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HKARST’fl SUNDAY AMERICAN, ATLANTA, C.A., 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 ‘T he
Story of France’ at Home.
T HOMSON, May 10.—The Tom Watson I know and like the bent of
all the Tom Watsons 1 know—far there are very many Tom
Watsons, you know—Is not the "sto'mv petrel” of Georgia politic*,
who rides the hurricane now and then, and Is the hurricane, but tha
Tom Watson who brings from out the disorder and confusion of his study
In Thomson the most engaging and gripping literary production* tha South
haa furnished the nation In many a
In considering the at range ca»
a parallel case by any manner of in
Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,” although
some folks will think 1 overlook a
good bet In not insisting that It
b, when one gets to that phase of
it wherein he Inclines to cusp and
ejaculate unprintable things, he
should remember this, Tom Watson
is the author of Liat 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 is not scin-
tlllant, whose political understand
ing is not far-seeing and profound,
and whose literary prowess is very-
much out of the usual, could pro
duce such a work.
Time was when I thought literary
endeavor the safety-valve through
which escaped now and then a suf
ficiency of steam to ward off Wat-
sonlan explosion. 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, l incline to suspect it la.
and always has boon, the other way
round—and that politics has been
his .diversion, the while literary
work has been the dominant passion
of his life.
Sits 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 In all the Nouth,
nowadays caressed of honeysuckle
and roves, and lulled bv the hum of
bees and the evening hit cf mock
ingbirds, I think Mr. Watson bur
dens his mind little with the ways
and the wile* of politicians. Htich
viewing with alarrfi as he permits
himself Is viewing more in sorrow
than in anger, anyway, I think.
And yet. lie is going to have his
s-ay 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 1s a good hater, iR Mr. Watson,
and he has some anolent scores to
settle. His Is an extremely sensi
tive attire—and he does not forget.
Iilght now, however, "the red
headed person” Is browing amongst
his beloved books. When he will
not he will not—and politics may go
hang as springtime merges into
summer, with Thomas K.
And so, I asked him about him
self, when came he, and wither was
he drifting, and so forth nnd so on.
And he answered, and spake unto
mo, saying thusly:
"My folks have lieen here 'in
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,
year.
i of Thomas K. Watson,
vans to "The Strange
which isn't
Case of Dr.
which Is the longest and most ?«ono-
rous title any of the clan ever pos
sessed.
"Thomas Is a name very persis
tent In the family, there, being one
to every generation, one being a
sufficiency I sm kin to Watts, the
steam engine man, but no kin to
WattH, tot* hymn-builder. Hotter
still, 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 meapt that my hon
orable ancestor made and placed
tiles for a living.
Proud of His Ancsstry.
"My ancestor Wat, 'the tiler’, lost
hli? life endeavoring to atop out
rageous Governmental abuses In
merry England. Wat’s own daugh
ter having been subjected to gross
humiliations at the bands of tax
collectors, the old gentleman quit
his Job of tiling temporarily, and
proceeded borne when- 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 mo pleasure
to trace my ancestry right back to
this doughty person, who defended
his hom«* and human right against
all corners, and even with his life.
1 would much rather be descended
from Wat, the tiler, than from Wil
liam, the Conqueror.
"In Georgia, the *Wat«ons have
been middle class people—land
owners, and sometimes slave hold
ers. We served In the Revolutionary
War, the Indian Wars, 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 sports.
Hence, by that perversity of na
ture which I shall not undertake
to explain, I «m a bookworm, a y-
cluse. and a sedentary mollywop.
My father never read a book in his
life, and was, therefore, normal,
healthy, enjoying nnd 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.
J vividly remember the appalling
scenes through which I went with
my mother to find my father and
fetch him home. I was eight years
old.
"1 was born on September 5. 1856.
There were no celestial disturb-
TOM WATSON IN HIS LIBRARY
The beat 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 ate
strewn among the books which once comprised the library of Alexander H. Stephens, Vice President of the Confederacy.
ances, so far as I know, or have ever
heard. 1 came into the world with
out having been previously consult
ed. Had the facts been laid before
me previous to rny coming, and had
I realized all 1 was going up against,
I might have elected not to comk
That, however, is neither here nor
there at this writing.
"I was* born to moderate w’ealth,
was not made to work, was encour
aged to read, 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, despite my doubts and
fears to the contrary. 1 was quite
a favorite with my school teachers,
and was bcVasionally flattered in a
most bold-faced manner as to rny
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,
hut many people never will believe
I really was entitled to the deport
ment medal.
"The financial smash of ’78 ended
my college carer. A hard-hearted
landlord would not let me remain
unless I paid him my board—and
GHOSTS OF ATLANTA
T HE burial of Slavery took plac*
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 Htreet, and wended Its way
out Peachtree Street to the creek,
\\ bore the final rites were performed a*
only the negro in his original and
fanatical mind can devise.
It was a silent line of dusky' ne
groes. The streets at that rime were
sparsely settled, and where tall build
ings now rise skyward, one otoried
Rouses surrounded by beautiful old
flower gardens nestled among tail
trees. Bevond lav the trenches and
breastworks, all flowered over with
daisies left by the trail of Sherman’r
grain wasronv, and here and then' a
blackberry vine that found its roots
1n the blood wet soil, where heroes
on both sides of that great battle of
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. I called to a husky ne
gro woman:
“What are you doing" Where are
you going?”
Flaunting herself eagerly before the
onlookers, the negro woman an
swered:
"We’s hur’ln’ Slavery! We Is!”
"Hut where are you going?” T per
sist cd.
"We’re free, tank Gawd, an' we’s
hur’ln’ slavery?” was all the answer
T trot.
And so the little procession of two
or three hundred men and women
passed on. and that was all the infor
mation vouchsafed me at that time
Faiter my nurse told my mother that
the prof ession had gone out to Peach
tree Creek, and after weighting the
coffin with rocks, let 1t down in the
water, where it is still resting for all
T know.
At the head of the procession
walked a negro man, with a Bible in
his hands He wore a long white robe,
and had a long flowing beard like an
apostle. Midway In the procession
was a wagon with the wheels di
vided bv a long pole, upon which was
strapped h child’s small unpainte.l
coffin. N«> flower decorated the rude
ly constructed little box, and as the
dust roso stifling under the tramp,
tramp, of the negroes' feet. "Swing
XJov* . Sweet Chariot." rose and fell in
measured cadence and then—the ac
tors on that strange stage disap
peared down the street
Slavery was burled. The sun was
shining. The flowers were blooming,
ang the petals of the peach trees
wore drooping noiselessly on the grass
plots of the garden.
Slavery was buried* The mating of
the birds made sweet music as they
nec-.-M in tha honeysuckle and jetn-
mine vines -pud the monotone of
"Fwing low. sweet harlot." was borne
back unon the breeze.
And from that day to this, there arc
dim shadows h-iunting the banks of
Peachtfee Creek. In May, the shapes
materiaTUfr Qjxd wh£n the moon hides
under a cloud, you can see the phos
phorescent glow of the ghostly com
pany and hear the croon of the mysti
cal gongs they sang when Slavery was
burled.
• • •
M RS. KATE WOOTTKN, 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 was 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 days.
But to the ghost story. During the
latter part of the War with the
States, Patrick Lynch, seeing that At
lanta would become the scene of con
flict, ramoved 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 ed
ucation. 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 of
Atlanta. One evening there was a ball
given at the Old Medical College, and
in those days the dances given any
where. if by the right people, were at
tended by the nice people. Miss Pol
ling was a guest at the ball.
Next morning, she was found mur
dered, dressed in full evening dress,
and thrown across her bed as though
the deed had been done In a hurry.
HUMAN CHARITY
One window’ was open, and a barr.l
was standing just outside the case
ment. No one ever knew who killed
the woman. No investigation was
made in the excitement of war! No
one ever claimed the body. The names
of some of the best of the South’s
chivalry were mentioned In connec
tion with the Incident, but no one w as
openly accused. It was said and be
lieved that Miss Collins was a Fed
eral spy. Her body was fold away In
the park, which stood opposite the
Kimball House in Pryor Street, and
there It may be resting now for all
the busy people of Atlanta know.
For yeura after the murder, the
Lynch house was believed by the ig
norant to be haunted and few wore
brave enough to pass the place in the
night. Those who reside in the
building had gTcwsome tales to toll
of the noises and ghostly visitant of
the place. Hut Time has obliterated
the story and renovations on the
house have changed it so that few
remember Just which house it is that
was haunted.
“O
N Merritts Avenue.” said' a
well known member of the
Federation, "Is a small cot
tage that used to be hounted, and
still may be There was a bottomless
well on the place, and many a night
the hous^ and garden has had a spook
showing himself about, with all the
air and abandon of a real human be
ing. I knew the lady well who lived
at the little cottage. She was truth
ful and had one of the most brilliant
and cultured minds 1 ever came in
contact with. She said, one morning
she went out of her bedroom for i
moment, and when she returned the
S HE was an insignificant little per
son, one of those unobtrustive be
ings who are not effective In socle,
ty, and everybody thought how T 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 most, 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
heroine, because she had never hint
ed that the obligation was on her
side. All her friends had misjudged
her. and she had submitted i^ silence
to the painful affliction of not being
appreciated.
The results of this uptake could
never be wholly undone, for nothing
could ever atone for the long time
during which she had suffered from
her neighbors’ unkind criticism
How often is tho world guilty of
some such wrong as this. We blame
without knowing the effects, and we
are unfair again and again to those
w’ho 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 as the move
ments of dancers when the music
which inspires them is unheard.
Without knowing all the motives and
influences at work, how can wo pos
sibly judge a stranger’s conduct, and
why should we be creel enough to
condemn It hastily?
It is very common to say. "if I
were Miss So-and-so, 1 would do this
or that," but in truth, unless you are
actually Miss So-and-so, or initiated
into the whole of that inner life which
is now' hidden frofii 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 and wise in another’s place; so
difficult ir. one’s own. There arc so
many circumstances that you do not
know, that you never can know, you
might ;*ust as well be merciful in
your judgment.
Even it you did not commit the
same faults aw the object of your
criticism, you would probably commit
I couldn’t. I took to the law, and,
In a way, the law took to me—hence
I became a familiar sight around
tho court houses of -the State, and
gat tangled up in politics before I
really knew what I was doing. While
Mtudying law’, 1 worked on a farm
for $8 per month. I thought It
great fun, and would do it again
rather than loaf, biope, rusit out,
or commit apostasy of any sort.
I lived for several years after my
admission to tho bar on small fees
and small feed.
"Sentenced to Legislature.”
"I was sentenced to the Legis
lature In 1882-3. I led the fight for
the local option law, which closed
bar roc an in 115 counties in the
State. T changed the law of land
lord and tenant from a law in favor
of the landlord to a law in favor of
the tenant I am proud of the fact
that my change remained put. I
actively aided In the passage of the
statute whereby the new eapitol was
erected. I tried to tax dogs for
school purposes, but failed.
"I was a Cleveland elector in 1888,
and Johli Temple Graves was also.
We flooded the State with elo
quence, but neither took any beauty
medals anywhere.
"I w*as 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 1n
the house. Another uncanny thing
was the attachment of a email gold
ring to the lady’s eyeglasses, which
was so perfectly welded on the rim
it had to be filed off by a goldsmith.
The house w r as all wTeathed with
pink roses and the most Inoffensive
looking flower garden at the front T
ever saw. Ther- was nothing to
stamp it with the sign of the supernat
ural, but It had its reputation for
many years and may have yet.”
• * *
O UT the Howell Mill Road is a
haunted house. Society goes
there for recreation when the
Driving (Nub palls or opera week !s
ended.
It stands in a lonely grove and many
a night when the moon plays hide
and s*eek 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 dfraws closer together as they
approach it after the wee small hours.
The house is easy to find and all you
have to do is to ask some of the best
families out the Peachtree Road and
they will tell you exactly which house
It is.
By Blanche Reid
different ones. for allowances
must be made for individual temper
aments. We are not all alike, and
the world would be very dull if we
were.
For instance, a certain woffian was
reputed to be cold and haughty,
though in reality she was only very
shy. She had been brought up in an
extremely reserved family, and had
never acquired the habit of speaking
from her heart.All the white she was
thirsting for the sympathy which
would have opened the closed gates
and led her forth Into the sunshine.
Always give tho benefit of the doubt
when you are not certain. It ought
to be as easy to think well as to
think ill, but apparently it is not »*>•
Often a solitary piece of neglect Is
allowed to outweigh a hundred kind
nesses. When we are angry with peo
ple, -we forget all their goodness, and
one failing appears of more impor
tance than many virtues. Human na
ture is sadder because It is so ready
to take offense, so quick to believe
ill.
Tr> <> 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 vour faults, even if you
succeed in that.
I 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 refuse to go
into the Democratic caucus 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 Is 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 hae 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.
“The 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 mail is set
forth in the Congressional Record
* of February 17, 1893, In categorical
statements from Senators Bacon
and clay. 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 dowm, mobbed, and
Insulted a dozen times during its
progress. Nevertheless, I was then
adhering to the very things that
to-day are dubbed mort ‘progres
sive.’ The political reapers of to
day are harvesting in gladness
where in the bitter long cyo I
sowed in cruelty and misrepresen
tation.
"I was robbed a second time, two
years later, and then J gaye up. I
was powerless against the machine
set to run me down. I 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
one party means a South that is
considered by no party.
"Excepting free school books for
nubile school children, every Popu
list demand of 1896 is 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 1M, cv
graduated income tax, Government
ownership of public utilities. These
tilings are quite the fashion nowa
days. despite their popularity bli
the ‘Pops’ back yonder twenty years
ago.
Doesn't Want a Vacation.
"Now adays, I am devoting myself
to my books and literary work. I
have my own printing plant in
Thom win, and have not known a
vacation in 20 years. I would nol
know’ what to do with a week of
idleness, if Providence should give
me one. I am happy In my own
chosen work, can find plenty of sun
shine , don’t nurse grievances
(much), do not hate anybody or
envy any person, fight the best I
know how, when I have to, which
is now’ and then, take the wounds
that come, as a good soldier nhould/
and march on to whatever end
there is, with never a fear of to
morrow’ or hereafter.
I am 9ttil very much alive—tio
doubt of that. Feel equal to any
sort of frolic or fight, but prefer
the frolic. Think my two little
grand-daughtera the sweetest
things In the woifld, and will never
trouble trouble. unless trouble
troubles me. I like to see my friends*
whenever they do me the kindness
to call, and I keep tab on my ene
mies—out of precaution.
In my library’, somewhat in die-
order always—and the women folk*
constantly prod me about this—I
have practically all tho 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 used
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 nnd monthly publica
tions, he continues to crack heads
and shiver lances hither and yon,
the w’hile he holds tight to a large
measure of poise and well balanced
philosophy as time runs along.
There are some tw’enty-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 w’hy.
perhaps—they leave that to Tom—
theirs but to do or die. Ho 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, a|
the psychological moment.
In his role of Thomas E. Watson,
author, particularly of that mar
velous "Story of France,” it is that
I choose 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, hav*
found it difficult to follow his logic
at times.
So, whenever I get to thinking
unkind things of him, I remeber
him as he appears here in his dis
ordered study—the w’riter of the
greatest historical work I have
ever read, a.nd w’ithal the most
thrillingly entertaining.
In that guise, he is the Tom
Watson I know—and like the best.
W LL not some modem scien
tist, or creative wizard, at
tempt at some time to make
a modern Frankenstein of these
symbolic parts?
The head of navigation.
The brow o^ a hill.
The ( ye 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 ofc time.
The bones and sinews or labor.
The limbs of the forest.
The foot of the mountain.
If such should come to pass, and
clothes were 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
Some one w’ho knows Chinese peo
ple very w’ell 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 visit the old lady who
lived out in the country far beyoi)d
Wei-Hsien. When the American
woman \ rrived 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 wait for a pleasanter day*”
She did not die for years after that,
but she had the comforting assurance
that her grave was ready for her,
without ai^* unseemly haste whenev
er she cared to occupy it.
The same American had the expe
rience of sleeping in a room with a
very large 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 present of it. "Isn’t
the wood fine?" he asked admiringly.
"It cost a lot of money.” Old peo
ple accept such ptesents as marks of
filial love, and net at all as a hint
for them to occupy the coffin.
Where and how to get a little
"nest egg” to put aside for the
emergency of everyday life Is a
question that is puzzling nearly every
young married couple.
T. J. Petples, 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 American National
Bank.
The question as to who should han
dle the payroll envelope, the husband
or the w’ife. is one which has been
under discussion for many years. It
is a question to which there $re two
sides—with the argument, however,
vqry much in favor of the wife,
wdfe.
It has 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
the handling of money than men—
especially when It comes to house
hold expenses. I know of dozens of
cases to-day of young men who arp
working on small salaries who are
always hard up, for the simple rea
son that they spend their money
foolishly—not so much in dissipation,
but they have no idea of the value of
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
nearly ali of these cases, if these
young men would allow their wives
to handle their weekly wages they
would keep clear of debt and would
probably lay up a little something
for a rainy day.
A woman ha.c 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
his entire earnings, weekly or month
ly, to his w’ife; at the same time, I
think that where a young man is
working on a small salary or weekly
wages, with no property, in 90 cases
out of 100 their wives could iiandle
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 who has been raised this
way to change her Ideas of living.
i I have a case in mind-^me who is
not a regular wage earner, but w’ho
has a profession out of which he
makes a good Income, and this young
man for the several years I have
known him has always been hard up
because he spends his money foolish
ly in various ways. This man has a
wife who is economical In her habits,
and I believe that If ho had adopted
the 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 J 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
THE SWEEP OF SCIENCE
By EDGAR LUCIEN LARKIN.
S WEEPING now through the
very portals of infinity, the
Imposing march of late science
is impressive and awe-inspiring.
Modern man Is awakening to a
glimpse of realisation of his pow
ers. Recent extreme accuracy in
leflned research, in measurement,
weighing and computing has sur
passed all previous attainments.
In this note some 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 aHl
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
tro* and determination of Its prop
erties proved to be a turning point
In the advance of man. in every way
equal to the discovery of universal
grdVltation 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
ROO trillion miles aw<y. 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 many quinttllions 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.
X have outlined how the two
great achievements were wrought
In preceding Issues of The Ameri
can. Suppose that a number of
parties of explorers should be re
searching in a wide area of plains
forests and mountains, and that
they wer e surveying, watching all
the new and strange things discov
ered, and making records. And
that In time two groups should come
In sight of each other. And that
soon another and then another un-
till all were close together. Upon
comparing notes of surveys imagine
that these should reveal the aston
ishing fact that all of the groups
were traveling toward one and the
same point. This would surprise
them and be of Interest.
But all separate explorers are now
purely and Inevitably traversing
lines In thfe mighty expanse that are
actually converging. The explorers
are coming In sight of each other,
and also in sight of the point of
convergence. And the one central
point, the focus, is this: Nothing
exists but electrons.
Suppose that the reader could go
without food or sleep during one
year and could center the eyes dur
ing the year, and also the mind, to
the exclusion of all thoughts on any
subject, upon these almost supreme
words: Nothing exists but elec
trons; then by the end of the year
one momentary and fleeting glimpse
of their stupendous meaning might
possibly be secured. And if the
glimpse lasted during the one-hun
dredth part of a second of time,
then astonishment would submerge
the entire mind. Even their mighty
discoverers, isolaters, measurers
and weighers have by no means
been able to grasp the vast Im
port of these four words so near
the Creator.
It would be a good plan for busy
people when at work or on boats
or trains to mentally repeat to
themselves many times during the
day these four impressive words.
It is was within the power of
man to force electrons to lie side !>y
side In contact—tmposlsble, howy
ever—then a row one Inch long
would contain 12,700,900,000,006.
Electrons are composed of pure
negative electricity
THE WIFE AND THE PAY ENVELOPE
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 work 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 assured: 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 is
will do the most good.