flattened and lengthened the lead into oblong sinkers for his fish line. He needed no heat to forge them, but steel must be heated to soften it. Then it can be lengthened and flattened by the press. It is about the same principle as the boy employed, only the press has the power of 14,000 tons.

When the man on the raised platform to the right pushes his lever as far as it will go, a pressure equal to the weight of some of the great office buildings in Chicago or New York is placed upon the casting. Now is it any wonder that it flattens out and lengthens, as the school boy's sinker. Electric power? No-water such as children use to sail chips and from which the maiden gathers lilies-yet when pent up by human ingenuity can exert a force greater than any known save that of explosives.

Yet this is not the climax of the play. That is reached in the hammer chamber when the metal victim placed upon the block succumbs to the blows of the executioner-a strange and startling parallel to the scenes of '98 and of the later commune as conveyed to us on the canvas wrought by the cunning of the French artist. Some day such a masterpiece may represent the manner in which steel beheads steel.

The prisoner in chains is moved to the front of this guillotine of the foundry. There are the upright posts, the resting place, the framework supporting the massive plate which slides up and down in its groove, dripping with oil-all bearing a sinister resemblance to the death weapon of France but enlarged on a colossal scale. As the crane moves the casting into the gap in the framework a man climbs the circular stairway to the platform half way up one of the great posts and seizes his lever. His fellows range themselves below with tools to clean the debris from the cooling

mass.

The hammer boss looks up the groove to see that nothing has caught in it and scans the chain wrapping to make certain that all is secure that nothing will break from the strength about to be exerted. For an hour steam has been crowded and pressed into the cylinders on each side of the hammer by force equal to that of a thousand horses. The boss takes a last look at the thing on the block.

Above his head the man at the lever has bared his arm to the elbow to give his human muscle full play and tipped back his cap to cool his brow a little, if possible, for the heat from that fifty tons strikes him in the face with suffocating intensity. With eye fixed on his superior he awaits the signal. Possibly a nod of the head, possibly a wave of the hand-it is sufficient. Pushing down the lever he frees the pent up force.

Silently as a feather floats downward this 125-ton knife falls twenty feet in its groove, burying its edge in the dull red. Out spurts a stream of fire on either side as a myriad of metal particles white hot from the friction are forced into the air by the blow. Despite the tons of iron and stone in the foundation the concussion shakes the ground like a convulsion of the earth. A pull at the lever and the executioner has loosed his weapon to be raised to the top of the groove, leaving a deep red cut in the object on the block. But the work is not finished-another, perhaps two more blows are necessary before the ton or so on the edge of the bed is completely severed and falls on the pile of sand ready to receive it.

Later you may see it being bent like a sheet of paper between huge rolls of steel having the power of 7,000 tons, or pierced full of holes as a boy bores a piece of wood with his gimlet, but impressive as are these scenes they seem insignificant beside that of the hammer.

Here is a tragedy of power, once witnessed, never to be forgotten, yet a little later at the noon hour, and comedy replaces it-the comedy of the clay pipe and the dinner pail. For the time all this muscle of mechanism has become lifeless, merely inert forms of metal.

On the bed of the hammer stretches the leverman, directly under the knife which would crush him to pulp, as he enjoys his after dinner smoke. Scarce stopping to wash the grime from their hands a group are sprawled out on the soot and earth floor, propped against the pillars of the press, each with pail in lap, finishing its contents to the last morsel and "washing it down" with the cold coffee in the top can. They realize their mastery, and in their attitudes show their contempt for the power they control.

The man in the cage joins the man of the bar, bites off a quid from his plug of tobacco, and they talk of their charges as if these were human. "She's contrary to-day," says the man of the hammer. "I went all over every nut with the wrench before we started up. They're all snug, but she creaks as though she was racked to pieces. The bed shakes so I am nearly knocked off my feet when I let the hammer go. Probably to-morrow she'll be all right. Gets freakish."

"That was the way with mine last week," says the man of the cage. "Couldn't stop the crab at the right time to save myself-kept runnin' after I pulled the stop lever. Had the electrician look it over. He says nothin's the matter. I know there ain't either-just pure cussedness. It's a brute sometimes that way. Now, Tom there has been workin' his crane for a year, and he says it always goes wrong somehow on Mondays-jest as if it had been takin' too much the night before."

Strange, even grotesque, language to come from the lips of men so dignified as you watched them in the scenes in which they participated. But these men show their character in their vocation. Though they may not have the faculty of expression, it only needs a glance at the stern, set faces beside the hammer and press, reflected in the furnace glow or revealed in the light of the white hot metal to realize that they feel their responsibility, they appreciate the danger of their work-but there is no sign of weakness, no hesitation in doing their duty.

In this drama of the day's work, tableaux are not lacking -statuesque groupings that would be the delight of the sculptor. In the first transformation of the liquid to the ingot you note how men remain rigid in their positions—not a muscle moving until the time for action comes. Beside the press and hammer, awaiting the master's signal, could something of the supernatural change them to marble or bronze, the strength, resolution, earnestness typified in their positions alone would give that group a place of honor in the salon.

You curiously regard the molder standing besides the metal. Of your own strength you could not move the thou

sandth part of its weight. Its ponderous unwieldiness impresses you with a sort of awe as you think that here is the monster gun of some battleship or a part of its protection. You have a respect for it-you realize the strength, the future power it typifies. But does the man beside it feel the same? Far from it. There is no awe or respect in the deep lined features, in the resolute gaze, which the greatest tragedian might envy. He is its creator, its master. He can work it to his will-thanks to this trust of power.

THE ORGANIZATION OF MANUFACTURING

INDUSTRIES.

BY ANDREW CARNEGIE.

[Andrew Carnegie, capitalist, manufacturer, philanthropist born, Dunfermline, Fifeshire, Scotland, November 25, 1837; came to United States in 1848 locating in Pittsburg; his first work was as weaver's assistant in a cotton factory at Allegheny, Pa.; was messenger boy in Pittsburg office of Ohio Telegraph company, 1851; learned telegraphy and entered the employ of the Pennsylvania Railroad company; became telegraph operator, advancing by promotions until he became superintendent of the Pittsburg division of the Pennsylvania system; assisted Mr. Woodruff, inventor of the sleeping car, in organizing the Woodruff Sleeping Car Co.; served as superintendent of military railways and government telegraph lines during the civil war; after war organized Keystone Bridge works and Union Iron works located at Pittsburg; introduced Bessemer process of making steel, 1868; became principal owner of Homestead and Edgar Thompson Steel works, and other large plants as head of the firms of Carnegie, Phipps & Co. and Carnegie Bros. & company; interests consolidated in Carnegie Steel company, 1899, which were merged in the United States Steel corporation in 1901; retired from business, 1901; has given libraries to many towns and cities in the United States and Great Britain, and large sums in other benefactions; Lord Rector university, of St. Andrew, Edinburgh, 1903. Author, An American Fourin-Hand in Britain, Round the World, Triumphant Democracy, The Gospel of Wealth, Empire of Business.]

I invite your attention to the important question of the organization and management of that most complicated of all pieces of machinery-man-which has been my province.

Speaking from experience, we had not gone very far in manufacturing before discovering that perfect management in every department was needed, and that this depended upon the men in charge. Thus began the practice of interesting the young geniuses around us, as they proved their ability to achieve unusual results-the source of big dividends. These received small percentages in the firm, which were credited to them at the actual cash invested, no charge being made for good will. Upon this they were charged interest, and the surplus earned each year beyond this was credited to their account. By the terms of the agreement three quarters of their colleagues had the right to cancel it, paying the party the sum then to his credit. This provision was meant to meet possible extreme cases of incompatibility of temper, or if the recipient should prove incapable of development, or of enduring prosperity. At death the interest reverted to the firm at