EDITORIAL PAGE
THE ATLANTA GEORGIAN
Published Even* Afternoon Except Sunday
By THE GEORGIAN COMPANY
At 20 East Alabama St., Atlanta. Ga.
Entered as second-class matter at postoffice at Atlanta, under act of March 3, 1879.
The Standard Oil Letters
Published in Hearst’s
Magazine
« » »-
These Letters Tell You SOMETHING REAL About the Gov
ernment Under Which You Live. And They Cure You
of Any Faint Doubts as to the Power of Money in This
Country.
In the May number of Hearst ’s Magazine and the World Today,
which has just appeared on the newsstands, W. R. Hearst publishes
an article entitled “The Lesson of the Standard Oil Letters," and
presents a certain number of these famous documents, of which a
great many have not as yet been made public.
To a man who studies the government of his country and who
is interested in the relative importance of men and of money. these
letters, revealing the inside of political activities, are most valuable
and instructive.
<
One of the letters- not published hitherto, and printed in fac
simile in “Hearst's Magazine" was written by Mark Hanna to
John D. Archhold, of the Standard Oil.
And it reads as follows:
UNITED STATES SENATE.
Cleveland. (thio. September 22.
John D. Archbold. Esq.
My Dear John:
I am in receipt of yours of the 18th instant, with
enclosures as stated, for which lam obliged. I am “hold
ing the bag,” and this is going to be an expensive cam
paign. I can see where I will land before the thing is over,
so I have no doubt 1 will have to call again. I feel a
delicacy about this, as it is my funeral. I can beg for others
better than when I have a persona! interest.
There are many' important interests in this tight.
Should Johnson carry the legislature, corporations will
catch it, as 1 am their representative so called.
Sincerely yours,
M. A. HANNA.
Ts not the wording of that letter verv interesting?
Mark Hanna, the most powerful man in politics, addresses as
“My Dear John” Mr. Archhold, the most powerful man in finance,
since he acted as the representative in politics of the Standard Oil.
Mark Hanna acknowledges with thanks John D Archbold's
letter “of the 18th instant, with enclosures.”
And he announces at the same time that he will soon be coming
back for more.
The reader does not need to be told what sort of an enclosure
was in Archbold's letter, or for what reason Mr. Hanna would
“call again” on the Standard Oil paymaster.
As you read this letter, remember that the man that wrote it
and the man to whom it was addressed were engaged in an election.
Mr. Hanna describes himself as “holding the bag” that is to
say, collecting the money that was to decide an election.
And John D. Archbold, of the Standard Oil, is the man to I
whom he goes TO FILL UP THAT BAG.
This and other letters of the kind, published in the May num
ber of Hearst's Magazine, and to be published in a series of issues
of that magazine for some time, will constitute an important page I
IN THE REAL HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES, when our
Republic and the birth of the financial and industrial trust are ana
lyzed in days to come.
Another letter in the May number of Hearst's Magazine is
written by John D. Archbold to Mark Hanna. In this letter Mr.
Archbold, who is called upon when the bag needs tilling, tells why
he wants “very objectionable legislation at Columbus" killed per
manently.
Many letters rora Mr. Archhold, of the Standard Oil. appear
in this May number of Hearst 's Magazine—ami every one is im
portant to the man who wants to understand HOW THINGS AKE
DONE on the inside of politics and finance in the United States.
A very intelligent man is Mr. Archbold, a good paymaster ami
political director for a great trust.
And a very good thing it is for the country at large that these
letters are given to the people. TO WHOM THEY BELONG, prov
ing. as they do. a conspiracy against government by the people, and
a plan to rule by financial organization.
The Bungalow
By Ml NX A IRVING.
» p (IE ants are in tl ■ butter dish, the flies are in th. .ream,
• The only watt: we run get is tarried from the stream;
Th* farmers will not sell their eggs, they say they salt them down
And al! their fruit ami vegetables they send away to town.
The planks beneath our rugs are full of cracks, both deep and wide.
And snails, r.nd slugs, and m illing bugs come creeping up inside.
I found a caterpillar onee em imped upon my toe.
But that is what you must expert when in a bungalow.
We can not sit upon th»> p-n li. a hornet's nest Is there.
At every sound they al! com* out with tie■. , and angry air;
The shingle roof is leaky, too. you wake and find th" bed
Is soaking f r om the shove’ bath in o tinn overhead.
M' face and arms are al! tatt"o wit > ■ iw mosquito bite?
And concert.- by the owls and frees make horrible the nights;
But «hen w‘ wute to city friend, v • r 'Win ..nn't y ugo
And buy an acre in the woods and build a bungalow?''
The Atlanta Georgian
IT MIGHT BE WORSE
By 'l'. E. POWERS.
Copyright, 1912, by International News Service.
BOOHOO I [ TtLL You THE
WANT lb RECALL I Country
f VW! Go To THE
Doqs if The f
KEEP ON '
ATTACKING US < Zs,
f HELLO'"' f «;• ' v : JOk ut
Judge 'WM a ’
what 5
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Matter, /
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''‘-'''lT" ’/woe\ X —ZvOE\
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Ye GODS! To Think) r Ti STo o 1
that tie People sadi
Do NoT TRUST _ 1/ • y
vTHEjUDQES I
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WH i r r~ ft
■ «jHJ? \ "Jig
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LETTER, ZZZ ZZ TREMEMBER I HAMEnT'I
\ HAD a CHANCE To /
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DOROTHY' DIX ’ WRITES
_OF~——
The Married \V oman Who Flirts With Boys Meanest
on Earth
s
RE are men who are wolves
< in sheep's w'lothlng, who prey
"*■ upon .voting girls, and who are
one of the menaces of society.
There are women who are ser
pents in satins an<! laees anti dia
monds. who prey upon young boys,
who are equally dangerous, and
who do just as much h irm in the
world.
Every niothei is on her guard
against the r vil man. and does the
best she can to protect her daugh
ter from him. but few mothers ever
realize the danger their son is in
from the unprincipled woman, or
seek to guard him from an expe
rience that may be as blighting to
him as an,', misfortune that could
befall his sister would be to her.
I do not speak here of the so
called "bad woman." the recognized
and publicly branded painted lady.
She is an enemy out in the open,
who ntay be openly fought. Be
sides which, she is not half so dan
gerous to a hoy as is the woman
w ho is smug and good without and
a charnel house within; who oh-,
serves the letter of morality while
breaking its spirit. At the worst,
the scarlet woman only pilfers hia
pocket, lint the white robed hypo
crite robs him of his soul.
Therefore, w hen your Jimmy sud
denly begins to hang around Mrs.
Blank and to be always at her
house, and running her errands, and
driving her car for her, and play
ing tennis with her. and is out on
the links with her. don't be idiot
enough to laugh good-naturedly at
his infatuation, and congratulate
yourself that he's fallen in love
with a woman old enough to be his
mother instead of with some girl
of his own age that he might want
to marry.
Spnd Your Boy Far From
the Temptress.
And don t talk about what a good
woman Mrs Blank is. and at how
gh.l jou are that he has fallen un
der such a noble and refining influ-
THURSDAY, MAY 16, 1912.
B\ DOROTHY DIX
ence. Break up the intimacy before
Jimmy is 24 hours older. Send
him away for a while, as far from
the temptress as you've got the
money to. buy railroad fare. Pull
him back as you would if he stood
on the brink of the pit itself.
Every married woman who flirts
is a courtesan at heart. Coward
ice, or greed, or the desire to hold
her place in society, may keep her
within the bounds of respectability
and make her stop short of actual
criminality, but at tin core of her
being she is immoral, and there is
neither truth nor honor in-her.
Meanest Woman on Earth
Is Married Flirt.
The married woman who. not
content with her husband's affec
tion, plays at love with other men.
and seeks their admiration, the
while she eats her husband’s bread
and wears the clothes he gives her
as she drags his name through the
mud. is a contemptible enough fig
ure heaven knows, but the meanest
woman on earth is the married
flirt who is a cradle snatcher.
Such a w oman does not even play
the flame squarely, because she pits
her knowledge of life against a
boy's ngnoranee, her experience
againsi his inexperience, her »-.rt-*
and wiles against his unsophisti
cation. Against her flatteries, her
cajoleries, he is as helpless as ,a
babe in the hands of a giant. Tt
is as easy for any married women
who is a flirt to make a boy fall
in love with her as it would be for
a prize fighter to take candy money’
away from a child. And about as
reputable.
As a matter of fact, it is only the
timid among flirtatious marriea
women who go in for kidnaping.
The bolder sort prefer to have
their affairs with men. but the for
mer are too much afraid. People
would talk if Mr. Jones and Mr.
Smith were too much in evidence
in their company, but tlft?n friends
only laugh when the Jones boy or
the Smith boy is forever dangling
at their apron strings. The boys
are safe game Therefore these
women, whose hungry vanity must
I be continually fed by the flatteries
of lovers, and who play with pas
sion as a child plays with fire, sac
rifice the lads to their egotism.
They lure the hoys on. They
coax the very hearts out of their
bosoms. They bind them hand and
foot, and make slaves of them.
They fan every flame of desire, and
then, when their evil work is done,
and the boy, no longer a boy. but
suddenly turned man. gulps out
some wild love appeal to them, they
turn and laugh at him. They are
so surprised. So virtuously indig
nant. They never should have
thought it of Jimmy, or Tommie,
whom they thought such a nice
lad.
It is the fashion to ridicule calf
' love; it is the best and purest love
of a man's whole life, and the pity
of it is that so many boys break
the alabaster casket at their un
worthy feet. Eor no youth ever
comes out of a flirtation with a
married woman unscathed. It
leaves him with broken faith and
blasted trust, and every ideal of
womanhood smirched.
In the beautiful old play of
"Nance Oldfield" a young boy, w ho
is a. poet, falls in loVe with an ac
t.ess who is much his elder, and
the lad's father induces her to cure
him of his romantic fancy She
does this by dispelling the illusions
with which he has surrounded her,
and by showing herself to him so
fat. and middle-aged, and sordid,
and vulgar, that he turns from her
in disgust. The father comes back
and asks: "Did you cure him'.’"
"Yes.” answers the actress, "but
I have done a terrible thing. I
have put out the light upon the al
tar for him."
Parents’ Duty to Guard
Young Boys.
That is what the married flirt
does for every young boy who
comes under her baleful influence.
She kills the high and holy things
tor him. She slays his enthusiasm.
Such an affair leaves a wound on
his soul that 'never heals.
It is the duty of parents to pro
tect their young boys against these
vampires as much as they can. and
they are found even among your
own friends Ke craftily suspicious
of any married woman who has a
horde pt young cub following her.
There 1s only one woman on earth
who ha; a legitimate liking for tke
society of a young boy, and that is
his own mother.
THE HOME PAPER
The Easy Way Out
By LOUIS E. THAYER.
HAVE you ever been tired of living and felt that it wasn t worth
while 1
Have you ever been tied to a miserable grouch that wouldn t per
mit you to smile?
If you have, you have been where the whole world looks black and
the minutes actually crawl,
And you couldn't help thinking how easy ’twould be to just put an
end to it all.
You're right, it is easy to just put an end to all of this trouble and
strife;
The river is waiting for those who despair and for those who are
weary of life.
You say you have fought just as long as you could—you have
toiled just as long as you can.
AH, WELL. IT IS EASY TO DIE LIKE A DOG, BUT IT'S HAJRD
TO LIVE ON LIKE A MAN!
You say you are bitter to all of mankind, and even God's goodness
you doubt.
There's nothing but darkness and trouble around and never a
brighter way out.
You've faithfully toiled'at your task, you declare, but everything
1 seems to go wrong,
And your eyes have lost sight of the beauty around, while your ears
have grown deaf to all song.
So you think it is better to simply withdraw—to just take a leap
from the dock:
The ripples will hardly close over your head ere your friends will
be over-the shock.
There’s nothing else left for the chap who’s in bad, whom Fortune
has held under ban—
BESIDES. IT'S SO EASY TO DIE LIKE A DOG, AND SO HARD
TO LIVE ON LIKE A MAN.
Ah. yes, it is easy to say* you are licked, to give up the struggle
and yield;
It's a cinch to turn your back on the foe and heedlessly run from
the field.
It is easy to throw down the burden because you find it too heavy
to bear.
And it’s easy to shy at your duties because you know that some
trouble lurks there.
But don't be a weakling and do easy things, but go to the work of
the strong.
Go wage your fight where the labor is hard and the hours are weary
and long!
Cling to your smile as you go on your way and sing as each trouble
you scan,
FOR. REMEMBER. IT’S EASY TO DIE LIKE A DOG, BUT IT’S
HARD TO LIVE ON LIKE A MAN.
My Old Friend’s Son
Bv WINIFRED BLACK
I SAW him, at the theater the
other day —my old friend’s son.
He bad only a few lines to
say in the play, but there wa.a
something in his voice and tn the
way he carried his head that at
tracted my attention. I looked on
he bills —yes, it was the same name
—let's see, ten. fifteen, sixteen, sev
enteen. Just about that by now, my
friend's son —the little tyke who
dragged me to the nursery to see
his new rocking horse—January he
called him, I remember, the last
time I saw him. What bright eyes
he had. and what a smile! He
looked as if there never was going
to be anything for him in the world
but music and laughter. And now
his father is dead and his mother
lies in her low grave, too, and he's
out in the world alone fighting his
own fight. “Shall look him up,” I
thought. "No. he'll think me a bore
- lie looks happy and prosperous.
I'll just send him a loving thought
over the footlights and let it go at
that.”
But in the next act the boy stood
silent for a while and watched the
star and her troubles, as his part
bade him do. and there was some
thing wistful and strained about
his face that called to me like a
well loved and well remembered
voice, and I cahnged my mind.
I went back and hunted up the
boy, and he looked at me with eyes
full of unshed tears when 1 men
tioned his mother’s name, and all
the rest of that week we were
friends, the boy and I. And now
we shall be friends as long as we
live, the two of us. And he did
need me that very day, too. He
was trying to make up his mind
about something, and we talked the
whole tangled, foolish, complicated
affair all over, the boy and I, and
I helped him decide to do the
square thing, even if it did turn
out to be a little troublesome, and
I almost heard my old friend’s
voice calling to me in the March
wind, and it never sounded sweeter
in all the times I have ever heard it.
What's become of the children of
our old friends?
Some of them are little yet and
some are at school somewhere away
from home, perhaps in the very
city where we are.
What's become of the girl that
was the idol of the home we used
to visit? Wonderfully clever we all
thought her —she bored us some
times with her caprices and her
little spoiled ways, but we never
dared let her mother think so. Poor
child, she's -polled no lorger.
She is making her own way now
—alone —and nobody marvels at her
cleverness or thinks the gray old
world not good enough for her—
now.
The little hands that were so
white and so useless—what heavy
work they do now, and how well
and courageously they do it, too!
Let us look her up and tell het
about the good times we used to
have with her mother, when all the
world was full of love songs and
the only thing the moon was for
was to look pretty for us and turn
an ordinary walk into a romantie
adventure.
Who is that hobbledehoy over
there? Come to town to go to
school, they say. Doesn’t seem to
know many people, and he’s always
on the porch waiting for the post
man every morning. Some of the
boys in his class call him “the
Jay.” I wonder if he's so vary
homesick yet.
Why. his father used tn drag you
on his sled when you were not half
so big as this boy of his. Why not
tell the hobbledehoy about it. and
tell him what a fine fellow his fath
er was. and is, too? He is a little
worried about it now, he is so dif
ferent from the rest of the kind in
his class. .
Who is so lonesome on earth as
a boy away from home among
strangers?
Rest light, little mother, in your
low grave. I knew you once and
loved you. and for your sake that
boy of yours shall never want for a
friend as long as I shall live. Give
me your hand, dear boy with your
mother’s eyes. No, I won't senti
mentalize over you. I won't lecture
you IT! just love you and never
say a word about it—boy fashion.
Hard! Whose voice was that in the
March wind—the voice that used to
sing so clear and gay?
“Chillen. keep in de middle of de
road.
Oh, den. chillen, in de middle
of de road;
s Don’t you look to de right.
Don't you look to de left.
But keep in de middle of de road."
What a quaint darky accent she
could make and how we used to
love to hear her sing the old jubilee
song. "Des Keep to de Middle of de
Road."
Dear friend, your little dancing
feet'walked tibwn shadowed roads
before you came to the end, didn't
they ?
But you sang all the way. they
tel! me. “Keep in de middle of de
road." \J'ell, that boy of yours
shall keep there, too. if there is any
virtue In love and earnest effort to
. help him to remember.
