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a common schemer, had organized a vast syndicate of malcontents, to which he tried to give the aspect of a political party. At his back were those who had anything (however small it might be) to gain from a political revolution-persons of a type existing, of course, in every country, but who are more numerous in France, where functionaries are so plentiful, and where the sphere of governmental activity is so extended. Boulanger was also followed by an imposing array of partizans, who kept on increasing in numbers even without the hope of universal suffrage. The situation was, indeed, a critical one, for it became evident that the masses, deceived by the fallacious promises and the aspect of unity and power which this so-called National party assumed, would readily have pinned their faith to its chief, only to have discovered on the morrow of the elections that they had placed the reins of government in the hands of a band of adventurers and utopians.

Although the exposition of 1889 soon achieved a success beyond all expectation, in spite of the fact that the idea was at first received with coldness, if not hostility, by the various foreign powers, this internal political agitation did much toward preventing the growth of any general interest during the early stages of its development. At length, however, astonished by the beautiful spectacle, and reassured by the wise and dignified attitude of President Carnot, the people were not long in regaining their senses. The electors soon decided that they thought it wiser to solidify and consolidate rather than overturn a régime which gave such gallant proofs of vitality and stability, and which had done so much toward reëstablishing prosperity since the somber days of 1870. Thus, when the general elections took place, the defeat of Boulangism was complete, although certain other events, notably the proceedings instituted against the general and his subsequent flight to Brussels, contributed their share to his political downfall. However much light the fact of these proceedings and his flight threw upon the moral values of the candidate, it is almost certain that without the exposition, which placed in such strong relief the happy results achieved by the republic, the people would not have been so prompt to wheel about and turn their backs upon the Boulangist utopia. My personal recollections do not extend so far back as the exposition of 1867. Documents contemporary with that period, however, lead us to believe that its influence was

not of the best, and even that, by intoxicating the minds of certain people, it contributed in no small measure toward precipitating the war of 1870. As has been justly said, neither the emperor nor the country at large desired war, which, however, found its warm partizans among the entourage of the emperor, as well as in the empress and among those with whom her influence was potent. It was nevertheless true that the idea easily found favor, nor was there any doubt as to the ultimate triumph of French arms-a beautiful assumption which was due less to the dearly bought victories in the Crimea, in Italy, and in China than to a species of elation, bred of the exposition; a state of mind analogous in many respects to that recently manifested in Greece. The war feeling in Greece was certainly greatly stimulated by the success which crowned the revival of the Olympic games at Athens in 1896, an event which drew together contestants from all quarters of the globe. As a result, the Greeks fancied themselves more powerful and better prepared than they really were, and thus brought misfortune upon their country.

In regard to the expositions of 1878 and 1889, I recall very clearly the happy evolution of public spirit which followed in their wake. But who can say what will be the outcome of the exposition of 1900? It is always a difficult matter to predict, but the present trend of events makes me fear that its results will be not unlikely to recall those which followed 1867. It is almost certain that the Emperor and Empress of Russia will visit us, and that, following in their footsteps, will come other sovereigns, escorted by numerous and brilliant suites. The effect of all this will certainly be an appreciable weakening of republican sentiments, as well as the fostering of an exalted belief in the power and importance of France. Belief in one's self is good, provided it does not border upon presumption. A republic which has ceased to be a republic in all but name becomes a detestable object; and since events have proved that a republican form of government is the only possible or stable one for France, it is therefore essential that republican ideas and customs should continue to gain a foothold in the country. The fear which I expressed above is merely a personal one and is not shared by many of my fellow-countrymen, few of whom think, with me, that complete political independence is not only useful, but indispensable to a republic surrounded, as ours is, by monarchical

states. Perhaps my fears are not justified by existing conditions, but, as will be seen here, I have at least made a careful study of the question.

Another thing evident to those who pursue this subject is that these international expositions of ours have a distinct moral and political significance, and that they play such an important rôle in our national life as to be continued time after time, even in the face of the fact that the material profits from them are often either small or nonexistent. On her side, Europe in general favors them, for she sees in them a pledge of peace, a guaranty against possible hostilities; and thus the earlier the announcements are made, the larger the sums involved, and the more daring and grandiose are the plans, the more does European opinion favor the project. This attitude is due in a manner to the old suspicions which Europe still harbors regarding the warlike intentions of France. Our past history still inspires her with uncertainty, for she is slow to believe that we have become essentially pacific, not only from choice, but from necessity, and that for twenty years or more we have taken all the steps consistent with national dignity to banish from our domains the scourge of war. In stating awhile since that 1900 might eventually recall 1867, I did not have in mind any idea of a possible war, but rather the idea of a possible falling off in our efforts, bred of an exaggerated opinion of our progress and of a fancied superiority over our rivals. Another notable though quite different feature of our expositions is the fact that each year the question of amusements becomes a factor of more and more prominence. It is impossible for me to discover why the Americans should have been the first to adopt the word "fair," which, as applied to the Columbian Exposition, was assuredly a misleading term. At Chicago the amusements undoubtedly occupied very little space, being relegated, for the most part, to a long avenue called, strangely, the "Midway Plaisance," and cleverly dubbed the " Midway Nuisance," where near the huge wheel were found various forms of diversion, including Javanese dancers and men who swallowed swords. How sadly would their presence have marred that wonderful Court of Honor, to which white palaces, an exquisite pool, and the peristyle and colonnades fronting on Lake Michigan lent an atmosphere of almost sacred beauty! The mere fact that the Midway Plaisance was far removed from all this beauty was always a source of satis

faction to me. On the contrary, at the Champ de Mars, in 1889, the Parisians were delighted to find that their Cairo street, with its donkey-drivers, was near the galleries and in close touch with the more serious features of the exposition. The mere presence of such an affair has had little bearing on the real character of our international expositions for thirty years or more, and, in any case, is one which should never be tolerated in the center of the grounds, but rather in some sort of Midway Plaisance, where it would be more or less hidden from general view.

Of late years these expositions have changed greatly in character, and now appeal to vastly different classes of people-to the gay as well as to the serious-minded. In Paris they have become par excellence places of amusement and diversion. Many who have never cast an eye over the various objects in the galleries come regularly every evening to listen to the Russian or Gipsy bands, to go to the theater, to see dancing bayaderes or whirling dervishes, and to sip exotic drinks. It is with an eye to these folk that many people, for five or six years previous to an exposition, evolve weird plans which, in Parisian argot, are to be veritable clous, and which they hasten to submit to the commissaire-général the morning after his nomination. One will propose to bring the moon within the range of a hundred meters by means of a gigantic telescope; another will plan to sink wells deep enough to settle forever the question of subterranean fires; while still another will suggest the construction of hanging gardens which will eclipse those of Semiramis. Of course one will be able to eat dinner in the telescope, to have one's ice at the bottom of the well, and to dance in the hanging gardens, for it is not so much the love of science as the love of gain which inspires these projects. The promoter naturally hopes to obtain some concession or other within the exposition grounds, and thus make as much as possible out of his idea. Projects of this nature being so numerous this time, a special commission had to be appointed in order to examine and report upon them. Some were of course rejected at once, owing to their manifest absurdity, while others were retained for more detailed consideration. On further examination, many more had to be dismissed, owing to their impracticable nature, or because of some impossible feature which their inventor, in his naïve enthusiasm, had not foreseen. There now re

main about a dozen, most of which, after being subjected to certain modifications, can be utilized.

In the matter of amusements the masses are notoriously hard to please; they want first-class theaters, concerts, and restaurants at reduced prices, they often want the most unheard-of things, but what they want above all is to be amused. No matter how admirable the exposition be in other points, if it is found lacking in the matter of amusements it will not be a success. This is indeed a point wherein the populace of to-day resembles those crowds of old who demanded perfection in their public games and circuses, and in whose mind a spectacle once seen lost all interest. They clamored for the new and the unexpected, and ultimately became bestial and sanguinary in their passionate thirst for fresh sensations. Things of this nature have happily no attraction for the crowds of to-day, who, on the contrary, are essentially gay of mood, and in whose eyes exhibitions of brutality and violence find no favor whatever. One may ask whether the effect produced by these various forms of amusement is not the reverse of moral, or whether the fairy art which creates these expositions of ours really exercises the best of influences on the majority of those who visit them.

On the other hand, these expositions have furnished opportunities for manifestations of a quite different nature, notably those held in the interest of literary or scientific pursuits. Formerly only objects were exhibited, whereas now ideas are also expounded and exchanged. No exposition is now complete without its various congresses, which follow one another in rapid succession throughout its existence and often within its very confines, and in which are discussed most of the important questions which agitate the chief literary or scientific minds of the day. It is fortunate that things are so, for such circumstances do much in the way of compensating for many of the futile features I have cited above. But do these congresses really further the cause of science; 'are they of any serious value? Those who take part in them are usually busy men who have very little time at their disposal, and who possibly would prefer to spend that time in recreation rather than in study. They are, after all, men like the rest of us, and it is quite natural that they should feel the need of diversion, and, having at hand the proper opportunity, they would not be likely to let it slip. It is more than possible that their state of mind would be somewhat akin to that of school-boys in

vacation-time, who do not find the ambient breezes conducive to systematic and concentrated study. It is true, moreover, that the work done during a congress of this sort is often mediocre, and that the subsequently published reports rarely bear the stamp of genius. The uninterrupted succession of congresses over a period of several weeks, as well as their marked diversity, reacts powerfully against their real value and importance. Viewed in a different light, these congresses will be found to possess one paramount merit. They give men who know one another only by reputation or through their writings the opportunity of meeting one another; they prevent science and letters from remaining in the narrow ruts of a rigid nationalism, and, in making warm international friendships possible, they do more than anything else could ever do toward insuring the future of civilization.

Just now, at the century's turning-point, the world finds itself confronted by a difficult problem-a problem which calls to mind the story of Hercules being forced to choose between vice and virtue, and a problem which presents an alternative scarcely less formidable. In other words, we are either moving toward a noble internationalism, which, having at its disposal all the marvelous resources of civilization, will insure a moral and material progress such as no century has yet witnessed; or toward a revival of nationalism, which, employing those same means, will establish a reign of perfidy and calumny, and will bring in its train a series of hideous and terrible wars. It is, alas! impossible not to see that the world at large leans toward this latter alternative. Certain events prove conclusively that the happy hour of international good fellowship is by no means at hand. But it is necessary that this hour should come in order to prevent the world from being plunged into countless catastrophes. In point of fact these expositions do not furnish the best opportunities for furthering this cause. I am of the opinion that less showy but more important results are to be achieved by means of athletic contests which bring together the youth of different countries, by the yearly exchange of courtesies between the students of various universities, and by congresses and expositions of a character calculated to attract only a certain class of savants or a certain kind of exhibits. But these expositions are none the less a significant token of internationalism, and as such deserve to be encouraged.

WHY WE WON AT MANILA.

BY LIEUTENANT B. A. FISKE, U. S. N., OF THE "PETREL."

HE battle between the American and Spanish fleets at Manila, on the 1st of May, was the most complete naval victory of which history has record, and was fought entirely with the gun, the ram and the torpedo not being used or needed. The gun destroyed the Spanish fleet in two hours, though it was fired from long distances, and on board ships that rolled from side to side and moved continually through the water. As it is the most conspicuous expression of the war strength of the fleet, and was the immediate instrument with which the work was done, it is interesting to see how it was handled, and what brought about its remarkable success.

When war was declared, it will be remembered our fleet was at anchor in Mirs Bay, near Hong-Kong; and the next day it steamed out rapidly in column, bound for Manila, or rather for the Spanish fleet, which was supposed to be there. The succession of ships was the same as afterward in the battle, the flagship Olympia leading, and bearing the broad pennant of Commodore Dewey at her mainmast-head. Next came the Baltimore, then the Raleigh, Petrel, Concord, and Boston. The revenue cutter McCulloch, with the transports Nanshan and Zafiro, formed a separate column to starboard.

The trip to Manila was pleasant and uneventful. At nightfall of April 30 we were about twenty-five miles north of Corregidor Island, which divides the entrance to Manila Bay into a northern and southern channel. The shore north of the bay was only four miles distant on our port hand, and could be plainly seen. As Commodore Dewey knew that the time of our departure had been telegraphed at once all over the world, and that it had been known at once in Manila, and also that the governor-general there would not be at a loss to guess our destination, and would have scouts outside the bay to watch for us, so all the ports in the ships' sides through which light could shine were closed, and the usual lights outside were omitted; one small lamp was hung over the stern of each ship, however, as a guide to the next behind.

When abreast of Corregidor Island, and still heading to the southward, a flame shot up from the smoke-stack of the McCulloch, and almost instantly a rocket was sent up from Corregidor, showing that we were discovered. This happened about eleven o'clock; and as Manila was only thirty-five miles distant, and a telegraph line led there from the mainland just north of Corregidor, we knew that the governor-general would be informed of our whereabouts in about five minutes. We heard no guns, however, and concluded that these were being held in reserve until the ships should pass the entrance, which, we understood, was guarded on both sides by guns, and protected by submarine mines on the bottom, or floating between the bottom and the surface of the water.

The commodore led the fleet continually to the south, gradually changing the course to the eastward till by half-past eleven he had gotten all the ships past the outer headlands that mark the entrance to the bay. Not a gun had been fired; not a torpedo had been exploded. On the ships went, farther into the enemy's waters; and still no sound but the regular chunk, chunk of the engines, and the swish of the water under the bows. The silence was uncanny. Suddenly we heard the report of a heavy gun to starboard and very close, and the screaming of a shell above us. All nervousness, doubt, and hesitation vanished at the sound; every man stiffened up automatically. "Man the starboard battery!" The Petrel, in the middle of the fleet, had just passed a large rock named El Fraile, the rough outlines of which could be barely discerned in the darkness. Every man knew in a second that on this unsuspected spot the Spaniards had recently placed a battery, and that some brave fellows were firing at us as we passed-for it was a brave thing to engage a whole fleet with the little battery that could be placed on such a rock. The Raleigh had a rapid-firing gun on her poop, and scarcely was the fierce sound of the shell out of our ears when this gun blazed away in reply, firing into the darkness at the mass of rock standing out so vaguely. Then the Concord, which was just abreast El Fraile, let go one shot; and El Fraile gave us another, which also went

over our heads-not very far over. Just then the Boston did one of those pretty things that compel applause, because so perfectly neat and prompt. The fleet was still in column; but, for convenience and safety from collision, alternate ships were a little to the right and left of a line astern of the flagship, and the Boston was at the end of the left line, away from El Fraile. Now, the instant that El Fraile let go the first shot, Captain Wildes put his helm aport, and went right over to El Fraile, and stayed there, firing, until El Fraile's guns were silenced.

Meanwhile the fleet kept on, Commodore Dewey leading, in person, into a harbor where he had never been-leading at night into a harbor supposed to be filled with mines and flanked with guns, and to hold the enemy's fleet. Standing by the standard. compass forward, near the bows and high above the deck, he and Lieutenant Calkins, the navigator of the Olympia, who had also never been in Manila, kept their night-long vigil. A less brave man than Dewey would not have dared to risk such an entrance; and yet it was not an act of foolish daring, or even of unwarranted hazard. He had exhausted every means of information (not many, it is true) about the defense of Manila, and had studied thoroughly the pros and cons, and weighed them with perfect fairness. His train of reasoning had brought him to a certain conclusion, and thence to a decision, in the calmness and quiet of his cabin; and this decision he proceeded to carry out when he found himself face to face with the actual emergency, the responsibility on him alone. The risk he ran was certainly great; and this does not mean the risk of his own life and safety, for that was the last thing he thought of, but the risk of losing men or ships, or even the battle itself. Who can tell, except the chief himself, what is his feeling of responsibility when the success of an important military movement approaches its hour of trial!

During the night the fleet steamed up the bay, pointed for Manila, in a silence that was unbroken by any warlike sound, the captain of every ship upon the bridge, and officers and men, except the watch, sleeping on deck, near the loaded guns. A little before five the day began to break, and the vague outlines of Manila could be discerned ahead. It was off Manila that, from information received at Hong-Kong, we expected to find the Spanish fleet; so all the ships went to general quarters, and the few re

maining preparations were quickly made; but, save for the tall masts of a few merchant ships, not a sign of any vessel was to be seen. As the light increased, however, and glasses swept the broadening horizon, some objects to the southward that looked like men-of-war came out of the obscurity. Soon these could be made out plainly. They were the Spanish fleet, drawn up in column of battle across the little bay that leads to the naval and military arsenal of Cavite. The commodore ported his helm at once, and headed for the Spaniards, followed by his ships. A shore battery in Manila opened on the fleet with heavy guns; but the distance was too great for effective work, and so, after a few reply shots, the American fleet ceased firing, in obedience to a signal from the flagship.

The writer was so fortunate as to be stationed aloft, where he could see above the smoke and have an unobstructed view; and as his duties were merely to measure the enemy's distance and report any event of importance which took place, he had not only the means, but the leisure, for observing everything. Surely no more inspiring sight ever greeted the eye of man than that spread out for us at sunrise on the 1st of May. The American ships were steaming along swiftly and in perfect order, with the national ensign flying at the head of every mast and spanker-gaff. To the south lay the hostile fleet, disposed defiantly for battle, the beautiful flag of Spain floating over every ship, its folds curving and recurving slowly, at the will of the gentle morning air. At first the American guns could not be brought to bear, except two guns of the Olympia, which could be fired ahead, because, as will be remembered, our column pointed directly at the Spanish line. But the Spaniards, lying with their broadsides turned toward us, could use their guns with maximum effectiveness; that is, the guns of a whole broadside could be fired, without interfering with one another. When the Olympia got within seven thousand yards, however, she put her helm aport, and steered so that our fleet should pass the enemy, using the port broadsides, on course not quite parallel to the Spanish column, but converging toward it.

We learned afterward that the ships we saw were the Reina Christina (flagship), Castilla, Isla de Luzon, Isla de Cuba, Don Juan de Austria, Don Antonio de Ulloa, and the Marques del Duero, supported at Sanglei Point by a shore battery of three guns, each gun in an emplacement of its own, and be

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