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EDITORIAL RAGE
The Atlanta Georgian
THE ATLANTA GEORGIAN
Published Every Afternoon Except Sunday
By THE GEORGIAN COMPANY
At 20 East Alabama St.. Atlanta. Ga
Entered as second-clam matter at poet office at Atlanta, under act of March 3.1873
Subscription 1 Tice—Delivered by carrier, 10 cents a week By mail, $5.00 a year
Payable in Advance.
The “National Honor" of the
Japanese
Japan Should Understand That It Is a Primary Principle 1 hat
Every Sovereign Nation Must Be Sole Judge of the Quali
fications of Its Own Citizenship.
A Movement for
Humanity at Large
UNITED STATES IS RIGHT.
Editor The Georgian:
I have rend several edUorlal*
which you have written on the
alien land law as passed by both
houses of the California Legisla
ture, and I think you are emi
nently correct in the stand you
take in regard to the matter.
Tiie United Sides certainly haa a
right to say whether or not for
eigners shall own land In this
ountrv. Japan has a law some
what similar, I understand, and
nobody haa ever questioned II.
Y. lr argument* are Bound.
W. E. P.
Miami. Fla.
COST OF SCHOOL BOOKS.
Editor The Georgian:
Allow me to thank you for your
commendation of the proposed
plan to have the school books
of Georgia edited and publlehed
by competitive bids and fur
nished to the children at actual
a -• have more children in
Beorgda 'han they have In On
tario. Panada, and yet the cost
for each school book In Georgia Is
over three times aa much as In
Ontario. I note thnt the esti
mate la $1,000,(KM per year for
school books In Georgia. What
would be the saving to the chil
dren of Georgia per year for
school hooks If sold as cheap as
in Ontario? It would be over
$000,000 a year.
P R M’CRORY
Ellaville. Ga.
THINKS ADVICE GOOD.
Editor The Georgian.
I ara a widow with three chil
dren—girls—and I find much to
commend in the advice which
some of the writers in The Geor
gian offer to young girls. I like
the writings of Ella Wheeler
Wilcox, Dorothy Dlx, Beatrice
Fairfax and others My girls
read tha paper every evening, and
I feel sure they get many excel
lent suggestions from Its pages.
MRS
Atlanta.
E R
His Mother: The Failure Comes Home
THE HOME RARER
J ■■ ■ =
V
It is now definitely reported from Washington that the
Japanese Ambassador, in his hustling negotiations with Mr.
Bryan, is not really concerned with any threatened infraction of
treaty rights, but is resting his case upon grounds of “national
honor. ’'
It is said that the national honor” of JAPAN CANNOT
BROOK ANY SPECIAL LIMITATIONS UPON THE ELIGI
BILITY OF ITS PEOPLE TO CITIZENSHIP IN THE UNITED
STATES.
This is a new and Extraordinary claim. In the light of all
the customs and precedents of international intercourse, such a
claim amounts to nothing less than a pretext for a quarrel.
It is, of course, a primary principle that every sovereign na
tion must be the sole judge of the qualifications of its own citi
zenship.
IF THE JAPANESE INSIST UPON DICTATING THE
CONDUCT OF THE UNITED STATES IN THIS REGARD, IT
IS NOT THE NATIONAL HONOR OF JAPAN, BUT THE NA
TIONAL HONOR AND EVEN THE SOVEREIGN EXIST
ENCE OF THE UNITED STATES THAT IS CALLED IN
QUESTION.
It should be unnecessary to say—the fact is too obvious—
that under existing economic and social conditions in this coun
try, it is quite out of the question to open our doors to an, unre
stricted Oriental invasion.
We cannot possibly permit a horde of Japanese immigrants
to become part and parcel of the American people.
On this subject Americans are sure to be practically unani
mous. The shifting of the California discussion to such grounds
is, therefore, the surest and shortest way to stop debate.
That such are THE REAL GROUNDS OF THE JAPANESE
CONTENTION has become evident from the fact that no other
grounds of complaint are even statable.
JAPANESE DIPLOMACY HAS TAKEN ROPE ENOUGH
TO HANG ITSELF.
What makes woman's suf
frage demonstrations in Amer
ica so specially impressive—in
contrast with other demon
strations of a political char
acter—is the fact that the women and their supporters ARE
ABSOLUTELY FREE FROM CLASS OR PARTY BIAS.
It is possible, of course, to say that the women have a par
ticular axe to grind, but it is an axe that they mean to lay to
the root of the tree of special interests. In striving for the abol
ishment of the privilege of sex they attack the last stronghold
of monopoly and proclaim an emancipation that takes in the
least and the lowest.
The whole atmosphere of the woman’s movement is per
meated with an intense social purpose. More and more as the
years go on the ballot becomes in the minds of suffragists only
a symbol of social responsibility and opportunity. The women
are not merely striving to vote. THEY ARE STRIVING FOR
POWER TO SET THINGS RIGHT.
Of course, it may turn out in the fullness of time and events
that the women are not able to set things right, not able to make
any important contribution to social well-being.
It may turn out so. But the omens seem to indicate the con
trary. The signs all point to social changes for the better
through this immense uprising of the souls of womankind.
It cannot be for nothing that a vast fresh tide of emotion
is being poured out upon the arid plains of politios. The truth is
that THE OLD POLITICS IS PLAYED OUT, AND THAT
SOMETHING IMMEASURABLY FINER AND MORE HU
MAN IS COMING TO TAKE ITS PLACE.
Rev. John E. White
I da*'
U'V c
Youth smiles as it steps from the homestead
To plunge in the battle of life,
For Youth has not seen the wounded
Who slink from the bitter strife.
Life seems a chivalrous combat,
Where all who strive must, succeed,
For Youth haR no thought of baseness,
Of treachery, craft nor greed.
But out in a world that’s a battle
Success cannot come to all;
Whore so many millions are struggling.
Some of the millions must fall.
And no place has the world for a failure;
He’s alone in the crowded town;
And thousands of feet will trample
Over the man who’s down.
No place in the world for a failure?
No heart that will bleed for his fall?
Thanik heavens, the failure’s mother
Seems to love him the best, of all.
What if he has been a failure,
The love and the faith in her heart
Will send him anew to the battle
EauiDPed for a conqueror’s part.
DAYS FOR “MISSING BOYS” ®
By WINIFRED BLACK.
ti r y I
vKF. season for missing
boys lias begun. Every
day worried parents are
asking ihe police to help bunt up
youngsters who have developed
the wander lust." So says a lit
tle paragraph In the newspaper.
I’m not a little boy. or a little
girl plther. but 1 do wish some
body Would cut a few of the sweet
strings that bind me to home and
duty for a few days and let me
go a-wanderlng. We know
w’here we’d go, don’t we. Little
Hoy with the sea-gray evee?
Ftrst, we’d follow the dog. Just
let him loose from his long chain
thai holds him there in the lit
tle garden
terror to belated
milkmen and to early delivery
boys, and follow wherever he
would lead. Trust him, he
wouldn’t go far wrong. Would
you old fusay-top? Look how
his amber eyes sparkle when we
speak of running away. Poor
fellow. 1 wish you could. Where
would you go first" Let’s try it
and see.
Oh dear, to the hone rnlno.
Your own particular mine, where
all your buried treasures lie—and
then to the shade of the peach
tree to lie and gnaw—why you
are a disappointment. Raffles—a
distinct disappointment — you
don’t want to rove at all. You
are like my friend, the banker,
aren't you? He never gets time
to leave his bone mine—I mean
his hank—even to go fishing for
a couple of days, for fear gome
one will find the mine—1 mean
the bank—and run away with
some of his lovely bones. 1 mean
his check books and things.
Poor fellow! And yet some
times lie tugs at his chains just
as you do. Raffles I've seen him
do it; and he frets and wlahes he
were poor, just for a while, and
could afford to he idle.
Why doesn't he do it? For tha
same reason that you lie there
in the shade this minute. Raffles.
gu7.7.1ing your old moldy bones.
He's built that way and no man
can change his form wherein he
is cast. No, no more than a dog
can. Bones for my friend, the
banker; checks and stocks and
bonds and Worries, and plans and
schemes.
Get a stick, Little Boy. A wll-
and smooth It looks from here,
the haw tree, and white as new-
fallen snow. Whiff! what a
pure sweet breath of Eden.
Hark! Yes, that was a lark.
Did you know' they could talk.
Little Boy? No. I don’t mean In
their own language. I mean In
ours? I’Ve heard them do It.
They can all talk, the meadow
larks, for they aren’t larks at all,
but startllngs. only they are very
wild and they would almost al
ways die If you caged them and
tried to teach them.
Hark! There’s a whole scatter
ed family of them up there by
the hawthorn on the round green
hill. ‘‘Sweet, sweet; oh life is
sweet," that’s what they sing this
time of year, the meadow larks.
Hello, here’s some velvet plant.
They call It "mullein” in the bo
tanies. Rub your cheeks with it,
Little Boy, and they will glow
like the rose in bloom—and If
you take a whole leaf of the vel
vet plant to bed with you, and
whisper very softly what It Is
you love best, in the human heart.
Professional Advice
I
WINIFRED BLACK.
low one if you can. Just the
thing; how lithe and switchy it
is. Where's your hat? Stick it
on the back of your head. Hur
rah! we're off to the wide, wide
world, just you and I, and the
wind and the sun and the flower
ing; trees.
How green It 19 out here in the
world! How softly green the
grass is. What's that on the round
hill yonder, a haw tree in full
bloom? Why, I thought by this
time the only place you ever saw
a thing like that tv a* in a pict
ure in an art store or on a cur
tain at movies. See how round
SAT in a suburban train—
There waft no seat to spare—
Hermetically sealed each pane.
And rank the foggy air.
The need for purer air, he moved,
Was no eccentric whim;
Wide open windows he approved,
They meant so much to him.
Writes on
The Poor Little
Rich Boy
•*.
Not What Will He Do With
His Money, But What Will
His Money Do With Him,
Is the Question andQuandary
of William Vincent Astor.
WRITTEN FOR THE GEORGIAN
By REV. DR. JOHN E. WHITE
Pastor Second Baptist Church
you will get that very thing
whether it is courage or gaiety
or loyal devotion, or whatever.
But you must not crush the soft
leaf, otherwise you will wake up
a coward or a hypocrite or a
“down in the mouth” that nobody
loves, or whatever is just the op
posite of what you wished for.
We’ve cut and run, haven’t we.
Little Boy? And we’re out—out
in the green, green world with
the wind a-slnglng and the flow
ers a-blowlng. A fig for the
banker and his bank. Who cares
for lessons?
Ding, dong, dell! What a
melancholy sound. Look, it calls
from the little red house at the
foot of the round green hill. Here
they come, the children, for a few
joyous minutes.
Ding, dong, dell again! Why,
they didn’t have fairly time to
shout once, when back they must
go. A B—ab. See The Man—
C«.n He Shoot the Gun?
“Missing boyB!” The wonder
is that the whole world of boys
isn't missing this afternoon.
A dear old man with a kindly face.
With gentle voice and meek.
Leaned forward from his corner place,
And thus began to speak;
"Sound health," he said, “will be your
crown,
Your babes be strong and bright,
If you will let your windows down.
Especially at night! M
"My
friends, I trust that none," he
said.
“My hardihood will chide.
If I. to save an aching head.
This window open wide.”
Till, each alighting, said they meant
To follow his advice.
And turned to thank him as they
went,
He seemed so kind and nice.
His gentle manner seemed to please,
All granted what he asked;
And soon in the refreshing breeze
That dear old person basked
[ was the last who rose to go.
And. wishing him good day.
Remarked. “One thing I’d like
know—
Are you a doctor, pray?”
Fresh air. he said, was life to man.
The heritage of each.
And this conviction he began
With friendliness to preach.
At that he shook the frosty rime
That crowned his honored head,
And bowing courteously, "I’m
A burglar air," he said.
HE Story of a Poor Young
Man” was the classic of
the college classes in
French twenty years ago. Tts
hero solved his problem of pover
ty, love and ambition gloriously.
The story of "The Poor Little
Rich Girl” has been running on
the boards of the New York the
aters for the instruction of thou
sands during the past year. The
little girl’s life was mystified and
saddened by being thrown back
and forth by the fate of a fortune
which was hers, but she could not
possess.
The latest literature on this
subject Is the "human document”
in the case of William Vincent
Astor, who found himself after
the tragedy of the Titanic re
sponsible for an estate of $150,-
000,000, yielding an assured in-
• come of more than $10,000 a day.
Upon this young man the world’s
questioning is directed. With the
lapse of a year he has passed
from Its sympathy of his sorrow
to quite another sort of sympathy
—sympathy with his embarrass
ment of a vast fortune. The
proverbial habit of telling other
people what to do with their
money does not explain the pub
lic interest in William Vincent
Astor. In a very hearty fashion
there are thousands of us who
want somebody to tell him what
to do with himself. The problem
he confronts Is profoundly a per
sonal one. It is a human life sub
jected to an inhuman strain that
furnishes the dramatic interest
that invests his personality, for
the real question about him is—
not what will he do with his
money, but what will hiR money
do with him.
What He Stands to Lose.
Confronted by the fact that life
is limited for him and that many
of its avenues are closed by his
fortune, he is properly portrayed
as "The Poor Little Rich Boy."
What he lost by hia father’s death
la possibly measured by what he
gained. He lost, first, the values
of the college career upon which
he had Just atarted at Harvard.
Hia education was cut short—not
hopelessly, of course, but In ment
al enlargement and the training
of powers his handicap is dis
tressing. The fellowship of equals
In a democracy, the friction of
minds, the give and take of life,
the moral deposits which come at
the points of free contact be
tween souls, are. alas! impossible
values to him. There are a thou
sand things he can not do—the
spontaneous things, the privilege
of Independent thinking, the exer
cise of perfectly free speech, the
opportunity of individual prow
ess in achievement, the ecstacy
of drawing the short sword with
Napoleon and saying. “This will
carry- me far;" the glory of en
thusiasm for humanity, like that
which animated Henry George,
the supreme satisfaction of the
country boy who learns how to
climb the ladder by climbing it—
G O get pencil and paper.
Draw a straight line. Get a
drawing compass, set one
point in center of line, draw a
circle Including both ends of the
line, which will then he a diame
ter of the circle.
Take scissors, cut out the cir
cular sheet from the paper, hold
It in both hands; turn the upper
half of the circle toward you, and
the lower half will move In the
opposite direction. But the cir
cle generates or cuts a sphere
or globe from space.
Imagine the straight line, the
diameter of the sphere-space, to
be four hundred trillion miles
long, and that our sun Is In the
center; then there Is Just room
for three hundred suns equal in
sixe or larger
Now cut out a sphere having
our sun as a center eight hundred
trillion miles In diameter; then It
would Include eight times the
space and contain 2,400 suns. This
on the theory that suns are dis
tributed in all space as they are
near home, or m the little sphere
and all the thousandfold incite
ments and enjoyments of heroic
will-power. These are the price
William Vincent Astor may have
to pay for the boast of an income
of ten thousand dollars a day.
What can the young man do to
make his mark In the world? He
can become the greatest profli
gate of his time. He can take up
tile problem of “Brewster’s Mil
lions" and solve It. He can da*-
7le the world with immense dis
sipations He can be known in
history as the modern god of
Bacchanalia, the Columbus of new
continents of Surfeit, Or, lack
ing, as It Is said, In physical
temptations and inclined to se
clusion, he can mark'time with
flis money and watch in a sort of
dead way the living dollars wrig
gling like a maps of worms to in
crease after their kind with a
child’s interest in his toya. The
Astor fortune must be pasped on
to the next oldest son, and there
fore this career would shunt for
him all but this one responsibili
ty. But, according to the science
of genetics, the mother of the
next Astor would have to be a
paragon to offset the heredity of
idleness and weakness from the
father.
The Best Astor Yet.
The real hope of William Vin
cent Astor is to get acquainted
with hts great-grandfather and
be something more than a cog in
the Astor machine. If he thinks
enough of himself he will swear
a great oath and pray a great
prayer for his soul’s sake. Ten
thousand dollars a day is a sword
too heavy for small hands. It is
dangerous for a little man or a
selfish man to be abroad in this
country with so much power at
hia disposal. There is but one
direction in which the Astor mil
lions may safely direct them
selves If a hundred years from
now there are to be any Astors
left on this side of the Atlantic to
hold them in estate. That direc
tion ia toward humanity. There
are great causes calling to this
young man to save him from his
money. If he will go out some
day and look upon the hard
pressed, struggling field of humus
beings a good angel will whisper
to him. “There’s beautiful fight
ing there for you." Ten thousand
dollars a day would thrust his life
like a torch Into the problem of
American politics. Ten thousand
dollars a day would throw that
one life of his luminously into
ten thousand glooms of illiteracy.
Ten thousand dollars a day would
project him Into Infinite multiples
of uplifting power beneath the
drag of immorality upon civilisa
tion. Ten thousand dollars a day
Intelligently comprehended and
morally used would recover all
his losses, lengthen all his limi
tations and break all hts prison
bars.
Who knows but it may be so?
Fifty years from now someone
may be saying that William Vin-
, cent Astor was the best Astor.
only four hundred trillion miles
in diameter. But the fact Is
that suns are strewn In the en
tire Galaxy, or Milky Way, In 10,
20 and even 100 times greater
profusion than they are out here
where we live, apparently some
where near the center of that gi
gantic ring of stars surrounding
the stellar structure
Our minute star, the sun, 1,-
310,000 times larger than our lit
tle space-electron, the earth,
from all appearances is in the re
gion of the center of that starry
circle, the Milky Way. No spe
cial importance is attached to
this, however; our earth is mere
ly one of manv billions, possibly
trillions and we have no trace of
occasion to be all puffed up with
egotism. But then our sun is
moving through space, dragging
the earth along with it, with a
specific speed of 12 miles per
second. In one million years as
tronomers will easily notice that
they are moving away from our
now cosy home in space, In the
vicihlty of the center of the Gal
actic band of millions of suns.
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Suns in Space
•
• • •
By EDGAR LUCIEN LARKIN.