Still, however, this new science was crude. One reason for this was that ships depended upon the wind for power, and it was a slow task to compile comparative data. That this was not impossible, though, is proved by the brilliant American designers of the first half of the 19th Century, who suddenly evolved the clipper ships that so far surpassed all previous sailing ships that comparison became mere contrast. But it was steam that made it possible for naval architects to develop their profession to so high a point as it has reached. It was during the 19th Century, then, that naval architecture made its greatest progress. Since the 19th Century great improvements have been made, it is true, and many facts have been discovered, and naval architecture still is progressing, but the 19th Century made a profession of it, and the 20th Century is only continuing its development. The profession of the naval architect is one that is not widely recognized or understood. When Cass Gilbert designs a Woolworth Building we recognize him as a great architect, and realize, to some extent, the great task he has so successfully completed. When the building is built we view it with interest, perhaps with awe, and comment on the brilliance of the architect and the ability of the constructor. And they deserve all the credit they get—and more. But how often have you ever heard mention made of the architects from whose brains were evolved the _Mauretania_ and the _Leviathan_, the _Belgenland_ and the _Majestic_? True, it is commonplace to marvel at their size. But who thinks of the titanic task that faced their designers? And now imagine a Woolworth Building being built on a sloping runway, and, when completed, slid bodily into the water, across thousands of miles of which mighty engines placed inside could drive her at express-train speed. Imagine such a structure, with all the magnificence of appointments that are to be found in the Woolworth Building, forcing its way through winter storms with waves pounding madly at its sides—waves which, striking the ironbound coasts of Maine or Wales, sometimes tear away tons of the living rock and hurl it about in a smother of foam. And then compare such a structure with the greatest ships of to-day. There are several far longer than the Woolworth Building is tall, but these vast steel hulls do not rest on foundations of steel and concrete—immovable. They float in the water, and may pitch and roll in the giant swells of the deep sea, but still their huge steel frames easily bear the strain, and while a tremor of the earth might dash skyscrapers disastrously about our ears, the almost constant motion of the sea, whether violent or weak, affects them little. For such work as this the architects of ships deserve all praise.