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EDITORIAL RAGE The Atlanta Georgian THE HOME RARER
THE ATLANTA GEORGIAN
Published Every Afternoon Except Sunday
By THE GEORGIAN COMPANY
At 20 Eost Alabama St., Atlanta, Ga
Entered as second-class matter at postoftlce at Atlanta, under act of Murch 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 Thanksgiving
Copyright. 1913.
■ *
It was on a suburban train running out of Atlanta. A
mother with her family, two half-gTown 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.
Prom one end of the car to the other he could be heard, howling
an indignant protest against taking a journey he did not want
to take, and undergoing privations without being oonsulted.
The mother, terribly worried by the indignant frowns of
the other passengers, fussed and worried. She offered the baby
his bottle, but he batted it away with a tiny pin}* hand and
yelled louder than ever.
Being a careful mother, she examined his olothing 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 faoed baby.
A crusty old man in the seat behind said to his oompanion:
“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 advioe and made faoes for the baby to admire. But the
baby did not admire them. He merely expressed eloquently,
though without articulate 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 beoause he was healthy and well fed, and protected
against disease, his voice 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
mattress placed on two up-ended cracker boxes.
On the bed was a baby —also ten months old, but with no
shoes whatever, and clothed in a few dingy 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 renember, you mothers who lose
your patience when your babies cry. Think of those other ba
bies in the tenements who do not cry, either because they have
not the strength or because they have learned that not even a
baby’s needs can be satisfied because of his crying for them
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 coo 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 you can hear it, you mothers whose nerves are
“all frayed out” because the crying disturbs you—and you
fathers who spend the night away from home beoause 1 ‘ 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 h<*r 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
May-Time When the Buds Come
By WINSOR M’CAY.
W inifred Black Writes About “Doors That Slam”
John Temple Graves
Says
Our Navy Needs a
Ifet ^ ll
Charles Beresford
xik Jp ’\ Jj
The Great Englishman, he says,
pg* ‘ f ^
Keeps Britain’s Navy Up-to
111 if
Date and In Repair by Ex-
jgif m
posing Its Glaring Weakness
SHI 4
from Time to Time.
By JOHN TEMPLE GRAVES
Foolishness has many forms,
but the forms adopted by the
other fellow always seem the most
foolish.
It takes a lot of courage to tell
a big man his faults.
The eritie Is always most posi
tive when discussing something
kihat he does not know much
[about.
Some men never care for peace
until they are in the pose of the
under dog.
The habit of blowing one’s ow n
horn generally grows on a fellow.
Desperation generally stifles
caution.
Staggering phraseology is not
a.wh^ve a sign of good sense.
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 I
was so tired, up all night the
night before and busy all day that
day, so tired, so weary and 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. Riff’ 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—K-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 be 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 I rose,
walked over to the doorjustafew
steps, turned the key, and It was
done- - the door banged no more.
My train ceased to run over
bridges, and I fell asleep—-at last
peacefully, calmly, sweetly asleep,
and yet outside the wind blew—
1 could hear hint singing in the
bare boughs of the great oak—
like some entranced musician
loath to leave his music—and I
was neither younger nor more
blessed in any way than before.
Yet 1 slept as if I were sweet six- 1
teen, with all the world waiting
to lay garlands of roses at my
feet when 1 deigned to awaken a
glad world my pieseuM* k
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.
I wonder
How often have l turned upon
an easj T 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,
and this one makes such deliciou.
waffles. Hast 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 Marc seem« to like
to see me come. Vhe secret irri
tation that must hsVe 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
Axriend for a whil . When 1 met
her she seemed 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 the matter.
What’s the Matter?
“I love you,” I said Don't
you care for me any more* How
have I offended?” She came that
afternoon and told me of a care
less 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 is
grasping no one seems to care—
oh. it's a terrible world! Ten to
one it's only some door slamming
somewhere 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!
The Celestial Locket
By MINNA IRVING.
HE big round moon is at the
full,
And riding bright and high,
With littie flecks of lacy cloud
Around it in the sky.
It’s like a silver locket hung
Upon a chain of diamond stars,
That pale before .Its light.
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.
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 welgty an
chor and sail out to meet and
conquer an Invading foe.
President Taft doubtless made
this statement upon lnforrr^tlon
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 upon the
President of the United States
such a gross misstatement of the
facts.
Disquieting Whispers.
It was a greater ahame 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 ooal.
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 j
have been corrected at the
time.
It would be a cowardly Ameri
can now who would keep these
facta 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-
ditlons, as they have been stated,
is the 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
T HAN the proclamation of
Queen Victoria as Empress
of India, made in the city of
IKind on thirty-seven years ago,
there is perhaps nothing stranger
or, from the standpoint of the
psychologist, more Interesting, in
all history.
Think of it for a moment. The
Queen of a little island in the At
lantic, with an area of some
elghtv-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 ever
memorable proclamation reminds
us of the rulings of Providence,
of the ways of the omnipotent
God. The little hftndful 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
Beresford’s great service has been
more marked than the Incessant
challenge by whioh he has kept
England posted as to the deflclen- j
cles 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 navjg
and this sharp challenge of the
fearless sailor-publicist has done
perhaps as much or more than
anything else to keep the Eagb
lish battleships up to the market
efficiency.
We ought to have in America
some great publicist who win not
fear to tell our Government the
truth about its navy tn time ot
peace and not wait for the sharp
necessity of war to prod the de
partment into aotlon. 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 Secretairy 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 j
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 his
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 in the navy. He
would remember that most young
men enlist in the navy 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 fight
when necessary with every force
of men and machinery and fuel In
Its place.
done. Six months later, at a Dur
bar of unequaled magnificence
held on the hlstorlo ridge 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 all
there remains that mystery of
mysteries—British rule in India.
Nor is the mystery much lighten- V
ed by the faot that, upon the
whole, that rule has ben a
blessing to the Indian people.
The Empress of India
By REV. THOMAS B. GREGORY.