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EDITORIAL RAGE
Fhe Atlanta ■ Georgian
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 post of flee at Atlanta, under act of March 8,1873
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The Baby That Cried and the
Baby That Didn’t
The Mother of the First Baby Had Real Cause for f hanksgiving
Copyright. 1»13.
It was on a suburban train running out of Atlanta. A
mother with her family, two half-grown children and a baby,
was on the way, apparently, to spend a day with friends and
relatives in the country.
The baby was cross and fretful. The motion of the car irri
tated him, the conductor frightened him, the other passengers,
jingling keys foolishly to distract his attention, annoyed him.
He was perhaps ten months old, and a baby of ten months
has a magnificently developed voice.
This baby knew what his voice was for, and he used it.
From one end of the car to the other he oould be heard, howling
an indignant protest against taking a journey he did not want
to take, and undergoing privations without being consulted.
The mother, terribly worried by the indignant frowns of
the other passengers, fussed and worried. She offered the baby
his bottle, but he hatted it away with a tiny pink hand and
yelled louder than ever.
Being a careful mother, she examined his clothing for pos
sible loose pins, but she didn't find any.
The woman in the seat ahead of her turned and rudely
stared, first at her and then at the purple faced baby.
A crusty old man in the seat behind said to his companion:
“Why in the thunder do people travel with babies? If they
cannot afford nurses they ought to stay at home. "
More sympathetic people strolled past and offered the
mother advice and made faces for the baby to admire. But the
baby did not admire them. He merely expressed eloquently,
though without artioulate words, his contempt and disgust.
Presently the mother, driven nearly frantic, turned to a
woman across the aisle and said:
“I wish to goodness he wouldn't cry. I’d give anything in
the world if he’d only keep quiet for a week, absolutely quiet.’’
Now, this was a healthy baby, dressed in frills and ribbons,
his little feet in brand-new, soft, red shoes, and his distorted
face framed in a circle of fluffy white fur.
And because he was healthy and well fed, and protected
against disease, his voioe was of the lustiest kind.
Perhaps it is not surprising that his mother wished she
might not hear his voice for another week, but
Recently a party of men went among the tenement houses
in New York to distribute some small gifts for the tenants.
They were poor, squalid tenement houses. On every floor
were dozens of babies, but there was no crying.
In one little room a mother sat beside a little, dirty bed—a i
mattress placed on two up-ended oracker boxes.
On the bed was a baby—also ten months old, but with no
shoes whatever, and clothed in a few (Jingy garments that had
served several other babies before him.
The baby was very white and very still. On each cheek was
a red spot, showing that a fever was pumping his blood to an
abnormal pressure. His eyes were large and blue and wide open.
• The mother turned to the visitors and tried to smile. Then
she looked back at the patient, quiet baby.
“If he would only just cry,' she said. “It seems to me I
would give my life to hear him cry just a little.”
There is something to re?»ember, you mothers who lose
your patience when your babies cry. Think *of those other ba
hies in the tenements who do not cry, either because they ha ye*
not the strength or because they have learned that not even a
baby’s needs can be satisfied because of his crying for thorn
when there is nothing in the house to satisfy them.
Healthy babies MUST cry. Crying not only develops their
lungs, but it is their only means of telling their mothers that
there is something the matter or that they are dissatisfied and
unhappy.
And no baby is dissatisfied or unhappy who is well fed and
well cared for.
When he cries you may be sure that he is sick or tired or
that he feels that he is being trifled with.
Feed him well, keep him clean, clothe him warmly, and he
will be content to play and ooo as long as he keeps awake.
But when his stomach is empty or overfull, when pins are
sticking in him, or his feet are cold, you may expect to hear his
voice raised in loud and emphatic protest.
Be glad that ypu can hear it, you mothers whose nerves are
“all frayed out” because tlje crying disturbs you—and you
fathers who spend the night away from home because ' you can
not bear to hear that baby howling all night.”
Let the baby tell you by his crying that something is the
matter, and, rather than scold and storm, find out what it is and
make him easier and more comfortable.
Remember that there are many mothers, whose babies are
now silent forever, who would give all that they have in the
world could they hear those wailing baby voices come back to
them across the years, and, taking the little creatures in their
arms, try with all their mother instinct to help them and make
them happy again
PERTINENT PARAGRAPHS
Foolishness has many forrr\g,
hut the forms adopted by the
other fellow always seem the most
foolish.
It takes a lot of courage to tel!
h big man his faults.
The critic is always most posi
tive when discussing something
that lie does not know much
abouLT
Some men never care for peace
until they are In the pose of the
under dog.
The habit of blowing one’s own
horn generally grows on a fellow.
Desperation generally stifles
caution.
Staggering phraseology is not
always a sign of good seu£e.
May-Time When the Buds Come
By WINSOR M’CAY.
W inifred Black Writes About “Doors That Slam”
her she periled cold. What could
the matter be?
Last week she gave a party and
didn’t ask me—I didn’t care for
the party—I couldn't have man
aged to go anyhow—but—I sat
down and wrote and asked her
what was th§ matter.
What’s the Matter?
"I love you,” I said. *T>on't
you care for me any more? How
have I offended?” She came that
afternoon and told me of a care-
lef^s remark, spitefully repeated,
and we are good friends again—
and i am glad.
What's the matter with life?
The bills are high—every one la
grasping—no one seems to care—•
oh. it’s a terrible world! Ten to
one it’s only some door slamming
sonv wh re that’s doing It all—one
foolish, no-account door that
should be locked.
Get up, you sleepy thing! Get
up at once and lock It!
Against the midnight’s purple robe
Brocaded with the beams
Of constellations far and near,
How brilliantly it gleams!
And look! as from the world below
Its polished disk we scan.
We see within its shining rim
The picture of a man.
I he Celestial Locket
By MINNA IRVING.
T HE bis round moon is at the
full,
And riding bright and high,
With little flecks of lacy cioud
Around it in the sky.
It’s like a silver locket hung
Upon a chain of diamond stars,
That pale before its light.
By WINIFRED BLACK
B ANG! said the door
I turned over in my sleep—
Rattle-bang! there it was
again. If I could only think of
some way to stop it.
It really was too bad there T
was so tired, up all night the
night before and busy all day that
day, so tired, so weary anti no
one cared, no one seemed to no
tice how drawn my poor face was
no one even said they were sor
ry- that’s always the way a
woman could work herself to
death and that's all the thanks
that she would get. Biff! there’s
that door again!
The rising wind took a delight
in that door and the wooden slam
of It. Sometimes the door didn't
bang; it simply rattled R-R-R-
R-R-rattle, rattle, rattle, like
a train of cars going over a shaky
bridge—rrrrrrattle, rattle, rattle,
there—there is water under that
bridge; you can tell by the sort of
rustle in the rattle—shake, shake,
shake- someone must l>e there;
no, it is only the wind again—
shake, shake, shake—well, come
in if you want to so badly.
Door Banged No More.
Not a soul In the house will
get up and shut that door tight,
and let me sleep.
Along about daylight 1 rose,
walked over to the door just a few
steps, turned the key. and it was
done—the door banged no more
My train ceased to run over
bridges, and 1 fell asleep at last
peacefully, calmly, sweetly asleep,
and yet outside the wind blew
1 could hear him sinking m m#
bare boughs of the great oak
like some entranced musician
loath to leave his music—and 1
was neither younger nor more
WINIFRED BLACK.
blessed In any way than before.
Yet I slept as if I were sweet six
teen. with all the world watting
to lay garlands of roses at my
feet when 1 deigned, to awaken a
xud wwtfet presence.
It didn’t take a minute to work
the miracle nor any genius or
inspiration. Just plain sense and
some little resolution for the in
stant, and the troublous night and
the uneasy dreams turned to re
freshing slumber—and the door
was the same door, only it wasn't
locked when it banged.
1 wonder
How often have 1 turned upon
an easy pillow and let the door
bang—rather than to get up and
shut It?
A hundred times, I fear, and
more than that.
Are Sensitive Souls.
The cook leaves the gas burn
ing in the range when she doesn’t
need it. What an extravagance!
—it irritates me every time I see
it. I turn it out. but the next
time I go to the kitchen there it
is, blazing away at so much a
blaze—I hated to speak of it—
cooks are such sensitive souls, j
and this one makes such delicious
waffles. I>ast week I took my
courage in my hands and called
the cook into the pantry.
“Mary,” I said, -there is some
thing I want to speak to you
about—the gas you are so care
less about; please turn it out the
minute you are through with* it,
will you?’
“Yes,” said Mary, and she did
it: and now I like to go into the
kitchen, and Mary seems to like
to see me come. The secret irri
tation that must have disturbed
her as much as it did me is gone—
all by a few calm words spoken at
the right time.
1 didn't hear from my old
i friend for a while. When I met
THE HOME RARER
John Temple Graves
Says
Our Navy Needs a
Charles Beresford
The Great Englishman, he says,
Keeps Britain’s Navy Up-to
Date and In Repair by Ex
posing Its Glaring Weakness
from Time to Time.
By JOHN TEMPLE GRAVES
G eorgians and other
Americans who read of
the great banquet last Oc
tober given by the city of New
York to the President and his
Cabinet and the officers of the
assembled fleet, will recall the
confident assurance of Presi
dent Taft at that banquet that
these magnificent vessels, then
anchored off New York, In the
North River were the chief de
fense of the country, and that
each one of them was ready at
a moment’s notice to weigh an
chor and sail out to k meet and
conquer an invading foe.
President Taft doubtless made
this statement upon Information
furnished him by some one in
authority in the Navy Depart
ment.
It was a shame for any of
ficial of the American Govern
ment to have imposed up6n the
President of the United States
such a gross misstatement of the
facts.
Disquieting Whispers.
It was a greater shame to
have permitted the President of
the United States to give out
such an untruthful statement to
the American people.
For the navy was then, as the
navy Is now, inadequate In the
number of officers and of men
and shamefully Inadequate In Its
equipment of fuel and coal.
Such a statement going out at
that time was calculated to lull
the activity of the heads of the
Navy Department, who ought to
have known the facts and who
certainly must know them now.
It was whispered on the day af
ter the banquet that the Presi
dent’s assuring words were not
founded upon facts and that the
navy was lacking in many ele
ments that rendered It effective
for battle and defense.
It would have been the part
of a brave man then, who knew
these facts, to have told them,
in order that the condition might
have been corrected at the
time.
It would be a cowardly Ameri
can now who would keep these
facts from the public at this time
and permit our navy to go out to
sen in its present condition.
A Fearless Patriot.
And it would appear to any
thoughtful American who loves
his country that the prompt and
fearless dealing with these con
ditions, as they have been stated,
is th& highest possible duty
which appeals now to the Secre
tary of the Navy and to the
President of the United States
England has a great and fear
less patriot in Lord Charles
Beresford. and no part of Lord
Beresford’s great service has been
more marked than the incessant
challenge by which he has kept
England posted as to the deficien
cies of her navy and the neces
sity for repairing. Time after
time, when England has been
boasting herself before her people
of the greatness and irresistible
power of her navy, Lord Beree-
ford, himself one of England**
mightiest sailors, has broken into
the eulogy with a public exposure
of some glaring weakness and In
efficiency in the English navy,
and this sharp challenge of the
fearless sailor-publicist has done
perhaps as much or more than
anything else to keep the Eng
lish battleships up to the mark of
efficiency.
We ought to have in America
some great publicist who will not
fear to tell our Government the
truth about its navy in time of
peace and not wait for the sharp
necessity of war to prod the de
partment into action. Either in
Congress or In the departments,
or In the press, there should be
found a monitor who would warn
and direct the carelessness or the
apathy of the American navy.
The present Secretary of the
Navy is a young man, who has
just assumed that office. He has
had no experience with naval af
fairs and is frank and honest
enough to confess it. He appears
to be very earnest and devoted to
his work.
Work for the Secretary.
If Secretary Daniels would do
his country some service he will
address himself here and now to
finding out from inside sources
the real facts about the American
navy, the condition of its ships,
the equipment of its crews, the
preparation for its fuel and its
colliers, and he would make h1s
administration of that department
liberal by holding the navy rigidly
up to the standard of efficiency
for instant service.
He would see to it. If official
persuasion could be effective, that
additional Inducements were given
to men to enlist tn the navy He
would remember that most young
men enlist in the nary not for a
career, but to see the world, and
he would devote himself to plans
to securing the full complement
for every one of the unfilled bat
tleships that carries our flag to
day. •
There Is a great opportunity for
a Secretary of the Navy at the
present time, and that opportuni
ty lies not along the line of trivial
improvements, but of vital pre
paredness for that which battle
ships were built to do—-to ftgbt
when necessary with every force
of men and machinery and fuel In
Its place.
1
fhe 1
impress o;
Ind
ia
By REV. THOMAS B. GREGORY.
T HAN the proclamation of
Queen Victoria as Empress
of India, made in the city of
London thirty-seven years ago,
there is perhaps nothing stranger
or, from the standpoint ot the
psychologist, tqore interesting, in
al! history.
Think of it for a moment. The
Queen of a little island in the At
lantic, with an area of some
eighty-five thousand square miles
and a population under thirty
millions, is solemnly proclaimed
sovereign of an empire thousands
of miles away, covering one mil
lion six hundred thousand square
miles and containing a population
of two hundred and eighty-seven
millions of souls.
The audacity of It! The cool,
colossal impudence of the thing!
It was sublime. That vote of the
Parliament commanding the aver
memorable proclamation reminds
us of the rulings of Providence,
of the ways of the omnipotent
God. The little handful of British
ers, speaking through their rep
resentatives gathered in the coun
cil house by the Thames, declare
their good little Queen to be ab
solute ruler of the ancient and
august Empire by the Ganges and
the Brahmaputra, and, lo! it is
done. Six months later, at«!Dtrr-
bar of unequaled magnlfioence
held on the historic rtdge over
looking the mogul capital of Del
hi. the princes and leading men
of India bow down before the
representatives of the little wo
man in England, and, in the name
of the two hundred and eighty-
seven millions of the Indian peo
ple, swear eternal fealty to her
rule.
Was there ever such romance
as this cold-blooded history?
What kind of people are the two
hundred and eighty-seven million
to be falling down before the
thirty millions thousands of miles
away? And what kind of peo
ple are the thirty millions that
they should be even dreaming of
declaring themselves the lords
and masters of the two hundred
and eighty-seven millions?
The explanation is to be found
in the difference between the
Saxon man and the Hindoo man.
We think we know what that
difference Is—but in spite of it ail
there remains that mystery of
mysteries—British ruie in India.
Nor is the mystery much lighten
ed by the fact that, upon the
whole, that rule has ben a
blessing to the Indian people.