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EDITORIAL PAGE THE ATLANTA GEORGIAN Published Every Afternoon Except Sunday By THE GEORGIAN COMPANY ft 20 Alahiuna S*.. aita, Ga. Sntered as seeond-class matter at postoffice at Atlanta, under act of March 3. 1873. For Ages the Poor Have Been “Locked Below” And When Any Craft Sank, They Sank With It. It is Time for the Lowly to Take Part in Government. Mr. E. S. Martin, kind haarted, intelligent and well meaning, feels that too ranch is said about giving consideration and power to the poor, and that too much prejudice is aroused against “the favored classes.’’ Mr. Martin says: No; it is not true It is not true that any considerable group of our people consciously aims to oppress or de fraud the rest. Discipline, which is law. is a device to hinder mob rule, which is a horror, and class rule, which is oppression. What did discipline do on the Titanic? Who drowned 1 The strong, the rich, the powerful. Who went in the boats? The women and children. Thank God for discipline; for the order and the law that sent men to their death and saved honor. It is quite true that no considerable group of our people “con scientiously aims to oppress or defraud the rest. It is also true that the people, as a whole, and especially those that are cunning, resourceful and able, think chiefly of themselves and little of others. And Mr. Martin makes a poor selection when he picks out the disaster of the Titanic as proof that the meek and lowly should gladly entrust themselves and their destinies to the haughty and the powerful. Mr. Martin asks who drowned on the Titanic, and answers “The strong, the rich and powerful.’’ But he overlooks OTHERS. On the Titanic wore drowned also in one batch five hundred and thirty-two men, women and children poor, third class pas sengers—LOCKED BEI/OW THE DECKS. FORBIDDEN TO COME UP, FORBIDDEN EVEN TO STRUGGLE TO SAVE THEIR LIVES. BECAUSE THEY WERE POOR AND LOWLY. What do Mr. Martin and others who tell us that we should allow the powerful and the intelligent to rule think of the condi tion of the five hundred and thirty-two steerage passengers mur dered by class distinction and class brutality on board the Titanic? If the fivv hundred and thirty-two had been rich passengers; if they had had among them an able leader, feared and respect ed. THEY NEVER WOULD HAVE BEEN LOCKED BELOW THE DECKS. They, too, would have had a chance to save their lives, as rich and cunning Mr. Ismay saved HIS life. They would at least have had a chance to look at the iceberg that killed them, to look at the sky above them, and to go to their death if they must go, as decent human beings, showing their share of courage and devotion. But that was too good for them. A hero’s death was all very well for “the strong, the rich, the powerful.” It was too good a death for the steerage passengers. They, five hundred and thirty-two of them, must stay, locked below, and drown with the rats that drowned in the hold of the ship. Does not Mr. Martin, do not others who like him really sympathize with the poor, feel that something is wrong in a civilization that talks so much about “the strong, the rich, the powerful.” that die heroic deaths and so little about, the five hun dred and thirty two MURDERED BECAUSE THEY WERE POOR. BECAUSE THEY WERE WEAK. BECAUSE IT WAS RIGHT IN OUR CIVILIZATION TO LOCK THEM BELOW AND DROWN THEM WITH THE RATS? The lesson that the Titanic teaches is not a lesson of sub mission to wealth, intelligence and good intentions. It is a lesson that has been taught to the poor and the op pressed all through the ages. The disaster on the Titanic, while it proves that there are good and unselfish brave men among the powerful and fortu nate, proves above all that those that are NOT powerful, those that are NOT fortunate, need leaders and representatives. If any man had locked in John Jacob Astor and the others that drowned on that boat, if rich and powerful men had been drowned because they were arbitrarily locked below the decks, some one would now suffer. BUT NO ONE WILL SUFFER FOR THE MURDER OF THE FIVE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-TWO THIRD-CLASS PASSENGERS. They are only THIRD-CLASS passengers. As it was on the Titanic so it has been from the beginning of time. The most cunning and unscrupulous get to the top. and they survive—like a Talleyrand in the shipwreck of the French aris tocracy. or an Ismay in a shipwreck at sea. Occasionally, “the strong, the rich, the powerful” go down and die heroic deaths. But they are treated as heroes; they are remembered and honored The poor people, whether in the wrecks on shore or the wrecks at sea. must drown I IKE THE RATS, and nothing is said about it. No heroism for them. In the old days they were slaves to be butchered at will; in the later days they were, as Napoleon called them, “flesh for cannon.” and in these civilized days they are speculative atoms representing twenty-live dollars aniece to the steamship companies, ana drowned uke tne rats m the cargo. The poor need leaders, they need organization They must have, as the great German Socialist-Democrat de clared. “their place in the sunlight.” They must see the sun and the sky. they must not be locked below the decks in the sinking ship, or locked forever below the ground in the mines or locked away from happiness and real life in mills and factories, all through the ages. They must get their place in the sun. and they WILL get it And they.will not get it by looking with folded hands and ben+ heads at those above them, but by taking their place AND GETTING THEIR SHARE. The Atlanta Georgian “HOME, JAMES!” By HAL COFFMAN. |lalm '''CCitjLfe IB I C - > LA A life ~~ Hl ■■E ' ’ • ’ HW ftWW' 1 Wk- • r k WkS? — jWßjjiTrrr.i ~ dfekfevCll 7 1 ii ~ -''Wifi® I 5 ‘By I Wjßjlfc mini j iHiiiiwill ! as DOROTHY DfX WRITES OLT The Risks an American Takes Who Marries a Foreigner Bv DOROTHY DIN AMAN me what I think about the advisability of mar riag’i's between Americans and the men and women of other nationalities. There Is no general rule by which the likelihood of the success or failure of any marriage may be determined beforehand. It depends upon the individual. It is a purely personal matter, and whether a marriage between an American and a foreigner results in happi ness or in misery rests with the character and temperament of the man and women who undertake to w ork out their life problem to gether. Conceding that all marriage is a lottery, and full of risks and dan gers. I should say that when Amer icans marry foreigners they take an added risk and run a greater danger, and that there are more chances against them in the lot tery. When an American marries an American he or she has. at least, a sporting chance at domes tic felicity, but when an American marries a foreigner he or she takes a hundred to one shot at happi ness. This is no reflection upon the men and women of othbr nations, or upon their desirability as hus bands or wives. It is merely a reiteration of the old truth that we find those people most congenial and easiest to get along with who have the same tastes and habits as we have, who have been bred to the same ideal.-, and have the same point of view Heaven knows the average hus band and wife find enough to ar gue over and enough points of eon filet without thr-wing in diffe’-ent nationality, different religion, dif erent religion, different traditions, and ... riift'eritu style In cooking! Hence, those who wish peace in the household do well to espouse those of their own race, faith and color, and who think as they do, front t ojltii s to pie Only Statistics Available Show Misery of Matches. The only statistics that are ob tainable regarding international marriages are those that deal with gr< .« matches where American heiresses have married men of title. TUESDAY, MAY 7. 1912. With scarcely an exception, these have turned out disastrously, but as in these cases the man sold himself for money and the woman sold herself for social position, they prove nothing in regard to the wisdom or folly of Americans mar rying foreigners. Any marriage entered into with the same mo tives would bring nothing but mis ery Indisputably there are many happy and successful marriages, inspired by love alone, in which one of the parties is an American and the other a foreigner, the mar riage of Americans and English and Americans and Germans being par ticularly apt to be harmonious, and to produce splendid children. The marriage of an American man with a foreign woman stands a better chance of success than that of an American woman with a foreign man, and yet. paradoxically enough, this marriage takes’ place far less frequently than that of the American woman to the foreign man. It is undeniable that, as a rule, the foreign woman does not attract the American man. while the foreign man has an almost ir resistible attraction for the Ameri can woman. The explanation of this psychic phenomenon shows why the inter national match is seldom a happy one The men of every nation, through many generations, have trained their women to be the kind of wives that they want, the kind of wives that suit their tastes. The Englishman has evolved the splendid, sturdy pattern of all the virtues—the British matron, who has been taught to take a back seat and amuse herself by bearing children and burning incense be fore her lord and master. The German has trained up the hausfrau, whose sole business yi life is to vibrate between the kitch en and the nursery, and make her husband comfortable. The Frenchman has, produced a wife who is the hybrid of feminin ity. a woman who can save money and look like a fashion plate, who can grant him al! liberty and ask none for herself, and w ho can keep up the fiction of a perfect family life so artistically that she comes to believe in it herself. The men of the Latin countries havec reated a wife that stays "put’’ in the chimney corner, and who does salaams before the su perior being she calls husband. But the American man has de vised a wife who is one part god dress. one part toy and plaything. He gives her all the freedom in'the world. He delights in indulging her. He adores spending his mon ey in dressing her up. and it amuses him to death when she sasses him. • Th*t- American woman represents American man's taste in wives. That’s why she suits him, and that’s why she is caviar to the pal ate of the men of other nations, and why she disagrees so with for eigners if they marry her. Foreigners always say that the American woman is spoiled. Very likely. But she is as she is, even as the foreign man is as he Is, and that Is why there is small chance of harmony when two such diverse natures come together in the close quarters of matrimony. How can the woman who has been used to having her own way all her life expect to be happy when she mar ries a man who is imbued with the idea of the divine right of hus bands to rule? How can a woman who has been petted and coddled expect to be happy when she marries a man who is accustomed to seeing the men of his family take al! the best, and the wives content .with anything that happens to be left over? Wise Man Will Pick Wife From His Own Nation. Mor would the situation be any better for the man. for he. whose ideal of a wife is Patient Griselda, must get a horrible shock when he finds ou' that he is tied up with spunky American Mary Ann. and that instead of fading meekly into the background of domesticity she insists on standing in the limelight of society, and that her penchant is not for the kitchen, but for the parlor, and her talent not for sav ing. but tor spending money? For these and many other rea sons. a man is wise to marry among his owr; people. There are enough troubles and trials in matrimony, anyway, without dragging in inter national complications. THE HOME PAPER Tomorrow Come Today BY WINIFRED BLACK. THE Little Boy ran into the house with a warm little fist ful of discouraged-looking dandelions. "Here’s a be-au-ti-ful bouquet for you, mamma,” said the Little Boy, “and, mamsy, I want to ask you somefin’—somefin’ secret.” “Well,” said the Little Boy’s Mother, pinching her right hand with her left very hard to keep from rumpling the Little Boy’s hair back out of his eyes in the way he hates—“well, what is the secret question?” And the Little Boy leaned so close to his Mother that she could feel a kind of soft warmth In the air. “Mamma," said, the Little Boy, speaking very softly, “mam ma. is it tomorrow yet?” “No! —I mean yes, Little Boy,” said the Mother, hesitating an. in stant and then answering quite de cidedly, "yes, Little Boy, it Is to morrow—right now.” "Oh!” cried the Little Boy, be ginning to dance like some kind of a strange, merry little toy wound up, "oh. then we can go into the real country and pick real flowers with smelling to them, and watch the real grass grow—-and—and—” “Yes. indeed.” said the Little Boy’s Mother, “we can do all these things and- we will, too.” And she took the Little Boy and the Little Boy’s sister and put on their rough, heavy shoes and their good dark coats, and she tied up a box of sandwiches and some cookies with raisins in them, and away they all went to the real country to see the real flowers with real smelling to them, and to watch the real grass grow, and to hear the real birds up in the trees telling each other all the real news about yesterday and today and tomorrow and all the time there ever is or ever will be. And it was cool in the shade and warm in the sunshine, and it was thirsty w-ork walking, and there was a real well by the real road side, and a real woman at the door of the real farm house gave them a real drink and took them out to the barnyard and let them see a real calf before it had begun to worry about being a cow and acting re spectable. And there was a rowdyish little stream, running nowhere in partic ular. and, of course, there were fish in it —somew’here —even if it was only an inch deep; and all the real willows were out; you could smell them a long way off with your eyes shut. Once a hen flew clucking across the road, and after her there came peeping, peeping, one. two. three, four, six little yellow things, all peeping for their lives and holding their foolish stubs of wings up and running like mad. and asking the old hen, so the Little Boy thought, w-hether it was tomorrow- yet. And the old hen was very cross and kept saying. "No, no, of course not,” And the Little Boy stood on a high stone and w-atched the little yellow chickens and nitied them because they were in today yet, when he was in the glorious tomor row. And he named them, one by one. Daddy Rogers, and Miss Ruby, and James Metcalf, and Rebecca— and the others wouldn't wait to be named, but ran away, peeping loud er than ever. '•Poor things,” sighed the Little Boy, "poor little things. Now they will never know what to say when they want to call each dther and find out if it is tomorrow yet.” And the sun shone and the Spring Beauties nodded from the edge of the woods, and the shooting stars gleamed in the meadows and down by the row-dy little stream that came from now-here. the violets stooped under their green parasols and tried to see themselves in the clear brown water and they pre tending to be so shy and modest, too. “A Model Citizen” By J. W. McCONAUGHY. BENEATH the dark, tempestuous wave. As blameless as can be, There dwells in peaceful, deep-sea cave The sea-anemone. A perfect mode! for us al! In these our sinful lives; He never touches alcohol. Or flirts with neighbors’ wives. He never robs the shellfish Os a single shiny pearl; He's never harsh or selfish. He never kissed a girl. He does not stay out late at night. He d not desert his wife; Over in the broad field the mead ow lark whistled like a merry hearted little boy calling to his be loved vagabond the dog who fol lows him by day and by night step for step, and breath for breath. “Follow me.” whistled the lark high and clear. “Follow me, for where I am is spring.” And the Little Boy ran and shouted and whirled round and round with pure delight. And the sister, who ought to be little and who isn’t little at all. any more, Jumped ovep rencea and hung from low limbs or ac commodating trees, and broke sup ple whips of willow, and was a fairy princess riding a milk white steed, and then she was a circus rider in gorgeous skirty coats, and then she was a great queen and held her nose high in the air, and then she was a runaway colt and whinnied and kicked up her heels and no one said, “Oh, oh, Little Girl, your knees are showing every minute.” And when the sun began to sink the Little Boy crept close to his Mother on one side, and the sister, who ought to be little, crept close to her mother on the other side, and they all sat doy n on a fallen log and watched the glory of the IVestern skies. And they spoke no more, neither laughed nor sang, and when it was time to go the Little Boy leaned close to his Mother again and whispered: "Mother, I’m glad this was tomor row, aren’t you?” “Yes,” said the Little Boy’s Mother—and she was very glad it was tomorrow right then and there. Tomorrow, the glorious tomorrow, the hopeful tomorrow of joy and kindness, and of light-hearted and simple love of living and all that living means. "I might have said that it was ‘today.’ ” said the Little Boy's Mother, as the three walked home ward in the soft Spring twilight. “I might have said to the Little Boy. 'Tomorrow has not come yet, my son’—and it would have been true, too—if I had said so. “I’m glad I didn't— aren’t you, Little Girl?” And the sister, who ought to be little, smiled the strange, myste rious smile she has when she looks as if she heard sweet music and could not tell where it came from, or exactly what it meant, but only that it was sweet and soothing, and as yet—far away. "Yes.” she said. “Mother, I am very glad, so all the three were very glad together. And in the evening, when the stars were out and the new moon looked down from the edge of a feathery cloud, the Little Boy's Mother sat and looked at the moon, and at the stars and at the float ing clouds and wished and wished— after the fashion she had followed when she was little and had trou ble waiting for tomorrows, and some, days that never came “Star light, star bright.” said the Little Boy’s Mother, “first star I’ve seen tonight; wish I may. wish I might have the wish I wish to night,” and she raised her two fore fingers in a sort of invocation that goes with the old rhyme to make it mean anything. V. ssh I may, wish I might.” and what do you think she wished there in the light of the stars and the young moon of April? « “I wish.” she said softly, “that all the tomorrows of delight and hope and joy may turn into todays for the whole race of us. j ust as this today turned into glorious to morrow for the happy three of us." And on the soft air of the Spri- g night a gentle fragrance seemed t. rise like a sigh of mild content, ' and al] at once she saw again the smile of the Little Girl, as if she heard sweet music far awav. He's never In a barroom fight He shrinks from sin and That he may feast not even worms Or little fish must die; He fills his tummy full of germs And animalculae. He does not sorrow for his kind He knows not sacrifice; To grief and suffring he is blind To ignorance and vice. Then let us give him due respect With "our most honored,”’whan Fate s made the sea-anemone "A model citizen!”