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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. \ Suns in Space • • • • By EDGAR LUCIEN LARKIN.