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-r jT EDITORIAL RAGE The Atlanta Georgian THE HOME PAPER THE ,£S2F gi an In the Movies In Real Life Published Every Afternoon Except Sunday By THK QEOROIAN COMPANY At 20 Eaat Alabama St . Atlanta, Oft. Entered aj second-el a sh matter at poatofflce at Atlanta, under act of March 3.1*73 Subscription Price—Delivered by carrier, 10 cents a week. By mall, $6.0*# a year Payable in Advance. The First “Airship Commuter” Rather Dangerous Commuting for a Man With Plenty to Make Life Worth While. But It's Exciting. And in War Time Airship Knowledge Would Be a Fine Advantage. (Copyright, 1913.) Harold F. McCormick, of Chicago, is the first “airship com muter.” Any fine morning, on the Chicago lake front, just op posite Michigan avenue’s big office buildings, a person may see a combination floating and flying ship settle quietly upon the water, like some big darning needle. The ship that had been flying a mile a minute through the air moves slowly over the water to the dock, a young man gets out, shakes his feet to take out the stiffness, and goes over to his office to work. This young person, who is probably the world’s first actual COMMUTING airship passenger, has flown from his home at Lake Forest, twenty-eight miles away, in just twenty-eight minutes. This sort of commuting McCormick takes quietly if you ask him about it. He says that ho considers sailing from his home to his office, in that kind of a craft, not much more dangerous than going at fifty miles an hour on rough roads in an automobile. He says also that SOMEBODY has got to make the flying and floating ship useful, that he might as well be one of the starters, and adds: “There were no crossing policemen, no cinders, no ‘bridging’ at the river. Those omissions make up the attractions of aero com muting. And then look at the time!’’ Perhaps he is right, as he has plenty of money to give extra strength to the wires that give the machine resisting power and plenty of money for his family if anything should happen to him. The world in general would not share McCormick’s idea as to the safety of the flying ship, YET, although the whole world expects to fiy before very long. Mr. McCormick runs an excellent risk of being killed each time that he flies up and down in his machine. Probably that fact adds to his enjoyment. This is a tiresome, monotonous world, real excitement is scarce. It is probable that McCormick does not really know WHY he goes back and forth as an airship commuter. The fact is that mere business, no matter how big, is tiresome, If you do not happen to need the money or care much about it. Figures of sales, and reports of salesmen, even reports from law yers who tell you what prospect there is of your going to jail be/i* use your business is too big, get tiresome after a while. McCormick is a broad shouldered young man, with keen blue eyes, extraordinary vitality and exuberance of spirit. If he had lived in Napoleon’s time he would probably have led cavalry charges and been killed early in his career. If he had lived in the days of DuGuesclin he would probably have enjoyed the kind of fun that DuGuesclin had after the Span ish captured him. But in these days there are no cavalry charges, no DuGues. clins, very little fun. And so McCormick, having inherited from other blue-eyed ancestors the desire to fight something, goes out and fights the air, and fights fate, sailing back and forth in a flying machine. The risk that he takes is not entirely wasted, first, because it is a good thing that rich men should use their money in perfect ing the machine which is destined to solve man’s transportation problem. And it Is good for those well to do to prove that they have not yet joined the ranks of the “rois faineants,” or do-nothings, and that they are willing to take risks that other men take. Probably the best that Mr. McCormick can hope for is ex citement and amusement, and, if he is lucky, escape from a fatal ending to some one of his flying trips. But he might get out of his present experience something worth while, more exciting even than anything that happened at Agincourt, or the battle of Chevy-Chase, where they said of one good soldier that when his legs were both cut off, "he fought upon his stumps.’’ Some of these days, in spite of common sense, education and decency, this country MAY have a war. The foolish Japanese might “reason’’ that if they could thrash Russia, with a popula tion as big as ours, they could also thrash the United States. In that case young McCormick, knowing how to run a flying machine, might live through an exciting hour. He could go to the White House, see Mr. Wilson, who used to be his college professor, and say, “Professor, the Japanese fleet is expected. I have got a pretty good little airship that will carry five hundred pounds of nitroglycerin. “And I have built at my own expense fifty others like it. Each of them is in charge of a first class American air chauf feur, who would enjoy dropping dynamite on a Japanese deck. Give us your sublime permission and we shall start out after dark, meet that fleet about three hundred miles out and help to make Japan realize that this is not Russia.’’ The man who makes a good cavalry officer is the man used to horses as a boy. The American farmer of revolutionary days who made the dangerous marksman was the man who had practiced with his long-barreled gun from the time he was old enough to balance it on a fence rail and pull the trigger. Young McCormick is practicing as the first airship com muter. If there SHOULD be a chance to demonstrate the su periority of the flying machine over the steel ship, and the su periority of the United States' over our little brown friends acro*s the Pacific, McCormick would j^turally come in for the first chance to enjoy the fun. WINIFRED BLACK Writes on Stitches in Time How Happy Thoughts May be Engendered Through the Exercise of the Gentle Art of Needle Work. It’s a Better World Than 25 Years Ago The Improvements That Have Come Are Almost Beyond Man’s Belief and in Many Evils a Crisis and Change Is Near. O VER in London a certain periodical celebrated its twenty-fifth anniversary not long ago. The editor asked many people to say wherein they thought the world had improved In that quar- ter of a century. It seemed an easy question to answer. Improvements in World in Twenty-five Years Beyond Belief. The improvements in the world in twenty-live years have been al most beyond the belief of man. We all know how many won derful inventions have come into use in that period of time. Most of us consider these in ventions improvements, because they are conveniences and pro vide for human comfort. A few old-fashioned types of mind regard them as hindrances to mental and moral developments, leading to sloth and idleness and lack of physical prowess. But while the elevators which lift us upstairs do not develop the leg muscles, and while the har vesters and binders and vacuum cleaners do not develop the arm muscles, and while the automo biles and airships prevent us from walking as our ancestors walked, yet all these modern Inventions are waking new cells In the hu man brain and giving the race greater opportunities to explore the wonderful realms of mind and spirit, which hold secrets unsus pected by the world at large; se crets which shall yet be revealed to the patient student and which shall revolutionize science and medicine and religion. By ELLA WHEELER WILCOX. Copyright, 1913, by Star Company. a ripple of amused Now that the drudgery of the earth is being done by machinery and that time and distance are made as nothing by motor power, all these discoveries are becoming more and more possible, and the hour of their revealment is com ing nearer and nearer. In the last twenty-five years all this talk of peace and disarma ment has come to be heard. War is still rampant, yet twen ty-five years ago such a thing as a great Peace Congress would have seemed too ridiculous to deserve more than comment. Now it is a GREAT FACT. And this congress is composed of many of the most brilliant men and women of the country. Religion has broadened and grown in this period of time amaz ingly. There was a strong wave of materialism a quarter of a cen tury ago. It was the wash on the shores from the passing of the ship of Bigotry. Now that wave has suDsided, HIS LESSON By WILLIAM F. KIRK. T HE rich man trudged along the road. His car had broken down; And through the summer heat he strode To reach the nearest town. A fat, old farmer came along And, with a cheery grin. Said he: “This rig Is plenty strong— Git In, stranger, git in!” He drove the rich man to the town As one might help a child; And when the rich man sought to pay He shook his head and smiled. “You mean it right, thar ain’t no doubt. And I ain’t rich,” said he, "But helpin’ of a feller out Is pay enough for me.” Back to his home the rich man went. As one who knows his faults. And never put another cent In safe deposit vaults. He learned to help his fellow men. And help them with a grin; And how he chuckles, now and then, jf Git in. stranger, git in!” and the ship of Larger Faith is sailing the high seas. Many evils have grown worse in twenty-five years. Just as a fever grows worse till the crisis and then subsides. Many Evils Are Worse, But Crisis Is Near; Change Will Come. So even in the intensified aspect of these evils there is a better ment of the world In general; for the crisis is near and the change will come. THE BROADER WAY. Lord, in this quarter of a hundred years What mighty progress in Thy world appears! Though strife and loud dissensions do not cease, get louder still is this great talk of peace. Red war exists, but stands in ill re pute, Were Homer back among us with his lute He couild not, and he would not, sing of war; For Peace Is what the world Is craving for. Lord, In this quarter of a century, How man has grown in conscious ness of Thee! Though not by dogmas or by creeds enticed. Each earnest soul looks IN. and finds Its Christ. Spurning old narrow paths, men’s feet have trod In larger ways, and found the larger God. Now Thy great truth is dimly un derstood— ^ Religion lies in loving brotherhood. T \LL and straight and fair they stand, the marguerites —blue and pink and purple and yellow and green. Oh. no, they are not real marguerites, they couldn't bloom in such colors as that. They are just embroid ered posies on the curtain at the fair window. Just a long, straight, simple row of them; heads up, stems straight and prim, something puritanical about those flowers. I wonder who did them? Some one in that home there where the window Is, I’ll be bound. No one ever did them for sale; they’re too full of character for that One, two, three—why there’s one missing from the perfect line. There, I said; they were never done for sale, two up and two down and three pink and three blue; there’s fancy about these flowers, and Imagination and wistful hope and a kind of quiet resignation. Old and Tried. Is she old and tired, and dalm and settled, the woman who did those flowers, and did she do them Just to spend the long, happy hour* of peaceful age? Is she young ana and full of high hope and surging discontent, and did she do those flowers to keep from quarreling with some one? Oh, yes, they’re a great safety valve, flowers are, when they are embroidered. I know a woman v/ho goes to her room, locks the door and chews gum as fast as she can when she’s cross, and she has the reputation of the sweetest temper on earth, and she deserves It. She takes her fury out on the gum. Emborldery is the finest kind of temper-killer. “It’s unjust, it’s cruel. Td like to"—one, two, three, four, then a cross stitch—“I wish I could”— one, two, three, four—“how pretty that blue is going to be!" “How she can think”—one, two, three, four! “dear me, it’s prettier than I thought it was!” “I’ll show ’em”—one, two, three, four—“there, what sweet flow ers! “How pretty those flower fields were up there Is the mountains last summer, blue as the azure of the sky. and acres of them, acres and acres, and above them the enow peaks, and the water laugh ing down Into the green valley below. *1 suppose It’s all show up there now—deep, deep, quiet, pure snow—as white as—as—snow, and so calm, so restful. Just the green pines and the great rocks ' and the snow. How far away all these little things that bother me do seem. So far, so far, and so By WINIFRED BLACK. little of account; what do they care, up fhere In the hills, wheth er he did right about the party. A Cynical Fellow. "How fast the little rabbits run over the snow ;nd the chip munks, too, what bright eyed 1K- tle rascals they are, to be sure! I don’t believe they know what worry means, and yet they seem Just as happy as if they did. “Sc-r-e-a-m, scre-am, there’s a magpie; what a handsome, cyni cal fellow, to be sure; so know ing, so sure of themselves. But the old gray, cht got the one who came to visit us; for all his wis dom, she was wiser than he—the old gray cat. “I wonder If the coyotes are crying up there In the rocks back of the cottage? I saw one play ing with his own shadow In the moonlight last summer, one fair night In June, ‘Woof,’ he barked, and sprang at the shadow’s throat. Over and over he rolled, the co yote puppy, playing there ir. the moonlight so gayly. “And the sweet breeze sprang up and the light clouds floated across the silver moon. Heigh, ho! How far away It all Is, how far away! “Gone the ranger—past the folly of rage—quite gone the Irrita tion of the little mind over little things, past as the clouds pass, high up there In the mountains. One, two, three, four, here’s an other flower growing under the needle; who will look at these, I wonder, and dream what they meant to a heart so sore dis quieted? "Tall, straight and fair they grow in the soft white curtains at the fair window of my neighbor —the marguerites—pink, purple, blue and green. Oh, that’s Just her harmless Joke, the green one, I rather like it, don’t you? Peace to your gentle heart, you who made the fair flowers to grow there in the sw r eet curtains you made to keep the eyes of the cu rious from the quiet secrets of the home you love. One, two, three, four. Where’s my embroidery needle? ‘Brighten My Heart.” “And that soft gray thread for the lichens, and the brown for the tree bark; no, that Isn’t the right blue for those flowers, something a thought deeper and yet light, too; there, that’s It; one, two, three, four—see, they grow, the flowers, under my busy hands. “One, two, three, four—come, this Is better than idle anger at what can never be helped. One, two, three, four—spring up, sweet blossoms, and brighten my heart, and the hearts of those who look upon you—the work of my hands.” The Battle of Lundy’s Lane By REV. THOMAS B. GREGORY. T HE Battle of Lundy's Lane, fought 99 years ago, during the American Invasion of Canada in the “War of ’12,” was, In point of numbers, a mere skir mish; and yet for reasons which will presently appear the battle deserves a firm place in our mem ories. In the first place, the battle had a setting such as f’eldom falls to the lot of contending armies. It was fought within sight and sound of the mighty cataract of Niagara. The roar of the great falls mingled with the thunder of the artillery and the crackle of the musketry, and with the battle smoke was interwreathed the mist of the “Hell of Waters." By all means, the affair should have been named the "Battle of Nia gara.” It was a most bloody battle. The Americans had about 1,000 men, the British about 1,300, and the losses In killed and wounded aggregated some 900; more than a third of the total force engaged. That was worse than the “Light Brigade” at Balaklava, or Pickett at Gettysburg. It may not have been “war,” but certainly, from the viewpoint of courage, it was “magnificent.” The battle is distinguished from most other battles, too. by the fact that the men fought during the hours when, as a rule, soldiers are In bivouac.. The fight began “just the sun went down.” and was finished along about mid night. It was fought not only to the accompaniment of Niagara’s roar, but under the great stars and suns, which looked down on the combatants so uneonoemedly as they tore away at each other's throats in their madness. While the stars, from their dis tant vantage-ground, and the “Man in the Moon,” from h1s eafe position above the “firing line," were looking down so calmly upon the strange antics of the earth lings. the American General Brown observed that a British battery on a high hill was play ing havoc with his line. Calling Colonel Henry Miller to his side, he said to him: “Colonel, do you see that battery over yonder on the hill?” "I catch a vague out line of it, sir,” replied Miller. “Do you think you could take It?” nervously inquired the General. “I can try, sir,” answered the Colonel. And he did try what is better, he won. with loss of two-thirds of his men. Three times the British rallied for the recapture of that battery, and three times Miller drove them back, held the battery, and won the field. Niagara did not hear that “I can try, sir,” the stare did not hear it, the "Man in the Moon” did not hear it, but the muse of history caught the sound of the heroic words, and will keep them sounding down the -and, j-