Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

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