Tin
The story of tin is particularly interesting because it illustrates (perhaps better than that of any other metal) the interdependence of the elements of modern civilization. In 1862, which is about as far back as accurate statistics of its production go, the world's annual output was roughly 22,000 tons, of which about half came from Cornwall, and the balance in small and scattered amounts from Germany, Austria, South America, Mexico and the East Indies. In 1906 the crop amounted to nearly 109,000 tons, showing an advance of almost 500 per cent, in 45 years. When we investigate the uses to which the metal is put, we find that previous to our Civil War about all the need the world had for tin was for the manufacture of cooking and kitchen utensils, and for roofing. Now, however, nine tenths of the demand is caused by the canned food industries, and those connected with the distribution of mineral oils. Tin roofs are completely out of fashion, and aluminum is rapidly becoming the favorite kitchen metal. But the tin can, made of plated sheet iron, is the vehicle in which kerosene has traveled to every part of the inhabited globe, and which has made it possible for the fisherman, the stockman, the farmer and the horticulturist to deliver their products in a fresh and edible condition wherever there are people who want them. It is an interesting fact that quite three quarters of the annual crop of tin now comes from the East Indies, and is gathered by Chinamen and Malays. The region is probably the most ancient mining district in the world. Tin has been coming from there in small quantities for at least 5,000 years, ever since the beginning of the bronze age of the archeologists, and the world is only now beginning to appreciate the extent and value of the field. More than fifty per cent, of this old world product finds its market in the United States, where it is converted into millions of cans of all kinds, from the familiar five-gallon receptacle in which the Standard Oil people pack their product, down to the diminutive sardine can of the picnicker. When these are filled and sealed they start on their travels, and in a few brief months—or years at the outside—the neat vessels are scattered throughout the world from the equator to the poles, over the plains and deserts and through the mountains. Vast numbers of the larger sizes are doing duty as water pails everywhere, while the remainder become vagrants and strays in the refuse piles that everywhere mark the paths or dwelling places of man. Thus the metal, gathered with toil and danger by the patient and stolid oriental, is by the strenuous and impatient occidental put to a use which almost immediately insures its dissimination to and dissipation in every corner of the known world. Without tin, our present-day civilization would almost come to a standstill, and certainly the exploration of the yet unknown parts of the planet would
