The early history of the cinematograph presents a study in international rivalry. The United States, England and France wrote names on the scroll of fame upon which the scientists and promoters who rendered motion pictures possible make their bid for immortality. Edison and Eastman, Americans, Daguerre and the Messrs. Lumière and Sons, Frenchmen, and Muybridge and Robert Paul, Englishmen, are the leading names among the _dramatis personæ_ who took part in the first act of a drama that began as an amusement for children but which now promises to develop into a miracle-play regenerating the human race. Scientific technicalities have no place in a book designed to tell the story of the movies from what is called in newspaper circles “the human interest standpoint,” but it is necessary to apportion credit here for what the three nations above mentioned did respectively toward solving the initial problems confronting the pioneers who raised photography from a tortoise to a bird, giving it pinions that defy time and space. To change the metaphor, Daguerre, a Frenchman, rocked the cradle of photography, Muybridge, an Englishman, taught it to run, and Edison, an American, gave it wings. Behold here, at last, a triple alliance that is changing the face not merely of a continent but of a planet. The mountains were in labor and brought forth not a little mouse but a marvellous creature whose dynamics for both good and evil can not be over-estimated. The claim that England can put forward for furnishing first aid to the movies bears the date 1872 and is summarized as follows by Mr. Edison: An Englishman of the name of Muybridge, who was an enthusiast on two subjects—cameras and race horses—was visiting, at his California farm, Senator Leland Stanford, who was also something of a “crank” on the subject of blooded trotters. During the visit the merits of a certain horse, owned by the Senator, came under discussion, Stanford contending for one fact, and his guest arguing for another. To settle the dispute Muybridge conceived an ingenious plan. Along one side of the private race-course on the farm he placed a row of twenty-four cameras. Attached to the shutter of each, he fastened a long thread, which in turn was carried across the track, and then, to make sure of obtaining sharp exposures, he erected a white screen opposite to serve as a reflector. When all was in readiness the race horse was turned loose down the track. As it dashed past the rows of cameras the various threads were snapped, and a series of photographs, establishing each successive point in the “action” of the horse, were automatically registered. When they were developed they revealed for the first time a complete photographic record of the minutest details of a horse in actual motion, and Muybridge had the satisfaction of using them to win his argument.