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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 Subscription Price—Delivered by carrier. 10 cents a week By mall, $6 00 a year. Payable in Advance 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.