marvelous,—were still confined to narrow strips of territory about the shores of the Mediterranean, and had but the vaguest notions as to any other regions of the earth.

In the later classical period, to be sure, the globe was subjected, as we have seen, to wonderful measurements by Eratosthenes and by Posidonius, and the fact that man's abiding place is a great ball utterly different from the world as conceived by the Oriental mind, was definitely grasped and became more or less a matter of common knowledge. It was even conceived that there might be a second habitable zone on the opposite side of the equator from the region in which the Greeks and Romans found themselves, but as to just what this hypothetical region might be like, and as to what manner of beings might people it, even the most daring speculator made no attempt to decide. The more general view, indeed, precluded all thought of habitable regions lying beyond the confines of the Mediterranean civilization; conceiving rather that the world beyond was a mere waste of waters.

Doubtless the imaginative mind of the period must have chafed under these restrictions of geographical knowledge; and now and again a more daring navigator must have pressed out beyond the limits of safety, into the Unknown, never to return. Once at least, even in the old Egyptian days, a band of navigators surpassing in daring all their predecessors, and their successors of the ensuing centuries, made bold to continue their explorations along the coast of Africa till they had passed to a region where—as Herodotus relates with wonder—the sun appeared "on their right hand," ultimately passing about the southern extremity of the African continent and in due course completing the circumnavigation, returning with wonder tales to excite the envy, perhaps, but not the emulation of their fellows.

Then in due course some Phœnician or Greek navigators coasted along the northern shores beyond the "Pillars of Hercules" and discovered at the very confines of the world what we now term the British Isles. But this was the full extent of exploration throughout antiquity; and the spread of civilization about the borders of the known world was a slow and haphazard procedure during all those centuries that mark the Classical and Byzantine periods.

THE MARINER'S COMPASS

The change came with that revival of scientific learning which was to usher in the new era that we speak of as modern times. And here as always it was a practical mechanism that gave the stimulus to new endeavor. In this particular case the implement in question was the mariner's compass, which consists, in its essentials, as everyone is aware, of a magnetized needle floated or suspended in such a way that it is made under the influence of terrestrial magnetism to point to the north and south.

The mysterious property whereby the magnetized needle obeys this inscrutable impulse is, in the last analysis, inexplicable even to the science of our day. But the facts, in their cruder relations, had been familiar from time immemorial to a nation whose habitat lay beyond the ken of the classical world—namely, the Chinese. It seems to be fairly established that navigators of that nation had used the magnetized needle, so arranged as to constitute a crude compass, from a period possibly antedating the Christian Era. To Western nations, however, the properties of the magnetized needle seem to have been quite unknown—at least its possibilities of practical aid to the navigator were utterly unsuspected—until well into the Middle Ages. There is every reason to believe—though absolute proof is lacking—that a knowledge of the compass came to the Western world from the Far East through the medium of the Arabs. The exact channel of this communication will perhaps always remain unknown. Nor have we any clear knowledge as to the exact time when the all-important information was transmitted. We only know that manuscripts of the twelfth century mentioned the magnetic needle as an implement familiar to navigators, and from this time forward, we may feel sure, the new possibilities of exploration made possible by the compass must have suggested themselves to some at least of the more imaginative minds of each generation. Indeed there were explorers in each generation who pushed out a little into the unknown, as the discovery of various groups of Islands in the Atlantic shows, although the efforts of these pioneers have been eclipsed by the spectacular feat of Columbus.

The exact steps by which the crude compass of the Orientals was developed into the more elaborate and delicate instrument familiar to Western navigators cannot be traced by the modern historian. It is known that sundry experiments were made as to the best form of needle, and in particular as to the best way of adjusting it on approximately frictionless bearings. But a high degree of perfection in this regard had been attained before the modern period; and the compass had been further perfected by attaching the needle to a circumferential card on which the "points of the compass," thirty-two in number, were permanently marked. At all events the compass card had been so divided before the close of the fourteenth century, as is proved by a chance reference by Chaucer. The utility of the instrument thus perfected—indeed its entire indispensableness—was doubtless by this time clearly recognized by all navigators; and one risks nothing in suggesting that without the compass no such hazardous voyage into the unknown as that of Columbus would ever have been attempted.

No doubt the earliest observers of the needle believed that it pointed directly to the North. If such were indeed the fact the entire science of navigation would be vastly simpler than it is. But it required no very acute powers of observation to discover that the magnetized needle does not in reality point directly towards the earth's poles. There are indeed places on the earth where it does so point, but in general it is observed to deviate by a few degrees from the exact line of the meridian. Such deviation is technically known as magnetic declination. That this declination is not the same for all places was discovered by Columbus in the course of his first transatlantic voyage.

A century or so later, the accumulated records made it clear that declination is not a fixed quantity even at any given place. An Englishman, Stephen Burrows, is credited with making the discovery that the needle thus shifts its direction slightly with the lapse of time, and the matter was more clearly determined a little later by Gillebrand, Professor of Geometry at Graham College. Dr. Halley, the celebrated astronomer—whose achievements have been recalled to succeeding generations by the periodical return of the comet that bears his name—gave the matter attention, and in a paper before the Royal Society in 1692 he pointed out that the direction of the needle at London had changed in a little over a century (between 1580 and 1692) from 11 degrees 15 minutes East to 6 degrees West, or more than 17 degrees.

Halley conclusively showed that similar variations occurred at all other places where records had been kept. He had already demonstrated, a few years earlier, that the deviations of the compass noted at sea are not due to the varying attractions of neighboring bodies of land, but to some influence having to do with the problem of terrestrial magnetism in its larger aspects. Halley advocated the doctrine, which had first been put forward by William Gilbert, that the earth itself is a gigantic magnet, and that the action of the compass is dependent upon this terrestrial source and not, as many navigators believed, on the influence of a magnetic star, or on localized deposits of lodestone somewhere in