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11 KARST’S SUNDAY AMERICAN, ATLANTA, GA., SUNDAY, MAY 11, 1913.
The Tom Watson I Know By James B. Nevin
The Other Side of the Stormy Petrel of
Georgia Politics—Authpr of The
Story of France’ at Home.
t
fSON, Mav JO.—The Tom Watson I know and like the bust of
the Tom Watsons 1 know—for there are very many Tom
ntsona, you know—\m not the "stormy 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
1n Thomson the most engaging and gripping literary productions the South
has furnished the nation In many a year.
In considering the strange case of Thomas E. Watson, which lan't
a parallel case by any manner of in eans to "The Strange Case of Dr.
although
Jokvll and Mr. Hyde,'
aomo folks will think I overlook a
good bet In not Instating that It
Is, when one geta 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,
light of rmpi i* not setn-
- political understand
fir ,h.; and prnfaffifd
.Mich MU? of t •>- 1(1 pro
duce auch a work.
Time was when I thought literary
endeavor the safety-valve through
whirl and then a mif-
li'-icn. v ." ifjiin t<* \\,.r<l off Win
^ plosion It im !m
. ^ ,» K t M , n’s political
’TTcti vTt the sum and mb
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.
Sits In Lovely Home.
Here he sits In Thomson, "far
from the madding crowd's igno
ble strife,” under his own vino and
ilg tree, the master of one of the
loveliest homes in all the Mouth,
nowadays caressed of honeysuckle
and roses, and lulled by the hum of
bees and the evening lilt cf mock
ingbirds. I think Mr. WatwKi bur
dens his mind little with the ways
and the wiles of politicians. Much
viewing with alarm as he permits
himself Is viewing more In sorrow'
than in anger, anyway, I think.
And yet. ho Is going tc 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 he has some ancient scores to
settle. His Is an extremely sensi
tive ature—and he done not forget.
Right now, however, "the red
headed person” Is browsing amongst
hls beloved books. When he will
not lie will not—and politics may go
hang as springtime merges into
summer, with Thomas E.
And so, I asked him about him
self. when came he, and wither was
he drifting, and so forth and so on.
And he answered, and spake unto
me. saying thusly:
"My folks have been here Mn
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 Is the longest and most sono
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. 1 am kin to Watts, the
steam erujlne man, but no kin to
Watts, toe hymn-builder. Better
vtm, h.'wnver. I fm Asset nded from
the brick-maker, sornetinu -
i'idloulously 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 His Ancsstry.
"My ancestor Wat, ‘the tiler’, lost
hip 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 ids
—Wat’s—tiling level. This kicked
up a. hullabaloo In England, of
course—but If affords me pleasure
to trace my anceartry right back to
thin doughty person, who defended
his home and human right against
all comers, and even with his 11 f*•
I would much rather be descended
from Wat, the tiler, than from Wil
liam, the Conqueror.
“In Georgia, the Watsons have
been middle class people—land
owners, and sometimes slave hold
ers. We served In the Revolutionary
War, the Indian Wars, the Mexican
War, und 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 am u bookworm, a re
cluse. and a aedentary molly wop.
Mv father never read a hook in hls
Hie. and was, therefore, normal,
healthy, enjoying and enjoyable. He
did not make himself responsible
for the universe, and never expe
rienced, therefore, the exqulalte and
complicated misery that man can
cultivate by doing so.
"The Civil War claimed and got
all three of my grandfather’s stal
wart won.- - 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. I was eight years
old.
"I was born on September 5. 1856.
There were no celestial disturb-
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.
n
' ^ ,,r ~ Ife
%
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 Street, and wended Us way
out Peach tree Street to the creek,
where the final rites were performed as
only the negro In his original and
fanatical mind mu devise.
It was a silent line of dusky ne»-
gross. The streets at that time were
sparsely settled, and where tall build
ings now rise skyward, one storied
houses surrounded by beautiful old
flower gardens nestled among tail
trees. Beyond lav the trenches and
breastworks, all dowered over with
daisies left by the trail of Mherman’r
grain wagone, md here and there a
blackberry vine that found its roots
In 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-
\V1
ou
Whe
Flaunting herself eagerly before the
ilookers. the negro woman an-
vered:
“We’s bur’ln’ Slavery! Weis!”
"But where are you going?” I per-
r»r
sston of two
and women
under a cloud, you con 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 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. om> of the
curiosities of Atlanta's early days.
But to the ghost story. During the
latter part of the War with tile
States, Patrick Lynch, seeing that At
lanta would become the scene of con
flict, removed his family to Ills plan
tation, and rented the house. Soon
afterwards, there arrived in Atlanta .»
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
tery attractive. Miss Collins took a
room at the Lynch home, and made
man) friends among the psopia >f
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 Col
lins was a guest at the ball.
Next morning, she was found 1 mur
dered. dressed in full evening dress,
and thrown across her bed as though
the deed had been done In a hurry.
mation vouchsafed me at that time.
Later my nurse told my mother that
the procession bad gone out to Peach
tree Creek, and after weighting the
coffin with rocks, let It down in th<*
water, where it is still resting for all
I 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 process!© i
ances, so far as l know, or have ever
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
1 realized all 1 was going up against,
I might have elected not to come.
That, however, is neither here nor
there at this writing.
"I wap born to moderate wealth,
was not made to work, was encour
aged to rend, 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. I was quite
a favorite with my school teachers,
and was occasionally flattered in a
most bold-faced manner as to my
ability an an orator. I could re
cite "Hohenlinden" to beat the band
—and can still, if necessary. At
Mercer, 1 received the highest hon
ors for deportment and rhetoric,
but many people never will believe
1 really was entitled to the deport
ment medal.
"The financial smash of ’73 ended
my college carer. A hard-hearted
landlord would not let me remain
unless I paid him my board and
One window' was open, and a barred
was standing just outsidie the cas- -
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 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 Street, and
there it may be resting now for al!
the bui.v 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 the
night. Those who reside In the
building had gTewsome tales to tell
of the noises and ghostly visitant of
the place. But 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.
$ j N M errit t s A von \ i
I 1 well known ni. n
i ...
N Merritts Avenue." said a
mber of the
Federation, “is a small cot
tage that used to be haunted, and
still may be There was a bottomless
well on the place, and many a night
the houee 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 I ever came in
contact with. She said, one morning
she went out of her bedroom for i
moment, and when she returned the
I couAn’t. I took to the law, and,
in a way, the law took to me—hence
I 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, I 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 any sort.
I 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 1882-3. I led the tight for
tho local option law, which closed
bar roome 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 I am proud of the fact
that my change remained put. I
actively aided In the passage of the
statute whereby 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 flooded the State with elo
quence, but 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, which
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. The** 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 Club palls or opera week ?s
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 compUny 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
CllIBM* 10|dBOT as they
approach it after the wee small hours.
The house la easy to And 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.
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 caucas of the
House, w here my hands would have
been tied. For this, I was ‘read out
of the party’ and denounced as a.
‘traitor.’ La Follette, elected 20
yeafs later, did precisely as I did.
He was hailed as a hero. The same
men w'ho 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 hap 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 down, 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 I
sowed in’ cruelty and misrepresen
tation.
"I was robbed a second time, two
years later, and then 1 gave up. I
was powerless against the machine
sot to run me down. I abandoned
the fight, exhausted, and Reeming-
lv 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 11s?, «>.
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
Thompon, and have not knowm a
vacation in 20 years. I would not
know* what to do with a w'oek 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 T
know how, when I have to. which
Is now and then, take the wounds
that come, as a good*soldier should,
and march on to whatever end
there is, with never a fear of to
morrow' or hereafter.
"I am still 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-daughters 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 througrh these books
mindful of the fact J am reading
the very things that Stephens used
to read, and enjoy, and find so
profitable."
It Is in this half-whimsical, half
serious w r ay that Tom Watson, the
best beloved and the best hated
man in Georgia, talks about him
self and hls work to-day. Through
hls weekly and 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 w r ell 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 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, havs
found it difficult to follow hls 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 writer of the
greatest historical work I have
ever read, and withal the moat
thrillingly entertaining.
In that guise, he is the Tom
Watson I know—and like the best
Scientific Chance
HUMAN CHARITY
By Blanche Reid
strapped a ciiin
< offin. No flow*
dust rosp stifli
tramp, of the 1
on which was
.11 unpainted
ted the rude-
tt
t r
feet, "Swing
rose and fell in
d then—the ap
peared down the street
Slavery was burled The sun was
shining. The flowers were blooming,
ang the petals of the peach trees
| were dropping noiselessly on the grass
!*§?"• pint a of the garden.
Slavery was buried! The mating of
the birds made sweet music as they
in
auk unon„the bre
And from that d
me
Peachtree Creek. In May
materialise* ftpd whyn the
S BE was an insignificant little per
son, on© 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
«n 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.
nd 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 in silence
to the painful affliction of not being
appreciated.
The result? '<? mistul • mild
never be wholly undone, for nothing
could ever atone for the long time
j during which she had suffered from
her neighbors' unkind criticism.
I How often is the world guilty of
some such wrong as 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 as the move
ments of dancers when the music
which inspires them is unheard.
Without knowine all the motives and
influences at work, how can we pos
sibly judge a stranger's conduct, and
why should we be cruel enough to
condemn It hastily?
It is very common to say. it- I
were Miss Sd-and-so, I 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 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
good and wise in another’s plac
difficult ir. one’s own. There a
many circumstances that you d*
know, that you never can know
might just as well be merciful
your judgment.
Even if you uid not commit
same faults as the object of your
i criticism, you would probably commit
b<
you
different ones. for allowances
must be made for individual temper
aments We are not all alike, and
thq world would be very dull if we
were.
For instance, a certain woman was
reputed to be cold and haughty,
though in reality she was only very
shy. She had been brought up in an
i xtremely 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 ltd ner forth Into the sunshine.
Always give the 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 so
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 falling 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
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 your faults, even if you
succeed in Unit.
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 of a hill.
The eye of opportunity.
The teeth of the wind.
The breath of the gods.
The reck of land.
The bosom of earth.
Tho 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 were required for the
monster, would it not be neces
sary to cfover his nakedness with
these garments?
A racing derby.
A coat of arms.
Hreeches of trust.
The collar of convention.
The matrimonial tie.
The cuffs of adverse fortune—
but what boots it?
THE WIFE AND THE PAY ENVELOPE
Chinese Curiosities
Some one who knows Chinese peo
ple very well once told a tale to
show that they do not pe riff it 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 beyond
Wei-Hsic-n. When the American
woman urrived tha old lady was out,
but presently she came in, and an
nounced that she had just been out
"watching the men dig her graye,
but ns it 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 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 large coffin when she was visit
ing a Chinese friend, and the next
morning the old grandfather of the
faqiily ‘ailed her attention' to its ex
cellences. and explained that Ills 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 presents as marks of
filial love, and not at all as a hint
j^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. 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
v\ ife. 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, Ls one which has been
under discussion for many years. It
is a question to which there are two
sides—with the argument, however,
very much In favor of the wife,
wife.
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 conies to house
hold expenses. I know of dozens of
cases to-day of young men who are
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 all 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 has 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 wife; 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 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 who has been raised this
way to change her ideas of living.
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 I have
known him has always been hard up
because he spends his money foolish
ly in various way's. This man has a
wife who Is economical In her habits,
and I believe that if he had adopted
the practice several years ago of
turning over the bulk of his income
to her. he w’ould 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 hls wife
that he has been able to raise his
family. While nox 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; a;id 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 it
will do the most good.
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 realization of hls pow
ers. Recent extreme accuracy in
l efined research, in measurement,
weighing and computing' has sur
passed all previous attainments.
In this note som© 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' way
equal to the discovery' of universal
gravitation by r 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
500 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 many quintilllons 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.
1 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 w'er 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 clos e together. Upon
comparing notes of surveys Imagine
that these should reveal tho aston
ishing fact that all of the groups
w'ere traveling toward one and the
same point. This would surprise
them and be of interest.
But all separate explorers are now
surely' and Inevitably traversing
lines in the mighty expanse that are
actually converging. The explorers
arf 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, isolators, measurers
and weighers have by no means
been able to grasp the vast im
port of tbese 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 by
side in contact—imposisble, how
ever—then a row one inch long
would contain 12,700.000,000,000.
Electrons are composed of pure
negative electricity