followed the sound, and came to the
house. The dog was the only live thing at home, and the house was locked.
"Well, what we want is water," I said, "and here's the well."
We let down the bucket and brought up two quarts of mud.
"The man was right," said Ollie. "This is worse than the Sarah Desert."
"Fountains squirt and bands play 'The Old Oaken Bucket' in the Sarah Desert 'longside o'
this," I answered.
It was eleven o'clock before we found the wagon. We could hear Jack snoring inside, and
were surprised to find Snoozer on guard outside, wide awake. He seemed to feel his
responsibility, and at first was not inclined to let us approach.
We unharnessed the horses, and Ollie crawled under the fence around one of the stacks
of hay and pulled out a big armful for them.
"The poor things shall have all the hay they want, anyhow," he said.
"I'm afraid they'll think it's pretty dry," I returned, "but I don't see what we can do."
Then I called to Jack, and said, "Come, get up and get us some supper."
After a good deal of growling he called back, "I'm not hungry."
"But we are, and you're well enough to make some cakes."
"Won't do it," answered Jack. "You folks can make 'em as well as I can."
"I can't. Can you?" I said to Ollie. He shook his head.
"You're not very sick or you wouldn't be so cross," I called to Jack. "Roll out and get
supper, or I'll pull you out!"
"First fellow comes in this wagon gets the head knocked off 'm!" cried Jack. "Besides,
there's no milk! No eggs! No nothing! Go 'way! I'm sick! That's all there is," and
something which looked like a cannon-ball shot out of the front end of the wagon,
followed by a paper bag which might have been the wadding used in the cannon. "That's
all! Lemme 'lone!" and we heard Jack tie down the front of the cover and roll over on the
bed again.
"See what it is," I said to Ollie.
He took the lantern and started. "Guess it's a can of Boston baked beans," he said.
"Oh, then we're all right," I replied.
He picked it up and studied it carefully by the light of the lantern.
"No," he said, slowly, "it isn't that. G—g, double o—gooseberries—that's what it is—a can
of gooseberries we got at Valentine."
"And this is a paper bag of sugar," I said, picking it up. "No gout to-night!"
I cut open the can and poured in the sugar. We stirred it up with a stick, and Ollie drank
a third of it and I the rest. Then we crawled under the wagon, covered ourselves with the
pony's saddle-blanket, and went to sleep. But before we did so I said:
"Ollie, at the next town I am going to get you a cook-book, and we'll be independent of
that wretch in the wagon."
"All right," answered Ollie.

[to be continued.]

BY PAUL DU CHAILLU.

Part II.
Now we must put our heads together and think of the outfit necessary for our
explorations. It is not a small undertaking to explore the great equatorial African forest,
and a great many things are required.
It troubles me when I think of our outfit, for I dislike luggage, and I have learned that
the less luggage a man has with him the better off he is; the fewer wants he has the
better off he is; the fewer people he has round him the more independent he finds
himself; and the more he can help himself the freer and the happier he is. But when he
has to buy the right of way in Africa, he cannot travel with little luggage, for he is obliged
to get a lot of things and goods, not only to give to the Kings who send him forward, but
also for the men who are to be his followers and carry his goods and outfit. He has to
give presents to his hunters, who face dangers and sometimes death with him.
An explorer has also to take care of his followers, and to have a fellow-feeling for them
when they are ill, so he must take quantities of medicine for his people and for himself.
If he expects to have some big hunting and to kill birds, he must have lots of powder and
small shot and bullets. He must have shot-guns and rifles. If he wants to stuff the
animals and birds he kills, he must have the instruments and other things necessary for
the purpose.
If the explorer wants to astonish the natives and fill them with wonder, he must take with
him articles that will surely help him to attain that purpose. The explorer should also have
a careful personal outfit, so that he may not be in want of clothing or shoes before he
can return.
So, dear young folks, we have to think a good deal about what we need, and be very
busy before we sail from New York for our destination, the west coast of Africa, and we
are to land somewhere on the Gulf of Guinea by the equator. We must first buy our
goods; money in gold and silver coins is of no value among the savage Africans. A rod of
gold or copper or brass is the same in their eyes, except that they would prefer the brass
rod to one of silver. The gold or the brass rod would be of the same value. Friend Paul
would have been a poor spirit in a short time if he had had nothing to give to the natives,
and nothing to pay them with when they carried his loads. In fact, nobody would have
carried his loads; no King would have sent him to another King, and in the course of time
they would have become tired of giving him food for nothing. What made me a great
spirit in their eyes was what I gave them, the strange things I carried with me.
Goods to buy.—We must have a lot of beads of different sizes and colors. They must be
opaque—that is, not transparent—if not, the natives will not take them at any price. The
beads are the most important item of the outfit. In many tribes the natives only wear
strings of beads round their waists, and, if they are rich, also copper or brass rings, round
their necks, or several round their wrists or ankles. White beads are very much prized by
the cannibal tribes, among whom I have been; they string them in their hair and beards.
One must have black beads—these are prized very much by non-cannibal tribes—also
red, blue, yellow, green, and brown beads. Large beads of the size of our marbles, and
even larger, are very much valued by some tribes. All these beads are manufactured in
Venice, Italy, and nowhere else.
After the stock of beads, the most important item is that of copper or brass. You must
have a good stock of brass and copper rods about the thickness of your little finger and
2½ feet long—these are used round the neck, ankles, and wrists; brass kettle; large
shallow copper dishes about 2½ feet in diameter—with these they make hollow rings for
the neck, wrists, or ankles; a little quantity of cheap cotton goods with gaudy patterns; a
few gaudy coats with sleeves of different colors to the body of the coat—the natives like
bright colors; a few cotton umbrellas of very bright colors—these and the coats are for
chiefs, who also like opera-hats. No one but people of royal blood in some tribes can
wear high hats, and often a hat is the only thing Kings or Princes wear.
Red woollen caps; fire-steel and flints together for the natives to start a fire with; files;
knives; fish-hooks; and a good many small looking-glasses; a few flint guns—the kind
known as Tower guns, made especially for the natives of the Guinea coast; and coarse
powder for chiefs ruling over tribes where the use of firearms is known; a few bright
second-hand yellow and plush waistcoats with large brass buttons of the size of dollars
are also very much appreciated by the people of royal blood; a few colored shirts.
Trousers are of no use. I had to throw away those I bought for the natives; no one would
wear them. Beads are the most useful to pay the porters with. Of course the explorer
could travel with fewer articles, but the stock I have described is one that gives him great
prestige.
Medicine.—These are medicines that are essential. The most important of all is quinine.
When not a physician, it is not necessary to take with you an apothecary shop. I took
calomel, morphine, laudanum, rhubarb, castor-oil, Epsom salts, Fowler's solution of
arsenic, ammonia, a couple of bottles of brandy to be mixed with laudanum, some
lancets, and pincers. Fever and dysentery are the two diseases to be most dreaded by
the white man, especially the fever. Many white men who go to Africa die of fever. I
always used to take big doses of quinine—ten, twenty, thirty, forty grains at a time, and
repeated those doses two or three times during the day.
Ammunition.—Let us attend to the ammunition. First we must get some good rifles that
are strong and not complicated in their mechanism, for the big forest is a bad country for
rust; some shot-guns, and also revolvers and hunting-knives. We must take, if we wish to
make a large collection of birds to take home, hundreds of pounds of the smallest kind of
shot for small birds, and then hundreds of pounds of large-size shot for larger birds; a
great many cartridges, and large numbers of bullets for the rifles, and buck-shot; steel-
pointed bullets and explosive bullets. Powder for ammunition must always be plentiful.
My ammunition alone amounted to over ten thousand pounds.
For preserving the skin of animals and birds.—Fifty pounds of arsenical soap; arsenic,
one hundred pounds; scalpels, a dozen; pincers; big knives, half a dozen; camphor.
I had a peculiar way of preserving my butterflies.
Things to astonish the natives.—Musical boxes; powerful magnets; round plain Waterbury
clocks; lots of matches; electric battery. Hardly anything I had astonished the natives
more than my musical boxes. When I used to put these playing in the midst of the street,
they thought many spirits were talking to me. They marvelled when they saw the magnet
holding in the air their knives or spears. My round plain Waterbury clocks, which only cost
me a dollar apiece, were of great service to me. I used to hang them outside of my huts,
and the tick-tack used to frighten the natives, and they did not dare to come round my
huts at night, for they thought the noise inside the clock was made by guardian spirits.
The matches were objects of great curiosity to them, and a present of a box of matches
to a King, or even a few matches, was highly prized by him. The electric battery used to
bring terror into their hearts after they had received a shock.
Provisions.—A little stock of rice, for it takes time to get accustomed to the food of the
country, which is chiefly of plantain and manioc. I had some flour, for I intended to make
my own bread on the coast. I had coffee—coffee and quinine I never was in want of. I
had two little filtered coffee-pots. The forest was so full of malaria that very seldom I
woke without a headache in the morning, and the first thing I did was to make a cup of
coffee; after drinking it my headache went away. Do not forget to take salt with you, for
salt becomes priceless in the interior, and to be without salt is a great privation.
A thorough explorer who goes in wild and unknown regions must find his way by
astronomical observation, so that he may be able to present a reliable map on his return.
This part of the outfit alone is quite an item and somewhat expensive, for not only must
you have instruments to find out your longitude and latitude, but you must have others
to give you the height of the country, the temperature in the sun and in the shade. You
must have a number of watches; these are absolutely necessary in order to know your
longitude. Never mind if they do not go very well; but you must time the space of time
by minutes and seconds between the observations.
Scientific instruments.—Five watches; one I wore at home, and four were specially made
for observation. They were large, and of silver, and made especially for me. The hands
were very black, and so were the hands marking the seconds, so that the minutes and
seconds could be distinctly seen. If my watches had stopped, I should not have been
able to find my longitude—that is, to know how far east or west I was. Four sextants;
one for taking altitudes of the stars and planets, in connection with a lunar (a lunar is to
find the distance between the moon and one of the eleven lunar stars), to an artificial
horizon—that is, an improved iron trough which I filled with quicksilver kept in an iron
bottle, to imitate the sea; on this the stars were reflected, and with the aid of my sextant
I could see when they were on the meridian. Three thermometers for knowing the height
of the country by boiling water; two thermometers to know the heat of the sun, marked
to 230°; three other thermometers, graduated for Fahrenheit and Centigrade. (I wish we
might give up the Fahrenheit, for it has no scientific basis.) Three aneroids to know
approximately the height of the country while on the march, to avoid making
observations by boiling water, which takes so much longer time; two telescopes; four
compasses; universal sun-dial; two magnifiers or reading-glasses, to find out quickly the
degrees, minutes, and seconds marked on the sextants; one extra bottle of mercury,
containing seven pounds, for artificial horizon; rain-gauge, to find out the amount of rain
falling in the country; scale; two protectors, circular, with compass rectifier; paper, slates
and slate-pencils; nautical almanacs for four consecutive years; memorandum-books for
keeping journals. Skeleton maps, ruled in squares. Note-books.
Clothing.—This item is a very important part of the outfit of the explorer. I was more
afraid to be without shoes than anything else, for if the worst came I could have made
garments with the skins of goats, gazelles, or antelopes. Clothing of wool is of no value
whatever in the jungle. After a few hours nothing but shreds would be left. Twill goods
which are strong are the best. These should be of dark blue, which become lighter in
color as they are washed. No coats, but a certain kind of blouse, as here represented, of
very strong material, just as strong as the trousers, with many pockets, etc. The shirts
must be of gray flannel, just like our common shirts. This avoids underwear. Panama hat
with high crown, in which you can put green leaves or wet towels when going in the sun.
I learned how to make soap by boiling ashes, then using the water that had been boiled,
and mixing with palm-oil or some other oil, and boiling these two together. In many
tribes I had to do my own washing, for the natives, who rubbed their bodies with clay
and oil or powder of colored wood, did not know what dirt was. Oh, how I used to hate
washing-day! One must have an outfit of needles of different sizes. These I kept in
quicksilver salve, otherwise they become useless in a few days on account of the rust. No
neck-ties. One hundred pairs of lace boots, these coming above the ankles, with no high
heels, and soles not too thick, so that they may bend when jumping from the root of one
tree to another. The nails were of copper, for, as I have said before, iron gets rusty so
quickly in the great forest; forty-eight pairs of strong twilled trousers; forty-eight flannel
shirts; ten dozen pairs socks. Such is the outfit friend Paul had with him.
 PHOTOGRAPHING A FLASH LIGHTNING.
Having your camera all ready, the apparatus pointing out of the open window of your
room, which room must be the uppermost one in your house, how are you going to
manage so as to catch a picture of the lightning?
Theoretically, the photographing of a star does not seem so difficult; practically, however,
innumerable precautions are necessary. Astronomical photography has got the matter
down very fine. Your camera follows automatically the movement of the stars, but it is a
mechanism which requires great delicacy in perfecting, and which costs several
thousands of dollars.
The great astronomer does not do a great deal of active star-hunting. He may not sit
down exactly in an arm-chair, but he makes himself fairly comfortable at his work. That
scientific person, however, with a hobby for photographing meteors must be active. He
has to be on the full jump. He knows that at a fixed time of the year and in a particular
part of the heavens there are to be found a stream of meteors. There is, however, little
certainty about his catching a first-class one. The field of the camera not being large, he
cannot sweep the whole heavens. So it often happens that though he may have secured
an assorted lot of meteors, the one particular and brilliant shooting star which he has
seen with his eyes has escaped his camera. Meteors do not pose. That is not in their
nature.
If the meteor is eccentric, what about the flash of lightning? You may have any number
of storms during a summer, but they are not always accompanied with visible electrical
phenomena. There may be plenty of lightning, however, but not in your horizon. But say
there is a first-class storm, and with lightning. You have read the meteorological data for
the day, and can in a measure anticipate this storm. If you are weatherwise, you know
your local conditions, where is north, south, east, and west, and if experienced, you
ought to be fairly certain as to the possible direction the storm should come from.
Anyhow, you are prepared and have everything ready. Even should the lightning come, as
far as taking its picture goes you may be disappointed. The storm may move so rapidly
that all the electrical phenomena occur directly overhead or back of you. There may be
what seems to you but a feeble discharge of electricity, but it is its distance from you
which makes you think so. Then the flash is so far away that the light of it is insufficient,
and so a poor, dull, uncertain picture is the resultant.
It is quite a feat to take a first-class flash of lightning, and with reluctance I am forced to
conclude that there is much luck about it. But if chance enters for nine-tenths in the
photography of lightning, there is the one single tenth which is constantly in your favor—
that is, if you are adaptive, watchful, and always ready. You may look for lightning a
whole summer and never catch a fine flash, through no fault of your own; and the very
next summer, at a first essay, you may secure a magnificent print.
On the 13th of July of this year, at 9 p.m., I was watching a heavy storm in Brooklyn, New
York; and my attention was directed to one great blinding flash of lightning, which,
starting almost at the zenith, blazed across the sky and came to earth in some region
unknown. I never saw a more vivid flash. It ought to have particularly riveted my
attention, but it did not, and for this reason: It had just so happened that I had become
interested in what are side flashes, or what are called "supplementary" ones. Now the
question has been mooted as to what is the character of what seems to our vision to be
second flashes—that is, apparent flights of electrical fluid coincident with the first or
strongest one, and some scientific men think that as often as not we see the reflection of
the important flash mirrored by the clouds in many different directions.
Intent on that side issue, though appreciative of the main discharge, my attention was
called to two lines of lesser brilliancy which appeared to the right. "If," I said, "somebody
had only photographed it all, how glad I should be!"
Imagine my pleasure when next day Julius Roger, Jun., an amateur photographer living
next door to me, casually asked me "whether I had noticed the lightning of the night
before"? My reply was "that I had noted it"; but I did not mention what I thought was a
special feature of the electrical display.
"Here is one flash I took," said the young gentleman, and he showed me the photograph,
an exact copy of which illustrates this article. On examining it, the first thing I did was to
look for the particular side show, and there it was.
"Did you notice these?" I asked, pointing to the two cross lines.
"Not," said the young gentleman, "when I took the picture. I went for the main flash.
When the picture was developed, then they came out, and they surprised me." I asked
the photographer how the print was produced. This is his exact reply:
"It was about nine. I noticed the storm, and that the lightning appeared in the same
westerly direction. There were quite a number of flashes coming in succession from the
same quarter of the heavens. I pointed my camera to that position, leaving it exposed.
When that particular flash made its appearance it impressed itself on the sensitive plate.
Then I quickly closed the camera and developed the plate. The picture was taken on a
Crown Cramer plate, which I believe to be particularly sensitive."
"You have certainly been on the watch for such a picture for a long time," I said.
My photographer's—who is a singularly modest young gentleman—reply was, "Maybe he
had."
Looking at the print it will be seen how the effect of the brilliancy of the flash is
heightened because of the intervention of a steeple, and there is even a luminous spot in
the window of the steeple, where the lightning shines through it. The two side flashes
are perfectly shown to the right. The exact time having been noted, I found out that this
particular flash of lightning demolished a house in New Jersey, the distance of which from
Brooklyn was, as the crow flies, nineteen miles.
Barnet
Phillips.

[The series of four papers on the Science of Football, by Mr. W. H. Lewis of the
Harvard Football Team of 1893, begun in this Department in the issue of September
8, is continued this week, and will be concluded in the next number of Harper's Round
Table.]

Offensive team-play in the game of football means every man in every play every time.
First, in logical order, is the start-off, or opening play. The eleven should line up on the
55-yard line—the centre of the field. The rules allow three men to start before the ball,
but not more than five yards back. The three fastest men should be selected for the
flying start, preferably the two ends and a half-back. The ends should be out in the wings
of the line, and the half-back near the centre; one of the remaining backs—full-back if he
be not the kicker—should stand at about the 40-yard line to look out for a return. The
other players should be lined up on either side in equal numbers, and at intervals far
enough apart to sweep the field. (See Fig. 1.) The ball should be kicked as far down the
field as possible without kicking into touch or kicking over the goal-line. The object is to
gain as much distance as possible by the kick.
The only way to retain possession of the ball after the start-off, is to kick it so that it will
roll slowly enough to allow the rushers to follow it closely, and with force enough to carry
it only the required distance. This was done by accident in one great match, and was
thought a very good play.
 The direct attack is a style of offence generally known as
"straight" football, "common," "ordinary," or "barn-yard"
football. The object of this style is to take a given point by
force instead of by stratagem. To illustrate the principle, take a
few ordinary plays.
Full-back through right guard
and centre is shown in Fig.
2: 1 showing the formation
before the play starts; 2
showing where the play hits
the line; 3 showing the
runner through the line,
everybody into the play. The
centre and right guard will
have to block longer than the
other players, but should get
into the push as quickly as
FIG. 1. possible. The play starts on
right guard and centre, and
goes there; there is no feint
made in any other direction. The right half may be sent
through right guard and tackle in the same way, the
quarter-back, left half, and full-back behind him, or the
left half may be sent through the other side in a similar FIG. 2.
manner. These are commonly called dive-plays. In them
the backs should stand from three and one-half to four yards back. The success of the
plays depends upon the runners reaching the line with all steam possible at the moment
it opens, and in the whole eleven getting behind and pushing, as there will always be
something to push against.
Circling the end is shown in Fig. 3. This may be done as in either Part 2 or 3 of that
diagram.
In either case the backs should unconsciously stand back a foot or two farther than for
dive-plays. The interference should be headed far enough out to draw out the opposing
rush-line. The end should help block the opposing tackle. If the opposing end is a very
good one, two men should be assigned to him, as in 3, Fig. 3; if not, one, as in 2, Fig. 3.
The interference should keep the opposing eleven on the inside as far as possible.
The indirect attack is commonly called trick-play. Trick is hardly the word to use, however,
because it has a suggestion of unfairness about it. The word "strategic" perhaps best
characterizes this class of play. The growth of this style has been marvellous in the last
few seasons. The tendency at present seems pretty strong in the opposite direction,
towards straight football. One of the oldest tricks is the familiar criss-cross between the
two half-backs. There is a very good criss-cross between tackle and end. The end should
be near the side line, say over on the right. Let the left tackle run twice, and on the
second run give it to the end, who has the long field, and if he is speedy he should make
 a good run. There are also plays in which
the ball is concealed, as in the famous
play used by Stagg's team, in which the
opponents were drawn out towards the
flank, and a runner was sent through the
centre.
Kicking is the easiest method of gaining
ground, although it gives the ball to the
opponents; but it is better to allow the
opposing team to have the ball on its 25-
yard line than to have it yourself on your
own 25-yard line. It is almost impossible,
when the teams are anywhere near
equally matched, to rush the ball from
goal to goal without relinquishing it. One
FIG. 3. team starting from its own 25-yard line
may rush the ball to the centre of the
field, or to its opponents' 40-yard line.
There it is more than likely to lose it. The defensive team is getting stronger all the time,
and the offensive one weaker. An eleven should have a scheme for a kicking game
determined by the relative strength of its rushing and kicking. How much kicking can be
done depends on the direction of the wind more than upon anything else.
Do not wait until the third down to kick. Your opponent expects you to kick, because you
must. Good judgment should be exercised in the placing of the kicks. A team should not
kick from right under its own goal-posts, because of danger of the ball's striking an
upright or the cross-bar. Change the territory by running a play out on the end, then kick.
Signals.—A signal is a sign of some kind given to indicate to the player the play to be
used, and the time of its execution. Signals should be as simple as possible, so as to be
easily understood by the side using them. The signals, once decided upon, should be
thoroughly learned by constant drill, drill, drill! It is important that every man should
know them thoroughly. They ought to be second nature to him. They should be perfectly
clear to him the moment they are given, so that there is no conscious effort of the
memory at all. Without them there can be no concert of action, and team-play is
absolutely impossible.
In the first place, there must be a vocal
signal, as it is almost impossible for the
whole eleven to catch a visible signal. A
very simple code is to number the holes FIG. 4.
in the rush-line from left to right, or vice
versa, and then disguise the hole number by some simple combination of figures.
(Number the holes as shown in Fig. 4.) Let the hole where the play is to be made be the
second digit of the second number. If the signal were "12, 61, 83," then 61 would denote
the hole or indicate a play around the left end; the numbers 23, 24, etc., would indicate a
play between left guard and centre. There are six possible variations from this simple
code.
There may also be a system with an index number—as 43, for instance. Let the hole
number be the second digit of the first number after the index; the numbers "81, 43, 36,"
call for a play between right guard and tackle, 6 being the number of that hole. The plays
may be numbered, and the figure indicating the play may be disguised. Or plays may be
lettered, as is often done. All formations should be numbered or lettered in some way.
If the play called for does not indicate which back is to carry the ball, the quarter-back
should have a silent visible signal of some kind. Usually the quarter uses finger signals,
putting the hand behind his leg where it cannot be seen by the opponents. One finger
may indicate the left half; two fingers, the right half; and three fingers, the full-back, or
middle man. Pulling up trousers or stockings, or scratching the head, may also indicate
what man is to take the ball.
The signal should be called once only. The second calling is not necessary at all; besides,
it slows up the game. Men feel that they have plenty of time after the first call, and loaf
to their places. They are not particular about catching the first signal, since it must be
given again.
The signal should be called by the quarter-back, as the play must be started by him, and
he is in a better position to see the best opportunity for the next play, and he can be
easily heard from either flank of the line. If the captain should change a play, he should
not call the signal himself, but tell his quarter the play he wants.
The signal should be called loudly enough to be heard by every man in the midst of the
din of battle. The quarter should put as much earnestness and enthusiasm as possible in
the calling of the signals. Snap them out, and let the merry war go on!
Where sequences are played without vocal signal, the quarter should have some sign for
his back, although it is not absolutely necessary. Sequences should be short. The time to
play them is at the opening of the game. They cannot be played continuously, as the
contingencies of the game cannot easily be foreseen.
Generalship.—The generalship of the game devolves upon the captain. There must be
one head on the field, and only one. A game may be largely planned before going upon
the field. At the time the game is being mapped out is the occasion for consultation with
coaches and players. Before the game it may be decided what is to be done under given
conditions of wind and weather, or what is to be done if the team gets the ball at start-off
or not. By studying an opponent's preceding games, it is sometimes possible to
determine somewhat in advance the kind of game that is likely to succeed against that
particular team. The strength and weakness of the team must be considered also.
First, consider the matter of generalship without reference to the opposing team. There
are two ways of advancing the ball—one by kicking, the other by rushing. The rushing
game is divided into straight football and strategic. There are practically three schools of
football: the simple straight football, the strategic, and the kicking. The right use of these
different methods of advancing the ball, the proper proportion of each kind of plays, is
the great problem of good generalship. Simple straight football should form the basis of
the offensive game. This is more easily executed, and is less exhausting upon body and
mind. A trick requires the doing of so many things by each individual at a given time that
there is produced a great mental strain. Men begin to worry and wonder whether the
trick will succeed. And if a fine trick fails they despair of the success of anything else, and
so lose spirit. At any rate, they have lost that force and energy necessary to play good,
hard, straight football. The trick should be merely an incident of the game. Its proper
function is simply to add a little uncertainty, and to keep the other side guessing. It is a
mistake to think that the only scientific game is the strategic one. The science of the
straight game does not lie in the formation, but solely in the execution.
The bulk of rushing games should be straight football. Three or four tricks, or half a
dozen at most, are a sufficient number. The whole repertoire of plays should be not less
than twenty nor more than thirty. A few plays well executed are better than a load of
stuff indifferently learned. It may not be best in all cases to have the kicking game the
dominating feature of the offence. That will depend largely upon whether the team is
best at rushing or kicking. A judicious admixture of both is the desideratum. If a team
has the wind in its favor, it should take advantage of it and kick often. If it has the wind
against it, it will be forced to rush more or less. When a team is down in its own territory,
if it is going to rush, the play should be one that is likely to make considerable ground if it
succeeds, and an open play of some kind should be the one used.
In bringing the ball in from touch it is not wise to always use the "long field." The "short
field" often yields good ground.
The plays should be varied enough to keep the opposing line in its normal position. If one
point be continuously attacked, that point will be strengthened. If the middle of the line
be attacked, the middle will close up. If the flank or end be attacked, this line will be
opened because of a movement towards the end in order to better protect it. The line
should be continually opened and shut so as not to allow the opponents to concentrate at
any given point.
The speed in playing is another feature in generalship. It is not the number of plays per
minute that counts, but the speed in execution. Hasten, but do not hurry, is the rule here
as everywhere else. Enthusiasm and not excitement is what is wanted. Too rapid a
succession of plays results in a jumble merely, and a sort of feverish excitement instead
of deadly execution. Still, it must not be understood that a calm, deliberate, sort of a
game is the one to be played. When the opposing team is on the run, there should be no
let up in the fire. As the advancing party gets nearer the goal, the harder, faster, and
more aggressive should be the game. No time should be given the other side to pull itself
together, but it should be driven back and over the goal-line; then it is time to rest. If the
opposing side is weak on the ends or at a particular end, it is good generalship to take
advantage of that weakness. The same thing is true of tackle or centre. This is to be
considered, however, that opponents will always endeavor to re-enforce or strengthen a
known weakness. The result is that nominally the weakest point may be the strongest. It
is well to try the whole line occasionally. The strong man may be caught off his guard.
While plays or downs should not be wasted against stone wall, the brutal policy of
attacking one point at all time until it gives way should not be indulged in even on the
ground of generalship. A team ought to make the best use of its own strong points. If a
particular back is good at carrying the ball, give him enough to do, but do not kill him. If
there is a back particularly good at kicking, kick, and kick frequently. If a tackle or guard
is good at making holes or immensely superior to the man opposed to him, send the
plays through that point.

The ninth season of the Cook County High-School Football League opens this year with
the promise of a larger membership than ever before, none of the nine teams which were
members of the League last year having dropped out, and with the possibility of five new
teams coming in. This Association was organized in 1888, and the only schools which
were originally members now left in the Association are Hyde Park, Lake View, and
Englewood. They are the strongest schools of the section, and one of them has each year
carried off the championship. Lake View got the pennant in 1888, 1890, 1892, and 1893;
Hyde Park in 1889 and last year; Englewood in 1891 and 1894.
The Hyde Park team seems to be stronger than any of the others this year, and should
repeat the success of last fall. Seven members of last year's eleven are back in school,
and a large number of candidates are training for the open places. West Division has
bright prospects likewise. They had a strong eleven last year, and also have seven of the
old men back, and about thirty candidates trying for places.
The men in training for the Englewood High-School team are a heavy set, and should
develop into a strong eleven. Lake View High-School ought to appear somewhere near
the top at the end of the season; in Wiezerowski, captain of the team, they have the best
end that has ever played in the League. The Manual-Training School players are laboring
with the difficulty of an unsportsmanlike faculty, and will probably be unable to develop a
good eleven. Evanston High is also unfortunate in having but three of last year's men
back again, but with good coaching they ought to be able to do something by the end of
the season. Oak Park H.-S. is about as badly off, having but two players of last year's
team in school, and few men capable of filling the vacancies. Oak Park's eleven last year
made the State record of scoring the greatest number of points in any one game; it
defeated English High, 80-0.

Leo Lyon, San Francisco.—See Harper's Round Table for August 13 and 20, 1895.
K. W. Wright, New York.—Defender's measurements are given as follows: Length,
124 ft.; water-line, 89 ft.; breadth, 23 ft.; draught, 19 ft. The lead in her keel weighs
80 tons. You will find an article on the building of Defender in Harper's Round Table for
September 17, 1895.

"TRACK ATHLETICS IN DETAIL."—Illustrated.—8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.

The
Graduate.
 Any question in regard to photograph matters will be willingly answered by the
Editor of this column, and we should be glad to hear from any of our club who can
make helpful suggestions.

Owing to the number of questions, we devote the entire Department to answers this
week.

Sir Knight Luther Pflueger sends a description of a way in which one of his friends
made lantern-slides. He bought some glass strips of a size to fit his lantern [Lantern-
slide covers could be used.—Ed.] and some transfer-pictures which are used by
school-boys to embellish their books. He gave the strips of glass a thin coat of
mucilage, and allowed it to dry. He then applied the paper, which had been wet in
such a way that the paper was thoroughly soaked, but the face of the picture was
dry. (The pictures could be wet by thoroughly saturating a piece of blotting-paper
with water, and laying the pictures on it, face up.) He then pressed the pictures on to
the glass, took hold of one corner of the paper, and pulled it off, leaving, if
successful, the thin film of the picture on the glass. This part of the operation
requires carefulness. This method enabled him to make cheap and pleasing slides.
Thanks for the description; some of our amateurs will be glad to try it.
Sir Knight Charles M. Todd says he is thinking of buying a small camera, and wishes
to know what apparatus he would need for developing, etc.; which are the best,
films or dry-plates, and if they are manipulated in the same way; if blue prints are
permanent; what prints can be made the cheapest; and the name of some good
work on photography. Sir Charles adds that the first thing he looks for in the Round
Table is the Camera Club Department. The outfit required for developing and
finishing pictures is: one red light; one developing-tray, 4 by 5; one fixing-tray, 4 by
5; one toning-tray, 5 by 8; one printing-frame; one ferrotype-plate for drying prints;
one 4 oz. glass graduate. See No. 781 for directions how to make a lantern, and also
hints on reducing expenses. Dry-plates are easier for the beginner to manage than
the films, but fine negatives are made with either. The same treatment is given both,
with the exception of drying. The films, after washing, are soaked for five minutes in
a solution made of ½ oz. of glycerine and 16 oz. of water. This prevents the film
from curling. Blue prints are permanent; they are also the cheapest. Wilson's
Photographics is a good work on photography.
Sir Knight B. P. Atkinson asks how photographs should be prepared for prize contests;
if pictures can be copied with an 8 by 10 camera and a single lens; when an article
on posing will be published; if exposure meters are reliable; what is the cause of
negatives having a spotted appearance when ice is used; how pin-holes in negatives
can be remedied; what kinds of lenses are best for landscapes. Platinotype prints
make the most artistic photographs, and should be mounted on plate-sunk cards.
These cards are made specially for platinotypes; full directions for use come with the
platinotype-paper. Pictures may be copied with an 8 by 10 camera, but the single
lens would be hardly suitable for fine copying. A rectilinear wide-angle lens is a good
lens for copying. Suggestions for posing will be given in the early number of the
Round Table. Exposure meters are not always reliable. The spotted appearance of the
negative is probably caused by using the water at too low a temperature. The
temperature should never be below 50° to insure good work. Pin-holes may be
covered by painting them over with retouching fluid, and, when dry, taking a fine
camel's-hair brush dipped in lampblack (moist water-color), and touching the spot
very lightly with the lip of the brush, taking care that it does not lap over on to the
film. A little practice will enable one to fill up pin-holes or light spots so that they will
not be noticed in the print. For landscape-work a single achromatic lens will give
sharp definition and good contrasts. For general landscape-work a medium-angle,
rectilinear lens will be found satisfactory. The angle of view of the lens should be
from 45° to 60°.
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 This Department is conducted in the interest of Bicyclers, and the Editor
will be pleased to answer any question on the subject. Our maps and
tours contain many valuable data kindly supplied from the official maps
and road-books of the League of American Wheelmen. Recognizing the
value of the work being done by the L.A.W., the Editor will be pleased to
furnish subscribers with membership blanks and information so far as
possible.

Continuing the journey begun last week from Chicago, we start from Joliet
for the run to Ottawa. From Joliet continue along the river and canal. It might
be well to inquire the condition in which the tow-path and the road happen to
be at the time of your going over the trip, in order that you may take the one
most used by wheelmen. Sometimes the tow-path is better, and other times
the road should be taken. Here is one of the advantages of being a member
of the L.A.W., since the local consul will gladly give you any information on
this matter or any other concerning that particular country that you may
desire. Generally speaking, it is well to keep to the tow-path, as the ride is
more picturesque along the canal.
From Joliet run in a westerly direction, turning sharp to the left at the
outskirts of the town, and continuing until the railroad and canal are crossed,
proceeding then either along the canal, or, if you take the road, following the
route marked on the map which runs between the canal and the river. After
crossing the railroad and the canal, keep to the right instead of crossing the
river, and the road to Channahon, twelve miles away, is clear except at a
point about half-way from Joliet, where the left fork should be taken. Passing
through Channahon, turn westward to the right, and then running almost
directly westward, crossing the railroad, instead of keeping to the left, and
running down by the canal. Before crossing the C.R.I. and P. Railroad, turn
southward to the canal, and following the tow-path run into Morris, where
dinner can be had. To leave Morris ride
northward across the track again, thence
westward, not far from the railroad, to Seneca,
between ten and eleven miles away. Proceed on
the main road, always in the vicinity of the canal
and railroad, through Marseilles on to Ottawa.
The road turns a couple of miles before Ottawa
is reached southward, crosses the canal and
railroad, and runs then into the city.
This trip is most of the way over capital road;
there are few hills, and there is a good deal of
diversity of scenery. Much of the interest of the
trip is in the different points of historic interest
along the way and in the vicinity of Ottawa. The
distance from Joliet is about forty-five miles, but
it can easily be done in a day by even
inexperienced riders, owing to the level country
and the good condition of the roads.

Note.—Map of New York city asphalted streets

in No. 809. Map of route from New York to
Tarrytown in No. 810. New York to Stamford,
Connecticut, in No. 811. New York to Staten
Island in No. 812. New Jersey from Hoboken
to Pine Brook in No. 813. Brooklyn in No. 814.
Brooklyn to Babylon in No. 815. Brooklyn to
Northport in No. 816. Tarrytown to
Poughkeepsie in No. 817. Poughkeepsie to
Hudson in No. 818. Hudson to Albany in No.
819. Tottenville to Trenton in No. 820. Trenton
to Philadelphia in No. 821. Philadelphia in No. Copyright, 1896, by
822. Philadelphia-Wissahickon Route in No. Harper & Brothers.
823. Philadelphia to West Chester in No. 824.
Philadelphia to Atlantic City—First Stage in No. 825; Second Stage in No.
826. Philadelphia to Vineland—First Stage in No. 827; Second Stage in
No. 828. New York to Boston—Second Stage in No. 829; Third Stage in
No. 830; Fourth Stage in No. 831; Fifth Stage in No. 832; Sixth Stage in
No. 833. Boston to Concord in No. 834. Boston in No. 835. Boston to
Gloucester in No. 836. Boston to Newburyport in No. 837. Boston to New
Bedford in No. 838. Boston to South Framingham in No. 839. Boston to
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