Generated on 2015-07-02 20:45 GMT / http://hdl.handle.net/2027/mdp.39015083927411 Public Domain / http://www.hathitrust.org/access_use#pd -—.__-_ Q THE MOSHER BOOKS or K’PlAsses Books in Belles Lettres Issued in Choice and Limited Editions I do ' To the Women Published By Thomas Bird Masher, Portland, Me. HIS Magazine is Own ed and Published Co \ THE OLD WORLD SERIES operativer by its Ed itors. It has no Dividends l Readers of the Printedon a sizeof Van Gelderpapermadefor thiseditiononly. Speciallydesigned head-bandsand tail-pieces._ The regularedition_doneup in decoratedflexibleJapan to Pay, and nobody is try vellumcovers—originatedby Mr. Mosher—wrthsilk markers,parchmentwrappers,gold make Money sealsandslidecases. ing to out of

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S Issue No. 56 Vol. VIII. No. 4 FEBRUARY.51916 5

THE WORLD WELL LOST John Reed

HE Serbian town of Obrenovatz is a cluster of the days of peace. No, I don’t know what his doctrines enemy’scountry a spark of flame quivered red. red tile roofs and white bulbous towers, hid are; I am a Young Radical myself,” he laughed. “We “You see,in our country it is different than in yours,” den in green trees on a belt of land, around believe in a great Serbian Empire.” began Takits. “Here we have no rich men and no in which sweeps the river Sava in a wide curve. “If all the Socialists were like Takits,” said the dustrial population, so we are not ready, I think, for Behind rise the green hills of Serbia, toppling up to Colonel, puffing comfortably at his cigar, “I wouldn’t the immense combining of the workers to oppose the blue ranges of mountains upon whose summit heaps of have a thing to say against Socialism. He is a good concentration of capital in the hands of the few.” He dead bodies lie still unburied, among the stumps of soldier.” stopped a minute, and then chuckled, “You have no trees riddled down by machine-gun fire; and half— In a deep trench, cruved in half-moon shape across idea how strange it feels to be talking like this starved dogs battle there ghoulisth with vultures. Half the corner of a field, four six—inchguns crouched be again! eel/’ a mile away on the bank of the yellow river, the peasant hind a screen of young willows. There was a roof “Our party was formed then to combat the regular soldiers stand knee—deepin inundated trenches, firing over them almost on the level with the field, and on Socialists, to apply the principles of Socialism to the at the Austrians three hundred yards away on the other this roof sods had been laid and grass and bushes were conditions of this country,-—acountry of peasantswho side. Between, the rich hills of Bosnia sweep west growing, to hide them from aeroplanes. At the sentry’s all own their land. We are naturally communists, we ward forever like sea-swells, hiding the big guns that staccato challenge the Colonel answered, and hailed Serbians. In every village you will see the houses of cover Obrenovatz with a menace of destruction. The “Takits!” Out of the gun-pits came a man, muddy to the rich zadrugas,—-manygenerations of the same fam— town itself is built on a little rise of ground, surrounded the knees and without a hat. He was tall and broad; ily, with all their connections by marriage, who have by flooded marshes when the river is high, where the his faded uniform hung upon him as if once he had been pooled their property and hold it in common. We sacred storks stalk seriously among the rushes, con stout; a thick, unkempt beard covered his face to the didn’t want to waste time with the International. It temptuous of battles. All the hills are bursting with cheekbones,and his eyes were quiet and direct. would hinder us,—block our program, which was, to vivid new leaves and plum tree blossoms like smoke. They said something to him in Serbian, and he get into the hands of the people who produced every The earth rustles with a million tiny thrills, the push laughed. thing and owned all the means of production, the means ing of pale green shoots and the bursting of buds; the “So,” he said, turning to me with a twinkle in his of distribution too. The political program was simpler; world steams with spring. And regular as clockwork, eye, and speaking French that halted and hesitated like we aimed at a real democracy by means of the widest the crack of desultory shots rises unnoticed into the a thing long unused. “So. You are interested in So— possible suffrage, initiative, referendum and recall. You lazy air. For nine months it has been so, and the cialism?” see,in the Balkans, a great gulf separatesthe ambitious sounds of war have become a part of the great chorus I said I was. “They tell me you were a Socialist politicians in power and the mass of the people who of nature. leader in this country.” elect them. Politics is getting to be a separate profes We had dinner with the officers of the Staff,—good— “I was,” he said, emphasizing the past tense. “And sion, closed to all but scheming lawyers. This class natured giants, who were peasants and sons of peas now——” we wanted to destroy. We did not believe in the Gen ants. The orderly who fell upon his knees to brush “Now,” interrupted the Colonel, “he is a patriot and eral Strike,’and the great oppressed industrial popula— ' our shoes and stood so stiffiy pouring water over our a good soldier.” tions of the world could do nothing with us, except use ” hands while we washed, and the private soldiers who “Just say ‘a ’good soldier,’ said Takits, and I thought us for the furtherance of their economic programs, waited on us at dinner with such smart civility, came there was a shade of bitterness in his voice. “Forgive which had nothing to do with conditions in Serbia.” in and sat down when coffee was served, and were in— me if I speakbad French. It is long since I have talked “You opposed war ?”r ’9 troduced all round. They were intimate friends of to foreigners.—though I once made speeches in He nodded. “We were against war he began, the Colonel. French—-” then stopped short and burst out laughing. “Do you After dinner somebody produced a bottle of cognac “And Socialism?” I asked. know, I had forgotten all that. It seems so silly now! and a box of real Havana cigars, which Iovanovitch “Well, I will tell you,” he began slowly. “Walk with We thought that the peasants, the people of Serbia, laughingly said had been captured from the Austrians me a little.” He put his arm under mine and scowled could stop war any time if they wanted to, by simply two weeks before, and we strolled out to visit the Ser at the earth. Suddenly he turned swiftly, preoccupied, refusing to fight. God! There were only a few of us. bian batteries. and shouted to some one invisible in the pit: “Peter! —not a great solid working-class as in Germany and \Vestward over the Bosnian hills a pale spring sun Oil breechblock number one gun!" France,—but we thought it could be done. Why on hung low in a shallow sky of turquoise green. Line throwing The others strolled on ahead, laughing and God’s earth did no one in Europe realize what a con after line of little clouds burned red-golden, scarlet, remarks over their shoulders the way men do who script army means? We thought war was brutal, vermilion, pale pink and gray, all up the tremendous have dined and are content. Night rushed up the west bloody, useless, horrible. Imagine anyone who could arch of sky. Drowsy birds twittered, and a soft fresh and quenched those shining clouds, drawing her train not see how much better war is than peace and the wind came up out of the west. of stars like a robe to cover all heaven. Somewhere in slavery of industry! Think of the thousands of people Iovanovitch turned to me: the distant trenches voices sang a quavering Macedonian killed, maimed and made unfit every year by the ter “You wanted to talk to a Serbian Socialist,” he said. song about the glories of the Empire of the Tsar Stefan rible conditions in which they must live to support the “\Vell, you’ll have the chance. The captain in com Dooshan, and an accompanying violin scratched and rich, even in prosperous times. No. In war, a man mand of the battery we are going to see is a leader squeakedunder the hand of a gypsy “gooslar.” On the dies with a sense of ideal sacrifice,—and his wife and of the Serbian Socialist parties,——orat least he was in dim slope of a hill far across the river in the mother and family miss him less,'because he fell on Generated on 2015-07-02 20:45 GMT / http://hdl.handle.net/2027/mdp.39015083927411 Public Domain / http://www.hathitrust.org/access_use#pd 6 I THE MASSES in temper and tendencies the field of honor! Besides, in peace-time they were ing me that phrase), differing it Poetry Comes Back is find so many names from THE left to starve when the machines got him,—and now —and gratifying to of this long-expected renascence pour in Margaret \Viddemer and there is a pension. They are taken care of.” He spoke ROOFS Masses—Clement \Vood and

every side. Whitman prophesied it over Ruth Comfort vehemently. from Witter Bynner and Lydia Gibson and fifty years ago. And while literary England had not yet Mitchell and Margaret French Patton and the inevit "And now,—after the war ?” recovered from its love of tinsel romanticism, Yellow able others. Mr. Braithwaite’s inclusiveness makes all Takits turned slowly to me, and his eyes were tragic Bookishness and an xsthetically distorted speech,Synge the more perplexing his omission of Carl Sandburg and and bitter. “I don’t know. I don't know. It was my wrote: Max Eastman. An anthology of the year’s poetry with the who spoke to you just now. What self before war a is usually goodi; “In thesedayspoetry flowerof evil or nothing from the pen of either of these poets is in— it a shock it was to me to hear my voice saying those but is the timberof poetrythat wearsmostsurely,—and credible. But here it is—with this fault as well as the there is no timberthat has not strongroots amongthe clay old, outworn things! They are so meaningless now! and worms. It may almostbe said that before verse mania for cataloging and comparison on Mr. Braith

I have come to think that it has all to he done over again it learnto brutal. Many can be human must be waite’s head—a record of new beginnings, of spiritual again,—the upbuilding of civilization. Again we must of the olderpoetssuchas Villon and Herrick and Burns used the whole of their personallife as their material,and the no less than literary breaking of bonds. With_the learn to till the soil, to live together under a common versewrittenin this way wasreadby strongmen,and thieves crumbling of the aristocracy of the pedants comes the government, to make friends across frontiers among and deacons,and not by little cliquesonly.” art of the people. other races who have become once more only dark, For years the journals and pedagogs,clinging to their Poetry has gone out of the actual world at various evil faces and speakers of tongues not our own. This pale classicism and dusty traditions, fought this threat times—following the Elizabethans, during the eighteenth world has become a place of chaos, as it was in the ening revival with scorn and silence and deprecatory century, with the back-wash of Tennyson—it has been Dark Ages; and yet we live, have our work to do, feel patronage. And now, within the last year, witness the ruffled and ribboned and tricked out; but in spite of happiness on a clear day and sadness when it rains. complete right-about face! Most amazing of all the it every effort to pervert or prettify it, has the habit of These are more important than anything just now. manifestations are the following lines from the New shaking off the decorative disguises and revealing itself Afterward will come the long pull up from barbarism York Times, November 28, 19I5—only fifty-four years is in a sudden and most surprising manner. There even to a time when men think and reason and consciously after Whitman’s prophecy:

a naked boldness in its return; a challenge to the tra—

organize their lives again. But that will not \Vhen the twentiethcenturycamein, upon a greatwaveof away ditionary and cautious. And so once again Poetry has be in our time. I shall die without seeing it,—the world socialresponsibility,sweeping the debrisof wornoutcus toms,of formaltheology,of all effetethings,and makingfor come back. we loved and lost.” itself newchannelsof serviceto the race,poetrywas the first time; poetry LOUIS UNTERMEYER. He turned to me with extraordinary emotion, eyes of the arts to respondto the moodof the for was alreadyvitalized,infusedwith new blood,by the robust dark, blazing and and gripped my arm tensely. “Here geniusof \Vhitman. Romanticismhad spentitself, it had van

is the point,—the tragic point. Once I was a lawyer. ishedin theart of Swinburne,in a wraithof beautifulfutility.

Poetry had floatedaway from life, in exquisitevaporings; r The other day the Colonel asked me about some com Ford “art for art's sake"was in the cry of the decadents,the last mon legal point, and I had forgotten it. When I of the schoolsof the nineteenthcentury. To this languishing HAT shall we think of the Ford Peace Ship! talked with you about my party, I discovered again that art the messageof \Vhitmarrcameas a breathof resuscitation. If it strikes too near to our hopes and fears for Not only did poetryrevive, it was regenerated.An entirely all was vague,—nebulous. You noticed how obscure

against it newspirit wasborn in it, andthe reactionof \Vhitman us to estimate calmly and justly, that is only natural. cometo its hour of decadence,the revo and general it was, didn’t you? Well, I have forgotten romanticismthathad Had we lived in 1859,we might have wondered what

message camein with Whitman, is my arguments, and I have lost my lution in form and that faith! now expressingitself in the naturalisticmovement,—--thenew to think of John Brown’s raid on Harper’s Ferry: we

“For four years now I have been fighting in the Ser freedomof our poetry. might have deplored it, as most good people did, as a is a bian army. At first I hated it, wanted to stop, was op But an added and most important proof series folly which would only hurt the cause of emancipation.

it it is for pressed by the unreasonablenessof all. Now of magazine anthologies that have been appearing But we can, if we wish, anticipate the verdict of his is my job, my life. I spendall day thinking of the position the last three years. In this latest one *there ample tory on this latest of the sublime follies of the utopian

of those guns,-—I lie awake at night worrying about evidencethat poetry has ceasedto be a diversion to be mind. However the war ends, and whether late or

the men of the battery, whether So-and-So will stand enjoyed only by the over-cultured and erudite, an ex soon, this mission of peace will be remembered as 'a

his watch without carelessness, whether I shall need ercise for the parlor, an embroidery of archaiac words rash and splendid act, fixing by its impossibilism the it a fresh horses in place of the lame ones in the gun-teams, over pattern of archaiac sentiments; that has freed thoughts of the world on Peace. Even those who hate, what can be done to correct the slight recoiling-fault itself or been freed from didacticism and mere decora or scorn, or laugh at Mr. Ford as a crazy and ignorant it a of number three. These things and my food, my bed, tion;—and that is thing which interests many peo— millionaire, have been touched by the magic of his

the weather,—that is life to me. When I go home on ple because it expressesthe things that many people are courageous folly. The act will leave its mark indelibly leave to visit my wife and children, their existence interested in. on the world’s history. It seems so tame, so removmdfrom the realities. I get And this volume shows something more. shows Many who regard such a peace mission as being at

bored very soon, and am relieved when the time comes that, as poetry has come nearer to people in thought, it this moment a practical plan, have been outraged or

to return to my friends here, my work,—my guns. has come closer to them in speech. It is using the driven to tears by the manner in which the Ford mis is a That is the horrible thing." language of the majority, not of the few. It pliant, sion was conducted. A word as to that. The modern democratized speechthe poets are using today—as rich He ceased,and we walked along in silence. A stork art or science of publicity consists chiefly in suppres—

on great pinions came flapping down upon the roof of and racy as the soils from which it flowers. One of sion, in seeing that the wrong things do not get into the cottage where he had his nest. From far down the newest voices, Robert Frost, with ‘a directness the newspapers, that the wrong people are not allowed

equalled only by Edwin Arlington Robinson, reveals a the river a sudden ripple of rifle-shots broke out in to be heard at all. Judged by these standards, the wealth of poetic quality in hitherto unpoetic names and explicably, and ended with sharp silence. Ford Peace mission was mismanaged in a preposterous things. Both he and Edgar Lee Masters show us, in manner. All the great, the respectable,the dignified, a the cross-sections of community, a world of new the eminent, in a word, those who have reputations to poetic possibilities. vistas, they Liberty And with these fresh preserve, were frightened away from Mr. Ford’s mis are bringing in a fresh influx of words from the ver sion, and only those who had a touch of daring or of WORTH (Tex.), November 19.—An en nacular—new sounds, new “glamor.” Vachel Lindsay oddness went. The great reputations were frightened

FORT is another successful experimenter. He too has dis raged crowd of citizens yesterday at Arlington becauseMr. Ford did not hire a publicity manager who carded the faded and moth-eaten sought to attack the Liberty Bell party because a mem loveliness of tradi could shut all the idealists’ mouths. Mr. Ford, how

tion; he, however, exchanged it a ber of the party lifted a negro girl to the car and let has for verbal coat ever, seems to have done this on principle. It was by her kiss the relic. To avert trouble the train pulled out, of many colors and sounds, taken not only from people his wish that everyone connected with the project said leaving the crowd shaking fists and throwing stones.”— but frome, fire-engines and automobile horns and Chi anything he felt like, even to the frivolous clerk whose San Francisco Examiner. nese nightingales and negro camp-meetings. In this foolish answer to a reporter’s foolish question was

volume one also finds James Oppenheim, with a fire blazoned in headlines across the nation as “Ford Re and music as old as the Psalms and words as new as Society Note pudiates Bryan.” Mr. Ford’s idealism is not business today. Here also is Amy Lowell, another of

discarder it like, is idealistic: and that in a land of institution HE social center of New York shows “a northerly patterns; most vigorous and versatile of women-poets alized, respectableized,conventionalized idealism looks present. a writing at trend of 300 feet year” and is now at Fifth Here too are many of the other like mere foolishness. we may regret that this wild

“daring young radicals” (I

a thank the Avenue and 67th Street. THE MASSES is long way Times for teach and beautiful act of faith was not run on business

is from the social center even in its new office, but it principles, but we must give Mr. Ford the credit of “‘The Anthologyof MagazineVerse for 1915”;editedby

gaining a little. \Villiam StanleyBraithwaite. (Gomme 8: Marshall. $1.50Net.) being an idealist to the limit. Generated on 2015-07-02 20:45 GMT / http://hdl.handle.net/2027/mdp.39015083927411 Public Domain / http://www.hathitrust.org/access_use#pd .\.~pu-_-_--.,‘1‘!..

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Drawnby Arthur Ymmg. IT‘S A GREAT COUNTRY to defend The munition maker has made us hated in Europe. and now we must buy munitions from him ourselves against that hatred.

PATERSON silk manufacturer is going to sell it isn’t asking too much, would the United States

IF A dollar art collection instead of giving Periscope please not get into a war with the Tcutons over his million a - The Perhaps this is rebuke it as was some indignity to a Standard Oil steamer? to the town hoped. E is perfectly happy and the most optimistic to those abandoned characters who claimed that the a Andrew person in New York City,” said silk-workers were underpaid. Carnegie’s secretary on the boss’s 80th TRAVELER in Germany reports that there is birthday. “Last summer when he wanted to go fishing now more bitterness toward America than to 6‘ EACE talk will persist," press-pearls the New captains were afraid of rough weather he ward England. The bulletins of the Kaiser’s hate de and the York Tribune. “The weak, the foolish and the always say there were no storms for him. I partment should read: “Subject to change'yvithout would . designing, here as in Europe, will continue to use the think that expresses his whole attitude toward life.” notice.” misery and ' casualty list and the spectacle of human Or you can sing it: suffering as a text and as an argument." me If there be no storms for that such people exist! HE National Defence Association proposes.fb issue It doesn’t seem possible What care I how wet you be. drinkers’ licenses them if he holder is e

a people I oub u'n'll of the Balkan recently returned has over two jags 'year.ahd‘loker by the depressing effect HITNEY WARREN, who. . . . . 0 put things off until the last for pro campaign, one suspects that the German General from France, wants our government to support minute‘Motto JUDGING crastinating boozers: Do your Christmaspsfip'mg early. sold short on Anglo-French bonds. the Allies. But who will support our government? Staff The Collector of the Port says he found $6,000worth years the names of Wilson, of undeclared stuff in the Warren family tr-unks. EPRESENTATIVE BAILEY says we should have [THIN the past four Bryan, Hughes, Roosevelt and Mayor Thomp no more preparednessthan we are willing to pay by request from some ticket

for spit a have been withdrawn BROOKLYN man was fined one dollar for at once by direct tax. He makes a noise like son in the ' the Nebraska primaries. ting. He paid and put on his hat to leave Byzantine logothete. or other court-room; was called back, also down, and fined two dollars. Having spent all his money for spitting he

is with the Ne Reichstag to raise soldiers’ pay be the goat. What the matter could not pay for putting on his hat, and was sent to is proposed in the I’LL IT braska primaries? is under the name to 11%,cents a day. It too bad to see commer jail. The criminal may be denounced BRUBAKER. sports. HOWARD of Sears and the magistrate under that of Krotel. cialism creeping into outdoor Generated on 2015-07-02 20:45 GMT / http://hdl.handle.net/2027/mdp.39015083927411 Public Domain / http://www.hathitrust.org/access_use#pd The A. F. of L. Convention : An Impression Inez Haynes Gillmore

NCE when I was a very little girl, I was present —Southern races, particularly Latins—French, Spanish. stand out; Morrison, secretary; O’Connell, vice-presi at an enormous political meeting in Boston Italian, Mexicans—Japanese—all with lingual peculiari dent; Lennon, treasurer; Woll, of the Photo Engrav when the young Henry Cabot Lodge made one ties—accents, dialects—Americans in preponderance of ers; Cannon, of the Western Federation of Miners; of his brilliant incisive speeches. That speech, course—the accent that clicks its enunciation of the Alesandro, of the Hod-Carriers; Hayes, of Tyopgraph_ perhaps because of his youth, was shot with poetry; East, the accent that grinds its R’s, of the West, the ical; Furuseth, of the 'Seamen—the Furuseth whose it was aflame—again perhaps because of his youth— accent that slurs its consonants,of the South. Yet all long life of service to the men who go down to the sea with ambitious purpose. We believed that a young lib these types seemedto blend into the kind of American in ships has at last flowered in the Seamen’s Bill— erator stood before us and we rose to him. (Rose to ism that we have all hoped would emerge from this ex tall, big, gaunt, the lines of the iron framework of his Henry Cabot Lodge—think of that! Well, times have. periment in the government of the people by the people body pushing through his very clothes, strong yet deli certainly changed.) Again in France, I was present —that Americanism which is another word for democ cate, the spirit, heroic and ascetic, burning off the last when a huge gathering of Russian revolutionists, with racy. fibre of superfluous flesh and imprinting its beauty on Anatole France in the chair, assembled to welcome But the fighting force there—that was the wonderful. the very bone. Casey of the Teamsters. Gallagher, ex Vera Figner from her twenty years’ imprisonment. the affording, the revealing thing. For by a'process of president of the San Francisco Labor Council. And The door of the Russian jail had closed on her a beau— culling and weeding from the union which brings out dominating them all the small figure, the great brain tiful girl; it released her still beautiful, but a middle— the best fighters in a community, through state federa— and the overpowering personality of the little cigar aged woman. I saw that crowd at the close of her tions and internationals which pick out the best fighters maker who brought this tremendous structure into speech rise as one creature and pelt her with flowers from the union, there were gathered on that floor the being: Gompers. until the white—robedfigure, moveless, expressionless best fighters of a whole country. In comparison the Gompers; fighting eternally and interminably for as though it had dropped from a marble frieze, stood chief officers of an army and navy would have seemed labor; sixty-six years old, yet working with the knee-deep in roses, the color of blood. Again in Pat mercenary, bureaucratic, outworn, futile. For these strength and dauntlessnessand conviction and hope of erson, I was present when thousands of strikers held men were fighting for an ideal—a world ideal—they twenty-one; averaging during the convention three an out-of-doors meeting. I saw them thrill andvfelt stripped off their coats and fought with any weapon hours of sleep to twenty-one of conflict; presiding for them sway Gurley and heard them roar when Elizabeth _they could find—they stripped to the buff and fought long hours over what, when its fighting blood is up, is Flynn appeared suddenly on the speakers' balcony with tooth and nail—at times tearing off the last vestige probably the most individualistic, obstinate, unmanage Again in San Francisco, I was one of a tremendous of sectionalism and nationalism, they stripped to the able and immovable body in the world. At times his audience of I. W. W.’s, gathered to protest against the very soul. job of chairman was that of the man who would tame

life-sentence imposed on the leaders of the Wheatland a cage of wild-cats by reading the Golden Rule. A1 There are two types, I take it, of the fighting spirit: strike, Ford and Suhr. A clergyman was addressing ways more work to be the desperate and the confident. The fighting in that donein two weeks than can them. “You I. W. W.’s have re-discovered one of the rightfully be done in a a convention was the fighting of the confident; of an month. Each delegate sepa great words of the English language,” he concluded. rate rebellion in himself, army, trained and tried, who have gone against the bristling with information, “That word is—” He got no further; for suddenly bursting with eloquence, armed with every parliamen enemy again and again and yet again; an army that that immense audience burst upwards like an erupting tory trick and doggedly determined to fight for his or had won more times than it had lost; an army that volcano—the shouts of “Solidarity” nearly tore the ganization to the last ditch. Eternal noise—hurry— would continue to win more times than it would lose. roof of. They were all wonderful moments. But I confusion. To this Gompers a There was something magnificent in that confidence, brought Parliamentar have never known such a thrill—as this year in San ism, uncannily astute; equal quantities of force and that fearlessness; it accounted for the assured swing Francisco when I took my first look at a convention of diplomacy; logic; cajolery. Sometimes of those great bulks as they moved down the aisle; he gave them the American Federation of Labor. their head—sometimeshe pulled them up with a jerk; for the straight-glancing directness of those clear eyes, Perhaps my first impression was of the men them he argued, advised, pleaded, joked, scolded, ridiculed, their swift appraisal, their humorous patience—that

selves. Impressions came in droves—all at once—pro praised, scorned. Sometimes it looked as though that perpetual bubbling good nature, playful at all times, ducing from their speedand strength and stream of conviction on the floor were growing turbu

clamor a a con which at touch in the midst of the longest, bitterest dition of mental daze—stupefaction. lent beyond control; cataracts of assertion—rapids of Soon, though, I fight turned them into a den of young bears. knew that I had never gazed on such men as these; contradiction—whirlpools of defiance. It made for I was there four days and a half. Three of those a that I had never seen so much sheer size, height, girth, ward here into little wave of progress; it swung back four days ran into evening sessions, two of them until weight. Later I used to come early to watch the dele there into a-little eddy of reaction; sometimes with in— after midnight. Most of what passed on the floor was gates enter the hall'. It was like seeing a file of lions finite tumult and fury it seemedbut to stand still. But clear enough, especially of course when the- subject leaping into the arena for their act. Big they came— always the figure on the platform, insignificant in stat under debatewas of broad general interest—a universal and bigger and bigger. Each moment it Seemed the ure and tremendous in head, with its amazing combina eight-hour working-day for instance. Some of the in— limit of human stature with its connotation of super tion of beauty and ugliness, its voice elastic, supple, terminable jurisdictional fights were a little hazy. Oc human strength and energy had been reached; yet in vibrant, resonant as an actor’s—one instant nasal, grat casionally argument grew unintelligible. The thing another instant that record was broken. Yes; first of ing, hard, harsh; the next clear, rippling, soft, musical that struck me most forcibly first, last and always was all that impression of extraordinary physique; then, in —br0ught them back not to his but. to their own con— how much they knew. Working conditions you would all else, of a beautiful, an arresting normality; then of trol——br0ughtthem back through sheer force of will, expect and Parliamentary law. But they knew living force—the fighting force that is spirit plus fire. High brain and personality-power. conditions; the economic laws behind them; world standing, erect, .incredibly broad-shouldered and deep— It was like being present when a body of world gen movements; the universal laws back of them. “Here chested; arms and legs like young tree-trunks; torsos erals planned a world—war—awar for humanitarianism; are citizens,” I said to myself again and again, muscle-packed “citi— to a heroic brawn and bulk; bodies of a a war which will have nought of bloodshed or death; zens in the best sense.” And then suddenly one of granite hardness, yet lightly-handled. poised; perfectly ' war in which the guns are ideals and the ammunition, those flashes of knowledge came to me—fiashes that faces burned by the weather to a permanent deep red; ideas. seem like revelations of white truth until you discover straight-gazing eyes.clear as lakes; mountain jaws that >that everybody Sometimes in the smoke which hung over that coun— else has discovered it long before. set themselvesin The the lines of adamant; faces, in quiet, cil of generals, I seemedto see standing back of them, only institution in of a calm, this country that oflers a training in clear keenness; watchful, patient, appraising, in serried ranks, shadowy, ghostly, the millions of citizenship is humorous; the trade union. The public schools don’t in anger, iron masks that poured fire from workers that had sent them there. And those w0rkers train—citizens—in the eye-sockets and thunder from face of this bloody world-holo mouth-orifices; voices said—“Thus far can ye go, 0 ye who represent us,

caust they are still teaching a ‘ that roared and rumbled. tore and thrilled; those voices war-begetting patriotism. thus far—and no farther.” echoed through my The colleges don't train citizens—they are still turning consciousnesslong is a after I had gone The voice of labor roar, deep as though it came to sleep at night. out highbrows. Politics can’t teach citizenship—a real a from throat of iron, penetrating as though it came All nationalities of men were there—Northern races citizenship means the end of politics. through lips of silver. One day that voice will silence ——English,Scotch, Irish, Swedish, Norwegian, German Gradually from the crowd, personalitiesbegan to all the great guns of the world. Generated on 2015-07-02 20:46 GMT / http://hdl.handle.net/2027/mdp.39015083927411 Public Domain / http://www.hathitrust.org/access_use#pd \; ' ‘7‘ '_

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“L . b . _' b Q .. . g A ‘ _ .' ' '- - - - - 11' S an e r -~: o ‘7‘ Generated on 2015-07-02 20:46 GMT / http://hdl.handle.net/2027/mdp.39015083927411 Public Domain / http://www.hathitrust.org/access_use#pd IO THE MASSES a It was for me painful process and for him an ex and things than when I left school. Under the spur I About Schools pensive one. I put in the wrong quantities of sugar of necessity and interest mastered that mysterious I I it and glucose, I let it burn, nearly let blow up, machine,the typewriter, in something over five minutes; FRIEND of mine assures me that the “Gary' I forgot to oil the steam engine, I mixed up my daily learned to take an interest in my fellow human beings, plan” is an infamous scheme to introduce re a reports, and I burned my arm on the steam-pipe every to ask questions, to distinguish between lie and the ligion into the American public school system

time I reached up to turn off a valve. What with my truth, to see a little of the vast drama that was being . . which provokes me to the following refleC

clumsinessand the just wrath of the foreman, I passed enacted in the world about me. And what with news tions. I a miserable existence. But all the time was learning paper work and the socialist local and the public library At eighteen,I went out into the world, a product of

—learning the nature of machinery, the necessity of and the conversation of my friends I began to be in the American public school system. I could read, write being careful, the disastrous results of inaccuracy. The some sort educated. a bad hand, do simple arithmetic with difficulty, and I foreman thought he was running a candy factory, and In this world outside of school I discovered, more had a smattering of history, geography, botany, chem a I I I thought was earning living; but was getting an over, what to do with my passion for ideas, my love of istry, algebfg,‘ geometry, Latin. I could not saw a

education which I ought to have got ten years before. argument, my fondness for books, which had been at board straight, nor carry a tune, nor repair a bicycle, I a oddity. the I school kind of honorable found for nor dance, nor sew on a button, nor pay a compliment, Of course was fired. The printing and lithographic first time an opportunity to use and develop these pas nor tie a shoestring so it would stay tied. I was very trades successively and for brief periods took up the sions, not as an idiosyncrasy, but as a part of the busi unlikely to know the name of any particular flower, burden of my education. A truck farmer most rashly ness of life. tree or bird. I was habitually unobservant of every sacrificed his melons and beans to the process. The

At eighteen I suffered the most bitter and poisonous thing that went on around me. public library helped along. And the socialist local I a

a humiliations in my contacts with world which had With this magnificent equipment for life, to which transformed me from shy and speechlessyouth into

a capable of expressing his thoughts in public. not been educatedto enter. At twenty-eight I have the the public schools of three American towns (of from person Teachers in the guise of novelists and playwrights gave self-confidence which comes from having done a few 2,000 to 40,000 inhabitants) had laboriously contrib

things successfully. Mathematics is farthest from my uted, I went out into the world. me notions about the world and about my place in it. if I And one day, very timidly, having just been fired from heart, and do not love machinery, but it were ab Now I have just been reading John and Evelyn a

I a solutely necessary for me to audit the books of bank Dewey's book, “Schools of Tomorrow,” and I find my latest job, went to newspaper office and asked

if I or fly from here to Boston in an aeroplane, the task there what I already suspected,that this was not an they had anything could do. To my great surprise

a would not seem so huge nor myself so ignominiously education at all. I find that my education began the and immense gratification, they made me reporter on

unequal to it as I once felt in undertaking some of the moment I left school. It began when, deceived by my the spot.

very simple things for which I was being If edu air of intelligence, a foreman offered me six dollars I was not, as may be imagined, the best reporter in paid. cation does not fit one to take part in the'activities of a week to run a cooker in a candy factory. the world; but I did know a little more about people it the world with a confident and joyous spirit, then is not education. mm".-_,

,u.""5"". h"Ml-~43"' "4- it v_ I the new theory of education, un— As understand dertakes to_turn out from the public schools young ...-.-,. ’ 'P' ...... zxwé I men and women who are all-around human beings; who NI _-t'I' I are strong, healthy, self—confident, acquainted with flowers, birds, trees, tools, machinery, knowing some thing the w0rld. They will have learned easily about

_many things, because there was a good reason for their learning them. They will learn arithmetic be— it a cause is part of life, and Latin (if they choose) becausethere are interesting things to read in that lan—

guage. They will go from school into a world which they will know how to deal with, because their school has been like the world. They will not have to go through the painful process of being educated by em— ployers who, after all, have other ends in view, and are not the most patient of teachers.

All this will presumably happen some time; it is hap pening here and there,—in Gary, Ind., in the colored district in Indianapolis, in Fairhope, Ala., and to the children of the rich in the Francis Parker school in

Chicago; But it would seem altogether improbable that anything so sensible should be generally done in our lifetime, except for the miraculous and hardly credible fact that in Gary the new system has been found to be cheaper than the old. New York City, on thhe verge of bankruptcy, con—

adoption of system. is such a siders the the Gary It I thing as only happens in fiction. if Of course, even it is adopted, it will have its im perfections. But the mere idea that New York City 1 may try, in however blundering a way, to make educa ' a _ ., tion a part of life and life part of education, makes ‘ if ~( Ime‘wonder I am not dreaming. 55 And then my friend speaks up and tells me that be if en? ‘4', _’!»;

cause the Gary system provides a couple of hours a

week in which children may, if their parents wish, go ,-.,~I' to the Catholic Church, to the Unitarian Church, or the Church of the Social Revolution, for religious in

..,'.|\~ ‘ , struction, instead of getting excused at some incon

. ‘

.: this, Drawn by MauriceBecker. venient time for the same purpose—because-of

my friend tells me it is an infamous scheme to intro “LET’S 00 our TO CENTRALPARK AND LOOKAT THE ANIMALS." duce religion into the public school system. a I “I CAN’T,I’ve cor T0 srunv MY zoomev.” Somehow am not bit alarmed. Generated on 2015-07-02 20:46 GMT / http://hdl.handle.net/2027/mdp.39015083927411 Public Domain / http://www.hathitrust.org/access_use#pd THF. MASSES 15

“That was three year back this last May. Yes,

Rosey Rosey’s had three since she’s been with me—but I Yellow Hair

ain’t sayin’ they’re all mine. If she says I put her out LBERTA SIMMONS wanted to swear out a war a she’s lying. She put my wife out, and I shouldn’t house stood high on its four legs, al rant for Perse Bogert. Perse had been living PEDRO’S been so weak. I knew that Ma of hern would make most the last straggler among the huts of the with Alberta’s daughter, Rosey, and things had gone a muss—the old Hairpin !—for I did chase her out. Portuguese mill hands which crept up to the marshes from bad to worse.

“Yesterday I did up the baking and fixed up some outside the town. For six months Pedro had ape Alberta was inclined to blame it on Rosey’s father.

vittles, and went to the city ter the Employment office proached it at the end of his mill day with a ritual. “She gets all this contraryness and not doing as says I fer a housekeeper. She’ll be here on the 5:11. And istic definiteness. His eyes on the ground, away the Bible and the law, from him: why, he’s living with got Guy Scott keeping the tail of his eye out for the from the sight of the cold, smokeless chimney, he Tess ‘Pricket down in Pacific County right today.” kiddies.” would climb the rickety steps to the door. He would There sat Alberta in the county prosecutor’s oflice, We saw them, and they were charmers. On the way stand there for a moment, listening. Then he would all perspirey and wriggley—clutching on to her shoe over, he said that the county would have to care for take from the scanty concealment of the old tomato

string bag for drear life. No getting around it, she them if he was sent up, and with that he cried and can the key to his house. Pushing open the door, he was dressed up—in a mammouthly checkered percale,

cussed quietly. would thrust his head forward, and make a halting,

and dragging a fine piece of millinery with all the We met the rural mail carrier, and Perse got three somber survey of the kitchen. Finally, having closed flowers that bloom in the spring on it. letters. He showed them all to me; all from Rosey, the door, he would walk across the room and look She wanted to know what charge she could bring it telling him of the sweet baby and how much looked into the tiny bedroom beyond. After a moment, with a against Perse. In order to determine this, it took a like him; how people would talk; he’d lost a good the dull movements of sleep walking pirate, he

good twenty minutes to get started at the right end; a friend—and the last one, “when can I come back?” would go about his routine of fire, supper, and bed. good twenty hanging Perse’s character; computefifteen C. S. To-night he stopped once as he neared the house. for celebrating the true goodness of the easily influ The air had a faint odor of smoke. He stared up at enced Virgin Rosey; thrown in frequent hiatuses for

his chimney; was there a wispy gray curl against the weeping, and an easy ten to put on the brakes. Then sky? In his haste he stumbled on the steps. The the prosecutor interrupted to tell her that Perse would tomato can was overturned. be arraigned before the grand jury during their present THE PENDULUM a Within came the creak of rocker on a bare floor. sitting—he supposed. The charge would be Adultery.— Y greatest grandsire was the Scythe, He pushed open the door and thrust his head for She went.‘ M That swung and swung and in its swing ward. The woman by the stove stopped rocking, In about three minutes she sneakedin again. “Would Lopped off, shore through, and left to writhe and

at a gutteral sound from Pedro, shrank back in her you drop me a card when you want me to come, and Each moribund and evil thing. chair. Pedro closed the door, and silently, his great

say a day or so in advance—I live up country some body contracting, crouching, he pulled himself across twe ty mile.”~She was assured vividly. (And I heard Men robbed me of my trenchant steel, the room to her. Beads of sweat stood out on his the'prosecutor sigh, “God’s hat and coat!”) Gave me a silly golden face,

swarthy forehead. The woman’s full lips parted in Late in the afternoon after court had lulled down, And fitted me to cog and wheel

a whimper; her pale blue eyes cringed under nar-r

and there came a pause in the day’s occupation—chiefly To swing forever in my place.

rowed eyelids. Pedro lifted his hand, a huge hand, fines for the illegal sale of liquor—the prosecutor had with crisp black hairs along the backs of the fingers. I just pulled out a fine smoke when in stalked the stalwart mark the night that creeps toward day, With the crooked forefinger he touched woman's Virgin, Rosey herself, and squatted. The day that tires of light and dies, the untidy light hair. This was her story. On Tuesday, when the baby Eternally I ticl: my way i” wasn’t two days old, Rosey had walked the three miles From compromiseto compromise, "He—he hit me she cried suddenly.

Pedro straightened, and a to town, for Perse had said, “You get out 0’ this here with stride reached the house with that brat and never show your God-awful Until the times grow sick of waste, door of the bedroom. On the low wooden bed slept

gozzle around here again.” This wasted strength that goes for nought, a child, one hand curled under his cheek, moist yellow hair about his face. Pedro pulled the edge

I Fanny “\Vhat was ter do ?” said Rosey. “I knew \And set me free and bid me taste of the tagged quilt over the child’s body, waited as Homley would take me in, so I had to walk in—just The blood of evil deed and thought. it stirred, and when it slept again, turned back into as weak as this here baby. Perse is nawthin’ short of the kitchen. a brute. I brought this here baby into the world Oh! some strong man shall whet my blade ” 0’ a a without a bit of help except table-leaf and piece And, singing, swingrme in the sun, “You bring him back—my boy he whispered,

rope—not a soul till Harry come home from school and Till all the tangles Man has made The fear had left the woman’s face. She nodded. I he fetched me a kittle 0’ hot water. covered the Are hacked and blazed, that he may run “You come back to me? You be my girl again? I baby up when he come, but he heard it—and I said Black Pedro’s girl?” There was a dogged humility in found it in the stove.” His spacious pathway, clean and clear, in Pedro’s dark eyes; the cords his throat were This touched the prosecutor—and hegave her some To where the holy city lies. taut. “You stay?”

silver and told her to get a feed, and asked me to send His soul no longer bound to veer “You’ll be good to me?” The woman's eyes glints Doc Foster to look her over. But Rosey was not From compromise to compromise. ed. She rose, tipping her head back to look up at through relating her biography. “It’s not the first time Ronmrr ROGERS. Pedro, her throat swelling white out of the dirty

he put me out—and all I done for him!” blouse, I

met I Perse was digging potatoes when “When you go—I say kill you—so!"

him, making from five to six dollars a day He held out his great clenched fists, shak

-not a union day, however. Perse was ing them. A grimace twisted the woman’s wiry, with a gaze, an unconscious artist in lips. “A Portuguese kill his woman. But his attitudes. His speech was sparse but you—different. Not Portuguese. Me— f 1 effectual. ‘\ I’m black—You—all white—and yellow i

He made a seat on the top of his spade hair.” _ handle, took in the seriousness of being _1 “Not many white women’d love you,“ W "

law, ./\ I confronted by an oflicer of the and A said the woman. slyly. “An’ fetched him Q //////// / \\\\\ 5/ \\\\\\ slowly unfolded his side. .LEIIIEEI‘ back." She pointed to the bedroom. “'F

~‘ “You see, Angeline Smith and me was Ax ’tadn’t been fer him, I’d been treated bet

r v"'r married some ten year back. Rosey came ter." _ ,I , along and never relaxed till she broke up / “You stay?” implored Pedro.~ I/ I our smooth traveling. \Vehad a nice “Sure.” The woman shrugged. “Set

/ \

. .l family, and after Rosey had been prowling down and I - _‘h—|\;_\\>\>'""'!’///7 eat our potatoes cooked. An‘ (fr/u a it after me for some time—guess was _-__. ‘ after supper—” she paused, a smile at . L— couple years—Aggie got hufly, and I never wwaww} one corner of her full lips. I seen her since.— THE REVOLUTION IS ON! HELEN R. HULL. Generated on 2015-07-02 20:46 GMT / http://hdl.handle.net/2027/mdp.39015083927411 Public Domain / http://www.hathitrust.org/access_use#pd . n.

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The old man had listed hundreds of the truths in The Book of the Grotesque his book. I will not try to tell you of all of them. There was the truth of virginity and the truth of HE writer, an old man with a white mustache, all drawn out of shape, hurt the old man by her passion, the truth of wealth and of poverty, of thrift had some difiiculty in getting into bed. The grotesqueness. When she passed he made a little and of profligacy, of carefulness and abandon. Hun I windows of the house in which he lived noise like a small dog whimpering. Had you come dreds and hundreds of truths there were and they were high and he wanted to look at the into the room you might have supposed the old man were all beautiful. trees when he awoke in the morning. A carpenter had unpleasant dreams or perhaps indigestion. And then the people came along. Each as be ap came to fix the bed so that it would be on a level peared snatched up one of the truths and some who For an hgur. the procession of grotesques passed were quite strong snatched up a dozen of them. with the window. before the eyes of the old man and then, although it was that made the people grotesques. The old Quite a fuss was made about the matter. The was a painful’thing to do, he crept out of bed and It carpenter, man had quite an elab0rate theory concerning the who had been a soldier in the Civil War, began to write. Some one of the grotesques had matter. was his notion that the moment one of came into the old writer’s room and sat down to talk made a deep impression on his mind and he wanted It the people took one of the himself, calling of building a platform for the purpose of raising to describe it. truths to

the bed. The writer had cigars lying about and the it his truth, and tried to live his life by it, he became .At his desk the writer worked for an hour. In a carpenter smoked. a grotesque and the truth he embraced became the end he wrote a book which he called “The book For a time the two men talked of the raising of falsehood. of the grotesque.” It was never published, but I the bed and then they talked of other things. The You can see for yourself how the old man, who saw it once and it made an indelible impression on soldier got on to the subject of the war. The writer, had spent all of his life writing and was filled with my mind. The book had one central thought that is in fact, led him to that subject. The carpenter had words, would write hundreds of pages concerning very strange and has always remained with me. By once been a prisoner in Andersonville prison and this matter. The subject would become so big in his remembering it I have been able to understand many had lost a brother. The brother had died of starva mind that he himself would be in danger of becoming people and things that I was never able to under I tion and whenever the carpenter got upon that sub a grotesque. He didn’t, suppose, for the same stand before. The thought was involved, but a ject he cried. He, like the old writer, had a white reason that he never published the book. It was the simple statement of it would be something like this: mustache, and when he cried he puckered up his lips young thing inside him that saved the old man. and the mustache bobbed up and down. The weep That in the beginning when the world was young Concerning the old carpenter who fixed the bed

ing old man with the cigar in his mouth was ludi there were a great many thoughts but no such thing for the writer, I only mentioned him because he, like crous. The plan the writer had for the raising of as a truth. Man made the truths himself and each many of what are called very common people, be

his bed was forgotten and later the carpenter did it truth was a composite of a great many vague came the nearest thing to what is understandableand in his own way and the writer, who was past sixty, thoughts. All about in the world were the truths lovable of all the grotesques in the writer's book. and they were all very Susawoou ANDERSON. had to help himself with a chair when he went to beautiful. bed at night. In his bed the writer rolled over on his side and lay quite still. For years he had been beset with notions concerning his heart. He was a hard smoker and his heart fluttered. The idea had got into his mind that he would sonie time die unexpectedly, and always when he got into bed he thought of that. It did not alarm him. The effect in fact was quite a special thing and not easily explained. It made him more alive, there in bed, than at any other time. Perfectly still he lay and his body was old and not of much use any more, but something inside him was altogether young. He was like a pregnant woman, only that the thing inside him was not a baby, but a youth. No, it wasn’t a youth, it was a woman, young and wearing a coat of mail like a knight. It is absurd, you see, to try to tell what was inside the old writer as he lay on his high bed and listened'to the fluttering of his heart. The thing to get at is what the writer, or the young thing within the writer, was thinking about. The old writer, like all of the people in the world,

had got during his long life a great many notions in (XLLuSHJE PA RK| his head. He had once been quite handsome and a number of women had been in love with him. And I then, of course, he had known people, many people, ( Will!

known them in a peculiarly intimate way that was different from the way in which you and I know people. At least that is what the writer thought, and the thought pleased him. Vv’hy quarrel with an old man concerning his thoughts? In the bed the writer had a dream that was not a dream. As he grew somewhat sleepy but was still conscious, figures began to appear before his eyes. He imagined the young, indescribable thing within THE mass es himself was driving a long procession of figures be— Ll BEL PROCEEDINGS fore his eyes. (— ’ You see, the interest in all this lies in the figures that went before the eyes of the writer. They were aer Ywmo’f all grotesque. All of the men and women the writer had ever known had become grotesques. Drawn by Arthur Young. The grotesques were not all horrible. Some were amusing, some almost beautiful, and one, a woman Madam. you dropped Something! Generated on 2015-07-02 20:46 GMT / http://hdl.handle.net/2027/mdp.39015083927411 Public Domain / http://www.hathitrust.org/access_use#pd 18 THE MASSES

THAT GOD MADE —A mother was compelled to leave home for a short “Raisingii Babies time, and, rather than take her six-months-old baby HIS is the Earth that God made. bathtub, an article entitled “Futurist Baby-Raising,” the out in a storm, decided to leave him in the These are the Timber and Coal and Oil IN New York Evening Post had a good deal of fun which she padded well with a blanket. She left the And Water Powers and fertile Soil it. at the expenseof the new co-operative apartment house baby’s pet, a big Newfoundland dog, to watch over That belong to us all in spite of the gall to be erectedby the Feminist Alliance in the vicinity of While she was gone, the dog, in playfully trying to Of the Grabbers and Grafters who forestall Washington Square. The plan, in its general outlines, reach its little playmate, turned the faucet, and the The natural rights and needs of all is the one suggested by Charlotte Perkins Gilman found, drowned, in a tubful of baby wasi presently Who live on the Earth that God made. fifteen years ago, and recently restated by the English water.

feminist, W. L. George, in his new book, “Woman and -—A woman who kept a boarding-house left her five— These are the Corporate Snakes that coil To-morrow.” According to the Post, “You put the year-old and her tow-year-old locked in a room for Around the Timber and Coal and Oil baby and the breakfast dishes on the dumbwaiter and safety, while she went on an errand. Fire broke out in And Water Powers and fertile Soil send them down to the central kitchen-nursery-kinder— the house; the five-year-old shattered a window-pane Which belong to us all in spite of the gall garten-laundry to be cared for until needed.” Since and got out, cutting himself severely; he was trying to Of the Grabbers and Grafters who forestall it appears further on in the article that the children’s pull his little brother through the opening when help The natural rights and needs of all apartments are “in the upper part of the house, with arrived. Who live on the Earth that God made. large French windows opening upon roof garden,” the —A woman, washing in the back yard, was driven to

previous description is probably a trifle inaccurate. such a pitch of nervous fury by the wailing of her These are the Lords of Mill and Mine But, since the risibilities of the Post are so stimu— two-year-old baby, begging to be “taken up” when she Who act as if they were divine, lated by the idea of Futurist baby-raising, we wonder was busy, that she seized a buggy-whip that lay near Who can’t read the writing on the wall how they would be affected by the following instances and lashed his legs. When she had finished her wash But admire the skill and excuse the gall of the present method, briefly retold from items clipped ing, she found that the baby had a high fever; she Of the Grabbers and Grafters who forestall from a single newspaper in a southern city, in the knew then what had caused its fretfulness, and she sat The rights natural and needs of all it course of one winter. All occurred in this one town, up with it all night. The next day died, and the Who live on the Earth that God made. or in the neighboring country and villages. poor mother went temporarily insane, repeating over —While three mothers were doing their family wash and over, “He was too little to run—he had to stand

ings in their back yards, three babies of the toddling up and take it l” These are the Parsons shaven and shorn age fell into the washtubs and were scalded to death. These cheerful incidents, which may be paralleled in Who tell the workers all forlorn —-A mother, at work on some household task, spilled any one of ten thousand newspapers throughout the To pray for contentment night and morn kerosene on her apron. A few minutes later a child country, may not prove the desirability of the new co And to bear and suffer to want and scorn cut her finger, and, as she’leaned against her mother’s operative apartment house. But they may be fairly And be lowly and meek and humbly seek lap while the wound was being bandaged, her own said to show two things: First, that the babies who For their just reward on the Heavenly shore, dress absorbed the kerosene. When she went near the suffer from the lack of maternal attention do not be But not on the Earth that God made. open fireplace, the dress caught fire, and she was long exclusively to emancipated mothers who have WILL HERFORD. burned to death. foresworn drudgery; and, second,' that the present

methods not being quite perfect, a futurist method may conceivably be as good—or better.

K. W. BAKER.

THE JOB SAW the young man with his wife on the day that

I he got news of his job. The long winter was over, and the Works that were shut down had opened their doors.

The wife was a slim, brown-haired young thing, mother of the month-old baby that lay in its crib. She was too pale for beauty, but the dawn rose in her face as the news was told.

They laughed aloud; they hugged each other, heedless of onlookers. Their faces transfigured with happiness. v 3-. were _'a They snatched the child from his cradle, and swung

him in his little blue blanket merrily to a hummed // dance-tune. --

’1". f. I have seen manifestations of exalted joy— The dithyrambic ecstasies of religious emotion,

g. The worshipper, passionate, pouring out his soul upon the choral tide of praise; %/ Lovers on their marriage morning, with faces brighter /. than its sunlight; The watcher vigil-worn to whom the doctor has just ”/ 1| said, “Your dear one will live ;” ll The mother dreaming goldenly above the face of her first-born: I l

Drawnby Arthur Young. But never have I seen joy purer in quality or in ex pression more beautiful

(Holding within it something of the rapture of all) Two Congressmen Who Are Not Afraid of the Administration, the Than that of the boy and girl over the good news of

a job. Kaiser or the Munition Manufacturers ELIZABETH WADDELLL. Generated on 2015-07-02 20:46 GMT / http://hdl.handle.net/2027/mdp.39015083927411 Public Domain / http://www.hathitrust.org/access_use#pd I9

' ark--arm»,_.. .if“ a“)'5;..v—_'v~\\\'<.$“va~_ -

. ..,_- 9. I'9 1",};

-~r‘ av Drawn by Stuart Davis.

PATRIOTISM—ACCORDING TO WILSON"S MESSAGE

Employees : “What about this. Sir :7“ \\ The BOSS 1 “Sure. you‘ll be working for me as much there as here.

" Osborne cidentally, has presidential aspirations, and Mr. Os Osborne is bigger than his book. I got the book

borne may appear to loom dangerously as a rival; on from him when I first visited Auburn after my release HE enemies of Prison Reform have determined on a the other hand, man with presidential aspirations can from Blackwell’s Island, and I saw the results of his the destruction of Thomas Mott Osborne, and I not openly abet a schemelike this against Mr. Osborne. work before I read the book. am glad I did, for his

they will stop at nothing. It is significant of their Pity the politician! work far outstrips his book. methods that William VVillett, who was sentenced to a it It is book that ought to be read because shows

prison for buying a judgeship, is reported to be con— Osborne the man, though only the beginnings of Os ducting the prosecution from behind the scenes, and OSIDOI‘I‘ICQS BOOk borne the prison reformer. FRANK TANENBAUM. being given the aid of the district attorney’s office in SBORNE’S book shows a man who simply cannot his effort to break up the Mutual Welfare League by regard prisoners through the cold medium of

It Be compelling Mr. Osborne to reveal privileged confes abstract theory. They are human beings to him—men. As Should sions made to him as warden. Failing in' this, they is His book1 the result of a short experience as a of revolutionary progress comes from Ham NEWS

have now gone to the length a of charging Mr. Osborne prisoner. He learned a great deal in that short time. ilton, 0., where during machinists’ strike the with “unmentionable crimes.” This may be the hys “All I did,” Mr. Osborne said to me, speaking of Sing Socialist mayor, Fred A. Hinkel, swore in forty union

teria of those who fear they are beaten, or it may be Sing, “was to remove the unnatural and unnecessary men as special policemen, to protect the lives and prop the insolence of those who know they can put over restrictions upon their liberty of movement and action, erty of the strikers from the gunmen, gangsters and

anything on the public. it Is possible at this day to so far as I could within prison walls. And all the thugs imported by the Sheriff to serve the employers. a destroy man and his work for society with the hiss things you see here are the results of their own efforts The spectacle of organized labor patrolling a strike ing whisper of “unmentionable crimes”? city, disorderly

We think It to help themselves.” is this lesson that he learned bound and strike-breakers arrested for it not; but will be necessary for all those who con while serving his week in Auburn. conduct and disturbance of the peace, is one which sider themselves friends of progreSs to stand behind appeals strongly to our sense of ironic humor, of jus Mr. Osborne in this struggle. in 1“Within Prison Walls,” by Thomas Mott Osborne. D. tice, Governor 8; \Vhitman. Appleton Co. $1.62postpaid. MassesBouk Store. and of revolutionary propriety. Generated on 2015-07-02 20:46 GMT / http://hdl.handle.net/2027/mdp.39015083927411 Public Domain / http://www.hathitrust.org/access_use#pd // 20 THE MASSES /‘ "\ ’ 'INTROVEASION / To the Editor: // I havebeenreadingthat delightfulbunchof letters,and it From Vida D. Scudder within, Soul, What do you seek 0 myyher? impelsme to projectmyselfinto your solar luminositywith "‘ - ’ ' To theEditor: Whatdo youseekwithin? / my bow-wowand my waggingtail—asort of sun-dog,you see. die, With “inwardglee"if not with “seriousfaith,” I readyour Hseeka life thatshallnever \Vell, I, too, like \‘ida. Scudder,am a teacher,one of the Somehavento win system; Talk on EditorialPolicy,whereinyou print lettersfrom candid lights of the great,renownedBostoneducational and Frommortality. I know the systemso well that for the pastten yearsI have friends,includingmyself,neutralizingeachother. Theyaregood I felt my wageswerepaid me to makeobscuritymore obscure. fun. Whatdo youfindwithin,0 Soul,my Brother. But whatcanI do? liut I am movedto tell you something.It is aproposof a Whatdo youfind within? I thank God there is a paper like yours that can help me, your letterfromCaliforniaandyourcommenton it. Here is partof' I findgreatquietwhereno noisescome. awakenthe dopeddupesI am hired to make. To Without,theworld'sdin: picturesare the most admirableof the kind publishedin letter: the Silencein myhome. America,uniformly excellent. How can anyonefail to get "Manyof uswhoareChristianscanstandfor theChurchbeing the satirein “Puttingthe BestFoot Forward.” It is splendid, madea targetof abuse,butwefeelthattheline shouldbedrawn if one has any realizationof life. And as for the conversa Whom'do you find within, () Soul, my Brother? with God—theyare delicious. I wish you wouldpublish somewhere.Keep hammeringaway at the failure of us who Whomdo you find within? tions one everyissue. Blasphemy!Not a bit of itl To me, it professfaith in the Lord Christ,—Weneed it. out I find a Friend thatin secretcame: Jesus simplyshowsup the(absurdityof the God the hyprocritesand His scarredHandswithin pleasedo not serveup in your columnsany moresucharticles pretendersto Christianityhavemanufacturedto aid their com He shieldsa faintflame. as that to whichI havereferred,whichalienatewithoutbene mercialschemes. 1.

fiting.” ' And hereis your comment. What wouldyou do within, 0 Soul, my Brother? To theEditor: What wouldyou do within? I feel that it is tremendouslyimportantfor‘ THE MASSES Sucha letter one can hardlyanswerat all, so remoteis its Bar doorandwindowthatnonemaysee: to go on, and to go strong. It is a uniqueand necessary view-point,and yet so warmits goodwill. It is as if a being Thatalonewemaybe \ institution,and does enormousgood. Some peoplesay it from someotherplanetarysystemshouldwrite in, askingwhy I (_A'lone!faceto face doesnot reachthe unconvinced;that is rot. Its art and its we assumethat every heavything drops to the earth. We v In thatflame-litplace!) wit lure lots of unwillingsoulsto the edgeof the abyss,and wonderhow this beingwho lives underthe Lord as an Jesus Whenfirstwebegin they look down into it, it looks so devilishinteresting;and anthropomorphicGod, ever wanderedinto the orbit of THE To speakonewithanother. whenthe devil reachesup and nails them,they succumbwith MAssss—andyet, now that he is there,we wouldlike to hold hardlya shriek. AMOS_PINCHOT. his interestandfaith,for heevidentlyhasa littlefaithin us. EVELYNUNDERHILL. o Now, whatI wantto tell you is that you haveno causefor surprisein the sympathyof “this being”for THE Masses. He doesnot standalone. It is hightimefor you to recognizethat anti-Churchradicalsdo not absorbradicalismany more than Church-membersabsorbChristianity. The old creedsare not dead,thoughimpassionedbelieversin themare not often met, accordingto my experience,in “culturedBoston”or its suburbs -—oranywhereelse. They exist,however,thesebelievers—~men and womenwhoconsiderthemselves,not merelywith you, ad mirersof a deadmartyr-hero,but disciplesof a Living Lord. Amongthesedisciplesa considerablenumberfind the pungent andpeneratingtreatmentof Churchianityandcivilizationin THE MASSESas welcomeas flowersin May. Theyagreewithyou not all thetime,but muchof thetime,andtheygivethanksfor you ‘ andwishtheywerecleverenoughto do so too. For amongthosewhoknowan interiorunionwith the Living Christ (pardonthe strangelanguage)He is manifestmoreand ' moreas theChristof theRevolution. Of course,this visionof Him waslongobscured.But it has neverbeenlost. In theunpromisingEighteenthCentury,William Blakedefiantlyproclaimedit: “The visionof Christ whichthoudostsee Is myvision’sgreatestenemy, BothreadtheBible(layandnight, But thoureadestblackwhereI readwhite. Where’erHis chariottook its wa . The gatesof deathlet in the day'— So longas theGospelsare readaloudSundayafterSundayin Church,the visioncan’tbe lost. It bidesits time,it findsits own. it is mostcompellingto-dayamongthosewho believe,— theyreallydo, I assureyou,—thatHe whowasexecutedby the combinedforces of the religious,intel'ectualand governing classesof His day.is to betheJudgeof thehumanrace. In gentlyassumingthatno intelligentpersonwhoenjoysTHE MASSESholdsthis extraordinaryhope,Mr. Editor, you are pro vincial. Pleasesocializeyour mind! Pleaseopenimaginationto the factof whichI infor'my0u,~—thatthereare plentyof people readyto standshoulderto shoulderwith you in the fightfor a clean,just, democraticcivilization,whogetauthenticinspiration fromsourcesclosedto you. And don'tsneerat their sanctites; it isn’t‘worthwhile. The mostseemingobsoleteformulais likely to havea sacredheartbeatingin it. It hasmeant,at all events, somethingprofoundin humanexperience.Were I in Buddha land,I shouldnevermakefun of eventhemostcrudeandpopu lar forms of Buddha-worship.Were I amongthe Turks, I should say my_prayersin the Mosques-alwayssupposing(I am hazyon this point)—thatthey would admita lady. THE MASSESflivesin a countrywherea greatdealof realChristianity survives—thoughI confessthatappearancesrathercontradictthe assertion. It wouldn’tdo you a bit of harmto showa little respectfor it. For the amazingtruth of the old Christian formulmis plainto theexperienceof thousands,and greattides of Christianmysticismare risingto refreshthearid soulsof our generation. I hardlyexpectyou to be interestedin all this. And nobody ‘IStrying to convertyou. You are doinga lot of goodjust whereyou are, and we all haveeternity,and possiblylots of lives aheadevenon earth,in whichto learn thingswe don't know. lint as we muddlealongtogether,it shouldbe possible to believepeoplewhotell us thattheyseea lightwe don't,and to acceptthemcourteoustas fellow-pilgrimstowardthe City of Equity. 1 At the end of your remarks,you quotea poem. you \Vil'l ' print thc_enclosedor is its languagetoo alien? The experience at whichit hintsis as realas one’sdinner,or as revolutionary propaganda. Fraternal'lyyours, Drawn by CorneliaBarns. \ VIDAD. Scupnss. Wellesley,Dec. 4, SecondSundayin Advent. REQUIEM Generated on 2015-07-02 20:46 GMT / http://hdl.handle.net/2027/mdp.39015083927411 Public Domain / http://www.hathitrust.org/access_use#pd THE MASSES 21

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unsmuu LIZ] THE MASSES BOOK STORE LIZ]

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