Railroads, with all they mean for civilization, could not have extended themselves without the telegraph to control them. And railroads and telegraphs are the sinews and nerves of national life, the prime agencies in welding the diverse and widely separated States and Territories of the Union. A Boston merchant builds a cotton-mill in Georgia; a New York capitalist opens a copper-mine in Arizona. The telegraph which informs them day by day how their investments prosper tells idle men where they can find work, where work can seek idle men. Chicago is laid in ashes, Charleston topples in earthquake, Johnstown is whelmed in flood, and instantly a continent springs to their relief. And what benefits issue in the strictly commercial uses of the telegraph! At its click both locomotive and steamship speed to the relief of famine in any quarter of the globe. In times of plenty or of dearth the markets of the globe are merged and are brought to every man's door. Not less striking is the neighbourhood guild of science, born, too, of the telegraph. The day after Roentgen announced his X rays, physicists on every continent were repeating his experiments--were applying his discovery to the healing of the wounded and diseased. Let an anti-toxin for diphtheria, consumption, or yellow fever be proposed, and a hundred investigators the world over bend their skill to confirm or disprove, as if the suggester dwelt next door. On a stage less dramatic, or rather not dramatic at all, electricity works equal good. Its motor freeing us from dependence on the horse is spreading our towns and cities into their adjoining country. Field and garden compete with airless streets. The sunny cottage is in active rivalry with the odious tenement-house. It is found that transportation within the gates of a metropolis has an importance second only to the means of transit which links one city with another. The engineer is at last filling the gap which too long existed between the traction of horses and that of steam. In point of speed, cleanliness, and comfort such an electric subway as that of South London leaves nothing to be desired. Throughout America electric roads, at first suburban, are now fast joining town to town and city to city, while, as auxiliaries to steam railroads, they place sparsely settled communities in the arterial current of the world, and build up a ready market for the dairyman and the fruit-grower. In its saving of what Mr. Oscar T. Crosby has called "man-hours" the third-rail system is beginning to oust steam as a motive power from trunk-lines. Already shrewd railroad managers are granting partnerships to the electricians who might otherwise encroach upon their dividends. A service at first restricted to passengers has now extended itself to the carriage of letters and parcels, and begins to reach out for common freight. We may soon see the farmer's cry for good roads satisfied by good electric lines that will take his crops to market much