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I 4 1 I EDITORIAL PAGE i he Atlanta Georgian THE HOME PAPER THE ATLANTA GEORGIAN I f L 11/5'. „ Published Every Afternoon Except Sunday III If 11J V It. Till.' t ' 1.-. , I ■ . : : \ V I'nUlMVV I*'*' “ w w • Published Every Afternoon Except J* By THE GEORGIAN COMPANY At 20 East Alabama St.. Atlanta. Ga. Entered as second-class matter at postofflce at Atlanta, underact of March 3. 1*73 Subscription Price— Delivered by carrier. 10 cents a week By mall, $5 00 a year. Payable in Advance. 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 policelnen 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. BEAUTY By WILLIAM F. KIRK. P VT 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 magi.- 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 eharms are still displayed. Beauty is all men's mistress, and its wiles Can comfort one atal let another moan. It smiles, but only as a wanton smiles 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. 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, 1912.) 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 chusetts 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 be 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 with 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. 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.’’ In Rea! Life WINIFRED BLACK Writes on Mother’s Too hussy. What if Shy Should Be Over Particular—That’s Better Than Being Too Easy-Going When a Little Daughter Is T o Be Considered. By WINIFRED BLACK. 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. O 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. 1 am beautiful, pure and good. 1 am on the road to eternal youth. 1 am opulent, happy and freN, Last but not least: v I will arise with unusual energy and radiance anti power of accom plishment In the htorning All 1 ask is that you do not try to dictate the way these things s isII or may come, and I will guar antee them to cure anything from poverty to rheumatism.—Dr. James \V. Cormany, Mount Carroll, 111 I KT every reader of this col- . until 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 w'orld, 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 and hap piness. 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 wp.ter, which is fed from an inexhaustible mountain stream, and you spend hours in prayer to Goti 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 owu 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 ao 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. Bui 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 proven and demonstrated 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 hight 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. (.hire in a time of trouble and of rare I dreamed I tallied with Godl about unt pain; With xleepland courage, daring to complain Of what / deemed ungracious and unfair. “Lord. I have groveled on mg knees in prayer Hour after hour,'* I cried; “yet all in vain; So hand leadx up to heightx l would attain. No path ix shown me out of mg despair.” Then answered God: “Three things I gave to thee— Clear brain, brave will and strength of mind and heart. All implements divine to shape the wag. Who shift the burden of the toil on Met Till to the utmost he has done his part With vll his might, let no man DARE to pray.'* S O "mother’s too fussy,” is she? Poor mother—and poor daughter. “Mother’s too fussy.” Dear girl, I wish 1 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?” 1 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 lefc him speak Jo 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 when 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 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 ^hing 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 singed— 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 clo.se 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 vow that some day you’ll wonder what you ever saw in the dark-eye* stranger who calls you over the phone? He’s pigeon-toed—hon estly he is—and not so awfully bright—and, whisper again, whe 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. The Ether Theory By EDGAR LUCIEN LARKIN. —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-tran^mission 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, electron*, aay this. But this dei#sity of etheT, 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 surely 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 times rarer than hydrogen. This is unknown, for the most refined experiments ever made, those by Michel son, 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 magnetsT* This may never be known, for Jet 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 lose. Nothing whatever is known of the real nature of gravitation, so that part of the query can not be replied to. Gravitation is sup posed to be electrical, however. So is fove/yim* jhPt matter.