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EDITORIAL RAGE
THE ATLANTA GEORGIAN
Published Every Afternoon Except Sunday
By THE GEORGIAN COMPANY
At 20 East Alabama 8t. Atlanta. C, a.
Entered aa aecond-class matter at poatofflce at Atlanta, under act of March 3, 1373
Subscription Price—Delivered by carrier. 10 cents a week By mail, $6.00 a year.
Payable in Advance.
This Is a Land for the Rich.
The Rich Interest Us, Attract Special Attention and Enjoy Special
Sympathy, Whether They Give Monkey Dinners, Dance Fool
ish Dances, Marry Idiotic Noblemen, or Sit in Prison for Robbery.
(Copyright, 1913.)
Some enthusiastic and deluded gentlemen, far back in 1776,
started in to establish a country of EQUALITY, one in which all
men should be equal in the eyes of the law and of other men.
Jefferson, Franklin, Patrick Henry, Washington and all the
rest of them were very enthusiastic about equality. BUT THEY
DIDN'T SUCCEED IN PLANTING IT IN THIS COUNTRY.
Or, if they did, it hasn’t sprouted yet.
Consider, if you please, the case of a criminal and thief
named Cardenio F. King, who died the other day in a Massa
chusettes State prison.
King was included in the list of prosperous criminals. He
had stolen tens of thousands from those that trusted him.
And when he died in prison all of the newspapers printed
doleful stories, telling how the pardon that was rushing toward
him arrived just too late to get him out of jail and permit him to
die a free man. King was well known in Georgia, especially in
Atlanta, where he resided for several years before going East.
Consider also the case of Walsh in Illinois, a distinguished
banker, who used to run a Chicago newspaper and preach virtue
to others. They let him out to save him from dying in jail. And
he died soon afterward.
And consider the interesting gentleman Morse, the Ice King,
whose Ice Trust conspiracy in New York inflicted suffering upon
hundreds of thousands of women and children, and who finally
went a little too far and landed in prison.
They got the sad word that he was dying, and he was re
leased from jail by President Taft.
And he is back in Wall Street now making more money,
whether in the same old way or in a new way thought out in
prison nobody knows.
It is interesting to consider these men, all of them rich, all
of them widely noticed in the newspapers, all of them apparent
ly the most natural objects in the world for pardon and sym
pathy.
And then consider the ordinary miserable criminal, who dies
in jail every day in the year.
Consider the poor brute vith a low forehead, badly born,
badly fed, badly taught, constantly tempted.
Consider this man and thousands like him.
They are dying in hospital wards in prisons all over the
country. And they are carted one after another to be buried
without a name above their graves.
Nobody is in a rush to send special pardons for them that
THEY may die free men.
Nobody endeavors, as in the case of the criminal, Cardenio
F. King, to transmit a pardon by telephone a little ahead of
time.
Consider those criminals, who, indeed, deserve sympathy.
The criminal usually starts in a miserable home; his mother
has not the strength to feed him, nor the money to buy food; his
infancy is starved.
Consider the childhood of that criminal, climbing wearily up
and down tenement house stairs, playing in a filthy gutter, dodg
ing the wheels of trucks, frightened and pursued by policemen
as soon as he is big enough to play in the streets, tempted, and at
last caught when he is old enough to steal.
From the beginning he has had no chance; he lands in jail.
He dies. Thousands of him die there—and no pardon comes, no
sympathy, no pity—no pity even for those that know him, none
for his unhappy mother, who knows that he never had a chance,
and who mourns him as sincerely, perhaps, and feels his shame
as keenly as any polite lady living in satin and writing pitiful
notes in behalf of the imprisoned husband who keeps her well
supplied with part of the money that he has stolen.
Consider the rich criminals, dangerous, betrayers of trust,
robbers of women and of children, showered with sympathy
when the prison at last catches them, and pardoned promptly
when they show serious signs of ill health.
And then consider the poor, miserable criminals, WHO ARE
MADE CRIMINALS BY OUR ROTTEN CIVILIZATION, con
demned to crime through poverty, ignorance and physical weak
ness, the criminals to whose sickness and death less attention is
paid than to the death of a mange-eaten cat in the gutter.
And after you have considered these two sets of criminals in
a grand republic of “equality” consider also what a fine joke
that equality is, and to what an extent this country, its sympa
thies and its interests are controlled by the money that men have
accumulated, whether it be displayed by some fool who marries
his daughter to a foreign idiot, some “aristocrat" who squan
ders wealth in stupid display, or some prosperous captured crim
inal, whose troublesome cough alarms his friends—until a con
venient pardon has set him free.
There are many good jokes in this country, and about the
best of them is “human equality.”
.:. BEAUTY .:.
By WILLIAM F. KIRK.
P l'T not your trust In beauty. It was made
To please the eye and soothe the nervous brain,
To cause forgetfulness in hours of pain
And work its magic when the soul is flayed.
Beauty can smile near Sorrow's somber shade.
But when you need It. it will not sustain,
And when you seek its help, you seek in vain.
And when you die its charms are still displayed.
Beauty Is all men's mistress, and its wiles
Can comfort one and let another moan.
It smiles, but only as a wanton smile*—
A fleeting ripple o'er a mask of stone.
The rose was blushing red, yet Juliet sighed;
The sky was smiling blue when Caesar died.
The Atlanta Georgian the home paper
In the Movies In Real Life
For Success, Health, Happiness, Look Within!
Why Wait for Somebody Else to Bring Us These Things? Don’t Be a
Spiritual Looter; Pray Often, but Work, First, Last and Always.
By ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.
Copyright, 1913. by Star Company.
0 ~ N retiring at night, just be
fore going off to sleep, say,
■ either mentally or orally as
you choose:
I am health, strength, peace,
happiness and prosperity and
everything that goes to make for
good.
Pure, good, rich blood is flow
ing through my body, removing all
obstructions and bringing peace,
health and harmony.
I am well and strong and vital.
I am beautiful, pure and good.
I am on the road to eternal
youth.
I am opulent, happy and free.
Last but not least:
I will arise with unusual energy
and radiance and power of accom
plishment lu the morning.
All I ask Is that you do not try
to dictate the way these things
shall or may come, and I will guar
antee them to cure anything from
poverty to rheumatism.—Dr. James
\V. Cormany, Mount Carroll, Ill.
I ET every reader of this col-
_j umn take with seriousness
these emphatic statements
of Dr. Cormany. and put them to
the test
Nothing Is the Matter
With the World, Life
or Destiny.
There is nothing the matter with
the world, with life, with destiny.
Everything we desire or want
• or need waits for our claiming.
But the majority of God’s chil
dren are waiting for SOMEBODY
BESIDES THEMSELVES to bring
them these things.
Not more than one human be
ing in one thousand looks to HIM
SELF and the Power back of him
self for success, health aud bsj-
The other 999 look to luck; to
chance; to influence; to favors of
friends and acquaintances; to doc
tors; to patent medicines; to
some hoped-for miracle, and all
the time a mine of wealth and
ELLA WHEELER WILCOX,
reservoir of power within them
selves lies unexplored and un
used.
If you have a garden and res
ervoir of water, which is fed from
an inexhaustible mountain stream,
and you spend hours in prayer to
God for rain to water your gar
den. do not feel that God has been
unkind if in a season of drouth
your plants wither and die.
It is your own fault that you did
not USE THE WATER IN THE
RESERVOIR.
Prayer is a great force; it puts
our highest mental and moral
powers in touch with the whole
magnificent universe, and with the
clouds of witnesses and the hosts
of ministering angels, who are
waiting to do the Father's bidding
on earth; and the Father’s bid
ding is eternal usefulness to hu
manity.
These Invisible Helpers are ever
ready to HELP US HELP OUR-
SELVES.
But they would not answer our
prayers for rain, to save our gar
dens, if we did not use the water
in the reservoir which had been
supplied to us.
An inexhaustible reservoir lies
in every soul born upon earth.
The one thing for you to do is
to PIPE YOUR MENTAL FACUL
TIES TO THIS RESERVOIR.
Then follow the instructions
which are quoted above. Every
time you make those assertions,
you are TURNING ON A FAUCET.
It is of little use, in a dry, arid
season, to turn the water on your
garden ONCE A WEEK.
It must be done EVERY DAY.
If you watered your plants once,
and then after a month complained
how badly they looked, despite
your having watered them, that
would be as reasonable as the at
tempts of many people to put meta
physical thought into practice.
Every trade, profession, business
and art is brought to perfection
by PERSISTENT AND UNRE
MITTING EFFORTS.
The great philosophy of
THOUGHT POWER can only be
‘Woven and d*man*u'ated by the
same unremitting, untiring meth
ods.
The little formula given by Dr.
Cormany holds the whole philoso
phy in a concise form.
It is a spiritual homeopathic
pill.
Take one every night on retir
ing, and after three months you
will be astonished at results.
Pray often; lift your heart on
high; but WORK FIRST, LAST
AND ALWAYS.
Look to Your Own Soul
for Light; Don’t Be a
Spiritual Loafer.
Do not be a spiritual loafer, and
expect angels to perform your work
with no effort on your part. Do
not talk about your methods; and
do not ask any one for advice or
counsel. Look only to your own
soul for light.
GOD’S ANSWER.
Once in a time of trouble and of
care
I dreamed I talked with Ood
about my pain;
With sleepland courage, daring
to complain
Of what I deemed ungracious and
unfair.
"Lord, I have groveled on my knees
in prayer
Hour after hour," I cried; "yet
all in vain;
No hand leads up to heights I
would attain,
No ’path is shown me out of my
despair.”
Then answered Ood: “Three things
I gave to thee—
Clear brain, brave will and
strength of mind and heart,
AU implements divine to shape
the way.
Why shift the burden of the toil
on Met
Till to the utmost he has done
his part
With all Ins might, let no man
LANE to pray."
WINIFRED BLACK
Writes on
Mother’s Too Lussy.
What if She Should Be
Over Particular—That’s
Better Than Being Too
Easy-Going When a
Little Daughter Is To Be
Considered.
By WINIFRED BLACK.
S O "mother’s too fussy," Is
she? Poor mother—and poor
daughter.
"Mother’s too fussy.” Dear girl,
I wish I could take you with me
down to the police court some
bright, sunny morning and see
your face when the girls whose
mothers are not "too fussy" come
into the court—poor, silly things
—just for being out on the street
at night and running around with
all sorts of strangers.
"Mother’s too fussy!” Well,
well, I suppose my little boy
thinks the same thing about me.
I took a sharp knife away from
him the other day when I saw
him running with it open in his
hand. He cried and said I was
cross.
Her Mother Not “Fussy.”
I wonder what he would have
said about me when he grew old
er if I had let him put his bright
eyes out with that very knife,
just because I didn’t want to be
“too fussy?"
I saw a girl this very morning
who had a mother who wasn t
"fussy" at all. The girl goes to
public dances—with the “other
girls”—and she goes to moving
picture shows every night, too—
with "the rest of the crowd.” And
a few months ago a nice-looking
stranger came and sat with the
"crowd.” and when the show was
over he took the whole party to
have some ice cream.
Such a nice fellow he was—so
polite and respectful. How "fus
sy” it would have been to refuse
to let him speak to a girl just
because she didn’t know just who
he was.
That’s what the girl I know
thought. And yesterday she was
a witness In court and had to tell
the judge how she came to know
the man and where she got the
pin he gave her—for he turned
out to be a thief, and he was try
ing to teach the girl to steal, too
—for him.
The mother who wasn’t too
"fussy” cried whefl the Judge
asked her what she was thinking
of to let her growing girl run
about like that. I'm afraid she
wishes now that she’d been "fus
sy" in time.
I Think She’s Right.
There was another girl in court
whose mother hadn’t been "fus
sy" either. She ran away with a
man she’d met twice at a high
school dance and married him
“Just for fun;" and he deserted
her and left her friendless and
penniless In a strange town and
someone had her arrested for
begging.
So you're too young for beaus,
mother thinks? Well, little sis
ter, I think mother Is right and
you are wrong, dead wrong—why
—Is the ether theory nec
essary for explanation of
* magnetic lines of force,
the flow of electric currents
through conductors, and the forces
of gravity? Is it not possible that
some of the substance of the mag
nets passes out and through
space?
A.—The passage of magnetism,
heat, light or any other phase of
radiant energy from suns through
space seems to require the pres
ence of ether in all space and
within all matter.
In all problems of space-en
ergy-transmission the ablest
mathematicians have formulated
equations seeking to discover
properties of an ether that will
convey light waves varying In
length between limits of 33,000
and 63,000 to one inch, with set
specific speed of 186,380 miles per
second; and with rates of oscil
lation ranging from 428 trillion
for low red to 739 trillion per
second for high violet. The re
sults of the computations are di
verse. varying in deduced densi
ties from millions of times less
than hydrogen to the enormous
density of "2,000 million times
that of lead,” according to J. J.
Thomson.
I heard this great scientist, the
discoverer of the base of nature,
electrons, say this. But this
shouldn't you be? Who knows
most about life, dear child—the
mother who’s lived it or you who
only just begin to even look on?
It’s not a game, child, this life
you’re so crazy to get into. It isn’t
all fun. It's something very much
like work, and hard work at that
Your mother wants to save you—
to help you, to keep you from
harm and trouble. Why won’t you
let her, foolish little thing that
you are?
“Don’t go near the pretty light,”
says the mother to her silly little
daughter. “Careful, careful; I
singed my own wings there. Yes,
I know it’s bright, but it’s fatal,
too—there. Oh, I knew it, I knew.’’
And in she pops, the little foolish
moth, and flops out if she's lucky,
one wing gone, the other singedU
burned, frightened, hurt, puzzled
—home to mother, who's “too fus
sy” about lights, because she
knows what they are and what
will happen to little foolish moths
who persist in flying too close to
them.
Your mother isn’t your enemy,
child. She isn’t trying to spite you
when she tells you you are too
young for beaus. She’s trying to
save you. Can’t you listen to her?
What If she should be over-par
ticular—that’s better than being
too easygoing when a little
daughter Is to be considered.
What if she does want to keep
you young? You'll have a long
life to live without her. Can’t
you give her a few little happy
years, the mother who loves you
so?
Wait a Little Longer.
Some day you’ll wish you had.
Some day you'd give every hair In
your foolish little head to have
mother there to be “fussy" about
you, and she'll be gone and there’ll
be no one to take her place, no
one to care whether you go wrong
or go right; whether you are well
or ill. happy or miserable—and
then?
Wait, little foolish girl; wait a
little longer—just for mother's
sake and your own. You’ll have
a whole lifetime for beaus. Would
you believe it if I should tell you
that some day you’ll wonder what
you ever saw in the dark-eyed
stranger who calls V*>u over the
phone? He’s pigeon-toed—hon
estly he Is—and not so awfully
bright—and, whisper again, who
bought him that tie? Did he earn
it himself or did mother buy it
for him, and sister tell him how
to wear it, and are they all laugh
ing at you for being such a goose
over him, whom you don’t even
know?
Think It over. It pays to think
once In a while, even when you’re
Just in high school; honestly it
does.
density of ether, he stated, was
that Immediately surrounding
electrons. The question comes in
here with great appropriateness.
Thus, if electrons are shot from
the sun with known velocity of
light, and they sorely are, then
the density of ether exceedingly
close to the flying particle Is of
this enormous degree. This de
duction does not relate to the
density of ether In space when at
absolute rest, if it can be qui
escent. It may be millions of
times rarer than hydrogen. This
is unknown, for the most refined
experiments ever made, those by
Michelson, failed utterly to detect
the existence of ether.
All that is known is that the
space surrounding an electron Is
an electric field whose intensity
is powerful beyond all imagina
tion. These are a few arguments
for ether. The question is, Do
not particles fly from magnets?
This may never be known, for let
1,000,000 electrons per second es
cape from an ordinary steel mag
net during 1,000,000 years, then
only instruments of precision
could detect the loss.
Nothing whatever is known of
the real nature of gravitation, so
that part of the query can not he
replied to. Gravitation is sup
posed to be electrical, however. So
is everything, for that matter.
The Ether Theory
By EDGAR LUCIEN LARKIN.