Newspaper Page Text
4 F
IIKARST'S SUNDAY AMERICAN, ATLANTA, GA., SUNDAY, MAY 11. 1013.
The Tom Watson I Know By James B. Nevin
The Other Side of the Stormy Petrel of
Georgia Politics—Author of ‘The
Story of France’ at Home.
T
TOM WATSON IN HIS LIBRARY
The best beloved and most hated man in the South is shown as he
appears daily at home in Thomson. “The sedentary mollywop” as
he styles himself, is the only person in the world who is able to find anything in the room. It was not moving or cleaning up
day when this picture was taken, but the disorder is that which always prevails. Mr. Watson’s papers and manuscripts are
strewn among the books which once comprised the library of Alexander H. Stephens, Vice President of the Confederacy.
HO.MSON, May 10.— Th© Tom Watson I know and likf thf* belt of
all the Tom Watsons I know—fat* there are very many Tam
Watsons, you know—is not the “stormy petrel” of Georgia politics,
aho rides the hurricane now and then, ami is the hurricane, but the
Tom Watson who brim** from out the disorder and confusion of his study
in Thomson the most engaging and gripping literary productions tbs South
has furnished the nation In many a year.
In considering the strange case of Thomas J<
lei case by any manner of m *a.n» to “The
and Mr. Hyde.” although
a. pa
Joky
folks will think I overlook a
good bet In not Insisting that It
is, when one gets to that phase of
It wherein he Inclines to cuss and
ejaculate unprintable things, he
should remember this, Tom Watson
is the author of that most remark
ably and compelling book, “The
Story of France!”
No man whose Intellect is not ex
traordinary. whose sympathies are
not human and close to the surface,
whose light of reason 1* not scln-
rlllant, whose political understand
ing is not far-seeing and profound,
and whose literary prowess is very
Watson, which isn’t
8trange Fase of Dr.
much out of
ork.
usual, cculd pro
duce such a
Time was when I thought literary
endeavor the safety-valve through
which escai»ed now and then a suf
ficiency of steam to ward off Wat-
sonian exptoadon. It was my im
pression that Mr. Watson’s political
activities were the sum and sub
stance of him, and that they were'
the things mainly that kept him
wake o’ nights.
Now, I incline to suspect it Is.
and always has been, the other way
round—and that politics has been
his diversion, the while literary
work has been the dominant passion
of his life.
3it« In Lovely Home.
Here he sits in Thomson, “far
from the madding crowd’s igno
ble strife,” under his own vine and
fig tree, the master of one of the
loveliest homes 1n all the South,
nowadays caressed of honeysuckle
and roSes, and lulled by the hum of
bees and the evening lilt cf mock
ingbirds, I think Mr. Watson bur
dens his mind little with the ways
and the wile* of politicians. Such
viewing with alarm as he permits
himself Is viewing more in sorrow
than in anger, anyway, I think.
And yet, he is going to have his
say as “the situation” develops in
the nation and in Georgia—be sure
of that! There is no individual In
the State who has so loyal a fol
lowing. and withal so unquestion
ing.
He is a good hater, is Mr. Watson,
and ho has some ancient scores to
settle His is an extremely sensi
tive ature—and he does not forget.
Right now, however, “the red
headed perpmn” is browsing; amongst
his beloved books. When he will
not he will not—and politics may go
hang as springtime merges Into
summer, with Thomas E.
And so. 1 naked him about him- I
self, when came he, and wither was i
he drifting, and so forth and so on.
And he Answered, and spake unto j
me. saying thunly:
“My folka have been here *ln
Georgia a long time. They helped
found the beautiful little city of
Washington, but before that Charles
Watson was Clerk of the Royal
Council of the Colony of Georgia,
which in the Ion gent and most sono-
rofla title any of the clan ever pos
sessed.
“Thoms* is a name very persis
tent in the faintly, there being one
to every generation, one being a
sufficiency. 1 am kin to Watts, the
uttam engine man. but no kin to
Watts, toe hymn-builder. Hotter
*11], however, I am descended from
Wat, the brick-maker, sometimes
ridiculously dubbed by thick-wit
ted historian, Wat Tyler, of rebel
lious inclination. The absurd his
torians do not know that the word
‘tiler’ simply meant that my hon
orable ancestor made and placed
tiles for a living.
Proud of Hi* Ancestry.
"Mv ancestor Wat, ‘the tiler", lost
his life endeavoring to stop out
rageous Governmental abuses In
merry England. Wat’s own daugh
ter having been subjected to gross
* humiliations at the hands of tax
collectors, the old gentleman quit
his job of tiling temporarily, and
proceeded home where he slaugh
tered the King's menial with his
—Wat’s—tiling level. This kicked
up a hullabaloo in England, of
course—but If affords me pleasure
to trace mv ancestry right buck to
'this doughty person, who defended
his home and human right against
all comers, and even with his life
I would much rather be descended
from Wat, the tiler, than from Wil
liam, the Conqueror.
“In Georgia, the Wataons have
been middle class people land-
owner*. and sometimes slave hold
ers. We served in the Revolutionary
War, the Indian War*, the Mexican
War, and the Civil War. The men
have been farmers, lawyers card-
players. horse racers..chicken fight
ers, whisky drinkers, and bird
hunters. A rum lot, in a way, but
mostly honest and on the level.
"My father was a fine athlete
and accomplished in many sporte.
Hence, by that perversity of na
ture which I shall not undertake
to explain, I am u bookworm, a re
duce. and a sedentary mollywop.
My father never read a book in his
life, and was. therefore, normal,
healthy, enjoying and enjoyable. He
did not make himself responsible
for the universe, and never expe
rienced, therefore, the exquisite and
complicated misery that man can
cultivate by doing so.
“The Civil War claimed and got
all three of my grandfather’s stal
wart sons taking the life of one.
making a pitiable Invalid of another,
and letting my father off with a
maimed foot and a sacrificed leg.
I vividly remember the appalling
scenes through which 1 went with
my mother to find my father and
fetch him home 1 was eight years
old.
T was born on September 5. 18r.fi.
There were no celestial disturb
ances, so far as I know, or ha ve over
heard. I came Into the world with
out having been previously consult
ed. Had the facts been laid before
me previous to my coming, and had
i realized all I was going up against,
) might have elected not to come.
That, however, is neither here nor
there at this writing.
“I wan born to moderate wealth,
was not made l/> work, was encour
aged to reed, and frequently broke
the sleep of the family by having
fearful dreams about wars and bat
tles, especially the Indian massa
cres of New England. My mother
had much trouble convincing me
that there were no Indians near our
home, and that the war-whoops
would not resound in our vicinity
any night, dtapito my doubts and
fears to the contrary. 1 was quite
a favorite with my school teachers,
and was* occasionally flattered in a
most bold-faced manner as to my
ability as an orator. I could re
cite “Hohenlinden” to beat the band
—and can still. If necessary. At
Mercer, I received the highest hon
ors for deportment and rhetoric,
but many people never will believe
l really wag entitled to the deport
ment medal.
‘‘The financial smash of ’I'd ended
my college carer. A hard-hearted
landlord would not let me remain
unless 1 jpaid him my board and
GHOSTS OF ATLANTA
T HE burial of Slavery took place
-in Atlanta in the spring of 1867
Few remain who can recall
that strange, weird procession as it
appeared from the south end of
Peachtree Street, and wended its way
out Peachtre*' Street to the creek,
where the final rites were performed as
only the negro in his original and
fanatical mind can devise.
It was a silent line of dusky ne
groes. The streets at that time wet.
sparsely settled, and where tall build
ing* now rise skyward, one storied
houses surrounded by beautiful old
flower gardens nestled among tail
trees- Bevond lav the tranches and
breastworks, all flowered over with
daisies left by the trail of Sherman*?
grain wagons and here and there a
blackberry vine that found its roots
in the blood wet soil, where heroes
on both sides of that great battle >f
the twenty-second fought and died.
T was a little child at that time,
but recall with a thrill of emotion the
dim and earnest band of negroes as
they approached the corner where the
Masonic Building now stands.
Running down to the gate, through
the beds of white May lilies and
sweet pinks. 1 called to a husky nc-
r»u doing
Where
bulgin’
T got
I km
ting herself eagerly before the
re. the negro woman an-
buttin’ Slavery! We is!"
where are you going?" I per-
e free, tank Gawd, an* we’s
slavery!” was all the answer
so the little procession of two
e hundred men and women
an tnd that was all the infor-
vouchsafed me at that time.
iy nut**© told my mother that
ession had gone out to Pen ch
eek. and after weighting the
rlth rocks, let It down In th**
where it is still resting for all
Under a cloud, you can see the phos
phorescent glow Of the ghostly com
pany and hear the croon of the mysti
cal songs they sang when Slavery was
burled.
• • *
M RS. KATE WOOTTEN, mother
to Miss Katherine Wootten of
the Carnegie Library, knows
all about the ghost that haunted the
oldfashloned red brick house In Court-
land Avenue, for it whs her father,
Pat Lynch, who built und owned the
house, and there resided Mrs Woot
ten during her very young childhood.
The house stands on the opposite
side of the street where the Old Cal
ico has stood for many years, which
was. until its renovation, one of the
curiosities of Atlanta’s early da ye.
Hut to the ghost story. During th**
latter part of the War with the
States, Patrick Lynch, seeing that At
lanta would become the scene of con
flict, removed his family to his plan
tation. and rented the house Soon
afterwards, there arrived In Atlanta a
woman named Maggie Collins. She
came from Augusta, and was, seem
ingly a woman of refinement and eJ-
u* ation. Her clothing was unusually
handsome for the times, and she was
very attractive. Miss Collins took a
room at the Lynch home, and made
many friends among the people >f
Atlanta. One evening there was a hall
given at the Old Medical College, and
in those days the dances given any
where. if by the right people, wpre at
tended by the nice people. Miss Col
lins was a guest at the ball.
Next morning, she was found mur
dered. dressed in full evening dress,
and thrown across hqr bed as though
the deed had been done 1n a hurrv.
one window was open, and a burr 1
was standing just outside the (‘as- -
merit. No one ever knew who killed
the woman. No investigation was
made in the excitement of war! N >
one ever claimed the body. The names
of some of the best of the South’s
chivalry wert» mentioned in connec
tion with the Incident, but no one was
openly accused, it was said and be
lieved that Miss Collins was a Fed
eral spy. Her body was laid away in
the park, which stood opposite the
Kimball House in Pryor Siroet. .and
there it may be resting* now for all
the busy people of Atlanta know.
For years after the murder, the
Lynch house was believed by the ig
norant to be haunted and few were
brave enough to pass the place in th<‘
night. Those who reside in the
building had grew some .tales to tell
of the noises and ghostly visitant of
the place. But Time has obliterated
the story and rertovations on the
house have changed it so that few
remember just w hich house It is that
was haunted.
“O’
N Merritt* Avenue
well known mem
Federation, "is
tage that used to be 1
still may ho There was
well on the place, and n
the house and garden ha
showing himself about,
air and abandon of a real human ...
lng. 1 knew the lady well who lived
at the little cottage. She was truth
ful and had one of the most brilliant
and cultured minds I ever came in
contact with. She said, one morning
she went out of her bedroom for »
moment, and when she return
nber of the
small oot-
iunted, and
i bottomless
any a night
had a sppok
vith all the
th‘
HU1V\AN CHARITY
1 couldn’t. I took to the law, and,
In a way, the law took to me—hence
1 became a familiar sight around
the court houses of the State, and
got tangled up in politics before I
really knew what I was doing. While
.studying law, 1 worked on a farm
for $8 per month. I thought It
great fun, and would do it again
rather than loaf, mope, rust out,
or commit apostasy of sort.
1 lived for several years after my
admission to the bar on small fees
and small feed.
“Sentenced to Legislature.”
"I was sentenced to the Legis
lature In 1882-8. I led the fight for
the local option law r , which closed
bar rooms In 115 counties in the
State. I changed the law’ of land
lord and tenant from a law in favor
of the landlord to a law in favor of
the tenant 1 am proud of the fact
that my change remained put. 1
actively aided In the passage of the
statute w'hereby the new capitol was
erected. 1 tried to tax dogs for
school purposes, but failed.
"I was a Cleveland elector In 1888,
and Johh Temple Graves was also.
We floods'll flhe State with elo
quence, Nit neither took any beauty
medals anywhere.
“I was elected to Congress in
1890, on the Farmers’ Alliance plat
form. Now, please get this right.
By Ann Teek
sleeve of her son’s shirt was hanging
from the wall apparently without aid
of human skill. She - took. It down
and found the shirt in the closet of
her son’s room minus the sleeve. H^r
son had been down town since early
morning, and knew nothing about the
shirt sleeve being severed from the
shirt, and there was no one- else in
the house. Another uncanny thing
was' the attachment of a small gold
ring to the lady’s eyeglasses, whicn
was so perfectly welded on the rim
it had to be filed off by a goldsmith.
The house was all wreathed with
pink roses and the most inoffensive
looking flower garden at the front I
ever saw »Ther was nothing to
stamp it with the sign of the supernat
ural, buj it had its reputation for
many years and may have yet.”
* * *
O FT the Howell Mill Hoad is a
haunted house. Society goes
there for recreation when the
Driving Club palls br opera week Is
ended.
It stands in a lonely grove and many
a night when the moon plays hide
and seek with the sweet country
roads and fragrant forests, you can
see automobile parties driving there
to catch a sight of the midnight revel
of the ghostly company who gather
there with the same desire for recre
ation that governs the living reveler.
Not many have been fortunate enough
to see this especial “hant,” but every
body who knows the house, shivers
and draws closer together as' they
approach it after the wee small hours.
The house is easy to And and all you
have to do is to ask some of the best
families out the Peachtree Road and
thev will tell you exactly which house
it is.
By Blanche Reid
T did not join the order, and did
not burn my law books, as it has
often been stated I did. I was elect
ed on a progressive Alliance plat
form, however, and did rpfuse to go
into the Democratic caucas of the
House, where my hands would have
been tied. For this, I was ‘read out
of the party’ and denounced as a
‘traitor.’ La Follette, elected 20
years later, did precisely as I did.
He was hailed as a hero. The same
men who crucified me, crowned La
Follette. Such la such in this mun
dane potato patch.
“Here are some of the ‘traitorous’
things I stood for in the national
Congress: Opposed the present
military law, which has Germanized
•our State militia, fought the Pinker
ton deputy system, and killed it.
supported the 8-hour law and other
union labor legislation, and advo
cated compulsory automatic car-
couplers on all railroads.
“Tlie best and biggest thing I did,
perhaps, was to father the rural
mail delivery system. My complete
right to be known as the author of
the free rural delivery of mall Is set
forth in the Congressional Record
of February 17, 1893, in categorical
statements from Senators Bacon
and (’lay. Since that time, the mat
ter has not been disputed.
‘‘I was robbed of re-election to
Congress, in a very bitter contest.
I was howled down, mobbed, and
insulted a dozen times during its
progress. Nevertheless, I was then
adhering to the very things that
to-day are dubbed mopt ‘progres
sive.’ The political reapers of to
day are harvesting in gladness
where In the bitter long I
sowed In cruelty and misrepresen
tation.
“I was robbed a second time, two
years later, and then I gave up. I
was powerless against the machine
set to run me down. 1 abandoned
the fight, exhausted, and seeming
ly very near friendless. I took up
my law practice again, and re
sumed my literary labors.
“When Bryan went to the gold
standard and Parker in 1904, I ac
cepted the Populist nomination for
the Presidency. Bryan worked so
hard for Parker that Roosevelt was
elected. In 1908 I tried to take
Georgia out of the Solid South po
litical cess pool. Failed—but I shall
try it again some day, with another
candidate. A South always solid for
(me party means a South that 1s
considered by no party.
“Excepting free sohool books for
public school children, every Popu
list demand of 1896 1r now a law of
Georgia. Nationally It is true, and
the records will bear me out that
I have long advocated postal sav
ings banks, a parcel post, direct
election of Senators, direct nomina
tion of the President, the initiative,
the referendum, and the recall^
necessities of life on the free list, rv
graduated income tax. Government
ownership of public utilities. These
things are quite the fashion nowa
days. despite their popularity wit*
the ‘Pops’ back yonder twenty years
ago,
Doesn't Want a Vacation.
“Nowadays, I am devoting myself
to my books and literary work. I
have my own printing plant in
Thomson, and have . not known a
vacation in 20 years.', I would not
know what to do with a week of
idleness, if Providence should give
me one. I am happy*. 1n my own
chosen work, can find plenty of sun
shine. don't iuirse grievance*
(much), do not hate Anybody or
envy any person, fight the beat I
know how, when 1 have to. which
is now and then, take th^ wounds
that come, as a good soldieT should,
and march on to whatever end
there is, with never a fear of to
morrow or hereafter.
”1 am Mill very much alive—no
doubt of that. Feel equal to any
sort of frolic or fight, but prefer
the frolic. Think my two little
grand-daughter* the sweetest
things in the world, and will never
trouble trouble. unless trouble
troubles me. I like to see my friend*
whenever they do me the kindness
to call, and I keep tab on my ene
mies—out of precaution.
“In my library, somewhat in* dis
order always—and the women folks
constantly prod me about thl*—I
have practically all the books and
papers comprising the library of the
late Alexander H. Stephens, Vice
President of the Confederacy, and
great Commoner of the South. I
guess I am never quite so happy' as
when rambling through these books
mindful of the fact I am reading
the very things that Stephens u»ed
to read, and enjoy, and find so
profitable.”
It Is in this half-whimsical, half
serious way that Tom Watson, the
best beloved and the best hated
man In Georgia, talks about him
self and his work to-day. Through
his weekly and monthly publica
tions, he continues to crack head*
and shiver lances hither and yon,
the while he holds tight to a large
measure of poise and well balanced
philosophy as time runs along.
There are some twenty-odd thou
sand Watsonites in Georgia, ready
to march to glory or the grave with
“Tom,” as occasion may require.
Theirs not so much to reason why,
perhaps—they leave that to Tom—
theirs but to do or die. He can
put an instantly persuading finger
on every mother’s son of them.
Silent on Politics.
Here he is in Thomson, however,
by many observers of events and
things rated the balance of politi
cal power in Georgia, declining to
talk politics for publication, but
sure as fate to “butt in” again, at
the psychological moment.
In his role of Thomas E. Watson,
author, particularly of that mar
velous “Story of France,” it is that
I choopft to come in contact with
him. Politically, I try to be fair
to him—he is entitled to that—al
beit. I with many others, have
found it difficult to follow his logic
at times.
So. whenever I get to thinking
unkind things of hirh. I remeber
him as he appears here in his dis
ordered study—the writer of th©
greatest historical work I have
ever read, and withal the most
thrillingly entertaining.
Tn that guise, he Is the Tom
Watson I know—and like the best.
vide:
cofflr
1y cons
he head of the procession
'a negro man. with » RlbV in
ds He wore a long white robe,
d a long flowing beard like an
Midway in the process!© i
wag-m with the* wheel! tfi-
>v a lone pole, upon which was
>d a child’* small unpointed
No flower decorated the rude-
ted little box. and as the
dust rose stifling under the tramp,
tramp, of the negroe< feet. “Swing
Low. Sweet Chariot,** fo v e and fell In
measured cadence and then—the ac
tors on that strange stage disap
peared down the street
Slavery was buried. The sun was
si!ining. The flowers were bloom In?,
ai;g the petals of the peach tr < s
were drooping noiselessly on the grass
plots of the garden.
Slavery was bufied' The mating of
the birds made, sweet music as they
nested In the honeysuckle and jessa
mine vines, and the monotone of
•■Bu ine Tow sweet chariot,” was home
back U r *On me nr*t*e
And from that day to this, there
dim shadows haunting the hanks
Peachtree Creek. In May, the shap
materialize, and when the moon hid
S HE was an insignificant little per
son. one of those unobtrustive be
ings who are not effective in socie
ty, and everybody thought how kind it
was of her rich, attractive aunt to
give her a home. Indeed, some even
hinted that she ought to have made
an effort to earn her own living.
Many years after, and only by an ac
cident, did people learn the truth The
aunt had lost mest of her fortune,
and the niece, who was- not penniless
had contributed money to the house
hold. and saved the former from be
ing deprived of many of her com
forts.
In her quiet way this insignificant
little person had been very neatly a
hero ne. because she had never hint
ed that the obligation was on her
side All her friends had misjudged
her. and she had submitted in silence
to the pa inful affliction of not being
appreciated.
The results of this mistake could
.never be wholly undone, for nothing
could ever atone for the long time
during which ahe had suffered from
her neighbors' unkind criticism
How often is the world guilty of
some such wrong .t* this We blame
without knowing the effects, and we
are unfair again and again to those
who do not deserve it.
Around us are thousands of our
fellow-beings whose Actions to an on
looker in many cases appear as sense
less and unaccountable .is the move
ments of dancers when the music
which inspires them is unheard.
Without knowing all the motives and
influence* at work, how
stbly judge a stranger’s
why .should we be ci. <
condemn it hastily?
It is very common
were Miss So-and-so, 1
or that," but in truth, un
actually Mias So-and-so. or initiated
into the whole of that inner life which
is now' hidden from you. it is im
possible to guess how you would act,
and whether you would manage better
than she does.
It is so easy, so fatally easy to be
good^nd wise in another’s place; so
difficult ir. one’s own. Thor- are so
many circumstance* that you do not
know’, that you never can know, you
might just as well be merciful In
your judgment.
Even if you did not commit the
same faults as the object of your
criticism, you wauid probably commit
an we pos-
jnduct, and
enough to
say. “If l
>uid do this
less you are
different ones. for allowances
must be made for individual temper
aments. We are not ah alike, and
the world would be very dull If we
were.
For instance, a certain woman was
reputed to be cold and haughty,
though ir. reality she was only very
shy. Slv* had bfen brought up in an
extremely reserved family, and had
never acquired the lmbit of speaking
from her heart.A11 the white she was
thirsting for the sympathy which
would have opened the closed gates
and led her forth Into the sunshine.
Always give the benefit of the doubt
w hen \ >u a.re not certain. It ought
to be as easy to think well as to
think ill, but apparently it is not so
Often a solitary piece of neglect is
allowed to outweigh a hundred kind-
i»s. When w e are angry with peo-
we forget all their goodness, and
one failing appears of more impor
tance than many virtues. Human na
ture i« sadder because it is so ready
to take offense, so quick to believe
Try to keep your heart gentle to
wards others, hard only towards your
self. After all, life is so short that
it gives you no time to do more
than mend > »ur faults, even if you
succeed in that.
Pie.
W ILL not some modern scien
tist, or creative wizard, at
tempt at some time to make
a modern Frankenstein of these
symbolic parts?
The heacf of navigation.
The brow of a hill.
1 The eye of opportunity.
The teeth of the wind.
The breath of the gods.
The neck of land.
The bosom, of earth.
The soul of honor.
The arms of the sea.
The hand of fate.
The finger of scorn.
The waste of time.
The bones and sinews of labor.
The limbs of the forest.
The foot of the mountain.
If such should come to pass, and
clothes jvere required for the
monster, would it not be neces
sary to cover his nakedness with
these garments?
A racing derby.
A coat of arms.
Breeches of trust.
The collar of convention.
The matrimonial tie.
The cuffs of adverse fortune—
but what boots it?
Chinese Curiosities
THE WIFE AND THE PAY ENVELOPE
Some one who knows Chinese peo
ple very well once told a tale to
show that they do not permit them
selves the luxury of nerves. She said
she had gone one day. before the
Boxer riots, to vwit the old lady who
lived out In the country' far beyond
Wei-Hsien When the American
woman arrived the old lady was out
but presently she came in. and an
nounced that she had just been out
“watching the men dig her grave,
but as .t began t< rain she had told
them to Wjait for a pleasanter flay.”
She did rot die for years after that,
but she had the comforting assurance
that her grave was ready for her,
without any unseemly haste whenev
er she cared to occupy it.
The same American had the expe
rience of sleeping in a room with a
very largo coffin when she was visit
ing a Chinese friend, and the next
morning the old grandfather of the
family ‘ailed her attention to its ex
cellences. and explained that his son
had made him a orerent of it. "Isn’t
the wood fine?" he asked admiringly.
“It cost a lot of money." Old peo
ple accept fcuch piesents as marks of
filial love, and not at all as a hint
for them to occupy tlie coffin.
Where and how to get a little
"nest egg” to put aside for the
efnergency of everyday life Is a
question that is puzzling nearly every
young married couple.
T. J. Peeples, cashier of the Amer
ican National Bank, has had years of
opportunity to see who started the
bank accounts, and he says that with
a very few exceptions the finances of
the family should be intrusted to the
wife. She is more economical, he
says, and better able to run the house
hold. His philosophy is set forth in
the following statement for The Sun
day American:
By T. J. PEEPLES.
Cashier of the Amerioan National
Bank.
The question as to who should han
dle the payroll envelope, the husband
or the wife, i* one w’hlch has been
under discussion for many years. It
is a. question to which there are two
sides—witJi the argument, however,
very much in favor of the wife.
| wife.
It lias been my observation during
the many years that I have been In
| the banking business that women, as
a rule, are much more economical in
i the handling of money than men—
j especially when it comes to house
hold expense*. I know of dozens of
! cases to-day of young men who are
! working on small salaries w’ho are
| always hard up, fo? the simple rea-
| son that they spend their money
foolishly—not so much in dissipation,
t but they have no idea of the value of
j a dollar. Young men of this kind
: very frequently wind up in the hands
| of the money sharks, which, of course,
is only one step from bankruptcy. In
I nearly all of these cases. If these
. young men would allow* their wives
j to handle their weekly wages they
would keep clear of debt and would
probably lay up a little something
for a rainy day.
A w oman ha* a much better knowl
edge of handling household expenses
than a man: and while I do not be
lieve that any man should turn over
hig entire earnings, weekly or month
ly. to his wife; at the same time. I
think that where a young man is
working on a small salary or weekly
wages, with no properly. In 90 cases
out of 100 their wives could handle
their finances better than they could
themselves. Of course, there are ex
ceptions to this rule, as there are
some women who have been raised in
luxury and after marriage have met
with reverses, and It is very hard for
a woman w’ho has been raised this
way to change her ideas of living,
t I have a case in mind—one who is
not a regular wage earner, but who
has a profession out of which he
makes a good Income, and this young
man for the several years l have
known him has always been hard up
because he spendB Ills money foolish
ly in various way*. This man has a
wife who Is economical in her habits,
and I believe that if he had adopted
tho practice several years ago of
turning over the bulk of his income
to her, he would to-day be practi
cally Independent instead of being
always In debt.
Since I started writing this article
I was talking to a gentleman who in
forms me that he has a wife and four
teen children. Most of these children
are grown and have been given a
fair education; and he states that it
has been due almost entirely to the
economical management of his wife
that he has been able to raise his
family. While not a man of means, he
Is in comfortable circumstances and
has a nice, attractive home.
There is an old saying that “an
honest man Is the noblest W’ork of
God,” but I have always believed and
still contend that a good woman is
the grandest creation the Almighty
ever put on earth; and of one thing
we can all be a.ssured: If the hus
band working for a small salary or
wages will turn over his weekly or
monthly earnings to his wife, the
money will be spent by her where it
will do the most good.
THE SWEEP OF SCIENCE
By EDQAR LUCIEN LARKIN.
S WEEPING now through the
very portalH of Infinity, the
imposing march of late science
Is impressive and awe-tnsplring.
Modern man Is awakening to a
glimpse of realization of his pow
ers. Recent extreme aecuracy In
lefiued research. In measurement,
weighing and computing has sur
passed all previous attainments.
In this note som e Idea, It Is hoped,
will be given of what explorers, re
searchers, diggers and delvers are
doing In the task of storming the
very bulwarks and battlements of
Nature. A search, the like of which
hath not been made before, a series
of Investigations surpassing in mi
croscopic precision the work of all
past centuries, with Instruments of
such excessive delicacy that all pre
ceding apparatus fail in comparison,
a search by night and by day, is
now in a state of activity.
The recent isolation of one elec
tron and determination of Its prop
erties proved to be a turning point
in the advance of man, in every wrny
equal to the discovery of universal
gravitation by Newton.
Two capital discoveries, one in
1666, and the other in 1910, are the
cornerstones of that magnificent
temple, the Temple of the Sciences.
The act of weighing one electron
In the laboratory is the equal of
weighing a pair of colossal suns
600 trillion miles away. Both re
veal that the Mind now phasing
in that inexplicable mystery, the
brain, is well on its way to infinity.
The separating out of one electron
from man}' quintllltons of others
and the finding of Its Inertia and
potential required more skill in
manipulation, of another kind, how
ever, than that of finding the quan
tity of matter in a pair of revolv
ing suns.
I have outlined how the two
great achievements were wroug
in preceding issues of The Arnei
can. Suppose that a number
parties of explorers should be r
searching ir) a wide area of plaii
forests and mountains, and th
they wer e surveying, watching
the new and strange things disco
ered, and making records. A
that In time two groups should cot
in sight of each other. And th
soon another and then another u
till all were cloEe together. Up
comparing notes of surveys imagl
that these should reveal the asto
lshing fact that all of the grou
were traveling toward one and t
same point. This would surpri
them and be of Interest.
But all separate explorers are n<
surely and Inevitably traversi!
lines in the mighty expanse that a
actually converging. The explore
are coming In sight of each othi
and also in sight of the point
convergence. And the one centi
point, the focus, is this: Nothi;
exists but electrons.
Suppose that the reader could
without food or sleep during o
year and could center the eyes du
ing the year, and also the mind
the exclusion of all thoughts on ai
subject, upon these almost suprei
words: Nothing exists but ele
trons; then by the end of the ye
one momentary and fleeting glimp
of their stupendous meaning mig
possibly be secured. And if t
glimpse lasted during the one-hu
dredth part of a second qf tin
then astonishment would submer
the entire mind. Even their mlgh
discoverers, isolaters, measure
and weighers have by no mea
been able to grasp the vast ir
port of these four words so ne
the Cfieator.
It would be a good plan for bn
people when at work or on boa
or trains to mentally repeat
themselves many times during t
day these four Impressive words.
It is was within the power
man to force electrons to lie side 1
side in contact—imposisble, hot
ever—then a row one inch lot
would contain 12,700,000,000,01
Electrons are composed of pu
negative electrlcitjfc