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EDITORIAL PAGE THE ATLANTA GEORGIAN Published Every 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 3,187 S Subscription Price—Delivered by carrier, 10 cents a week. By mall, 55,00 a year, in fib***— A Temperance Sermon From the Baseball Field r, *. » The Story of the Pitcher Who Might Have Been the Idol of All Boyhood. Ask the first boy you meet who he would like to be, and if he. is an ordinary, healthy, athletic American youngster, he will probably name one of the baseball heroes whose pictures are now appearing on the pink sheets of the newspapers. It may not seem the most elevated ambition from the view point of a grown-up person, but after all, a successful baseball player comes pretty nearly typifying all that is great in the eyes of a boy. A successful player must have health and strength. His in come during the years of his greatness equals that of many men of independent fortune; fame is his. and he gets as much ap plause every day of his life as a candidate for the Presidency. Moreover, his money and his fame come to him for doing the very thing that a small boy considers more fun than any thing else in the field of human activity. There have been preached in America a million temperance sermons, more or less. It has been pointed out that whisky has destroyed the merchant’s chance for wealth, the lawyer’s chance for success, the general’s chance for victory. All of these are quite impressive lessons, and, when you are pointing out. to your son the rocks in the road of life that lie ahead of him, those shipwrecks should be called to his attention. BUT IF YOU REALLY WANT TO IMPRESS HIM, AND IF YOU WANT TO INSTILL INTO HIM A HORROR OF DRUNKEN NESS THAT WILL LAST AT LEAST UNTIL HIS MORAL FIBER HAS HARDENED, TELL HIM TILE STORY OF ARTHUR RAYMOND, THE “BUGS” RAYMOND OF THE BASEBALL FAN, and his miserable death at Chicago in a cheap hotel room as a result of a miserable quarrel, the roots of which run back to drunk enness. Raymond used to play in the Southern league before he went East. He was a member of the Atlanta baseball team for awhile. The baseball historians will tell you that Matthewson of the Giants is the greatest pitcher in the baseball game today. They also will tell you that Matthewson at his best was a mere tyro com pared with Raymond when the whisky fumes were out of his head and he was a clean, upstanding, applause-loving athlete. Even with his handicap of drunkenness, Raymond left a name and a record upon the roll of baseball glory. This roll may not be the highest roll of honor in the world, but such as it is. it re presents to hundreds of thousands of boys the apex of human at tainment. Point out to your boy what Raymond might have been and what he became. To a boy the prospect of becoming President is dim and not altogether attractive. The prospect of becoming a great banker or a great merchant is likely to mean to his immature mind the giving up of tlie time that might be spent in doing what he’d like to do for something that does not sound to him at all alluring. BUT THE PROSPECT OF BECOMING THE GREATEST BASEBALL PLAYER LN THE WORLD CARRIES WITH IT A THRILL THAT EVERY BOY IN AMERICA CAN UNDER STAND. Os course, it is an immature view of Life’s success and a view that the boy will outgrow as he passes on toward manhood, but the immature view- is his only view now. The immature mind is his only mind to think with and consequently that is the only mind to which an appeal can be directed with any hope of getting a t rue response. So, when you talk temperance to your boy, call his attention to the tragedy of the man who should have been the greatest pitcher in all baseball history. Trying It on the Filipinos The American people have been wavering for some time over the question whether our public school teaching is not a little too abstract and theoretic. We are carefully considering the idea of making a public school education conducive to earn ing a living. Meanwhile this idea of vocational training—the idea of teaching children to do useful things and do them well has been actually tried by the American people—on the Filipinos. The Federal bureau of education now publishes an interesting report of this experiment on the other side of the world. We learn that nearly 400.000 Filipino school children are today engaged in some kind of industrial work. In lace making and embroidery, products of Filipino schools are said to com pare favorably with work of famous French and Swiss exports, and promise to compete with them successfully in the world’s markets. Die first thing that a l-ilipino girl does when she roaches the second grade in school is to make for herself a complete outfit of clothing. As tor the boys, they are trained in a great variety of handicrafts with a special emphasis on the remunera tive trade of hat-weaving. In short, our system ol education in the Philippine Islands is based on a notion that many Americans still regard as radical and revolutionary—to wit, that children should receive train ing to prepare them'for the life tiw.t they are really going to I live. The Washington bureau says that “the Filipinos take to this educational program, industrial ami otherwise, quickh and profitably; and that the civil government finds its duties'much less onerous now that the military invasion of the islands has been superseded by tlie educational invasion.” Having tried our tm-diciiie upon the little Filipinos with sue), caution, and with results so favorable to the patients, is it f "’< to take thought of the saying; “Phvsieian, heal tin sell i • The Atlanta Georgian iFT GETTING READY I Drawn By TAD. IB ’i ■ '/\ cam get /j ITS A Bl & eA P_ | A GOVT C-F-0 p RCpofTT' ; / I IllSfcSShgsw I ; Il IFtI'N \\ \\ 111 KM 1 i i Iwt w 1 i z 4\ Wl| 11 |A JL' | | ' I'l I x rESTERDAY we rode high y along a level road built at the very edge of a yawning precipice. The colors of autumn were al ready flaunted by the roadside — yellow, brown, dull red. The little mountain squirrels sat on the gray rocks and chattered in the sun, and the clear, brown water leaped and sparkled in the rushing stream. We traveled in a great cushioned automobile and whizzed along the highway built and graded by the convicts In the great gray prison far below in the canyon. All at once, down on the winding road below, a rickety wagon strain ed into view. It was below us, far, far down, and yet in the marvelous clear air we could see every board in the old-fashioned settler's wag on, every bit of rotting rope (that held the old vehicle none too se curely together. There's the driver walking to lighten the load. What a whip he has, and how he cracks it—hark, yes. you can hear it way up here. Crack, snap—" Get along there, you old fools.” ‘ Take Off Your Brakes!" The man in the front seat leaned forward, “Wait a minute.” he said. "Yes, it's as I thought; the fool is killing his horses for nothing,” and he made a cup of his brown hands and called down through the clear stillness of the rarified air: "Hello, there!” he shouted. "Take oft your brakes. take off your brakes." He lifted his arm and motioned. The driver down in the road be low listened, stood a minute, turned to his wagon, did something to a lump of wood on the rear wheels, and up came the wagon, lightly, easily, with no undue effort on the part of the horses. “Forgot his brake and then whipped his horses for it." said the man on the front seat. How many times have 1 done that very thing all along the road, and usually in the very steepest part of it. too. Once 1 had a big piece of work to do. hard work it was and exacting. It took or should have taken every bit of energy and courage and ad dress I had, but there was some one else doing the work with me. som, one | didn't like, and I wits mi eiublv Kveiy night 1 lay and Taking Off the Brakes WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 1912. By WINIFRED BLACK. thought and planned how 1 could get the some one put on some other work. "He is in the way,” I kept think ing, "all in the way.” And I used up my strength and my energy and my resources—doing what? My work? Not at all; but haling my fellow worker, and the work was a failure, a dismal failure. My brakes were on, all the way up that hill, and I got to the top too late. How many of us do that very thing every day! The brakes are on, and we've forgotten them in the very steepest part of the hill, and that is why, whip as we may, the poor tired horses that pull the ve hicle of our ambition can never get up. Jealousy Is a Bad Brake. Jealousy is a bad brake. I've seen it send many a good wagon to the bottom of the gulch. I’ve seen men, clever men, eat their hearts out in misery because another man as clever as they did a good piece of work and was praised for it. Take off the brakes, my good fellow; take off the brakes; you'll never get anywhere if you don't. I know a girl, handsome, bright, witty. She has a rich father, and all that money and devoted affec tion can give her, but she is miser able. Jealous, envious, doesn't want to hear that any other girl is pretty; can't bear to see that any other girl is admired. “Cat” they call her when they speak of her. and she's growing into a sour, disappointed old maid, just because she's trying to climb the hill with the brakes on, . the dreadful, hampering brakes of envy. "The good fellow”—you know him, don’t you? I do. Never too busy to get out and get - drink, never too absorbed in any piece of work to stop and light a compan ionable cigarette, never too tired to stay up just an hour or so longer. The fellow in the wagon ahead of him started out with a good deal heavier load, and isn't half such a good driver, but he took the brakes off when he started up the hill. The good fellow left his on, poor thing. He'll wonder some day why the other Wagon came out ahead. 1 know two women who live side by side—two friends. Both their husbands are good men. ambitious, hard-working, good-tempered. One of them has a home paid for and a good bit of property in the north end of town. The other man started out in life from the same school, with the same chances, but his wife is the brake that keeps him down. Wasteful, extravagant, thought less, never orders a meal till it's about time to have it, and runs to the shops for whatever she can get. No thrift, no planning, hit or miss, rough and tumble. Poor husband, fie can't take oft the brake of such a wife, so he'll stay at the bottom of the hill — w’here he belongs—for choosing her. What a fair, high road we travel most of us, with pleasant shade trees and crossed here and there with singing waters. Look! Over there in the shadow is a pretty spot for a home. Let's get up to the top of the knoll and lay out the grounds. Reaching' the Top. There shall be the door stone, there the curve of the walk. On this side shall stand a rich bush of flowering purple, and over on this little hillock shall be a brave show of the rose locusts, sweet as honey when the blossom season comes. There shall lie the petunia beds— gay, ragged, pretty things like some flounced country girl at an outdoor ball—and here shall blow’ the pop pies, and behind them shall stand the hollyhocks. What a view there'll be at the top of the hill, wrhat a sweep of landscape, what a wealth of fol lowing cloud shadows on the rich wheat fields that spread below in the smiling valley. At the top, at the top. Let's get to the very top. out of the sun that beats too hard, out of the rain and the work of rising. The top, the top; see it rises fair and promising around the next bend of the road. How slowly we go, how the tired horses strain; what's the matter, what is keeping us back? Ah. there it Is—the brake, the brake of sloth, of ignorance, of dis sipation, of small-minded Jealousy of others, of timidity, of selfish in dulgence. Take off the brake, good driver, in we shall never reach the top. THE HOME PAPER ”—■—. Ella Wheeler Wilcox I Writes on Girls Who Risk Loss of Self- Respect by Taking the Initiative in Seeking Com panionship of the Oppo site Sex. Written For The A.tlanta Georgian By Ella Wheeler Wilcox Copyright, 1912, by American-Journal-Examiner. IT is a bit disconcerting to one who feels any pride in woman hood to hear two mothers in one week say, “My son can have any girl he wants. They all run after him. They telephone him, write him, and put themselves in his way continually." And when one knows such state ments to be absolutely true, It is worse than useless to try to blame the mothers for speaking with such seeming egotism of their sons or disrespect of young girls. While touring in the Orient, a mother with a young son of nine teen confided to a traveling friend that she had come away with her son for a year, in order to take his mind away from the throng of young girls who made such contin ual inroads upon his time that he could not pursue his studies at school. Youth’s Mind Diverted. The boy was the only child of a banker; and he had never shown any tendency to be a gallant, but was so pursued by the attentions of girls from ages ranging between thirteen and twenty that he was losing all interest in his studies. The girts of the present era seem to be the pursuers; the young men are the pursued. And when men are pursued they are invariably contemptuous of the women who seek their attentions. If young girls could know the thoughts of these men, If they could hear the remarks made about them, they would hide away in shame and confusion. While the writer of this article believes in all modern inventions as a part of the progress which will eventually lift the race to a higher plane, giving minds and bodies freedom from the drudgery of grinding toil, it yet seems as if that most necessary and useful inven tion, the telephone, has become a prominent factor in the folly and boldness of young girls. In olden days a letter or a tele gram w-as needed to communicate with friends and acquaintances, and both gave an opportunity for reflec tion before sending. Many a girl was no doubt tempt ed to write a letter to a man asking him to call, and before she finished it her pride and self-respect came to the rescue. She did not want him to possess such evidence of her forwardness. A telegram would seem too urgent, and that also could be shown; so she conquered her desire to see the man until he made his desire to see her known. But the telephone leaves no evi- The Montreal Massacre , By REV. THOMAS B. GREGORY. THE "Montreal Massacre,” the duplicate of which does not appear in Canadian history, took place August 7, 1689. Just 60 years before, Champlain planted the seeds of which the mas sacre was the harvest. At Montreal the Iroquois "got back” at the French for what had been done to them near Lake St. George. In the midst of a terrific thunder storm between the night and morn ing of the 6th and 7th of August, 1689, fourteen hundred Iroquois warriors landed behind Montreal, beached their canoes and stole in upon the unsuspecting French set tlers. and what followed beggars description. For generations that summer was to be known as “The Year of the Massacre.” Before the storm had ceased the Iroquois had stationed themselves in circles about every house out side the walls of Montreal, and at a given signal the ferocious braves fell on the settlement like veritable beasts of prey. Neither doors nor windows were fastened in those days, and the peo ple, deep in sleep, were dragged from their beds before they were half awake. Men, women and chil dren were slaughteied like sheep. By daybreak 200 people had been butchered. As many more had been taken captive, to be used as slaves, or, worse yet, as the victims of the red man's torture. As if their vengeance was insati able, the Iroquois crossed the river opposite Montreal, and in plain sight of the fort spent several duvs dence to a third party of having been used; it makes no record which can be shown, and it lends itself to all sorts of excuses and pretended reasons for calling U p the man who has not been suffl. ciently interested to be himself the caller. Meaningless Conversations. More than one wise and sens!- ble father has refused to keep a telephone in the house where hl» young daughters dwelt, because he did not wish his girls tempted to cheapen themselves in the way he knew many of their associates were cheapened by continual silly and meaningless conversations over the wire, and by the making of haphazard engagements through that means. No man can or does respect a girl who makes advances for his attentions. He will meet her half way; he may flatter and praise her to her face, but in his heart he despises her. And behind her back he is ridi culing her and boasting of her fa vors. Because she has no self-respect, he does not consider it his place to defend her name or reputation An absolutely manly man, on* who has been carefully reared by a refined, broad-minded mother, will never talk about a woman disre spectfully, no matter what she does. In his heart he may despise her, but he will not use her name light ly. Very few young men are reared In this way, and, therefore, the majority will boast of the success they have with silly girls who pur sue them, and they will make light remarks about them. If you, young Miss, who read these lines are one of those who send messages and invitations to your masculine friends, trying to make engagements with them, re member the risk you run, the risk of being laughed at by the youths, and gossiped about by their moth ers and-older friends. > Will Accept Attention. No amount of entertainment you receive from the efforts you make can ever repay for the loss to your good name. A man of any age likes to be th* one who makes the advances to woman. He will accept the atten tions which are forced upon him. because they flatter his vanity, but he will in his heart despise the girl or woman who gives the initiative Petter stay at home and read a I book than go out with a man whose | society you had to seek. torturing the white captives By night the victims could be seen tier! to the stakes, amid the coiling flames, with the tormentors danc ing around them and laughing, de monlike, at their sufferings Denonville, ' the commander st Montreal, was paralyzed with fear and terror and did not once attei to go out after the savages For two months the Iroquois overran Canada unchecked. Settlement aft er settlement was raided, and tl’ torture stakes blazed everywhere From Montreal to Three Rfvi crops went up in flames, dwellings were burned and the terrified se - tters came cowering with their families to the .shelter of tin fort at Montreal. And it was all so unne. . -- There was no reason why the I quois should have hated the Fret ■ but Champlain was a Frencbm and 60 years before Champlain 1 gone out of his way to attack ■' —and therefore al! Frenchmen > to be their enemies. Gray-haired old fathers mothers, innocent little cl: - 3 and men and women by the th" sands in the bloom of health power were to pay for the f< ness of one hot-headed man -S uel de Champlain Champlain had no busiri' - ing the Iroquois on that July ing of the year 1609, and If not done so —if he had b<-< n ' Ham Penn instead of fiat. 1 Champlain—it Is morally - r that there would have been |,n "Montreal Massacre."