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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 the \ k Matter, / "J Y" ''‘-'''lT" ’/woe\ X —ZvOE\ 5 4L - Ye GODS! To Think) r Ti STo o 1 that tie People sadi Do NoT TRUST _ 1/ • y vTHEjUDQES I n — lz WH i r r~ ft ■ «jHJ? \ "Jig tt ' LETTER, ZZZ ZZ TREMEMBER I HAMEnT'I \ HAD a CHANCE To / \ (^EXPLAIN! 3 fl war ' —' ' • ' fTt (TA. ~ ' /Iffl . (ie-arsA. J-jL ' fli idle, r f tears; rS z 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.