model, thus showing its tendency to lift.

M. Eiffel's primary aim was to find out what the form of the wing, quite apart from its size, had to do with its supporting power; and after an extensive series of tests he discovered the most desirable shape for the purpose. This was one important victory.

But the shape of a single supporting plane was not the answer to the whole question his scientific mind was asking. By persevering, M. Eiffel learned in his laboratory that two wings, arranged in tandem, working in opposition to each other would, by this measure of mutual opposition, make a steadier flyer. The effect was like the supporting and bal

machine.

Not only did M. Eiffel discover these helpful secrets without jeopardizing a single life, but he made some other startling finds regarding the action of the air against the surfaces of a flying

He proved, contrary to existing belief, that the pressure on the back of the plane was actually greater than that on the exposed or commonly called supporting face. Therefore, it would seem that an aeroplane is carried aloft more by a sort of suction than by the force of the wind against the frontal surface of the wings. This apparent effect is brought about by the reaction of the disturbed air, and here, again, we see how much we have to learn about the laws of the atmosphere in which birds fly instinctively. We must have this knowledge to reduce the art of mechanical flight and its development to the dignity of a science.

N the western part of our country, the moving-picture people have things pretty nearly their own way; especially along the southwestern

coast.

Imagine a whole city composed of moving-picture actors, operators, directors, carpenters, and all the other employes required to make the fascinating strips of story-telling film. Such a municipality should be called Filmland-bythe-Sea, or some such picturesque name, but its commonplace designation is Universal City, after the big company that owns the land and keeps the citizens on its pay roll. It is the only one of its kind in the world, a city of film-folk, and it has a population of one thousand. Of these five hundred eighty-eight are voters. They all turned out at the first election held a few weeks ago, and as this is in a woman suffrage State, the heroines of the movie-drama were well represented on the ticket. Of the ladies, six were elected to offices ranging from Chief of Police (Miss Laura Oakley), to assessor, police judge, city treasurer, and "councilman". The candidate for The candidate for the highest place on the ladies' ticket lost by fifteen votes, but her opponent was the manager of the company so she was working against heavy odds. Miss Oakley, however, swept the board with a vote of three hundred and five against the one hundred and forty secured by the mere male who opposed her.

It is too early, of course, for the whole State to be populated and controlled by the photoplayers, but things are drifting that way. The railroads, which are supposed to be a "power" in California, have already taken the oath of allegiance, apparently, for trains are stopped for the purpose of recording narrow escapes, train robberies, rescues of the rail-bound heroines from the wheels of the express train, and other incidents of railroad life.

Barney Oldfield and his racing car (and big cigar) were secured for one occasion, and incidentally a pocketful of permits authorizing them to break the speed and other ordinances that would have to be smashed in order to produce a realistic picture of "Rescued from the Rails."

They are very lenient with the moving-picture people in southern California, for the local authorities realize that the exposure of the motion films is one of the big industries of that section.

About fifty companies are constantly engaged in the work, under the most favorable conditions that can be found anywhere, regarding light, climate, scenery, and actors. From the neighboring desert and ranges come the cowboys and "cowgirls". There, too, are found the Indians, not the white actors made up in striking imitation of the cigar store article, but genuine redskins, who are not only splendid "supers" but are frequently chosen for leading parts; in fact the manager and director of one of the leading film companies in Los Angeles is a Winnebago Indian, born on a Nebraska Reservation and brought up with the tribe, although his education was received at Carlisle. For scenic effects, almost every condition desired can be found within a radius of a hundred miles, or less, from the city. The lure of the burnt-out sandy wastes, the grandeur of the mountains, snow-covered in winter even in southern California, the sea in all its changing aspects, the crowded streets of the busy city, all these are within easy reach of the various camps about Los Angeles, while in the Missions and adobe homes remaining from the early days, there is an unequaled background of historic and romantic interest.

Some of these ancient outposts of Christianity, no longer in possession of

the Church, have been secured for the exclusive use of certain enterprising motion-picture companies, and a placard on the walls of the San Fernando Mission warns rival firms from using it in their film dramas.

Some of the outlying districts, such as Edendale, might be described as movingpicture colonies, so completely does the industry dominate the life of the suburb. At all hours of the day the western "bad man" of the magazine illustrations is in evidence, armed with a brace of "sixguns" and equipped with sombrero, hairy "chaps", and spurs of cruel spikes. He rides at an easy lope and, likely as not, is accompanied by a couple of Sioux braves in war paint and a

stages, wide open to the view of passersby, only such screens being used as are required to shut out the direct sunlight from "interiors". These scenes are often of an intimate character, so that the passengers on the street cars are sometimes pleasantly surprised at a glimpse of a bedroom with the principal comedian preparing to retire for the night and, naturally enough for a comedian, hanging his boots carefully over the gas jets and putting away his silk hat in the water pitcher. Meanwhile the director sits

smart cavalry officer. One side street of this suburb is composed entirely of false store fronts, representing the industries and commerce of a border town: saloons, a blacksmith shop, more saloons, a dance hall, another saloon, etc., a most deceiving vista for the stranger, for, as it happens, the neighborhood is a "dry zone". Here dramas are staged in very convincing surroundings, although right across the street from the scene of the desperado's last stand, the ladies of the First M. E. Church are placidly rocking and knitting slippers for the pastor while the fusillade is at its loudest. But they, of course, are not in the picture.

Other scenes are produced on outdoor

on a camp chair beside the camera and tells the actor to "put a little more ginger into it." The director invariably demands "ginger". He also puts it into his comments.

Not all the film producers are so indiscreet. One firm has built a ten-foot wall of concrete about the block which it owns, and has fitted up the interior with permanent and costly buildings, including the studio of glass which is so seldom needed in southern California. The arrangement of the inner court is such that several scenes can be produced at once in various parts of the enclosure, and the buildings are of the Mission style, which lends itself to picturesque settings. Ponds, fountains, and garden