highway to Cologne is also lost, and I wander helplessly, and yet with a certain pleased sensation, through unknown lanes and by-ways till, turning a sharp corner, I am brought face to face with Cologne, just across the Rhine. A flat, yellow stream, sliding between low banks! My first view of the much be-sung river is a disappointment, though I know well enough that here it has degenerated into a fat and lazy middle age that belies its youthful romance and vigor which have made Bingen and Schaffhausen famous. With an eye sated by the volume of the Mississippi, my only inspired reflection on this little stream is that if the Germans did not keep a strict Watch on the Rhine they would probably lose it altogether, which is doubtless true in one sense at least. Lying between Mülheim and the city is a bridge of heavy black barges firmly anchored and supporting a roadway of planks. Before crossing this, the traveler buys a little pink ticket for three pfennige and stows it away in his pocket, all the time with eye and mind fixed on the sights about him, so when a retired sergeant with a martinet air and military cap demands that same ticket, the victim is frightened out of his five senses at the parade ground sharpness of command, and by the time he realizes what is wanted he has not the faintest recollection of where he put it. Then ensues a search through sixteen pockets under the unsparing "eye of the law," and it is like an acquittal in a forgery case when the suspect finally is able to produce it. Meanwhile a trim little river steamboat with graceful lines and the bright flag of Holland flying at her stern, has whistled that she wants to go up the river, so with much puffing of the donkey engine, two barges in the middle are allowed to swing down stream with current, leaving room for the vessel to pass; but now a pleasure boat is steaming down upon us, and from below comes a tug leading a long string of empty scows, so the man on the pontoon calmly relights his pipe and waits with infinite patience for everything in sight to go by. And I am on the wrong side of the gap! But what pilgrim could be impatient at being compelled to stand an hour before that serene monument of human greatness which rises so majestically from its surroundings that comparison with their sordidness does but add dignity to the noble work. Colossal as it is, there is no impression of heaviness nor dead-weight, for the general outline has the upward tenaency of growing things, as young fir trees, and the elaborate carving lavished wherever taste allows, not only breaks the lines agreeably, but ever follows this upward movement, so in the light haze of a midsummer afternoon, when the heated air trembles over the river, it seems as if the graceful forms were endowed with motion and that man's work rivaled that of nature not only in strength and grace, but in that final quality of beauty, life. The boats have passed up the river, the barges swing back into the gap, a few eager steps with the crowd on the highway, and I am in Cologne. ONE NIGHT. BY HARRY OAKES. Was it last night, or weary years ago, I felt the parting pressure of your hand For the last time, the very last, And heard the voice I may not hear again? The darkness and the silence and the tears Since last I looked, dear love, into your eyes One night! A breath of time- but oh, the years, Between the twilight and the morning gray. O NE day in the early '60's the world was electrified by the announcement that the staid legislators of New Hampshire had granted a charter to Silvester Marsh permitting him to run an iron horse up Mount Washington. The prospect of a train climbing the mountain side created great excitement in railway circles, but to the army of guides and stage drivers the subject was of even greater concern, for hitherto they had held the profits of the mountain trip in the hollow of their own hands. Few persons believed that the project would be successful. But it was, although it was eight years after the charter had been granted before the first curious little deformed engine struggled up the still more deformed track and unloaded its burden of passengers on the top of Mount Washington, 6291 feet above the sea level. The achievement was an engineering feat considered to be the acme of greatness. The expenditure of money was great, but the redoubtable enterprise was greater. The road, a curious anomaly of track and power, was constructed of three rows of rails, the center being a cog-rail into which meshed the cog-wheel that was attached to the driving axle of the locomotive. Each revolution of the wheel sent the train forward about six feet. The quaint boiler stood upright and swung on knobs or trunnions, where it oscillated and was a source of danger and annoyance. The construction of the engine and boiler was crude as compared with the neat, compact, engines of to-day; but their power, in conjunction with the cograil, was all sufficient for the work. As science advanced the road has been improved and equipped with modern engines and modern safety devices until the trip is fraught with as little danger as a trip on the level. Leaving the little station of Fabyan the run to the base of the mountain is along the banks of the Ammonoosuc River. Arriving at the base, we take the Mount Washington train and ascend rapidly through dense woods, the character of which changes as the summit is neared. The steepest part of the grade is at the point known as Jacob's Ladder, or the terrible trestle, where the gradient is one hundred to two hundred and sixtyseven feet, or a rise of one foot in every 2.67 feet. Arriving at the summit we find still standing there the old Tip-Top House, a tall observatory and a commodious hotel. The view embraces a vast extent of country, dotted with high peaks, glistening lakes, villages, and even in the distance can be traced the great Atlantic as it fits closely against the horizon. The success of Silvester Marsh's rack and pinion railway opened to the world the grand scenery of the mountains. Immediately engineers considered other mountains and their ascent. The next one to be taken under surveillance was the Rigi. However, an Iron Horse up the Rigi had been contemplated, and the route partially surveyed even before the road up Mount Washington was considered. In the spring of 1869 the little village of Vitznau suddenly arose to importance through the fact that a railway was to be built from there directly to the top of the glorious Rigi. Three Swiss engineers, Messrs. Riggenbach, Zschokke and Naff planned the railway, obtained the necessary concession from the Great Council of the Canton of Lucerne, and subscribed one-half of the share capital-625,000 francs. The remainder was offered for public subscription on the 22d of September, and within a few hours every share had been taken. The length of the line is seven and one-quarter miles; the total rise is 4,487 feet. That is the distance above the level of Lake Lucerne, and not above the sea level. The Rigi is about 6,000 feet high, and there are now two cog-roads running up its sides, the Vitznau from the south and the Arth-Goldeau from the north. The two lines join at Rigi-Kaltbad, a station situated about two-thirds of the way up the mountain, and the rest of the climb is made over the one road. The ordinary gauge is used, but between the usual rails runs a third with wrought iron teeth. Each toothed rail is ten feet in length and has thirty teeth. The rails rest upon sleepers of oak two feet apart, and every hundredth sleeper rests upon a foundation of solid ma sonry three feet square and three feet deep. The first locomotives had vertical boilers, engines of 120 horse power, which made three miles an hour. The ascent was made by means of steam and the descent by compressed air. However, the road is now equipped with the most compact modern engines and safety devices. The train carries about 60 passengers and has comfortable observation cars that afford an unobstructed view of the Bernese Alps with their snow crowned peaks and vast ice fields. The view from the Rigi-Kulm has become famous throughout the world, but had it not been for the iron horse, this wealth of scenic beauty would have remained closed to the majority of the traveling public. The Vitznau-Rigi railway was opened for traffic on May 21, 1871, and it has carried on an average of 80,000 passengers annually. Following the Rigi project came the wonderful route up Mount Pilatus. This was constructed in 1886-88 by Colonel Locher and E. Guyer-Freuler, both of Zurich. It is 3 miles in length and throughout the entire line the bed is sub-structure of massive granite blocks and slabs, to which a superstructure or frame work is securely fastened with giant screws. a The rack-rail runs midway between the two smooth rails but on a higher level. It is of wrought steel with a row of vertical cogs, milled out of solid steel bars. Every engine and carriage has two horizontal cog-wheels which grip this raised rack-rail from either side. They are controlled by automatic brakes. From the Hotel Pilatus the railway immediately ascends the mountain slope. The foothills are covered with fruit and walnut trees, which in turn give place to beech trees and pasturage. The tiny single car comprising engine and passenger coach, with seats for 32 passengers, has plain sailing up to the first watering station, which is reached in twenty minutes. Beyond is the stone viaduct with its span of 82 feet across Wolfort Gorge, when the train plunges into the darkness of the Wolfort tunnel, and dashes out and across the Riselten on an incline of 48 in 100 feet. The Riselten is a steep slope formed of debris washed down the mountain side and it was necessary to build protective bulwarks of solid masonry, construct subterranean vaults and erect pillars in order to create a solid foundation for the railroad. This is the most difficult portion of the line. A short distance beyond are the Spycher Tunnels, leading through a bit of wild forest and opening out upon an enchanting view. Below lay the lakes of Lucerne and Zug, and above towers the Rigi and the Albis Hills. Still climbing the mountain side, the dwarf train soon reaches the noted pasturage belt and switch station of Aemsigen-Alp. From the Matalp pasture the grandest prospect of the journey unfolds itself before us, the dark line of railway appears like a lariat around the savage mountain mass called Esel. We pass the "Devil's Driveway" and begin the ascent of the wildly precipitous Eselwand. Four tunnels pierce the monster-giant, while between them is revealed a panoramic view of the Alpine hills; there is a last steep incline and the bantam engine puffs a terrible puff and shrieks a stifled yell as it enters the lofty archway of a crouching building at the base of the topmost pinnacle of the mountain. It is the Pilatus-Kulm Station. This wonderful railway was completed in a little more than 400 work |