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Bon Marche
CAROLINA'S MAIL ORDER HOUSE ASHEVILLE, N. C.
GREAT VARIETY OF SPRING STOCKS NOW ON DISPLAY
Every Department in this great store is fairly teeming over with the new things for the incoming season. The stock is especially rich in fine grade cotton fabrics, such as embroidered voiles, handsome crepes, imported ginghams. You choose here from a stock of cotton goods, that ranges in price from 10c to $5 yard.
In SILKS we show taffetas, poplins, crepe de chines, etc., in the new colorings, that include Belgian blue, sand, putty, battle- ship gray and the new blue shades. The best dress silks come wide, 36 to 40 inches, and sell at $1 to $2.50 yard. Coverts, in the various weights and grades, are much in demand for Spring and our showing depicts the very newest ideas in wool fabrics.
SPRING GARMENTS DISPLAYED IN OUR NEW DEPARTMENT
During the past month, we have completely remodeled our Ready-to-wear Department. Huge revolving cabinets and unit display cases have taken the place of racks and counters, until every item of Ready-to-wear is shown behind a dust proof, modern glass case or cabinet. Our motto is progress, we are never satisfied with good enough.
Wooltex suits and coats are shown here — and from the silk underskirts, waists, on up to the hai;idsomest evening gown, you'll find quality running hand in hand with reasonable prices and value and service our chief aim.
BON MARCHE
WRITE FOR SAMPLES
ASHEVILLE, N. C.
Please Mention This Magazine When Answering Advertisements
liH
SKY- LAN D
STORIES OF PICTURESQUE NORTH CAROLINA
The People's Magazine
c
Volume 2 MARCH, 1915 Number 1
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
Page
Foreword— The Old North State ...R. E. Walker 2
Frontispiece — Major James S. Scales. 4
Editorial Comment.
The End is Justice...- Santford Martin ' 5
Behind the Sword the Omnipotent ...Al. Fairbrother 6
Religion and War .— James H. Caine 7
Has the Cloud a Silver Lining? Thomas Williams Chambliss 8
The New Door of Opportunity in Export Trade.... James A. Greer 11
Belgium the Vicarious Sufferer ..William Laurie Hill 14
To Sky-Land's Readers , 15
" Is the SKY-L.A.ND Magazine Subsidized?".... 16
Agitators and the Unemployed ...... 23
Carolina — A Poem... : ... William Eyre Brierley 24
A Chant of Hate — Translation ...Barbara Henderson 26
A Remarkable Translation .....: ... .Contributed 26
Special Articles. ' r ■;
Four Men and a Nymph in Pisgah Forest... „..._.... ...Hilliard Booth 28
The Man Who Saw Lincoln Assassinated ....!......':... .....Walter H. Candler 35
The Carolina Sandhills ■. :..., : ...Bion H. Butler 38
Discovering Carolina (A Poem) ... Mary Groome McNinch 42
The Romance of Carolina's Industrial Metropolis J. L. Ludlow 43
The Story of the Gold Producing Weed G. E. Webb 47
Road Work in North Carolina..... , __.-_:......_. Joseph Hyde Pratt 52
In North Carolina's Calcium Light.
O. Henry ;......... ,. C. Alphonso Smith 54
Winter King — (A Poem) ..; . ... .:;.-..^. .•....■..-...•...]■.. ....Charles Godfrey Leland 63
Fiction. ::
From Whose Bourne? . ...!.._..!. .-.:... :.....;/.:...:..". ...Mary C. Robinson 64
The Strength of the Hills „.....,.:...,:. .;-,■....:,,... ..'..v;V.5.a.-- - .-ZpE Kincaid Brockman 66
A Visit to "Mammy" ^-:... .'.!... ^'.■...;r.;.'.'.'..^!.'...'..-h-. ...... Joseph Riddick Estes 69
The Prize Picture °. ........ ::..,^.. ......£.■.. ..:.... .,....:. ...S. Elizabeth 74
The Song of the Falls — (A Poem) ...Annie T. Colcock 83
Industrial Section.
A Letter ...By Constance Lovejoy 84
Book Reviews.
The Mountain Girl — Author: Payne Erskine ' " 86
-^ n
FOREWORD
By R. E. Walker
Carolina, O my mother!
Swelling blood-tides in my heart Tell thee of my soul's emotion
When I think on what thou art; Bursting tears between my eyelids,
Trembling lips in silent prayer Tell thee of a heart's devotion
That must all thy sorrows share.
Thou indeed, I know, art noble:
All the ages live in thee. All there is of song and story.
All there is of history; God has poured into thy being
David and Thermopalae, And the Tiber's ancient glory
Arches plainly over thee.
I remember all thy being:
Thou wert born beside the sea, Thou didst kill a thousand Redmen
For the lands that nourish thee, Thou didst strike the English tyrant
Boldly for thy liberty. Thou didst leave a million dead men
On the fields of Sixty-three.
Thou hast borne a corpse of penance
Fouler than the Albatross, Thou hast risen all victorious
From the North's ignoble cross; But, forgetful in thy struggle
To retrieve material loss. Thou art dying now, inglorious.
On a base commercial cross.
Carolina, O my mother!
Think of thy nobility. Of the sacred blood of ages
That the race has left to thee,, Turn thee from thy sordid treasure
Rise thee from the golden tree, Save thy soul, born of the ages,
For thy great posterity.
S K Y- L AN D
STORIES OF PICTURESQUE NORTH CAROLINA
The People's Magazine
Volume 2 MARCH, 1915 Number 1
Entered as Second-Class Matter at the Postoffice at Winston-Salem, N. C, Under the
Act of March 3, 1879
MAE LUCILE SM ITH _ Editor and Owner
Published Every Month
Sent by A4ail, One Year One Dollar
Single Copies Fifteen Cents
ADVISORY BOARD
Locke Craig Governor of North Carolina
Josephus Daniels Secretary of the Navy
Lee S. Overman .United States Senator
F. M. Simmons United States Senator
Joseph Hyde Pratt. State Geologist.
W. A. Erwin, President Durham Cotton Manufacturing Company Durham, N. C.
Julian S. Carr, Manufacturer and Banker..... .Durham, N. C.
J. Harper Erwin, Secretary and Treasurer Pearl Cotton Mills.... ...Durham, N. C.
J. C. Pritchard Judge United States Circuit Court of Appeals
S. B. TANNER, President Henrietta and Carolene Mills Charlotta, N. C.
John E. Ennis, M. D St. Petersburg, Fla.
R. M. WiLLCOX President Greater Hendersonville Club, Hendersonville, N. C
R. R. Haynes ....; President The Cliffside Mills, Cliffside, N. C.
W. A. Smith .' President Laurel Park Electric Railway, Hendersonville, N. C.
L. L. Jenkins President American National Bank, Asheville, N. C.
F. E. Durfee President Citizens Bank, Hendersonville, N. C.
B. Jackson President The People's National Bank, Hendersonville, N. C.
The cover page and entire contents of this Mag.\zine are protected by copyright, and must not be reprinted without the publisher's permission.
MAJOR JAMES S. SCALES Pioneer Tobacconist and Citizen of Winston-Salem, N. C.
SKY-LAND MAGAZINE
EDITORIAL COMMENT
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The End is Justice.
(By Santford Martin, Editor of The Winston-Salem Journal)
1\ /Ten who are big enough to think -^^ ^ in terms of Nations and races must stagger and stumble and fall, when they come to predict the outcome of the conflict now raging in half the world. Events that have transpired in Europe during the last few months are too big for men to interpret. If Glad- stone, even, were here today his states- man's mind would stand appalled before the horror of it all and he, like all the rest, could only wonder what the end will be. Nations are in their death throes and Nations are in the borning. But which are dying and which are being born no man can tell. The his- torian of the hour sees through a glass darkly. A hundred, two hundred, five hundred years from now he may be able to tell what it all meant. For the plan is divine and Divinity is working it out. Man has loosed the dogs of war in accordance with a plan not of his own making. The Heavens are shaping the destiny of Europe, and only God knows what the future holds. All that is left for us is to imagine and sur- mise.
Tolstoi predicted everything. A short while before he died the great Russian writer, philosopher and friend of man penned a prophecy, which, read today in the light of all that has transpired in the last three years, takes on new mean- ing and becomes almost as weird as it is impressive. In those prophetic lines Tol-
stoi said that Europe was on the verge of a stupendous death struggle. He said there would first be a little war in the Balkans, starting in 1912 and end- ing before the year was out; and that then the big war would begin, involving all the Nations of Europe, and would continue with such horrors as the world had never witnessed, until about the end of the year 1915, when a new Napoleon would come out of the North. A new type of man this chieftain would be, not like the old Napoleon, except as a master of men. This man would not be a warrior, but rather a thinker and a man of peace. And he would unite the Nations of the old world into a United States of Europe. Tolstoi's vision has proved true to life so far. Before the year is done we shall know whether the prophet looked far enough behind the curtain to see all or only a part of the drama.
Not two months ago another man, an astrologer whose name escapes us just now, read the stars and declared he found therein an open book. Among the things he saw and foretold at the tirhe was a great calamity befalling Italy and preventing her from joining forces with the Allies to crush Germany. He said that this would occur in the early part of 1915. Another thing he saw was a victorious German army and that the Kaiser would not live to see the final triumph of his people, which would come in the year 1917. The earthquake in Italy has fulfilled the first prediction of the astrologer.
SKY-LAND MAGAZINE
This is interesting and is, perhaps, quite as authentic as any information that can be given regarding the outcome of the war. But we should not lose faith because we cannot see. We be- lieve that right will triumph, always. Out of the maelstrom of suffering and horror and death we cannot but believe that a new Europe will rise, greater and grander than the old — a new and a different civilization, in which crowns will no longer glitter, scepters will no longer wave and thrones will be known no more forever. The ultimate victors in this death struggle, whether Allies or Germans, will be the people. The com- mon man is in the trench — the common man of Britons, Franks, Teutons and Slavs. The common man will stand face to face with Death and after that kings will look small to him and courts will lose their glamour.
There are four million Socialists in Germany. If they were in America they would be Democrats. They stand for the rights of the common man. We take no stock in the prophecies of the astrologer. The stars, we fancy, are too busy with their own affairs to meddle with those of this little planet. But there is food for thought in the prediction that the German army ulti- mately will be victorious and that the Kaiser will not live to see the triumph. After the Kaiser what? The answer is easy. After the Kaiser the common man. For over a century the people of Europe have struggled for liberty. They are fighting now for justice. The same may be said of America, the only difference being in the method of war- fare used. In Europe they are fighting with bullets; in America we are fighting with ballots. But the end for all will be the same. The end will be justice for the common man.
Behind the Sword the Omnipotent
(By Al Fairbrother, Editor Everything)
T AM asked to give Sky-Land an edi- -'- torial expression on any particular phase of the European situation, from any stand-point. This is certainly an assignment broad enough to allow one to disport himself in the wide seas of imagination — but unhappily there is no phase of the European situation worth considering by a writer for the press.
Theory, theory, theory! Even the grim strategists of war have been non- plussed, and reason has taken to the woods. If the allies win, and Germany is reduced from a Nation to Nothing — if she is wiped from the map of the world, and the nations which fought her and conquered her reach out greedy hands and take to themselves all the territory gained — nothing will have been accomplished. Contrawise, should Ger- many win and bring the proud enemies to her feet and demand and receive all kinds of indemnity, take and set up for herself and by herself all of Europe and call it Germany — and the Kaiser could command the world — nothing would have been gained — because so long as men people the earth — war will exist, and the fortunes of war are not unlike the fortunes of other enterprises. The elements of chance enter all things ter- restrial— and no matter how long the lane, there must sometime be a turn.
When the war is over there will be a million or mayhap ten million less of men; there will be disorder; there will be sorrow, poverty and distress — and there will be those to wear the medals and there will be monuments builded commemorating these human butcheries — and the hands on the dial of the great clock of time will record the fact that the world has been set back a thousand years in her commercial progress — but that is all.
SKY-LAND MAGAZINE
There can be no peace so long as men multiply. Health officers work for a decrease in the death rate; things sani- tary are commended and demanded ; great orators preach for peace and the abandonment of sword and gun — for- getting that their theory is the man made moral law which they would up- hold— but in upholding it violate the natural law of creation.
Were we to have no wars; were we to have perfect health and men and women lived to be two and three hundred years of age as their ante-diluvian for- bears lived — were there no cataclysms — how soon, how very soon, would the world be so crowded with humanity that pestilence would come and per- haps depopulate the world?
How long the sons of men have en- gaged in battle against each other, we have no history to enlighten us. The Scripture seems to have recorded noth- ing until Nimrod, the founder of the Babylonish empire made invasions on the territories of his neighbors. He was ambitious and wanted power. Of course we all know that before the flood, when Cain imbrued his hands in his brother's blood — war was first on. But Nimrod set the pace and then fol- lowed the bloody train of the Alex- anders, the Caesars, the Hannibals, the Tamerlanes, the Marlboroughs, the Fredericks, the Bonapartes, the czars, the kaisers, the presidents and the people, driving their engines of destruc- tion and devastation through the world, putting to shame a Chicago packing house by the number of its slaughtered victims — justifying these atrocious mur- ders, and assuring the widows and the orphans that their husbands and fathers had not died in vain!
And no matter if the Hague sends out its preachments every minute in the day; no matter how much we talk or
write or pray for universal and world- wide peace our petitions will go for naught and our prayers cannot be answered. Why? Because of that eternal law — the survival of the fittest — the primal law that might makes right. It has been computed, for an illustra- tion that during the last 22 years of the reign of that unspeakable and bloody tyrant Jenghiz-Kahn, in the nations of the east, fifteen million persons were butchered by this one fiend in human shape. And it has been further con- servatively estimated that there have been killed in wars some twenty thous- and millions of human beings — enough to populate twenty worlds, such as ours. And suppose there had been always peace. Suppose that Science, with her goggles and her make-believe had pre- served life to the period she now claims she expects to do — where, pray, would all these beings have found room to even stand? Therefore I reverently stand uncovered before this mighty theatre of war now on in Europe, and while I see suffering and see deeds of bravery and hear the moans and groans of the dying; see them lying in the trenches shivering and starving; see the soldiers turn cold eyes to a colder sky — yet on this frightful and repulsive field of carnage I see God, in His Power and His Glory, and know, without under- standing why, that it is as it should be — therefore it were useless for me to specu- late upon cause or effect.
Religion and War.
(By James H. Caine, Editor of The Ashevflle Citizen)
TF the frightful slaughter which has -'- devastated Europe for the last seven months furnishes food for re- flection at all, it must cause one to
SKY-LANDMAGAZINE
dwell on the relation of religion to war. The European war of itself, to say nothing of its signal atrocities and at- tendant horrors, has caused humanity to wonder if, after all, Christianity has failed in its mission, and whether or not the civilizing influences we have at- tributed to religion have fallen short of the mark. Men wonder how it is that despite the principles and teachings of religious faith, murder and slaughter by the wholesale are carried on under the guise of Christianity, and the blas- phemous spectacle of invoking the Deity to lend a hand in the carnage is witnessed in high places. Perhaps the truth lies in the fact that religion of itself has not fallen short, but that the responsibility lies in man's failure to live up to its principles and teachings. It is well enough to sit in the "amen corner", smug and content with the individual lot, with no care for others. Did nations and men live up to the teachings of Christ, war would not be made at the bidding of a single prince or potentate
There is nothing in Christianity or its teachings to justify murder, individually or by the thousands. It is purely the institution of a godless humanity, and it has survived, as all human error has survived, since the Tragedy of the Cross. It seems, indeed, that countless spirits in the world of religion have labored in vain to establish peace among men. The late Pope Pius X spent his life in the effort to maintain universal peace; he prayed for it, even up to his dying hour. Seeing how mis- erably he had failed, he turned his face to the wall and died of a broken heart.
We repeat that religion cannot hope to exercise an influence for peace until it becomes stronger in practice than in theory. For centuries the wickedness of warfare has been taught from the
pulpit and the rostrum, yet men still sacrifice their lives on fields of shame and horror without seeking a better method of settling disputes. They have not yet realized that differences between nations cannot be rightly settled by force of arms. Therein lies the great tragedy of the greatest and bloodiest conflict the world has ever known. The negotiations which must eventually ensue could have accom- plished just as much as they will ac- complish had they been undertaken before a single life was offered as a sacrifice to the lust of imperialism. The thousands of nameless dead whose bones lie rotting on the blood-soaked fields of Belgium and France will count for nothing when the final terms of peace shall be written.
Has the Cloud a Silver Lining?
(By Thomas Williams Chambliss)
TT^IGHT months of world war — the -'— ' like of which the world has never seen and never expected to see. Com- ing at the time in the world's history when world-wide peace was beginning to be a well worn phase and when all nations were united, as they presumed, in an alliance for perpetual peace.
Darkness has been over the land for eight months — the clouds are heavy still, they are black like night, there is no apparent break. Have those clouds any silver lining?
So full of horror, so much of cruelty; so many deep, long gloomy trenches of buried, unmarked dead; so many homes forever wrecked ; so many orphaned and starving children; so many widows, whose hearts may never smile again — it seems almost reckless to suggest the possibility of a silver lining to the dark clouds that hover over Europe.
SKY-LAND MAGAZINE
Those clouds are a long ways off, you say. Is Europe so far away? Even though there are miles of salt water between us and the shadowed people of the suffering nations — they are close akin to many of us. In truth, hundreds of thousands of the people of this land are so near of kin that hearts bleed over here for personal reasons. If the news bureaus were able to publish the lists of the lost in battle, hundreds of thousands of our neighbors would mourn.
Life is a strange blending of joy and sorrow; of hope and despair; of purity and sin. In the midst of the terrible struggle of m_en and nations; without consideration of the causes leading up to the present terrific contest; without effort to judge motive of master or ac- tion of man; in the midst of the greatest war in the history of the world ; it is possible to see just a bit of silver lining.
Standing afar off, watching the con- flict; the observer must acknowledge the magnificient display of devotion — devotion to leader and devotion to land. Without personal consideration; without a moment of delay; without a thought of criticism; millions of men have dropped their personal affairs and catching their guns from the racks have gone forth to do or to die. They have not looked back.
When millions of men are so devoted to their leaders and their lands, there is good — good in such men.
Then there are millions of women — they could not bear arms but they could bear sorrow. They smile at their men as they march away and they take up the tasks of the men at home and smiling still are equally as devoted to their leaders and their lands.
The cloud has a silver lining. The dark side of the cloud is the clearer — but it has a lining.
But there is more for consideration.
Not many weeks ago a tourist re- turned from Russia, left the land of the Great Bear after war had been in prog- ress several months. According to the tourist, Russia is in the midst of a surg- ing wave of religious fervor. The people of all classes and of both sexes are flocking to the churches for worship and their bearing seems to suggest in- tense earnestness. Following a personal investigation, the Czar of Russia has brought about absolute prohibition in the nation. One who is better posted than others — George Kennon writes recently of the changed conditions. He said, "All Russia is filled with enthusiasm and gratitude. As if by the waving of a magic wand, drunkenness, debauchery, wild cries, disputing and fighting have ceased in the streets of both villages and towns. Factories and workshops are filling their orders with promptness and accuracy. In households long accus- tomed to poverty, strife, drunken quar- rels and blows, there are now peace and quiet. The very face of Russia, long disfigured by alcholic excess, seems to have been transformed and ennobled."
There is a silver lining to the black cloud of war.
It is a touching story that comes from France, and the story comes through a correspondent to the London Times. This correspondent is in Paris and he says, "One result of the war is a distinct revival of religion in France. The so-called "clerical peril" has dis- appeared from the popular imagination. Everywhere priests have been dis- tinguished for their heroism and patri- otic devotion. Several have died on the field of battle and others are among the wounded." Commenting on the reports from France, the London Times says, editorially, "No feature of the war has been more striking than the
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SKY-LAND MAGAZINE
religious feeling it has evoked. We shall be surprised if the war and the pro- spiritual emotions it has kindled are not attended by a quickening and deepen- ing of religious feeling in England as well as in France."
There is a silver lining to the black cloud of war.
Then there is Germany. From a church official, comes this message of hope. "The soldiers are now receptive as they never were before and if a living faith could be implanted in their hearts now, it would mean a change in our whole national life."
But there is still another witness. Prof. August Lange, of the University of Halle, Germany, is thus quoted in the Baptist World of Louisville, Ky. "The churches are full and overflow- ing as they have not been for decades. Religious sentiment, among the masses seems to have taken on a new lease of life." Another correspondent writes, "A new religious earnestness has come upon our nation. It is retracing its way to the God of our fathers and therewith to the best source of its strength. There is a stern protest against the frivolity and coarseness of the past. Our faith would never have thought such a change possible and it is a wonderful joy to see such a holy awakening."
There is a silver lining to the black cloud of war.
How about America? What is to be the result of the cloud? Does the black cloud which hovers over Europe and shadows this country in a large measure, have a silver lining towards America?
America is learning a peculiar lesson. We had never realized our dependence on others. Capable of feeding and clothing ourselves, it had never dawned upon us that in a moment, with the flash of the telegraph spark, with a single message of a single word, our
commerce, our business, our finances, — our very life could be paralyzed. But it was so. When the word — WAR — caught our eyes that hot summer day of Nineteen Hundred and Fourteen — the result was paralysis.
America raises her food and can make her clothes. But America does more — she raises a surplus and upon this sur- plus she depends. She must sell it and the brothers across the Sea have been buying it. America has learned a lesson — it was a hard lesson, and the learning hurt, but it was good for America. It is the lesson of economy. America has been spending money too lavishly. Living too high. Hence the deep hurt all through the summer and winter days. Especially is this true of the Cotton states. The cotton states must be more careful, cultivate more of varied crops, buy more economically, live more at home and be less dependent.
There is a silver lining to the black cloud of war.
But there is another vision. The world is but a grouping of individuals. It is hard to teach an individual except by example. So with the world. Indi- viduals do not easily change their ways. Experience, hard, hurting experience will persuade individuals to change their habits. So with nations. This terrible conflict is a hard, hurting ex- perience with every nation. No matter who wins, the result is likely to be the same — an abandonment of militarism. Not absolutely, at first, not entirely for a long time, but it will come. Out of all this carnage; all this cruelty; all this sacrifice; there will come democracy. The common people will come into their own. It Avill cost suffering, sorrow, blood — but it will come.
There is a silver lining to the black cloud of war.
SKY-LAND MAGAZINE
11
The New Door of Opportunity in Export Trade.
(By James A. Greer, Editor The Textile Manu- facturer)
'E CANNOT forecast the final re- sult of the great war now rag- ing in Europe, but we are beginning to realize that this war, whether it con- tinues long or comes to an abrupt close shortly, has opened a new door of op- portunity to American export trade.
We shudder at the harrowing details of the battles that are being fought, and scan the daily newspaper to learn as best we may the results of the mighty conflict.
As a peace-loving nation we stand awe-stricken, as we gaze upon the awful carnage that is being waged for com- mercial supremacy, we are told among hitherto peaceful neighbors.
As much as we deplore the present struggle, and as hard as we shall strive to remain neutral, we cannot ignore the fact that our country, as a whole, is to reap a harvest of new business in export trade. Business that in the very nature of things could not have been ours but for this cruel war.
Deploring the war, however, will not and does not justify us in refraining from accepting the opportunity that has been thrust upon us to reach out and get this world trade.
Having this opportunity before us it becomes our privilege, even our duty, to grasp this trade and to build it up, foster and nourish it, for the general welfare of our country and our posterity.
In securing this trade to ourselves, we do not necessarily act upon the cold principle that, "They may take who can," but it becomes a duty for us to supply to the nations of the world, those products, which for the present, at least, cannot be had elsewhere.
With this wonderful opportunity in
export trade before us we must do one of two things: We must either sit down, like Micawber, and wait for something to turn up, or we must get out in the markets of the world and turn some- thing up, and from authentic reports of transactions that have been going on for the past few months, we feel certain that the latter course is already being pursued.
At the recent session of the foreign trade convention, held in St. Louis, there was ample evidence that the war had opened up an avenue for foreign trade such as the United States had never dreamed of. How to rise to this opportunity and the best methods to be pursued in getting and keeping this export business, is, of course, one upon which there is much difference of opinion. All seem to agree, however, that a merchant marine capable of handling this great world trade is of primary importance.
Secondary to a merchant marine, we must have satisfactory banking facil- ities with all foreign countries, and then we must have competent agents in these countries to handle our products.
We believe that adequate shipping facilities will soon be established and that banking arrangements — including the matter of extending credits — will be adjusted at an early date. We learn from an authoritative source that the question of credit extension has, in a number of cases, been grossly exagger- ated, and it is stated that in most countries where we would desire to extend our export trade, the leading merchants will discount their bills if a satisfactory discount is offered.
It is true that in a great many of the foreign countries the people object to paying for their goods prior to delivery, but even then a 60 or 90-day period of payment might be expected.
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SKY-LAND MAGAZINE
The question of sending out salesmen or agents to get this foreign trade is an important one. It will require men of unquestioned business ability to prop- erly look after this trade, and too, they must be experts in their respective lines, and possess a degree of diplomacy so necessary in dealing with an alien people. In this line of work, we will need; not lawyers, doctors, preachers or teachers, but rather hard-headed, cold- blooded— if you please — business men.
We have heretofore attempted to sell our goods to foreigners as we make them, instead of catering to their wants and making for them such goods as they have become accustomed to use. All this must be changed, and instead of attempting to educate an alien race to adopt our customs and styles, we must make for them such goods as their na- tivity demands.
The department of commerce has be- come a potent force in the dissemina- tion of much useful information as to foreign and domestic commerce. This department has a large number of special agents in various parts of the world, in addition to the regular corps of consuls stationed in all foreign countries. Reports from these agents, covering all lines of industry and trade are published daily. These commerce reports contain much useful informa- tion and should be in the hands of everyone interested in the development of foreign trade.
It is of prime importance that to properly develop foreign trade each industry should have a personal rep- resentative on the ground to look after this business.
Once you have found the right man, it will be advisable to encourage him by making a special agreement which for a certain period gives him the sole sale rights cf your goods with the pos-
sibility of extending same over a further period provided he obtains certain re- sults. The most successful sales of American goods in Russia are con- ducted in this way, to mention only Alfred Grodzki of Warsaw, sole agent for the National Harvester Company and a number of other agricultural machinery manufacturers; A. Friede of Petrograd, sole agent for Ford motor cars; G. Gerlach of Warsaw, sole agent for Underwood typewriters, and J. I. Block Company, sole agents for Roneo, Remington typewriters, etc., each of these firms leading the market in its specialty.
A marked improvement in our for- eign trade is indicated by the latest re- ports issued by the Department of Commerce through its Bureau of For- eign and Domestic Commerce, sales of foodstuffs and certain lines of manu- factures having been unusually large in November the latest period for which detailed information is at hand. In that month exports aggregated 206 million dollars, or double the total for August last when, by reason of the outbreak of war, our foreign trade fell to the lowest level reached in many years. In December there was further improvement, the month's exports being valued at 246 million dollars, compared with 233 million in December, 1913, and within 4 million of the high record established in December, 1912.
An analysis of the trade figures pub- lished in the "Summary of Foreign Commerce" shows that while American cotton, mineral oils, naval stores, lum- ber and agricultural implements are in less demand abroad than in former years, there is a greater demand in foreign countries for our breadstuffs, meats, sugar, clothing and other man- ufactures, especially in Europe. A citation of a few of the larger factors
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in our foreign trade will illustrate more clearly this fact.
Of breadstuffs the November exports exceeded in value 40 million dollars, or four times as much as in November, 1913; of commercial automobiles the month's exports aggregated 2]/^ million dollars, or 22 times the value exported in November, 1913; of eggs, IJ^ million dollars, or 3 times as much; of sole leather, 33^ million dollars, or 8 times as much as in November a year earlier; of metal-working machinery and ma- chine tools, nearly 2 million dollars, or twice as much as a year earlier; of cot- ton wearing apparel, 2]/^ million dollars, or almost 3 times the value for Novem- ber, 1913; of chemicals drugs and dyes, 3i<£ million dollars, or 50 per cent more than in November of the previous year; of cotton manufactures, b}/^ million dol- lars, or 30 per cent above the figures of the preceding November; of men's boots and shoes, li<^ million dollars, an increase of 60 per cent; and of cotton- seed oilcake and meal, 21/2 million dol- lars, an increase of 50 per cent. Of especial interest is the remarkable growth in exports of refined sugar and woolen goods, the former increasing from $177,000 to $2,386,000, and the latter from $440,000 to $3,048,000 when November, 1913, is compared with the corresponding month of last year.
Striking changes in the movement of specified articles to given countries dur- ing November include a million dollars' worth of corn to the Netherlands, as against 4 thousand dollars ' worth a year earlier; large increases in wheat ship- ments to the United Kingdom, Italy, Germany and France, in sums ranging from 7 million down to 2}/2 million; an increase of 1^ million dollars in auto- mobile sales to France; the month's total being nearly twice the amount shown in any complete fiscal year; a
doubling of the exports of copper to the United Kingdom, and an increase of 200 per cent in sales of automobile tires to England. Of metal-working ma- chinery the November exports to the United Kingdom exceeded 1 million dol- lars' value or 9 times as much as a year earlier, and those to France nearly trebled. The United Kingdom also took over 3 million dollars' worth of American sole leather, as against less than 300,000 dollars' worth in Novem- ber, 1913, and Europe as a whole bought 836,000 dollars worth of boots and shoes, or four times as much as a year ago. British purchases of Ameri- can beef exceeded 2,400 thousand dol- lars, against less than 40 thousand dol- lars in November of the prior year.
Further evidence of the activity of American manufacturers and producers in meeting the increased demand for our goods in certain quarters and some indication of the extent to which our trade in other sections has been affected by reduced purchasing power and finan- cial disturbance are contained in the November Summary of Foreign Com- merce, in which is presented a general survey of our trade relations with each country of the world and of the develop- ments of the inward and outward move- ments of the important articles of com- merce.
To get this foreign trade we must go after it and stay after it until we get it. The opportunity is here. It is a great opportunity. The door is open and will remain open until the war is over. As soon as that indefinite period arrives the nations that have heretofore had this trade will attempt to close the door against American trade and to reclaim these markets for themselves. Now is the time for America to strike for this trade. It is now that the iron is hot.
Not only will the present war change
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the map of Europe, but it will bring about a feeling of hatred between cer- tain of the warring nations that will have a marked effect upon the business relations of those countries for many- years after the world is again at peace.
A people do not quickly forgive and forget an enemy that has ravaged their country, destroyed their homes and killed their loved ones.
An example of this is to be seen here in our own country, where fifty years after the conflict between the North and the South, there are still those who refer to their opponents, as those
"d Yankees" or those "d
Rebels" as the case may be.
This feeling between the warring na- tions of Europe will put a premium on American Commerce and it is safe to predict that if our manufacturers and merchants, assisted by the government, as they should be, put forth the neces- sary efforts to take, develop and hold the export trade that is now available as a result of the greatest war in history, the United States will soon enter upon an unprecedented era of prosperity.
Belgium the Vicarious Suiferer.
By William Laurie Hill.
TN the almost overwhelming cata- -*- clysm that has swept over Europe, involving nearly every nationality and carrying death and desolation into thousands of once peaceful homes, there is no nationality that so bestirs our sympathy and pity as plucky little Belgium.
Belgium dates her existence as a separate state, back to the year 1830, having been previously a part of the Netherlands. The population is made up of two races — the Flemings and
Walloons with here and there people of German descent.
The population was always thrifty and during the last half of the 19th century they redeemed from the great Salt Marshes over 270,000 acres for cultivation. A farm in Belgium aver- ages something over five acres, and about two fifths of the land is farmed by owners. Other farms amount to from 25 to 132 acres. This rich and thrifty little State prior to the invasion of the Germans, sustained a larger percentage of population than any other part of Europe, the average being 605 per square mile. Her cities — Antwerp,
Ghent, Brussels, Bruges, Nieupoort, Leige; and her beautiful rural towns, have recently become more famous than ever before, as they have been the storm centre of a mighty invasion, and many of her most choice examples of archi- tecture have become a pile of ruins — and her gems of art have become the spoil of the invader.
Lying just in between France on the one side, and Germany on the other — Belgium was situated not unlike "The Holy Land" — being on the great high- way between powerful nations, and furnishing a battle ground for any in- vader.
When the War Cloud arose in Europe last summer, the determination of Germany was quickly taken. She must fight fast and furious — o v e r w h e 1 m France before Russia could mobilize and then join Austria in an invasion of Russia. To do this, Germany must use the territory of a neutral power, Bel- gium, for to approach France through French territory, meant a vigorous defence on the part of France and a much slower campaign than suited the ideas of the Kaiser.
For Belgium to give Germany the right of way over her territory, to at-
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tack a peaceable neighbor, would have been acting in bad faith to France, and would have put Belgium on the German side in this contest.
This, very naturally, Belgium refused to do, and quickly determined that she would resist by force, any invasion of her territory.
England and Germany were both of them signatories to the guarantee of Belgium's independence, and it is clear to all readers of History that the first breach of faith with Belgium was when Germany, without her consent, marched a hostile army across her border to invade France — a nation with which Belgium was at peace.
England was true to her pledge to Belgium, while Germany was not to be balked in her warlike intentions — by what one of her diplomats called "a piece of paper."
So in all this struggle, the origin of it may be traced to "a breach of faith," and to that greater cause — spelled with four letters — "Greed."
While Belgium is the battle ground and her people the greatest sufferers of all, she stands forth today as a bright example of true loyalty and patriotism, and we may be sure in the final settle- ment, "she will get her own."
When the fighting is all over — then comes "the green table", and we may be sure that the millions that have been battling to dethrone "one man power" in Europe will never sheath a sword until poor Belgium shall have restored to her, all the civic rights she once possessed — and shall receive some indemnity at least, for the despoiling to which she has been subject in these dark and weary months.
Little Belgium will come forth from the hot crucible of war with the dross consumed, and the bright, pure gold of her character, shining with a lustre
that shall attest with no uncertainty, the true greatness of her people.
Belgium has not only the sympathy, but will also have the generous aid of the American people, and it is with a glad hand we will welcome those of them, w^ho feel a desire to find homes in this favored land.
To do the right, as God doth give the light. To strike the wrong — it was but faith and duty; They welcome shot and shell — war's darkest
night — Became the spoil of lust of pow'r, and booty.
Crushed they may be, but there's a gladsome
day. When peace shall fling her banner to the breeze, When lust of pow'r shall no more have its way. And tyrants shall be crushed, brought to their
knees.
To Sky-Land's Readers
'T^HE readers of the current and sub- ^ sequent issue of Sky-Land Mag- azine are oiTered the privilege of con- templating various phases of the Great Question at present engaging the atten- tion of the whole world and its bearing upon national life from the viewpoint of some of the ablest editors and authors in North Carolina.
Each distinctive editorial expression in the current number is so excellent that it was difficult to determine which is best and Sky-Land's editor found herself in the position of a hostess who has the placing at table of guests of equal distinction. But one can occupy the seat at her right — and yet by birth, breeding and social position one is as deserving of the honor as another — which shall it be?
In the perplexity of placing her guests around Sky-Land's editorial board a happy thought suddenly occurred to the editor — she would call the office boy and printer's devil to the rescue; for printer's devils and office
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boys have been known in times past to offer some very sage suggestions. The thought was no sooner registered than acted upon— the office boy and the printer's devil were called in and after a brief consultation, seated on top the typewriter desk, they announced the difficulty unraveled.
Whereupon the printer's devil, acting as spokesman, suggested that the name of each contributing editor be written on a small slip of paper — which the editor promptly styled place cards — that these be shuffled together in the foreman's hat and drawn out by the office boy, with the understanding that the first name drawn should have the leading position or seat of honor, on the editorial page; and so on just as they were consecutively drawn should each editor be placed at the editorial board.
Thus through the diplomacy of the printer's devil and office boy the plac- ing of the guests was accomplished without discrimination against or par- tiality towards anyone. — Ed. Note.
"Is The Sky-Land Magazine Sub- sidized?" T HEREBY affirm that I am sole -'- owner of the Sky-Land Magazine and control its policy absolutely. I wish the fact distinctly emphazised that not a dollar of mill stock is invested in said magazine and that I have never received and never expect to receive any salary whatsoever from manufac- turers or anyone else, for that matter, in payment of editorials on the Child Labor question which have appeared and shall continue to appear from time to time in the Sky-Land Magazine. Said editorials are the • voluntary ex- pression of my individual viewpoint and honest conviction after careful
study and personal investigation of conditions in a number of representa- tive mills in North Carolina. I em- phatically deny that the Sky-Land Magazine is "subsidized" by any cor- poration or faction whatsoever.
Witness my hand and seal this Feb. 2nd, 1915.
[SEAL] Mae Lucile Smith.
Editor and Owner Sky-Land Magazine. State of North Carolina,
Forsyth County.
Personally appeared before me Miss Mae Lucile Smith, who signed the above statement in my presence and upon being duly sworn stated that the said statement is true in every respect.
Witness my hand and official seal this Feb. 2nd, 1915.
H. W. FoLTZ, Notary Public.
My Commission Expires May 24th, 1915.
[SEAL]
While it has been the policy of the Sky-Land Magazine to steer clear of controversy of whatsoever nature in view of the fact that its honor has been assailed, its integrity questioned by a member of the National Child Labor Committee who openly implied that the Sky-Land was "subsidized by the mills of the State" and "arrayed against the welfare of the child"; and that "it looked like" the editor had been "put up" to writing certain editorials on the child labor question by certain members of its advisory board who happen to be manufacturers, the Sky-Land Maga- zine cannot permit the imputation to pass unchallenged, but takes this opportunity to clearly define its position on the Child Labor ques- tion and to speak a word in defense of its honor and the honor of those mem- bers of its advisory board against whom the accusation was made, said accusation being founded wholly upon
SKY-LAND MAGAZINE
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suspicion and without a vestige of evidence to sustain it.
It may not be amiss in this connec- tion to say that the Sky-Land Magazine was most careful in the selection of its advisory board, all of whom are far- sighted gentlemen of sound judgment, unbiased opinion and unimpeachable honor.
Of the seventeen members composing the board, six happen to be m.anufactur- ers, but just why six should be accused of dictating or controlling the policy of the magazine and the remaining eleven who occupy equally prominent and influential positions 'be utterly ignored is a matter for mild conjecture.
The Sky-Land Magazine has sought and will continue to seek the counsel of its advisory board upon outside ques- tions pertaining to its welfare, but shall at all times exercise the right to control its policy absolutely.
And as long as the freedom of the press is permitted it shall not only continue to dictate its policy, but shall openly express its convictions upon any subject or subjects in which it may be interested regardless of criticism, veiled insinuation or open attack.
As the affidavit herein incorporated bears witness, not a dollar of mill stock is invested in Sky-Land Magazine; nor has any salary ever been received by the Sky-Land Magazine in payment for its editorial utterances on the Child Labor question, as has been insinuated.
Damaging and misleading represen- tations made by certain platform lec- turers and misstatements in certain printed literature pertaining to so-called "Abuses in Southern Cotton Mills" to say nothing of a profound interest in eccHDmicand sociological problems were the motives which prompted the editor of the Sky-Land Magazine to institute a personal investigation into conditions
in a number of representative cotton mills in North Carolina and to sub- sequently write the result of this investi- gation for certain other publications sometime before the idea of a Sky-Land Magazine was conceived.
In conducting this investigation the visits to the mills were in nearly every instance unexpected to the management, consequently there was neither time to "dress up the mills" nor to "whisk the infants under bales of cotton" as the lecturer claimed was done when visitors "were expected.'
The result of the investigation proved that the damaging charges made against the mills by the lecturer and in the printed literature were either greatly exaggerated or wholly false and a sense of fair play dictated that the public should be told the truth concerning conditions in the average North Caro- lina mill. Sky-Land has told the true story and the result is that it has been accused of being "subsidized" by the mills and "arrayed against the interest of the child." But regardless of the accusation Sky-Land shall continue to tell the truth and shall endeavor to give it widespread publicity wherever these misrepresentations are found to exist.
On the mailing galleys of the Sky- Land Magazine may be found the names of a few manufacturers — the only regret is that there are not more — along with the names of men in other lines of busi- ness and the professions. From a sin- cere desire to aid in the upbuilding of Southern literature some of the latter have subscribed for additional copies of the Sky-Land for their friends just as seven or eight manufacturers have sub- scribed for additional copies of Sky- Land to be sent to their friends and operatives — prompted partially by the same motive and also from a desire to give their operatives the benefit of the
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SKY-LAND MAGAZINE
Industrial Section which, through the Constance Lovejoy letters, is conducted along lines calculated to be stimulating and helpful to the moral, mental and physical development of the boy and girl mill operatives in whom Constance Lovejoy takes an individual pride and interest. Even though Sky-Land is accused of being "subsidized" it has not yet been made logically clear just why the manufacturers and mill oper- atives should be debarred from sub- scribing to a magazine devoted to the exploitation of Southern interests while people in all other lines of business and the professions are found among its readers and subscribers in considerably greater number. Kor does the Sky- Land Magazine hesitate to say that it intends to make a persistent effort, through its solicitors, to obtain sub- scriptions from manufacturers, and operatives, just as it intends to leave no stone unturned to secure as great a number of subscribers as is pos- sible among bankers, club women, professional men, business people, day laborers, farmers, teachers and so on ad infinitum; for Sky-Land is the people's magazine and its reading matter is of a varied character designed to suit the tastes and meet the needs of all the people who want only the clean and the wholesome in literature.
Nor is this all: Now that the Sky- Land Magazine has built its circulation and arranged its distribution to reach into every state in the Union, into Canada, Alaska, the West Indies and even England, it is the determined purpose of the Sky-Land Magazine to secure manufacturers' advertising just as it is its determined purpose to secure the advertising of merchants, bankers, colleges, real estate men and so on through the whole advertising direc- tory, even if it be necessary to send its
representatives or solicitors before bank- ers' meetings, teachers' meetings, farm- ers' institutes, church conventions or meetings of the textile associations to accomplish the purpose. And if enroll- ing a few thousand additional sub- scribers on Sky-Lands' records from this promiscuous group or including a few additional pages in its advertising section be called "subsidizing the maga- zine" then and in that event the accusa- tion will have to pass for what it is worth.
For the benefit of those who have been thoughtlessly or purposely mis- informed, it may be well at this time to clearly define the position of Sky- Land Magazine on the Child Labor Question.
First and foremost Sky-Land Maga- zine recognizes the existence of a Child Labor law for the regulation of the age limit of children woking in mills and factories in the state of North Carolina. Furthermore the Sky-Land Magazine recognizes the wisdom and justice of such law and uneciuivocally advocates its enforcement. The Sky-Land Maga- zine does not for a moment sanction the working of children under twelve years of age in mills and factories save in the case of boys upon whom widowed or invalid mothers are dependent wholly or in part for support and in such cases it would seem that a modification of the present law is not only practicable but necessary to meet the exigencies of the case.
The Sky-Land Magazine is by no means unmindful of the wording of Sec. 3362 Pell's Revisal of 1908, N. C. Vol. II, which is as follows:
Section 3362. Children under twelve not worked in factories. "If any mill owner, superintend-" "ent or other person acting in" "behalf of a factory or manufac-" ' 'turing establishment shall know-"
SKY-LAND MAGAZINE
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ingly and willingly employ any" "child under twelve years of age" "to work in any factory or manu- " "facturing establishment, except" "in oyster canning and packing" "manufactories where said can-" "ning and packing manufactories" 'pay for opening or shucking" 'oysters by the gallon or bushel," "he shall be guilty of a misdemea-"
nor."
The Sky-Land Magazine goes a step further by recommending that the offender be not only adjudged "guilty of a misdemeanor," but that he be publicly exposed and punished in such degree as the law prescribes and the gravity of the case warrants.
Moreover, it would seem the solemn duty of each individual member of the Child Labor Committee who has knowl- edge of such violation to publicly expose and bring to justice the lawbreaker; for carrying into actual practice the principles one advocates is more con- vincing and conducive to the accomp- lishment of a purpose than all the preachments in Christendom. The Child Labor Committee has repeatedly averred that the child labor law in North Carolina is being violated and yet it fails to name the violators of Sec. 3362 or bring them to justice. Since law is necessary and the enforce- ment of law equally necessary and ap- plicable to parties guilty of violation, it would seem that charges of violation should be made in a direct, definite, specific way and not in an intangible, beat-around-the-bush, Lfear-to-offend- you manner.
The Child Labor Committee also seem to neglect the due enforcement of Section 3364 and clause 6 Section 3740. as follows:
Section 3364. Children; par- ents misstating age of : "If any ' '
" parent or person standing in rela- " "tion of parent, upon hiring his"
'children to any factory or manu-' 'facturing establishment, shall' 'fail to furnish such establish- 'ment a written statement of the 'age of such child or children 'being hired, and if any such par- 'ent, or person standing in the re- 'lation of parent to such child or 'children, shall in such written 'statement misstate the age of 'such child or children being so 'employed he shall be guilty of a 'misdemeanor, and upon convic- 'tion shall be punished at the discretion of the court." Section 3740. Vagrancy. "If any person shall come within any of the following classes, he shall be deemed a vagrant, and shall be fined not exceeding fifty dollars or imprisoned not ex- ceeding thirty days." 6. All able-bodied men who have no visible means of support who shall live in idleness upon the wage or earnings of their mother, wife or minor child or children, except male child or children over eighteen years of aee."
It is a well known fact that these sections are often violated. Greed-lov- ing or shiftless parents often swear falsely to the age of the child in order to increase their earnings at his expense or else throw the burden of support upon the child ; and surely this class of violator should be forced to pay the penalty of the law to the utmost farth- ing.
The Sky-Land Magazine not only approves the law regulating the age limit of children, but strongly endorses a compulosry school law for every state in the Union; howbeit, with an eli- minating clause applicable to that class styled in the Commissioner's Report "dependents", whose work prevents them from attending school during working hours. In justice to these unfortunates it would seem a wise pro-
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SKY-LAND MAGAZINE
vision if the State could provide night classes or better still vocational part- time schools and see to it that the mills employ alternating shifts in order that these dependents be permitted to avail themselves of the advantages offered by the part-time system. It may be said to their everlasting credit that a number of mills have adopted this system and operate it at their own expense.
The progress of the child in the night classes or part-time school would neces- sarily be slower than that of the child privileged to enjoy the uninterrupted school term. The opportunity for ultimately acquiring an education under the advanced modern methods and capable instructors usually employed in these schools would at the same time be far greater than that of many of our great men who, self- taught, acquired their learning by the uncertain illumination of the tallow dip after the day's work was over.
While Sky-Land Magazine deplores that any child must be robbed of its playtime and made to toil for its daily bread in any line of work, at the same time the fact cannot be side-stepped, pitiless though it is, that sometimes economic necessity does make it in- cumbent upon children under twelve years of age to make wholly or partially their own support and sometimes the support of others, nor are their efforts confined to mills and factories by any manner of means. By reference to Mr. David Clark's address before the N a t i on a 1 Child Labor Committee reproduced in full in another column, it will be seen — and the fact will come as a surprise to many, and fact it is as the figures are taken from the United States Census on Occupation — that of the 53,457 boys, between the ages of 10 and L3 years of age, engaged in
gainful occupations only 2,304 were to be found in cotton mills in North Caro- lina and of the 30,822 girls of the same age engaged in gainful occupations only 2,319 were found in cotton mills. These figures prove that of the 84,279 children engaged in gainful occupations only 4,623 or 1 out of 16 were employed in cotton mills. And the singular fact is that in the National Child Labor Committee's crusade against "Child slavery " their efforts are directed almost wholly in behalf of those employed in cotton mills and factories while children engaged at hard labor in other occupa- tions go practically unnoticed
In waging warfare on mill and factory the National Child Labor Committee would do well to turn its attention to the Federal Census and try to locate the majority of children who toil in gainful occupations outside mill and factory, and divide its efforts between the Western Union, the Postal, the newspaper offices, laundries, farms, dressmaking and millinery establish- ments, grocery and department stores, dairies and other occupations where women and children are employed.
That 84,279 children are engaged in gainful occupations is conclusive evi- dence that economic necessity must be largely responsible for the fact, and the startling revelation made in the Com- missioner's Report for 1913 that there were then one hundred and seventy- three thousand eight hundred souls in North Carolina "dependent" upon mills and factories for a livelihood, one hundred and fifty thousand of the num- ber being dependent upon cotton mills alone helps to confirm the assertion. There are thousands of boys and girls in North Carolina above twelve years of age working in mills and various occu- pations and since the Father of bounty in His all-wise providence has seen fit
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to withhold the material blessings from these unfortunates and continues to permit them to toil for the necessities of life, it must be right that they do so however much one sympathizes with their misfortune. Nor should one lose sight of the fact that the mill, factory, and sundry outside occupations provide the means by which families may be kept together and the domestic rela- tionships preserved intact. On the other hand were this merciful provision for self-sustenance taken from them, families would be torn asunder, new almshouses and orphanages would have to be built — the ones at present are inadequate as it is. Where the husband or father is dead or has deserted how much more praiseworthy that the home life bepreserved through the brave efforts of a mother, asonor daughter or all three than that the family be turned adrift upon the State to become the objects of fickle charity. Where economic neces- sity demands it the Sky-Land Magazine does not hesitate to endorse the working of women and even children above the age prescribed by law in the mills and factories, for the work is lighter, de- mands less education and training, and commands as good or better wages than other lines of work in which women and children are engaged.
The boy who works in the mill scores triumphantly over the one who works at manual labor on the farm. The latter ploughs and hoes in a broiling sun, splits rails, crossties, fire wood, grooms the horses, cleans out foul-smell- ing cowsheds and stables, ofttimes in- fected with vermin and germ-laden flies, digs ditches and in so doing often stands in mud and water over his shoetops, comes in contact with danger- ous upturned soils in malarial swamps and is liable to the bite of the deadly mosquito.
Economic policy dictates that the mill and surrounding premises must be kept clean and sanitary for the reason that hundreds of souls are here congre- gated and if unsanitary conditions were permitted, pestilential disease would break out, the ranks of workers would become disorganized, the work delayed and heavy financial loss and inconveni- ence would be entailed, hence the neces- sity of conserving the health of the operatives by keeping the mill and sur- roundings as clean and sanitary as modern methods will permit. The mill boy's duties are not nearly so heavy as the farm boy's and the chance for con- serving his physical health would appear greater leaving out of consideration the fact that the farm boy possibly gets a larger supply of oxygen, although there is no lack of pure air in the modern mill with its high ceilings, numerous win- dows, humidifiers and ventilators.
To the little girl who works on the farm the endless up and down move- ment of the dasher separating the butter from the cream to the tune of "Churn butter churn, come butter come" — a part of the daily routine — must grow as irksome as the monotonous whirr of the mill machinery in the mill girl's ear. The risk to her health is greater as she runs through the wet weeds chasing "pigs in the clover" from their mischevious depredations. Nor is stooping over the potato plant extracting potato bugs therefrom or picking cotton in a burning hot sun, or bending the little back over the wash- tub until the muscles are tense and sore in the effort to make the grime disap- pear from the shirt of the farmer father or brother nearly as easy as "tending the sides" in a well-regulated mill.
With all due apology for a personal allusion, Sky-Land feels safe in saying that there is not a mill woman in the
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SKY-LAND MAGAZINE
United States who works as hard or observes as long hours as the editor of Sky-Land Magazine who puts in usually fourteen to sixteen working hours six days in the week and seldom runs less than ten to twelve. After contrasting the scale of wages for female operatives with the scant balance left after meet- ing the enormous cost of operating the magazine, the Sky-Land entertains a shrewd suspicion that the majority of skilled female operatives who save their money have more to their credit in the savings bank than has the editor of the Sky-Land Magazine as the result of her arduous labor. Is it any matter for wonderment that the Sky- Land Magazine feels somewhat ag- grieved that no member of the National Child Labor Committee has ever seen fit to interfere in an effort to lighten the labor or regulate the long hours or increase the editor's earnings, when so much thought and energy are ex- pended to relieve the operative in the mill?
Every occupation has its hardships in greater or less degree and thinking men and women cannot get past the fact that where economic necessity exists women and children must con- tinue to toil for bread and endure their share of hardships.
The National Child Labor Committee claim that economic necessity for chil- dren working can be abolished by rais- ing the wage of the male operative. This might apply to a certain percent- age of operatives where there are fathers and big brothers to fall back upon, but how about the large number of dependents composed largely of widows, orphans, aged and helpless men and women who have no father or big brother to rely upon? And they are numerous. Were these dependents thrown out of employment ; their ex-
perience would doubtless be similar to that of the Paterson silk mill operatives when the new age limit law went into effect and hundreds were thrown out of work and were forced to appeal to the city for bread. Throwing women and children out of employment is a serious matter and should entail some provision for their future maintenance. While the motive of the National Child Labor Committee is praiseworthy its plan of operation seems wholly illogical. The work of the committee seems to stop short right where it should begin in that it fails to make adequate provision for the future needs of the women and children for whom it seeks redress.
A theory which cannot be put in practice is a worthless theory and counts for naught. While it is again reiterated that the motive back of the efforts of the National Child Labor Committee is praiseworthy, its theory will not work in actual practice.
If the Committee would first arrange for the future care and maintenence of these dependents before it seeks to bring about legislation to throw them out of employment, and would cease to narrow its work principally to the man- ufacturing interests but would include the vast majority of workers engaged in various gainful occupations, then and not until then will the Sky-Land Maga- zine become its most ardent supporter, for the Sky-Land Magazine believes in the conservation of the best interests of the woman and child worker and fails to see wherein turning the vast army of women and children workers adrift upon the State without ample provision for their future needs could be construed as conserving their best in- terests.
The relation of the National Child Labor Committee to the woman and
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child operative is somewiiat like that of the sympathizing man who urged a poverty-stricken friend, threatened with the loss of his eyesight, to go to a famous specialist who would guarantee a cure for the sum of five thousand dollars. The advice of the man was well-meant and theoretically sound but wholly impracti- cable of application. The afiflicted friend had no earthly means of raising five thousand dollars, the price of the cure, nor did the friend provide it, hence the advice was wasted and the condition of the suflferer was not a whit improved.
Paradoxical though it may sound, in seeking to relieve the hardships of the women and children in the mills and factories the National Child Labor Committee would add tenfold to their hardships by throwing them out of employment without first taking due thought for the morrow and its needs.
Nothing can be accomplished for the moral and spiritual welfare of a woman or child crying for bread ; first the wheaten loaf and then the spiritual manna.
4^
Agitators and the Unemployed
A CITATION is an admirable thing -^ ^ when the goal toward which ef- forts is directed is a worthy one, and based on good ethics. The history of civilization shows that no great advance has ever been made without agitation. Agitation has preceded every advance and forwarded it. On the other hand there has been plenty of agitation which was not based on broad, human, help- ful principles, which consequently ac- complished nothing beyond momentary confusion.
Christ himself was an agitator, and
the assertion is made with all due reverence. So was Robert Ingersoll.
Industrial agitation is an excellent thing when the end to be achieved is based on a sound social principle. There are no thinking men or women who do not desire the welfare of in- dustrial employees and of the working class. Yet much of the agitation at present aroused in the name of the workingman, and claiming to improve working conditions, is utterly inade- quate and futile because it disregards the unyielding social principle of supply and demand.
The agitators who are making a business of arousing discontent among the employees of mills and factories, of inciting them to strikes and riots while voicing extravagent demands, disregard the fact that there are more unemployed workingmen in the country today than ever before, — workingmen who are seeking employment, and suf- fering because they can not obtain it. If these agitators really had the welfare of the working class at heart, they would cease urging discontent upon men in good positions, and turn their efforts to finding or creating good positions for the laborers who are now unemployed. If they would agitate for the employment of one hundred men on half time where fifty men are now employed on full time, they would give immediate relief and benefit to the men whose welfare they claim to have at heart, and would take a definite step forward toward a final solution of the problem, whatever that final solution may be.
If the energies and monies of the I. W. W.'s were directed for labor, in- stead of against capital, labor would not be victimized by the unsound agi- tation aroused in its name.
The agitators who seek to create
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sentiment against child-labor in the mills are equally blind to the inexorable law of supply and demand. With a picture of blighted childhood they seek to overthrow a social principle. Their agitation is as inadequate and as futile as that of the I. W. W.'s, and for the same underlying reason. To eliminate child-labor from the mills, it will first be necessary to eliminate the necessity for children to work, to do away with the need for young men and women to be self supporting and to support those dependent upon them. It will be necessary to readjust the con- ditions of supply and demand until child-labor in the mills is eliminated naturally, without inflicting suffering and want among those now employed.
It would be unfair to the I. W. W.'s and to the child-labor agitators not to say that each has its ideal, and pre- sents the remedy for new and better conditions; in each case the remedy is so ideal as to be impossible of realization this side of Utopia. In concrete form the cure of the I. W. W.'s is half-time, double pay and a three-fourths voice in all conferences with capital, at least this is a mild interpretation of some of the demands of its leaders, demands emphasized with dynamite.
The cure of the child-labor agitators is less radical, but no less impossible; they suggest a return to the farm, and picture the happy settlements on hil- locks and bottom-land, where there will
be nothing for the children to do but plough, feed the stock, haul water, hew trees, chop wood, pull fodder, cook, wash, milk the cow (if they are fortu- nate enough to have one) and work outdoors, warm or cold, dry or wet. But in veneering this soul-racking pic- ture with the gloss of idealism they fail to make it geographically plain where these happy hillocks and bottom-lands lie. On the farms, as elsewhere, work is difficult to obtain, and it is work less sure and less well paid than work in the mills. Even supposing that the mill family wishes to return to the soil, and has the money to pay for a small farm, where is that farm to be had? A farm not only beautiful, but from which a living can be made? Abandoned farmis, and farms too small or "poor" to pay to cultivate are being gladly sold the country over to large holders and syn- dicates.
No agitation, even that based on the best ethics and soundest principles, can succeed without an ideal; but that ideal, if it is to be realized in this world must conform with human needs and geographical limits. From all this agitation one turns to the work of the Federal government and notes with ap- proval its quiet announcement that it will establish a central clearing-house for labor. What labor needs at this hour is action for the benefit of its unemployed, and not agitation in the name of its workers.
CAROLINA.
By William Eyre Brierley
Carolina. Bright thy glory; Song of poet, theme of story.
Grand thy mountains, looming high; Swift thy rivers, rippling, flowing;
Blue thy waters as the sky; Wide thy forests, heav'nward growing;
Sweet thy flowers o'er hill and dale;
Fair thy fame as lillies pale.
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Carolina. Grand thy mountains,
From whose heights the crystal fountains,
Sparkling, dash to vales below. Lofty Mitchell, proudly gleaming
In the golden sunset's glow; Rugged ranges softly beaming
In the blush of morn, or night
With the purpled shades of night.
Carolina. Swift thy rivers. On whose placid bosoms quiver
Myriad hues of light and shade — O'er the rocks in joyance tumbling;
Rippling through the sheltered glade; Through the narrow gorges rumbling;
Rushing, foaming, on they speed
Through the dewy, fertile mead.
Carolina. Blue thy waters.
Strong thy sons, and fair thy daughters —
Blue thy waters as the skies. In their limpid depths reflected;
Strong thy sons — in council, wise. By ill-fortune ne'er dejected;
Fair thy daughters as a star
Twinkling o'er the hills afar.
Carolina. Wide thy forests — Verdant, healthful, fragrant forests;
Sturdy oak and graceful elm. From whose restful shade re-echoes
Silver throated melodies; Towering poplar, drooping willow;
Slender maple, lofty pine;
Fronded fern and clinging vine. ...
Carolina. Sweet thy flowers; Odorous thy leafy bowers.
Rhododendron, rare of hue, Clothes thy banks with floral splendor;
Roses, lillies, gentian blue; Breathe a fragrance soft and tender; ,^ .
O'er thy fields, in Autumn, nod
Lutescent waves of goldenrod.
Carolina. Fair thy fame is.
White and pure as Springtime daisies
Scattered o'er they sunlit slopes. "First at Bethel", Appomattox
Saw thy hosts, with vanquished hopes, Last to leave the field of battle;
Then, with strife of armies' cease.
Foremost in the paths of peace.
Carolina. Bright thy glory; Song of poet, theme of story.
Grand thy mountains, looming high; Swift thy rivers, rippling, flowing;
Blue thy waters as the sky; Wide thy forests, heav'nward growing;
Sweet thy flowers, o'er hill and dale;
Fair thy fame as lillies pale.
" Ideals are realized slowly, by long efforts, after many failures, and constant mistakes. To reach ideals, we have to reach a higher social morality, an enlarged conception of human life, a more human type of religious duty."
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A CHANT OF HATE AGAINST ENGLAND
Rendered into English verse by Barbara Hen- derson. French and Russian, they matter not, A blow for a blow and a shot for a shot; We love them not, we hate them not, We hold the Weichsel and Vosges-gate, We have but one and only hate. We love as one, we hate as one, We have one foe and one alone.
He is known to you all, he is known to you all. He crouches behind the dark gray flood, Full of envy, of rage, of craft, of gall. Cut off by waves that are thicker than blood. Come let us stand at the Judgment place. An oath to swear to, face to face. An oath of bronze no wind can shake. An oath for our sons and their sons to take. Come, hear the word, repeat the word. Throughout the Fatherland make it heard. We will never forego our hate. We have all but a single hate, We love as one, we hate as one. We have one foe and one alone — ENGLAND!
In the Captain's Mess, in the banquet-hall, Sat feasting the officers, one and all, Like a sabre-blow, like the swing of a sail, One seized his glass held high to hail; Sharp-snapped like the stroke of a rudder's play, Spoke three words only: "To the Day!" Whose glass this fate? They had all but a single hate. Who was thus known? They had one foe and one alone — ENGLAND!
Take you the folk of the Earth in pay. With bars of gold your ramparts lay. Bedeck the ocean with bow on bow. Ye reckon well, but not well enough now, French and Russian they matter not, A blow for a blow, a shot for a shot, We fight the battle with bronze and steel, And the time that is coming Peace will seal. You will we hate with a lasting hate. We will never forego our hate, Hate by water and hate by land. Hate of the head and hate of the hand. Hate of the hammer and hate of the crown. Hate of seventy millions, choking down. We love as one, we hate as one, We have one foe and one alone — ENGLAND!
HASSGESANG GEGEN ENGLAND
Von Ernst Lissauer Was schiert uns Russ und Franzos? Schuss wider Schuss und Stoss um Stoss, Wir lieben sie nicht, Wir hassen sie nicht,
Wir schutzen Weichsel und Wasgaupass, — Wir haben nur einen einzigen Hass, Wir lieben vereint, wir hassen vereint, Wir haben nur einen einzigen Feind: —
Den ihr alle wisst, den ihr alle wisst. Er sitzt geduckt hinter der grauen Flut, VoU Neid, voll Wut, voll Schlaue, yoll List, Durch Wasser getrennt, die sind dicker als Blut. Wir wollen treten in ein Gericht, Einen Schwur zu schworen, Gesicht in Gesicht, Einen Schwur von Erz, den verblast kein Wind, Einen Schwur fur Kind und fur Kindeskind, Vernehmt das Wort, sagt nach das Wort, Es walze sich durch ganz Deutschland fort: Wir wollen nicht lassen von unserem Hass, Wir haben alle nur einen Hass, Wir lieben vereint, wir hassen vereint, Wir haben alle nur einen Feind: ENGLAND.
In der Bordkajute, im Feiersaal, Sassen Schiffsoffiziere beim Liebesmahl, — Wie ein Sabelhieb, wie ein Segelschwung, Finer riss grussend empor den Trunk, Knapp hinknallend wie Ruderschlag, Drei Worte sprach er: "Auf den Tag!"
Wem gait das Glas? Sie hatten alle nur einen Hass. Wer war gemeint? Sie hatten alle nur einen Feind: ENGLAND.
Nimm du die Volker der Erde in Sold, Baue Walle aus Barren von Gold, Bedecke die Meerflut mit Bug bei Bug, Du rechnetest klug, doch nicht klug genug. Was schiert uns Russ und Franzos! Schuss wider Schuss und Stoss um Stoss. Wir Kampfen den Kampf mit Bronze und Stahl Und schliessen Frieden irgend einmal; Dich werden wir hassen mit langem Hass, Wir werden nicht lassen von unserem Hass; Hass zu W'asser und Hass zu Land, Hass des Hauptes und Hass der Hand, Hass der Hammer und Hass der Kronen, Drosselnder Hass von siebzig Millionen, Sie lieben vereint ,sie hassen vereint, Wir haben alle nur einen Feind: ENGLAND.
^
A REMARKABLE TRANSLATION
(Contributed)
HPHE striking poem, "Hassgesang -'- gegen England," by Ernst Lis- sauer, made world-famous by the re-
markable translation into English of Barbara Henderson, has a most inter- esting history. The poem was written
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by Ernst Lissauer, a trooper under the command of Crown Prince Rupprecht, of Bavaria, at the outbreak of the European war. It appeared originally in the Generalanzeiger, a newspaper of Dusseldorf, Germany. The poem, in the original version, came to Fraulein Thekla Dathe, of Dusseldorf, a German lady living in the home of Dr. and Mrs. Henderson. The poem made a pro- found impression upon Dr. and Mrs. Henderson. Under the title, "War- Songs of the Belligerents", Dr. Hender- son wrote a letter to the New York Times, to accompany the translation of the poem made by his wife, Barbara Henderson. This letter, together with the translation, a rendering singularly close to the original in phraseology and spirit, appeared in the New York Times of October 15, 1914.
The appearance of the poem immedi- ately evoked a number of replies in the Times — "A Chant of Hate against Germany," by Beatrice M. Barry; "Another Chant of Hate" by Rosalie M. Moynahan; and "A Chant of Motherhood" by Van Landburgh Wil- son.
No sooner did copies of the New- York Times, containing Mrs. Hender- son's translation, reach England than the poem spread like wild-fire from one end of the British Isles to the other. On October 28, Mrs. Henderson's great translation appeared in the London Daily Mail.; on October 29, it was pub- lished in full in The London Times, ac- companied b\' a long editorial. The translation was described as a re- markable piece of work; and the Times editorial reproduced the ideas contained in Dr. Henderson's original letter to The New York Times. Under the caption, "A Hymn of Hate," the editor of The London Times (Oct. 29, 1914) says in part:
"The war has produced many verses and some poetry, but the remarkable stanzas we quote this morning are the most passionate utterance that has yet appeared. . . . We do not know how much they owe to the American lady who translated them from the German original for the New York Times, but she is to be congratulated on a piece of extraordinarily good work in one of the most difficult of arts. The lines have a fine, natural swing, and the language glows with the fire of intense sincerity."
Since that time, Mrs. Henderson's great translation has been published broadcast throughout the world — throughout Great Britain, in the lead- ing countries of Europe, and even in far-off Japan. At the request of numer- ous readers, the translation was repro- duced in the leading London and pro- vincial newspapers, sometimes more than once in the same journal. The vogue of Mrs. Henderson's translation has been colossal, far outranking in popular and international interest Rud- yard Kipling's "Absent-Minded Beg- gar" published during the Boer War.
The translation has appeared in the leading newspapers of the United States; and in leading magazines of the country, notably in The Outlook, The Inde- pendent, and The Bookman. A reply to the poem has just appeared in the Atlantic Monthly.
Distinguished literary critics have expressed the opinion that Mrs. Hen- derson's translation, in virile strength, force and driving power, is markedly superior to the German original.
Sky-Land has the honor of being the first and only publication in English- speaking countries to reproduce the original German version alongside of Mrs. Henderson's great translation, in the present issue. " ■
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FOUR MEN AND A NYMPH IN PISGAH FOREST
^
(By Hilliard Booth)
TO BEGIN with, the Nymph was at home. It was her forest. There- fore when she came face to face with the irate man she stood her ground. A briUiantly-plumed pheasant rested on her shoulder, a fawn stood at her side. She seemed altogether a pleasant pic- ture— but not to the iiian. Ilis face grew red with indignation. He turned and called over his shoulder.
"Hi, fellers — here she is — come on, and heave a rock!" He picked up a stone and raised it in air to hurl at the startled nymph, as two other men ap- peared on the run, one with a shotgun, and one with the gleam of angry out- rage in his eyes. The pheasant took flight, the fawn disappeared into a thicket, and the Nymph was saved from the fury of the three men by the appear- ance of a fourth, who seized the up- raised arm of the first man, and bitterly protested against this treatment of the Nymph.
"No tree-cutting — !"
"No hunting! — "
"No taxes — !"
"Prosperity for posterity — !"
In the altercation that ensued, the Nymph slipped from sight.
Wait a minute, please. This is not an Anna Katherine Green mystery story; we will reveal the identity of our hero, heroine, and villians at once. The first man is a lumberman, the second a mountaineer, the third a county tax
collector, and the fourth a public-spir- ited citizen. And the Nymph — the Nymph is Conservation.
Do not jump to the conclusion that the rest of this story will be deadly dull. Remember, the liveliest moving-picture plays are always preceded by the legend "Approved by The Board of Censor- ship."
"As I was remarking," said the hero, "posterity will benefit by — "
"What has posterity ever done for me?" demanded the lumberman, hotly. "Oh, I'm resigned to the situation." He wrenched himself free from the grasp of the public-spirited citizen. "All I want to do is to give the Nymph a piece of my mind." He darted off into the woods, the rock still clutched in his grasp.
"That was my pheasant and my fawn," complained the mountaineer; "with a little argument, I reckon she'll give 'em up to me." He slipped a cartridge in his gun, and took the op- posite direction in search of the Nymph.
"She's deprived me of my rightful money," declared the county tax collec- tor, and parting the branches of two laurel trees he disappeared briskly in pursuit of the Nymph.
"Jt's up to me to help them look after their own interests," sighed the public- spirited citizen. Their-own-interests was what he called the Nymph. He stooped down to straighten a sapling
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heedlessly bent in the heat of the dis- pute, and followed in the well-blazed trail of the lumberman.
The Nymph took refuge in a log cabin, erected in a dense growth of rho- dodendron, and closed the door.
"I'm twenty-five years old," she mur-, mured," "and I ought to be able to look after myself, but there are moments when — "
Her soliloquy was cut short by a crash
on the cabin roof, followed by the rat- tling of a stone as it rolled from the roof to the ground.
"Hi, come out!" called the voice of the lumberman.
The Nymph peered cautiously from the window.
"Leave that spruce alone!" she ex- claimed brusquely; "it's less than twelve inches in diameter."
"Huh! Here you have nearly eighty-
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seven thousand acres of trees, and object to my cutting one little spruce! I sup- pose I'm expected to carry a measuring- rule around with me." The lumberman scoffed as he playfully hacked at the young tree with a pocket-ax.
"But for men like you with inaccurate vision." returned the Nymph, "our na- tional problem in forestry would be solved."
"Our national problem in forestry will be solved," declared the lumberman, "when you, and your kith and kin, the forest faddists and cranks, are driven out of the woodlands, and we lumber- men allowed to cut stands clear and clean. Think of the hundreds, the thou- sands of people to whom we supply timber for homes. It's only right we should have a fair profit."
"So you're a philanthropist?"
"Me — I? Not at all."
"Surely you and your fellows have a contract to cut the merchantable timber on four-fifths of my tract?"
"Yes; a contract calling for all sorts of foolish and unprofitable restrictions."
"No cutting of the hardwoods under sixteen inches diameter at the stump." chanted the Nymph; "spruce at twelve inches. Care must be taken not to injure young growth or the timber left stand- ing. Fire must be rigidly kept out, and roads and trails must — "
"What's all this got to do with my being a philanthropist?"
" If these restrictions are unprofitable, surely you must be losing money under your contract, and therefore are a phil- anthropist, because you supply hundreds thousands of people with homes at a loss to yourself."
" I never said I worked at a loss. I'm a business man, not a visionary like you. I wouldn't be cutting timber if I wasn't making money."
"Then why all this objection to a few simple and reasonable rules?"
"A woman never can argue!" The lumberman gave a snort.
"I ask you — 'What's the sense of it?' And you answer by calling me names. The sense is in having timber a hun- dred years from now, two hundred years from now, to supply hundreds, thous- ands of other people with homes."
"What are those people to me?"
"Just what you were to your fore- fathers. Suppose your forefathers had cleared off the forests for profit; where would you be?"
"Really, madam, it's foolish to waste words with you. A hundred years from now we'll both be dead, and — "
" Pardon me," interrupted the Nymph "but I shan't be dead; I shall be doing nicely, thank you."
The lumberman regarded the Nymph with a new respect.
"As I was saying," continued the Nymph, "you must keep the roads and trails open for the use of others."
"Now what's the sense of that?"
"The seventy-five miles of grade roads, the one-hundred and sixty-five miles of graded trails already on this tract," explained the Nymph, "makes it accessible to the public, and with new roads built thousands of people will come to enjoy the forest as a great Park.?"
"Hang it all, what do I care about those people?"
"They're the same people for whom you are solicitous to build homes."
"It's a wate of time to talk with you!" The lumberman's guttural tones only half concealed his wrathful feelings. "In a nutshell, forestry is a fad, and a detriment to business; and that's all there is about it!"
" In the words of the man who opened this tract to me," said the Nymph, "it's
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good citizenship. * No man is a good citizen who destroys for selfish ends a growing forest'!"
''Is that so?" The lumberman scratched his head in the effort to follow up this brilliant bit of refutation with something that would confound the Nymph without injuring his own repu- tation as a good citizen, when his cogita- tion was cut short — a really fortunate interruption, or he might still be cogi-
tating— by the roar of a shotgun, and the plinkety-plink of buckshot dancing on the roof of the Nymph's abode.
"Just a moment!" said the Nymph, as she hastily closed the window.
"Hi!" said the lumberman; "you've riddled my hat."
"What yuh git in my way fer?" The mountaineer stepped into view, ejecting a shell from his gun. "I almost winged her."
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"Your way?" The lumberman laughed hoarsely. "This is my way." He seized the mountaineer's weapon, wrenched it from his hand, and hurled it against a tree, as the mountaineer obtained possession of the lumberman's ax, and sent it flying into the chortling waters of a nearby stream.
"When thieves fall out" — murmured a voice.
"You're both near-sighted," sighed the Nymph.
"My eyes air good enough ter see your finish!" The mountaineer picked up his shotgun: the breech was jammed.
"Talk is useless," cried the lumber- man loftily. "Hereafter, I shall be mag- nanimous, and humor the lady." He turned abruptly on his heel. It's the best way."
The two turned to see the Nymph re- garding them from the doorway of the cabin. In her hand she grasped a small picture, framed in birchbark. She held it up for them to view.
"What do you see?" she asked.
"Lost profits and needless trouble," said the lumberman.
"Injustice and spies," said the moun- taineer.
"The only way," corrected the Nymph.
The lumberman did not hear her: he had already hurried off.
"Whar's my fawn an' my pheasant?" demanded the mountaineer.
"They are not yours," replied the Nymph; "and I shall protect them from you. If I allowed everyone to hunt on
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my tract, the game would soon be ex- terminated."
"Ain't askin' yuh ter allow everyone ter hunt; jest me."
"Why should I make an exception of you?"
"'Cause this here forest belonged to me afore it did ter yuh. I was born here an' you're keepin' me from my natural rights. I won't stand fer it."
"But if I didn't prevent you from hunting, the game would soon be gone."
"Well, whut's got ter be's, got ter be!"
"In that case, reconcile yourself to my presence."
"Why fore?"
"'Cause — in or out of the vernacular — I sure got ter be."
"If it wa'ant fer spies — " the moun- taineer moved toward the Nymph mena- cingly.
" My spies?"
"Yes. The spies yuh keep ter watch me."
"Excuse me, the men you refer to are forest-rangers, and are employed to watch the forest for the purpose of keep- ing out fires."
"That's whut yuh say, but we-uns knows they're spies, a-spyin' on us jest the same."
"You're mistaken, my good man. The trees must be preserved as well as the game."
"Whut's the use of preservin' game, if no one's goin' ter kill it?"
"To insure its life."
"Huh!"
"You'll get used to the idea."
"Not much I will."
"You got used to the idea of fencing your fields."
"I reckon I had ter: I got tired of payin' fines."
"That was your first lesson in good citizenship; this will be your second."
"Say, whut d'yuh call yourself?"
"Conservation."
"Well, I'm plain Babtist, an' I don't stand fer none of these new-fangled re- ligions; so thar's an end of the matter."
"No man is a good citizen who kills game regardless of the law."
"No law's a good law that keeps us from huntin'. All right, ma'am, I won't argify. Out of respect fer your tarnation spies, I'll keep ofif'n your tract as best as maybe.
"By keeping off you will be a good citizen in the making."
"By heck! you're obtsinate! No one don't slur my good citizenship. I am a good citizen ; no better citizen was ever citizenized. Why, I tell yuh — "
"Have you paid your road tax?" The voice came from the depths of the forest. Before the county tax collector stepped into view, the mountaineer, had disap- peared silently and hastily into the tree shadows.
The Nymph smiled. She held up the rustic-framed picture before the eyes of the county tax collector.
"What do you see?"
"Robbery! Poverty! Four thousand dollars a year gone! And your tract runs into four counties; four times four thousand is — "
"You, too, are near-sighted," sighed the Nymph. "As a matter of business, however, the five per cent of my gross profits to which you are entitled for your roads, and the five per cent to which you are entitled for your schools — "
"Does not equal the lost taxes!" con- cluded the county tax collector.
" Not this year."
"Nor next."
"Possibly not."
"Nor next, nor next, nor next, n'r next, n' — "
"Don't excite yourself," interrupted the Nymph; "the real return to the County will come indirectly, and sooner
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than you believe. Roads and trails make the beauties of the forest acces- sible, inns and camps will be built to care for the people who will come from all over the country to see and enjoy the beauties of your National Park. Your county will prosper accordingly."
"I wish I could see it."
"I wonder if you mean that." The Nymph eyed the other speculatively.
"Oh, I'm sincere."
"Then suppose we give each other the benefit of our doubts."
The man shook his head dubiously. "If it wasn't for that ugly picture in your hand — " he said.
"What a beautiful picture!" exclaimed the public-spirited citizen as he hurried up, breathless. "You're quite safe?" This to the Nymph.
"Quite, thank you. I shall soon turn militant, and be able to take good care of myself."
"Beautiful?" The county tax col- lector turned on the new arrival, irri-
tated. "What do you see about it that's beautiful?"
"The healthy re-stocked forest, the splendid game, the fish flashing in the streams, the auto roads, the neat houses, the unmarred waterfalls, glens, canyons; the birds, the flowers — "
"Do you really see all that?" inter- rupted the county tax collector.
"Why there's nothing else to see, is there?" The public-spirited citizen turned on him in surprise.
"Good day!" The county tax col- lector lifted his hat, and moved thought- fully away. He felt that he was de trop.
"You see the picture aright," said the Nymph. "Always changing, it will never be the same. Not for one, but for all; not for now, but for always — " She paused; there was a faraway look in her eyes; a great peace seemed to settle down upon the forest.
And she lived happily ever after- wards.
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THE MAN WHO SAW LINCOLN ASSASSINATED
By Walter H. Chandler
TTOLLIS LORENZO CHUBBOCK -*- -*- was sitting fourth from the lower right-hand box, well up to the front, on that eventful night. Mr. Lincoln was sitting in the left box, in full view of the man who is still living to tell the graphic story.
Mr. Chubbock, on the twenty-third of next August, will be seventy-six years old. He was born in 1838, on a farm in Orwell Township, Bradford County, Pa., at a point which would be the third one of a triangle formed by it and Rome and Orwell Hill, both small towns. In the winter time, before leaving the farm, he taught school in the surrounding coun- try, for which he received fifteen dollars a month.
He lacked from April to August of be- ing twenty-eight years old on the night of the assassination. Bearing the weight of his years quite well, Chubbock is at this time an assistant officer of the Sand Springs Park. He is also a deputy sheriff of Tulsa County, Okla., having held that position under both terms of sheriff William McCullough. For the summer season, he resides in a comfor- tably located tent adjacent to the park, and has it as comfortably arranged as are any of the numerous tents which are pitched in that vicinity during the sum- mer months by persons who are fleeing from the heat of the city.
"At the time that President Lincoln was assassinated," said Mr. Chubbock the other day in relating the incident, "I was working in the Agricultural De- partment in Washington, and was lodg- ing at the Model House, on ninth street.
Isaac Newton was then Commissioner of Agriculture. Owing to the fact that most of the actors in those days would visit the Agricultural Department, there were not many times when I was without complimentary tickets to the show.
"There was a man by the name of James Ferguson living in Washington then, with whom I was well acquainted. In fact, we were the best of friends. It chanced to be that Ferguson was run- ning a saloon in the building adjoining Ford's Opera house. On the eighteenth day of April, 1865, the day the President was shot, Ferguson had asked me to go to Ford's with him that night. He said the President would be there. However, seeing President Lincoln at the theater, or any other place, for that matter, had long ceased to be a matter of curiosity for me. I saw him often, and knev/ him both before he was President as well as afterward. Finally, for the purpose of accompanying a lady relative of Ferguson's I accepted the invitation to attend the show on that night.
"Late that afternoon, I was standing talking to Ferguson in front of his place of business, when Wilkes Booth rode up on horseback. He knew Ferguson well, and I was introduced to Booth. After the actor had asked us what we thought of his steed, he invited us to take a drink with him. Booth was an excellent type of manhood, nattily dressed, and fine looking. He was riding a fine filly, of Virginia stock, one of the most beautiful specimens of horseflesh I believe I ever saw.
"The animal was left in charge of a
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fourth person, and Ferguson, Booth, and I went into the saloon, where we stayed and chatted for ten or fifteen minutes. On coming out, Booth got on his horse and rode away, and I went to the Model House to eat, and prepare to attend the show.
"At the show, the party of four of which I was one, sat well down in front on the right-hand side of the house. I was on the extreme left, and four seats from the right side box. The President's box was on the left side, and in plain view. It was liberally draped with flags.
"During the shifting of the scenery, Ferguson glanced back toward the en- trance, looked over at me, and said: 'There goes Booth, over yonder. I won- der where he can be going?' I replied that I was sure I did not know, but looked and saw him enter the rear of Mr. Lincoln's box. It was just a second or two until the report of the pistol shot rang through the theater. Fergu- son cried out, 'My God! Booth has shot the President. '
"For the slightest period of time, be- fore the echo of the shot had scarce died away, there was no demonstration on the part of the persons in the theater. In that short interval. Booth passed in front of the dying President, stepped upon the railing of the box, and made a jump for the stage. His foot did not clear the long strip of flag-design hang- ing on the front of the box, however, and he landed heavily on the stage, but he did not fall. Yet he showed an extreme limp as he escaped out the wing.
"By that time everyone in the theater were on their feet, and were crying to not let the man who did the shooting get away. I have never seen a crowd so excited. Every seat in the house was full, and it seemed that all made a break for the outside at once.
"Ferguson and I took the ladies to a place of securtiy in an upstairs room of the theater, and then went into his saloon. It was filled with men, howling for the blood of the man who shot Lin- coln; and there was a great display of rifles and pistols. None of them seemed to know who did the shooting, and many of them expected to find the man who did it in the saloon evidently, from the way they were searching about the place. Ferguson quickly mounted to the bar, and told the crowd that it was Wilkes Booth who did the shooting, that he was not in the saloon, but that he had made his escape on horseback.
"About that time, the police came into the saloon, drove everyone out, and saw that the place was securely fastened. The President was carried across the street and placed in a building there, and a little later on, Ferguson and I were called into the building to testify as to who did the shooting, and all we knew about it. On account of Fergu- son's acquaintance with Booth, he and I were first ordered to be locked up, to make sure that we would be on hand at the trial of Booth should he be cap- tured; but upon members of the Agri- cultural Department vouching for both of us, we were not placed under guard.
"That night there were soldiers on every street in the city of Washington. It was impossible to walk along the streets and not be accosted by either the soldiers or the police, and no one was allowed to go his way without first hav- ing given an account of himself for the night.
"At that time, I was rooming with a fellow who ran a tugboat up and down the Potomac River. I can't quite re- member his name at this time. One night he came in rather late, and woke me up. He told me that he had brought the body of Wilkes Booth to Washing-
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ton on his boat. I asked him what was done with it. 'Well', he said, 'they took it to the prison in the navy yard, tore up the floor of the cell, and buried it below.' In a day or two, he took me down to the navy yard, and showed me a cell where there were some boards stand- ing up against the windows on the inside. 'That's the cell beneath which they buried Booth,' he told me; and I have every reason to believe what he said."
Mr. Chubbock does not place any credence in the stories that from time to time gain circulation that Wilkes Booth is still living, or that he has recently died. Such a story has often gone the rounds in Oklahoma, and a few years ago it was reported that the body of Booth was lying in an undertaking estab- lishment in the city of Enid, Okla.
"At that time," said Mr. Chubbock, "it was reported that I had gone to Enid, and had identified the body as that of Wilkes Booth. I was requested to go, but I didn't because I have always felt satisfied that my room-mate was telling me the truth when he said he had brought the body of Booth down the Potomac, and that it was buried in the prison in the navy yard in Washington.
"Later on during the trial of the con- spirators against the President, I attend- ed the trial every day, and from all I heard of the trial, and from all I read of it in the newspapers, I do not think that Mrs. Surratt was dealt with fairly when she was hanged for having entered into the conspiracy. The only thing to show her connection with this was the fact that the others had made their head- quarters at her house while the plot was going on; and even at that, there was no proof that she knew the life of Lincoln was being plotted against, and it was generally acknowledged that she be- lieved the President was only to be kid- napped. I firmly believe that if the trial
of the conspirators had not followed so closely after their arrest, and if the hot sentiment and excitement had been al- lowed to cool down a bit, that this woman never would have been hanged."
According to Mr. Chubbuck, the part- ing of Mrs. Suratt and her daughter in the gallows yard on the day of the hang- ing, was the most pitiful scene he has ever witnessed. Even forty-eight years after having seen it, the old gentleman was visibly affected.
The old caretaker of Sand Springs was quite an intimate acquaintance of the martyred President, and had often conversed with him.
"Lincoln was a great and good man," he said, "he was the kind of a man who would recognize an acquaintance if dressed in the best clothes, or if carrying a hod. Several times while I was in the Agricultural Department, it fell to my lot to take presents to the President. I remember distinctly having once taken a tub of butter up to the White House for Mr. Lincoln. I delivered it to the caterer, but Mr. Lincoln learned of it quickly, and called to me before I got off the grounds and chatted with me. At another time I saw the President and the Secretary of War standing at the curb- ing at Pennsylvania Avenue and Four- teenth Street. I attempted to pass back of them without stopping. The Presi- dent chanced to spy me, and he called to me. I went over and talked with him and the Secretary for a few moments, and as I was leaving Mr. Lincoln said:
" 'Now don't try to slip by me any more. '
The old man sighed, crossed over to one of the little rustic tea-houses in the park near the playgrounds for the chil- dren, and seated himself apart, his eyes on the youngsters as they climbed into the swing or splashed water from the wading pond, his thoughts in the past.
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THE CAROLINA SANDHILLS.
(Bion H. Butler.)
A SECTION of North Carolina that has been overlooked by most people or recognized only to condemn it is that miniature mountain region known as the Sandhills. About thirty years ago John T. Patrick, of Wades- boro, Jonathan E. Buchan, of Manly, and some others, set on foot a move- ment to bring the bad lands into public notice, and the change that has taken place is one of the remarkable reversals of public opinion.
In order to bar any charge that I am a prejudiced witness I may as well announce that I am a mountaineer by birth, coming from almost the summit of the Alleghenies, the divide being not more than two or three miles from our lumber camps. I am a mountaineer by training, having lived a mile or much more above sea level. I have climbed the Alleghenies and the Blue Ridge from the Mohawk river to where the chain flattens out in Georgia, the Adirondacks, the Rockies, the Sierras, the Caucausus of Southern Russia, the Balkans, and I know mountains, I would not live or die in a flat country where they did not have enough material to heap a little of it up in piles. So, having qualified as a witness not partisan against the mountain I will go on with the story.
Mr. Patrick proposed to build a com- munity in the Sandhills, and he in- vited people to visit the narrow strip of land along the Seaboard railroad in Moore county, which is about the most typical of the sandhill land. A few answered his call. Then commenced a series of explanations. The accepted
idea seemed to be that when creation was finished a certain amount of waste was left, and it was dumped in the neighborhood where Mr. Patrick pro- posed to colonize people. We all laughed at the Sandhills on the first visit, but at the same time there was a certain fascination in the soft air, and in the green pines, and the clear streams and the open forests, and the dry sandy soil, and the gently rolling hills, and the romantic drives, and the stranger who stayed a few days wanted to stay longer or come again. We always doubt anything new. Then we get acquainted with it and probably go crazy over it.
Well, it was that way with this Sand- hill country as far as I am concerned. I left Pennsylvania one winter morning with the thermometer at twenty below. We put in the first day getting to Har- risburg where drifts held us up until the next morning. It took until night again to get to Weldon, and there we were out of the snow. We reached the Sandhills at night. The next morning was a perfect North Carolina exhibit of mild sunshine. We stayed two weeks and rode over the sand hills and picked arbutus, and saw the peach trees in blossom, and then went back north to find the water pipes frozen, more zero weather, and snow for weeks yet. The week we returned we bought 250 acres of room in the sunshine belt, and paid two dollars an acre for it.
Unless you have some day left the Pennsylvania winter zone and the next day reached the paradise of the North Carolina Sandhills you do not know all
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of the pleasant surprises that a man may encounter. Having seen the agree- able climate it was impossible to stay away from it in cold weather so we began to migrate with the birds, bring- ing the brood. Then it became apparent that having found a good thing there was no use to leave it at certain seasons to go back to the polar region to stay most of the time. Se we tied the legs of the chickens together, and nailed the cat up with the china ware and put the carpets around the mirrors and set out for the land where we might keep warm all the year round.
To me perhaps the greatest mystery would be that eight million people stay in Pennsylvania when they might as well be in North Carolina. But I know that most of them do not realize the big difference, and that some of them are financially unable to make the change.
We came and settled down, and what a development has followed in the last twelve years. We built our house in the forest. We saw neighbors perhaps once a week or maybe not so often. Now clay roads, telephones, automiboles and people are everywhere. Then we were twenty miles from Raeford through the woods, only four houses as I recall on the way. Now we can go to Raeford by three different clay roads, and on one road the only considerable bit of forest along the line is opening up to make farms the entire distance. The spirit of development has run wild over the Sandhills, and money and people are pouring in and changing the entire face of the country.
Gradually we began to get acquainted with the Sandhills. Then we found that we had discovered the Delectable mountains. Then I found that as be- tween a big mountain and a little mountain there is only one difference.
It is the difference of distance. A big mountain is a little mountain exagger- ated. A big valley is a little valley on a different scale.
Before we go any farther about these Sandhill miniature mountains I am going to tell you what the Sandhills really are. This section of the United States is at once the oldest and the newest work of creation. In the early days of the earth, away back before traces of life had been laid down in the fossils of the rocks, apparently be- fore sun and rain and wind had stirred the soil into production, and before the crude vegetable or animal forms had taken shape, the surface of the earth was marked by the presence of the hard rocks the geologists call crystalline, which are the fundamental or under- lying rock strata deepest in the ground. Above those rocks have been formed all of the later deposits which contain the limestones, the coal, the oil, the clay veins, and the stratified rocks of any character whatsoever. The eleva- tion of the mountains of Western North Carolina seems to have sloped the eastern part of the state into the sea, and on the basic rocks if any other formation was laid down it was worn away by the sea. For ages this rocky original floor persisted, and then it gradually raised above the water, as it rose it held the deposits of sand and gravel washed down from the moun- tains by the streams until the rock was covered with the wash. The sea sub- sided, leaving the sand, which has been worn and cut by rains and streams and weather, until a fringe of little moun- tains from two to five hundred feet above the sea, line the foothills of the real mountains with a strip of land about twenty to forty miles wide through Lee, Moore, Richmond and Scotland counties. These mountains
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are little mountains, built chiefly of sand and clay, here and there a layer of rocks where the sand and clay have hardened into real rock, here and there pebbles and cobbles from the still un- pulverized fragments that washed down from the mountains ages ago, here and there the imperfect small stones formed by the cementation together of sand, iron and clay.
Being comparatively loose soil the rains and the streams have carved val- leys among the hills, just as in the western part of the state the action of the storms and forces of ages have carved canyons and gorges and great valleys in the harder rocks of the giant mountains that are the result of the gigantic tasks of erosion. The Sandhills mountains are little mountains but they are the perfect imitation of the big mountains.
Do you know that to get an idea of distance you must have a measure? To look in the sky you can not say that the sun is farther away than the moon, but measures tell that it is. You can not tell by looking at the clouds whether they are fifty feet high or a mile. The snow-capped summits of Mt. Shasta in California, viewed from the valleys in Tehama county look to be five or ten or fifteen miles away, and are seventy- five. The world from the summits of the continental divide in Colorado, nearly two and a half miles in the air, seems at your feet, and but a short distance away. But you can see for an indefinite distance, a hundred miles being a short range. How can you estimate distance? Only by comparison, which is how we compare our little mountains in the Sandhills by the big mountains everywhere.
Scenery becomes picturesque as you have a vantage point from which to view it. At a summit in the Sandhills, where the headwaters of the Cape Fear
and of the Lumber river break off from opposite sides of the same ridge, where the valley opens out on either side until you seem to be able almost to look down the long tortuous road the waters follow to the sea, you can easily imagine you are on a summit in the Appalachians with their tree covered sweeps and their broad and broken valleys and foothills. In the hazy distance the small tributary valleys are lost as they join the bigger ones. The smoke of the southwest is Hamlet. The water towers of the neighborhood towns show to the north and northwest. The massing green of the pine trees in the distance give the appearance of extensive forests. Knobs are conspicuous in the horizon. They look like the swell of bigger mountains in a mountainous country. A photo- graph taken from some of these sum- mits could be given a name to indicate they were taken in sky land, and they would be accepted as coming from any of the peaks in the entire sweep of the ridges from Georgia to the St. Lawrence. These Sanhill mountains are as in- teresting as the bigger mountains and they have the advantage that they are much more accessible. The hundreds of miles of excellent sand-clay roads that have been built through the Sandhill country run over and around the little mountains. They climb the modest hills, and before you suspect you are popped out through a bit of woods to the summit of a peak, and the panorama spread out in front covers miles in all directions. It is a case of the view of Mt. Shasta from the valleys of Tehama. Perhaps you can see five miles, perhaps fifty. You can not tell. We can not guess the distance of the horizon whether we are on a big mountain or a little mountain, and the distance to the ho- rizon is about all there is in the difference of size in mountains.
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It is unfortunate that the miscon- ception of the Sandhill mountains ever went out, for it is only by rediscovery that the charm of these mountains can ever be fixed. Some day I look for the little mountains of North Carolina to be as famous as the big ones, for in the little mountains the traveler who moves southward to escape the winter can find all the romantic outdoor life he wants in his winter vacation, and the altitude is such that the little moun- tains are in the warm weather belt in the cold weather months. The North- ern stranger can start out in his car on a February morning for a tour through the Sandhill mountains and he need not worry about many rugs and wraps and foot heaters. He can stop along the country and find pyxsie moss, and ar- butus coming in blossom, the pyxsie moss in patches as big as a rug. He can pick up the old mill at the creek ford or at the bridge, and he can stop and loiter in the pine thickets.
Then he can leave his car and go afoot over the spurs and ridges that the road skirts, and he will find breaking out of some of the ridges, just as pic- turesque little streams in just as fierce little canyons as he will care to see. The canyons are as abrupt as the bigger ones, and they have the advantage that if they are not convenient to climb where he happens to find them there will be a place farther up or farther down where he can get across, and the job is not one that takes all day to reach the next peak. A big mountain has that disadvantage. If you want to cross the valley to the next peak it is a ong, long way down, and a rough road across and a long, long way to the next top, and those long tiresome climbs take away enthusiasm. One of the interest- ing experiences I meet with in these little mountains is the enthusiasm of
some of the old North Carolina folks who come this way for the first time. They are delighted with the mountain scenery and views and with the progress apparent on every hand. They are astonished that so much is here that is interesting, and that they have never been aware of it before. Some day the people of the state will understand that a trip into the mountains of the low- lands is worth while, and this will be- come a popular place for home folks as well as for people from the North. Some day the natives will know where the Johnson mountain is and McPher- son mountain, and Blue's mountain, and that from the bluff on the McPherson mountain you can look out over the valley at your feet and imagine you are on the promontory at Cape Horn in the Sierras for instance, where you can see the American river a quarter of a mile below, and opening out the valley to the Pacific. Remember all these distances are comparative.
I don't know how far we can see from the McPherson mountain. Possibly South Carolina is in the range of vision. Certainly we can see away down the Cape Fear. But what I know for sure is that we can see an infinitely attractive scene that opens out from all around us and reaches to the unknown point where earth and sky seem to merge into one, and that is big enough for anybody, for it is as big or as little as his imagination cares to make it. Then there is the pleasure of traveling down the little mountain, and through the intervening little valley, and up the side of the next mountain, or around its feet if we prefer, or down the water courses that flow away from the passes of these mountains, for endless variety characterizes all this miniature mountain scenery.
Turning backward to my earlier
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years it looks now as though they had been spent chiefly in the effort to eat three meals a day at three different places, and to sleep in a different bed each night. I have worn out much shoe leather and contributed my share to the railroads and steamship companies. Weighing out the few grains of wheat from the chaff that in that way I have gathered I insist that no place has more to attract the man who likes to travel, than North Carolina, and no part of North Carolina is really more interest- ing than our little mountains here in the Sandhills. I can look out on the day when a snow storm has fallen on the distant ridge, a ridge that is a little higher and which gets snow when we get a misty rain, and it is easy to imagine I am looking at the snow line
on the Caucausus, where in a more im- pressive way the winter wraps the summits and the summer smiles on the plains. Or as a storm crosses the dis- tant ridge in a July afternoon while at our side is a fair sky and perfect weather we can understand that Nature is the same on all her scales. She has her moods, whether in a big or a little exhibition, and if our horizon is broad enough to display the picture it is as good as though it had a back ground a thousand miles in extent.
So we get to the ultimate conclusion, that the Sandhill mountains of North Carolina are about as picturesque and interesting as any poace in the world, and that we do not need to go very far away from home to find things to please and benefit us.
'^
DISCOVERING CAROLINA
(Mary Groome McNinch.)
A group of wise men talking much
Of good old things ,one day, Disputed where the Paradise
Of Eve and Adam lay; Said one, "let's go and find it, then,
Let's search on wave and lea, Sire Adam should have marked it so
His progeny could see."
They wandered over hill and vale,
Where western golds abound. And streams enrich the sea but there
No Paradise was found; They travelled to the whitest north.
Through palaces of ice. But in that glistening fairy land
They found no Paradise!
In all the east of laughing love.
Of suns and gems and spice, On houri ridden desert ways
Was, yet, no Paradise! "It's gone!" they said, "this heavenly place
On earth will be no more. For we have compassed land and sea
Each hill, each vale, each shore."
But, lo! they saw this land of ours,
Where every tree gave song. And breezes caught the scent of flowers.
And fields waved gold along; The streams ground grain, on thousand hills
The cattle did appear. And lambs grazed by the banks whose bells
Made music sweet and clear.
The men they saw were brave and strong.
The women good and fair, Their songs, oh! well, they never saw
Such beings anywhere. 'Twas then these wondering savants looked
Into each other's eyes; "What fools to wander more, "they said,
"For this is Paradise!"
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THE ROMANCE OF CAROLINA'S INDUSTRIAL METROPOLIS
By J. L. Ludlow
ON THE bosom of the eastern slope of the picturesque Appalachian Mountains in Piedmont North Caro- lina, "Pilot Knob" rears its bald head with majestic dignity to the skies, an unmistakable guide to any chance be- wildered traveler.
Prior to the advent of the white man on American soil, for untold centuries this extraordinary freak of geologic for- mation served as the guiding beacon for the hunting expeditions of the primitive races who peopled this country. For generation after generation this bald mountain peak, with its lofty grandeur, directed the wanderings of the hunting parties in peace, and the warring fac- tions when strife was rampant among the tribal divisions of the Red Man. When peace prevailed, upon its broad fiat top signal fires by night sent mes- sages of friendship and kindly greetings from tribe to tribe. And when war and strife were rampant, its signal fires were the means of conveying warnings and summons alike as the exigencies re- quired.
How many tribal battles were won and lost, and to what extent, and in how many ways, the destiny of our own white race was determined by the fires that fiashed from the isolated mountain peak, this silent monument does not tell, nor does history reveal. But tra- dition is the parent of history, par- ticularly of early history, and gives a
fertile field for interesting speculation.
At the time upon which my thought is dwelling, the Piedmont Plateau of the Carolinas was one vast primeval forest with numerous streams of limpid pure water, fresh from the mountain slopes, and here and there a river bot- tom and open fields of wonderful fer- tility. The forests were full of buffalo, bear, and panther, and innumerable game, both great and small. The streams were full of fish. The occasional openings in the forest and the land of the valleys and streams were covered with a luxurious growth of grass and forage. There was no need for modern fertilizer and improved agricultural ma- chinery to make a satisfactory crop. It was only to burn off the grass, scratch a few furrows and drop in a few grains of corn, and a sufficient crop was harvested to feed the entire tribe.
Such was the country from which a large tract was deeded, on easy terms, to the Moravian Church in 1750 by Lord Granville from his great North Carolina estates.
That any people could ever be found sturdy and vigorous and brave enough to undertake the task of conquering so wild a wilderness seemed but an iri- descent dream, and so the land was purchasable at a few cents per acre in any quantity. But the history of the world is full of recorded events which, prior to their achievement, were highly
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improbable or seemingly impossible; and, as the reader knows without the telling, here is a shining example.
In spite of all the development of modern travel and communication, it is being demonstrated that it is a "long, long way to Tipperary"; how easy then to realize that a century and a half ago it was indeed a long, long way to Moravia! Yet hither now this story leads us.
In the kaleidoscopic changes in the geographical evolution of Germany (which seems even yet not to be ended), the eastern province, Moravia, has a distinguished prominence. For cen- turies, this province had been rent asunder by both territorial and religious conquests. Of pious, sturdy, and de- termined yet peace-loving stock, the uncertain prospect of jumping from frying pan into fire could not deter these Moravians when a prospect of constructive and religious freedom was presented. So in the year 1750 they acquired one hundred thousand acres in the promised land of the Carolinas, to which the migration of the Brethren was encouraged.
First there came the pioneer explorers and surveyors to pave the way for the establishment of a colony. The priva- tions and hardships which these pioneer explorers were compelled to endure are matters of history, yet, to the modern reader, with a mind tutored in the easy life of the day, the story seems a romance of fascinating enchantment.
Just a century and a half ago a small band of these people came in sight of the picturesque Pilot Knob and settled and founded the town of Salem beneath its shadow.
The site selected for the settlement was on the bank of a small stream which the early maps designated as
Wach Creek, but which is now known as Salem Creek.
Like most early settlements, the bank of a water course was deemed to offer a suitable setting. Why this small stream was chosen over the beautiful Yadkin River, only thirteen miles away, affords an interesting speculation. One guess that we might hazard pertains to considerations of safety from attacks by Indians who had hitherto been the un- disturbed monarchs of all they could survey in this whole territory.
It had been learned that attacks by stealth rather than open conflict was the custom of the savages, and the site selected offered more seclusion and safety from attack than a site on the more prominent stream, where the principal trails would naturally be located.
And so the town of Salem was es- tablished in the year 1766. At first it was strictly a communal center where all property, including crops and foods, was held in common. So closely was the principle of community brother- hood observed, that we have it from well founded tradition that the system of marriage followed was the selection of wives and husbands by lot, drawing from the names of all the eligibles at the time Mr. Man desired to take unto himself a wife. Before this system gave way to the more democratic one of choosing and asking, however, tradition does not relate that more or less par- donable cheating was not practiced.
Industrial activities, rather than com- merce and agriculture, marked the early history of Salem. During the few years that intervened prior to the Revolu- tionary War, an industrial center of no small magnitude for the day and time had been established and was largely drawn upon for supplies for the Conti- nental Army, particularly for shoes.
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The original Army requisitions for shoes are still preserved in the town archives.
This was before the discovery of the egg-shell trick for settling coffee grounds, and among the early industries of Salem was the manufacture of powder for this purpose. This powder was made by filing or grating the horns of the deer which were abundant and easy prey. Making buck-skin gloves and breeches was a companion industry.
Other industries included the manu- facture of chocolate into marketable cakes directly from the imported bean. The hair covered trunks that were seen in grandfather's attic were most likely the products of Salem factories, as this was an industry of considerable magni- tude in which the skin of dogs and of the wild boar, which was plentiful, were used.
Clay roofing tiles was another in- dustry. Some of these roofing tiles, now nearly a century and a half old, may be seen on one or two of the old houses. A companion industry to this was the manufacture of clay tile heat- ing stoves. These were made in artistic as well as effective shapes and speci- mens of this art of the long ago can be seen in the museum of antiques, which is maintained and carefully guarded in Salem.
This was a peace-loving community in a tobacco-growing section, so the manufacture of clay pipes took on the magnitude of an industry and they were shipped in large numbers to the Northern cities.
The surplus products were mostly marketed by hauling to Charleston, S. C, which was the nearest city and sea- port of that day. Wagon trains of the old time prairie schooner carried the products to the sea and made the neces- sary exchanges for European and North- ern products. These early settlers were
a thrifty and industrious people. In- cluded in their number were mechanics, skilled in the various trades necessary for building up an independent com- munity and supplying all the comforts of living known to that day. So they purchased much less than they sold and by 1770 the community was able, col- lectively, to loan seven thousand dollars in good money to the State.
In 1771 a water power grist mill was built; in 1772 a tan yard and pottery; in 1787 a wagon factory; in 1791 a paper mill; in 1815 a woolen mill; in 1837 a steam driven cotton mill for both spinning and weaving was an epoch in the industrial development of the town, which by this time had reached a population of 700.
By 1849 this section of the State had become so peopled that it became de- sirable to establish a new county, and the good old town of Salem had forced upon her an adopted child in the new "county town" of Winston, only a mile or so away. I say forced upon her, be- cause a county seat with a court house and jail — and their attending festivities, as they prevailed in that day — was quite distasteful to the staid, serene, religious life which had been developed as Salem's distinctive characteristic. It is at least a matter of accepted tradition, if not of history, that for many years the young town was treated by Salem like the proverbial red-headed step- child. But in the good year, 1913, all past differences were forgiven and for- gotten and the two towns united into Winston-Salem, with one municipal government.
The industrial development of Wins- ton began with the first tobacco factory which was built in 1874. Owing to the proximity of tobacco fields and super- ior facilities for marketing factory pro- ducts, in the hands of brainy and hust-
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ling men, the tobacco industry took on a rapid growth. By 1890 there were a large number of small factories engaged in this industry with an annual produc- tion of eight million pounds of plug tobacco. By 1900 the factory output had increased to twenty million pounds and in 1914 it was more than sixty- five million pounds.
During the period of 1890 to 1900 there came a readjustment of the tobacco industry. In the local industry the readjustment brought concentration of the smaller factories into the larger units. For supremacy in this industry Winston-Salem had worthy rivals in neighboring cities of North Carolina and Virginia.
Supplemented perhaps to some ex- tent by superior natural advantages, the energy and business acumen of Winston-Salem manufacturers was suc- cessful in the rivalry with the other cities and the foundation was laid for a great industry of world-wide propor- tions.
In the readjustment of the tobacco industry, much of the energy, brains, and money which had hitherto been utilized in the tobacco industry was turned to other lines, with the result that a wide diversity of industry had its beginning, until today supremacy as an industrial center is so thoroughly established, Winston-Salem is now the largest center for the manufacture of tobacco in the United States. It is the largest center for the manufacture of fine knit goods in the South. It is among the largest furniture manufac- turing centers. It has a greater diver- sity of industries than any other city in the Carolinas. Among the manu- facturing enterprises are tobacco fac- tories, cotton mills, hosiery mills, knit underwear factories, carriage and wagon factories, woolen and blanket factory,
harness factories, furniture factories, roller mills, fertilizer factory, foundry and machine shops, veneer factory, mirror factories, and a wide variety of machine novelties and articles of com- mon use. The factories employ 12,000 wage earners with a weekly pay-roll exceeding $100,000. More than 500 traveling salesmen carry samples of Winston-Salem products into every part of North America and to a number of foreign countries.
The total value of the factory pro- ducts in 1890 was $5,000,000; in 1900, $10,000,000; in 1914, $40,000,000. Co- incident with this great increase in manufactured products the population has increased from 4,000 in 1880 to 11,000 in 1890; 15,000 in 1900 and 40,000 at the present time.
Situated in the foot-hills of the Blue Ridge Mountains at an altitude of 1,000 feet, it has the most salubrious and even-tempered, all-the-year-round climate to be found in America. In addition to rare proximity to raw ma- terials and wide markets for its indus- trial operations, it has favorable trans- portation routes to the markets of the world. An abundance of intelligent, readily trained Anglo-Saxon labor is a factor of importance in its industrial activities. It has the civic equipment of the modern city. Good schools and churches is the zealous care of the com- munity conscience. It has many at- tractive features of surpassing interest. It is a city where every body works. It is a veritable bee-hive of industry in a land of sunshine and flowers, with a hospitable, kindly citizenship. The environment is a rare combination of God-made and man-made conditions, which make it a good place to live — where life is worth living and living abundantly.
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THE STORY OF THE GOLD PRODUCING WEED
^
By G. E. Webb.
TN writing a sketch of the tobacco -■- industry of Winston-Salem, we can not go into lengthy details of private enterprises or fulsom praise of individ- uals, but it shall be our purpose to pre- sent in as brief a manner as is con- sistent with an intelligent and we trust
States if not in the world. As much as the writer would like to do so, he can not go into details as to the history of the various enterprises that have made the place famous as a tobacco market. Many of these enterprises enter ex- tensively into the history of Winston-
Brown-Williamson Tobacco Company's Plant
a comprehensive description of facts in connection with the City's most im- portant business, which shall show forth to the world our undoubted claim to the distinction of being the most important tobacco center in the United
Salem, and many of the men who helped to make the City what it is, are entitled to credit and honor for their high achievements in connection with solid enterprises.
The birth of the Winston-Salem
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tobacco market occurred on the four- teenth day of February, eighteen-sev- enty-two, when the late Major T. J. Brown together with other gentlemen of the then little village held the first auction sale of tobacco. The sale was held in an old stable, and about 20,000 pounds of tobacco was sold on the open- ing sale.
It may not be amiss to mention in connection with the organization of the market such men as Col. Geo. W. Hin- shaw, Mr. Jas. A. Gray and the late Messrs. T. J. Wilson, J. W. Alspaugh,
needed more money than they had on hand to pay off any day's sale they would go out and borrow from some firm or private individual.
From the time of the opening of the Winston tobacco market until this day, the superior excellency of tobaccos grown in this section have attracted the attention of tobacco manufacturers and tobacco users in various parts of the world. It is a conceded fact that the tobaccos of the Piedmont Section posess a peculiar sweetness and flavor, that makes them popular for chewing
Brown-Williamson's Storage Warehouses
A. B. Gorrell, Dr. Shaffner and others. The second warehouse to be built was the Lash Warehouse built in 1873. The Planters, which was afterwards known as Piedmont, in the same year, and then followed others, some of which are now in existence while others have passed into history. In 1872 when the first tobacco was sold the population of Winston-Salem was not more than three hundred. There was no bank in Wins- ton. The Old Cape Fear Bank in Salem was the only banking institution in this section. When warehousemen
purposes, and it is also a fact that a large percentage of our tobacco are always in demand for smoking and cigarette purposes and they are also in great demand by certain foreign coun- tries.
It is not a far cry to the February day in seventy-two, when the few scattered buyers were summoned to the first sale by the blowing of a horn, such as was used on stage coaches, when 20,000 pounds were sold, to the present time, when the market is selling nearly 30,- 000,000 pounds annually, and sometimes
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more than half a milHon pounds in a day. The production of tobacco in the State amounts to something Hke 180,- 000,000 pounds annually. It will be seen therefore that, while there are thirty-five or forty tobacco markets in the State, the Winston-Salem market sells about one-sixth of the State's production. During the tobacco season of 1913-14 the market paid out through its warehouses about $4,500,000 to the farmers of this section.
from 5 to 1,000 pounds to the pile. As many as 2,500 piles of tobacco is sometimes crowded on one of the huge floors, and as the floor has to be cleared in a day the expert auctioneer, who is also trained to his job is forced to sell at the rate of five lots a minute. To the stranger a sale is a show. The voice of the auctioneer is heard all the day long as he goes rapidly from pile to pile, saying things that no one can tell except the buyer. He is followed by
THE LATE M. W. NORFLEET
Mr. Norfleet Established Piedmont Warehouse for the Sale of Leaf Tobacco in 1875. The business is now conducted by his sons.
To a stranger visiting Winston-Salem for the first time, its tobacco warehouses become objects of decided interest. Especially is this the case if a big "break" is in progress. There can be seen a number of keen eyed thoroughly educated buyers, men who are supposed to be so well trained as to enable them to tell within a fraction what this, that or the other grade of leaf is worth. Some days the immense floors are covered with piles of tobacco, ranging
the warehouseman, and a corpse of helpers, and farmers crowd around him all the time. Just as rapidly as the tobacco is sold the farmer goes to the office and receives his money.
While Winston-Salem claims the dis- tinction of being one of the great leaf tobacco markets of the world, it is not to this fact alone she owes her great- ness as a tobacco center.
Winston-Salem is to-day the most important point for the manufacture of
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tobacco in the United States. More than eighty per cent of the country's production of what is known as flat plug chewing tobacco is made here. MilUons of pounds of smoking tobacco is made here, and sold throughout the world. Cigarettes and snuff are also manufactured extensively, and the ex- tensive tobacco manufacturing interests together with the importance of the leaf market easily places Winston-Salem in the lead as a great tobacco center.
ness men discovered that a good leaf market presented extra inducements for the manufacture of tobacco, and to-day from a small beginning back in seventy- two, the output of manufactured to- bacco in Winston-Salem amounts to about seventy-five million pounds an- nually and the City has a world wide reputation, from her success in this industry.
The tobacconists of Winston-Salem who are living and who are engaged in
Old Piedmont Warehouse
But little tobacco was manufactured here prior to the advent of warehouses. Major Hamilton Scales being the first to start the business. After Major Scales came the Vaughns from Stokes and then the Hanes from Davie County and Bitting & Whitaker and R. J. Reynolds and his brothers from Pat- rick County, Va.
From year to year enterprising busi-
the tobacco trade as a rule are men of whom the City may well feel proud. Generally starting with small means they have by sagacity, industry and perseverance hewn out their own suc- cess and become the architects of the competency with which they are sur- rounded. Their deahngs with cus- tomers and employees have always been characterized by fairness and liberality
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and for generous aid to public enter- prises. No class of our citizenship can be so universally relied upon.
The extensive tobacco business of Winston-Salem is conducted upon a systematic basis. Thousands of men,
women and children find clean and healthy employment in the factories and warehouses, and as the years go by the volume of the tobacco business increases and there is no telling what the possibilities are.
COL. GARLAND E. WEBB
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ROAD WORK IN NORTH CAROLINA DURING NINETEEN - FOURTEEN
•*•
By Joseph Hyde Pratt, State Geologist.
'T^HE North Carolina Geological and -■- Economic Survey in cooperation with the United States Office of Public Roads collects each year data in regard to the road work of the various counties and townships for the previous year. Such returns have not yet been received for 1914, but from information which has been obtained during the year through correspondence and otherwise it can safely be stated that the road work of this State progressed more rapidly and satisfactorily during 1914 than ever before.
There was raised for public road funds in the various counties during 1914 approximately $1,500,000 by special taxes, about one-sixth of which has gone toward the interest and sinking fund on bond issues. During this same period there have been voted $4,865,000 in bonds by counties and townships, about $2,430,000 of this being spent during the year. On an average there was used about 1,800 short-term con- victs on the public roads in the county and township chain gangs and about 150 state convicts. The labor of these convicts adds approximately $360,000 to the road fund. Reckoning free labor at $1 per man per day we have about $800,000 spent on the roads in addition to the above. Interest in good roads has reached such a keen stage that there has been subscribed by private indi- viduals toward the building of good roads sums amounting in 1914 to ap- proximately $60,000.
It will be seen from the above that we have spent during the past year ap- proximately $5,150,000 on our public roads. We now have in North Caro- lina approximately 48,991 miles of pub- lic roads, of which 5,474 miles have been improved and surfaced up to January the 1st, 1914. It is estimated that during 1914 about 1,500 miles of road were graded and surfaced, cost- ing approximately $4,000,000. Whether or not this money was wisely spent depends upon whether the roads were located properly and built according to approved and economical methods. It is a matter of gratification, however, that there has been a decided change in the character of the expenditure of the road funds in many of our counties. Upon the advice of the Highway Di- vision of the Geological Survey more and more counties and townships have been induced to employ competent highway engineers to take charge of their road work. If such engineers are given the right support by the people of the county the money will be expended wisely and economically.
The amount of engineering assistance which the Geological Survey has been able to give to the counties and town- ships, although limited by the small appropriation to the Survey, has re- sulted in the proper location and con- struction of many miles of road which otherwise would either not have been attempted or would have been poorly located and built.
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It is believed by those who have studied the road situation of the State very carefully that the establishment of a State Highway Commission or an increased appropriation to the High- way Division of the Geological Survey would result in a wise expenditure of the road funds in the various counties of the State, and prevent the enormous waste which results from the present haphazard and unsystematic methods of road administration and construction.
It is being realized more and more in this State that public roads are of more than local interest and that long stretches of good roads are matters of State importance. This I hope is bearing fruit in the intercounty and interstate highways which are now being constructed through various sec- tions of our State and of the country. Among these are the National Highway, the Capital to Capital Highway, the
Quebec-Miami Highway, the Southern National Highway (following the route of the Central Highway), the Asheville- Murphy-Atlanta Highway, the Ashe- ville-Greenville Highway, the Asheville- Charlotte and Charlotte - Wilmington Highway, the Central Highway, the Triangular Highway, the Boone Way, the Asheville-Knoxville Highway, the Wilmington - Goldsboro Highway, the Crest of the Blue Ridge Highway, etc., etc.
The building of these highways ex- tending from county to county and from State to state marks an era of liberality on the part of the various counties and sections of the State which has heretofore not been felt in any pub- lic work. By making it possible for one section of the State to have a good road to another section will undoubtedly bring about a closer bond of citizenship than has heretofore existed in the State.
JAMES A. GREER Author and Publisher
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O. HENRY
(By C. Alphonso Smith.)
O HENRY'S life falls naturally into • two periods, a period of prepara- tion extending to 1902, and a period of achievement extending from 1902, when he settled in New York, to his death in 1910. He was born on West Market Street, Greensboro, North Carolina, September 11, 1862. His mother died when he was only three years old but he cherished through life the tenderest thought of her and used often to speak with mingled pride and affection of the poems that she had written. Her maiden name was Mary Jane Virginia Swaim. She studied at the Edgeworth Female Seminary in Greensboro and at the Greensboro Female College, graduat- ing from the latter in 1850 at the age of seventeen. Her graduating essay bore the title "The Influence of Misfortune on the Gifted." I have in my possession several of her letters written in early girlhood and one of her textbooks, Dr. Archibald Alexander's "Evidences of Christianity." The fly leaves are covered with selections from her favorite poets and with dainty sketches of gates, houses, trees, and flowers. A faded note written by one of her teachers when she was thirteen shows that she was study- ing algebra, philosophy, English gram- mar, and rhetoric. "She ranks", says the note, "no. 1 in her studies, has an excellent mind, and will no doubt make a fine scholar".
What is more pertinent, however, is that her letters even as a child show a nimble and alert humor that breaks through the prim formalities of the time with surprising and delightful fre-
quency. One of her classmates writes: "Miss Mary Swaim was noted in her school days as a writer of beautiful English and the school girls came to depend upon her for their compositions. She wrote most of the graduating essays for the students". In character, in temperament, in literary taste, and in a certain instinctive shyness, O. Henry owed much to his mother.
To his father, Dr. Algernon Sidney Porter, he certainly owed in part his sympathy with all sorts and conditions of men, his overflowing generosity, his indifference to caste, — in a word his constant and essential democracy. To the same source may be ascribed, through association at least, some of O. Henry's constructive ingenuity. Dr. Porter was for several years the best known and the best loved physician in Guilford County. An old friend of his, to whom the memory of Dr. Porter brought tears, said recently: "He was the best hearted man I ever knew, hon- est, high-toned, and generous. Rain or shine, sick or well, he would visit the poorest family in the county. He would have been a rich man if he had collected a half of what was due him. His iron- gray hair and the shape of his head reminded you of Zeb Vance. "
My own memory of Dr. Porter — he died in 1888 — is of a small man with a huge head and long beard, quiet, gentle, soft- voiced, self-effacing, who looked at you as if from another world and who walked with a step so noiseless, so abso- lutely echo-less, as to attract attention. This characteristic also was inherited
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by his gifted son who always seemed to me to be treading on down. They used to say of Dr. Porter that he had a far better scientific knowledge of medicine and drugs than any other physician in the community. He had studied under Dr. David Weir and for a time lectured on chemistry at the Edgeworth Female Seminary of which Dr. Weir was prin- cipal. Dr. Porter's interests veered, however, more and more to inventions, and less and less to the actual practice of medicine. A perpetual motion water wheel became his vocation, his avoca- tions being a churn, a washing machine, a horseless carriage to be run by steam, and a cotton picking contrivance that was to take the place of negro labor. In one of his last interviews O. Henry said that he often found himself recall- ing the days when as a boy he used to lie sprawling and dreaming on the old barn floor in Greensboro while his father worked quietly and assiduously on his perpetual motion water wheel.
But the strongest influence brought to bear on O. Henry during his life in North Carolina was the influence of his aunt. Miss Evelina Maria Porter, known by everyone as Miss Lina. The death of his mother when he was only three years of age and the increasing absorp- tion of his father in fruitless inventions resulted in Miss Lina's taking the place of both parents, and this she did, not only with whole-souled devotion but with rare and efficient intelligence. Her little school room on the Porter premises has long been torn down but it still lives in the grateful memory of all who attended it and has attained a new immortality in the fame of its most brilliant pupil. O. Henry attended no other school and he attended this only to the age of fifteen. Miss Lina did not spare the rod but I have never known a pupil of her school, whether doctor,
teacher, preacher, lawyer, or judge, who did not say that every application of the rod, so far as he was concerned, was amply and urgently deserved. To have been soundly whipped by Miss Lina is still regarded in Greensboro as a sort of spiritual bond of union, linking together the citizens of the town in a community of cutaneous experience, for which they would not exchange a college diploma. But we are more concerned here with Miss Lina's method of teaching litera- ture. She had a method and O. Henry's lifelong love of good books was the fruitage of her method. She did not teach the history of literature but she labored in season and out of season to have her pupils assimilate the spirit of literature. Her reading in the best English literature was, if not wide, at least intimate and appreciative. She loved books as she loved flowers, because her nature demanded them. Fiction and poetry were her means of widening and enriching her own inner life, not of learning facts about the world without. She did not measure literature by life but life by literature. I have often thought that Miss Lina must have been in O. Henry's thought when he wrote those suggestive words about Azalea Adair in "A Municipal Report:" "She was a product of the old South, gently nurtured in the sheltered life. Her learning was not broad, but was deep and of splendid originality in its some- what narrow scope. She had been edu- cated at home, and her knowledge of the world was derived from inference and by inspiration. Of such is the precious, small group of essayists made. While she talked to me I kept brushing my fingers, trying, unconsciously, to rid them guiltily of the absent dust from the half-calf backs of Lamb, Chaucer, Hazlitt, Marcus Aurelius, Montaigne, and Hood. She was exquisite, she was
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a valuable discovery. Nearly everybody nowadays knows too much — oh, so much too much — of real life."
Miss Lina used regularly to gather her boys about her at recess and read to them from some classic author. When she saw that she had caught their in- terest she would announce a Friday night meeting in the school room at which they would pop corn and roast chestnuts and she would continue the readings. "I did more reading", says O. Henry, "between my thirteenth and nineteenth years than I have done in all the years since and my taste at that time was much better than it is now, for I used to read nothing but the clas- sics. Burton's "Anatomy of Melan- choly" and Lane's translation of "The Arabian Nights" were my favorites". During his busy years in New York he often remarked to Mrs. Porter: "I never have time to read now. I did all my reading before I was twenty". This did not, of course, refer to news- papers which he devoured three or four times a day.
But Miss Lina believed that the best way to learn or to appreciate the art of narration was to try your hand at it yourself. You might never become a great writer but you would at least have a first hand acquaintance with the dis- cipline that well-knit narrative involves. In the intervals, therefore, between chestnut roastings and classic readings an original story would be started, everyone present having to make an impromptu contribution when called on. Each contribution, being expected to grow naturally out of the incidents that preceded it, demanded of course the closest attention to all that had hitherto been said. The most difficult role in this narrative program fell of course to the pupil who tried to halt the windings of the story by an interesting and ade-
quate conclusion. To do this required not only a memory that retained vividly the incidents and characters already projected into the story but a con- structive imagination that could inter- pret and fuse them. Need I say that the author of "The Four Million" found his keenest delight in this exercise or that his contributions were those most eagerly awaited by teacher and pupil?
But when O. Henry's boyhood friends recall him it is not as a pupil in Miss Lina's school; nor is it as the writer in the great city, whose stories count their readers by the million. It is as the clerk in his uncle Clark Porter's drug store on Main Street. Here he was known and loved by old and young, black and white, rich and poor. He was the wag of the town, but so quiet, so unobtrusive, so apparently pre- occupied that it was his pencil rather than his tongue that spread his local fame. His feeling for the ludicrous, for the odd, for the distinctive, in speech, tone, appearance, conduct, or character responded instantly to the appeal made by the drug store constituency. Not that he was not witty; he was. But his best things were said with the pencil. There was not a man or woman in the town whom he could not reproduce recognizably with a few strokes of a lead pencil, though he never took a lesson in drawing. Thus it was a com- mon occurrence, when Mr. Clark Porter returned to the store from lunch, for a conversation like this to take place. O. Henry would say: "Uncle Clark, a man called to see you a little while ago to pay a bill". It should be premised that it was not good form in those days to ask a man to stand and deliver either his name or the amount due. "Who was it"? Mr. Porter would ask. "I never saw him before but he looks
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like this," and the pencil would dash up and down a piece of wrapping paper. "O, that's Bill Jenkins out here at Reedy Fork. He owes me $7.25."
His pencil sketches sometimes gave offence, especially when some admirer would hang them in the store window, but rarely. He was absolutely without malice. There was about him also a gentleness of manner, a delicacy of feeling, a refinement in speech and demeanor that was as much a part of him as his humor. No one who knew him in the old days could be surprised at the indignation with which in later years he resented the constant com- parison of his work with that of De Maupassant, though he kept a copy of De Maupassant always at hand. No two writers ever lived more diametrically opposed than O. Henry and De Mau- passant except in technique. "I have been called", he said, "the American De Maupassant, Well, I never wrote a filthy word in my life, and I don't like to be compared to a filthy writer." Vulgarity was never funny to him; it was only disgusting. Like Edgar Allan
Poe, with whom he had little else in common, O. Henry was honored during his whole life with the understanding friendship of a few noble-spirited women who in the early days as in the later helped, I think, to keep his compass true. George Eliot in " Romola" tells of the part played in medieval Florence by the barber shop. A somewhat anal- ogous part was played in Greensboro a generation ago by the drug store. Greensobro itself, it may be said, was more than a typical small town. Its widely patronized law school and schools for women, the standing of its preachers and judges, its graded school which was the first to be established in the State, its nearness to the Revolutionary battle field of Guilford Court House, its varied though limited produce due to its mid- state situation, and the comparative absence of violent political antagonisms made it a good town to be born in and a wholesome town to live in. It .contained not more than five thousand inhabitants but the drug store was the rendezvous of all classes. It was in fact the social, political, and anecdotal clearing house
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of the town. The patronage of the grocery stores and dry goods stores was controlled in part by denominational lines, but everybody patronized the drug store. It was also a sort of physical confessional. The man who would expend only a few words in purchasing a ham or a hat would talk half an hour of his aches and ills or those of his family before buying twenty-five cents worth of pills or a ten cent bottle of liniment. When the ham or the hat was paid for and taken away there was usually an end of it. Not so with the pills or the liniment. The patient usually came back to continue his personal or family history and to add a sketch of the char- acter and conduct of the pills or liniment. All this was grist to O. Henry's mill.
No man, I think, without a training similar to O. Henry's would be likely to write such a story as " Makes the Whole World Kin". A burglar, you remember, has entered a house at night. "Hold up both your hands", he said. "Can't raise the other one," was the reply. "What's the matter with it?" "Rheu- matism in the shoulder." "Inflamma- tory?" asked the burglar. "Was. The inflammation has gone down." " 'Scuse me," said the burglar, "but it just socked me one, too." "How long have you had it?" inquired the citizen. "Four years." "Ever try rattlesanke oil?" asked the citizen. "Gallons. If all the snakes I've used the oil of was strung out in a row they'd reach eight times as far as Saturn, and the rattles could be heard at Valparaiso, Indiana, and back." In the end the burglar helps the citizen to dress and they go out together, the burglar standing treat.
The drawings that O. Henry used to make of the characters that frequented the drug store were not caricatures. There was usually, it is true, an over- emphasis put upon some one trait but
this trait was the central trait, the over- emphasis serving only to interpret and reveal the character as a whole. Exam- ining these sketches anew, when the characters themselves are thirty odd years older than they were then, one is struck with the resemblance still exist- ing. In fact O. Henry's sketches repro- duce the characters as they are today more faithfully than do the photographs taken at the same time. The photo- graphs have been outgrown, but not the sketches; for the sketches caught the central and permanent, while the photogrpahs made no distinction. In O. Henry's story called "A Madison Square Arabian Night" an artist, picked at random from the "free-bed line", is made to say: "Whenever I finished a picture people would come to see it, and whisper and look queerly at one another. I soon found out what the trouble was. I had a knack of bringing out in the face of a portrait the hidden character of the original. I don't know how I did it — I painted what I saw." In 1882, at the age of twenty, O. Henry moved from Greensboro to Texas. His life in Texas has been succinctly told in the pages of the New York "Bookman" and will be only summar- ized here. It may be that his health had something to do with his going to Texas but far more urgent were the accounts that used to come to us in Greensboro of the adventure of the Hall boys in Texas. O. Henry thrilled over these stories and made us thrill over them, but I never heard him men- tion his health and never thought of him as frail. One of the most memor- able characters in Greensboro a genera- tion ago was Dr. James K. Hall, a giant of a man, who, from habit if not from necessity, used to stoop whenever he entered an ordinary doorway. Dr. Hall had succeeded to the practice that had
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once been O. Henry's father's and was of course an habitue of Mr. Clark Por- ter's drug store. His two sons, Dick and Lee, were the first Greensboro men to hear and heed the call of Texas. They settled in La Salle County and became noted Texas rangers. O. Henry used to hold us breathless with the hair-breadth 'scapes of these two Caro- linians whose parents lived quiet and honored lives among us but whose adventures along the Nueces and the Rio Grande made the romance of La Salle and Webb Counties seem to us a close second to "the glory that was Greece and the grandeur that was Rome". La Salle County became our ideal borderland. We read Scott and Cooper but we thought of La Salle County.
No one was surprised, therefore, when O. Henry slipped quietly away and settled in La Salle County with Dick and Lee Hall. His life on the ranch, his happy marriage in Austin, his exper- iences with "The Rolling Stone," his work on the Houston Post, his visits to New Orleans and Central America con- tributed enormously to widen his vision, to deepen and diversify his knowledge of life, and thus to make possible the inimitable work of later years. He learned in three months to speak Mex- ican Spanish like a native, his reading became more and more inclusive, his association with Mrs. Dick Hall served to re-light the torch received from Miss Lina, his experiences in an Austin drug store and land office supplemented and enlarged the experiences gained in his uncle's store, and the six months in Honduras not only gave the material for "Cabbages and Kings" but con- tributed the necessary contrast and per- spective to all that had gone before.
When O. Henry arrived in New York in 1902 his formative years had passed
and his genuinely creative work was to begin. His preparation had been
thorough, continuous, and peculiarly adapted to the work that he was to do. From Miss Lina's school to New York may justly be called his "In the Work- shop" period; his eight years in New York were his "In the World" period. During these last eight years he pub- lished nearly all of the two hundred and fifty-two stories that now circulate in book form. His most prolific years were 1904 and 1905. In 1904 he pub- lished sixty-seven stories and in 1905 fifty-two. No other years of his life approximate such an output. When we consider not only the number of these stories but their range of theme, their variety of locale, their differences of mood and manner, their technical excel- lence, and their steadily increasing appeal in book form to the reading public, it becomes evident that a new chapter has been added to the annals of narrative genius in this country. When O. Henry began to write, there was a settled tradition that short stories which had already appeared in maga- zines or newspapers would not sell in book form. . Today more than 1,100,000 O. Henry volumes have found pur- chasers, and each year marks an ad- vance over the preceding year.
A new angle from which to appraise the distinction of O. Henry's work dur- ing these eight years is furnished by a questionnaire recently sent out to a select list of ten, composed of those who write stories, those who buy stories, and those who sell stories. Each of the ten was asked to name the ten stories of O. Henry that made the strongest personal appeal to him. The returns, published in the New York Bookman of June 1914, show that sixty-two different stories were named. One risks nothing in saying that no
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other writer of short stories, living or dead, would have had so long a pre- ferred list put to his credit. It may be mentioned also that since 1908 hardly a book has appeared on the American short story as a distinct literary type that does not make prominent the work of O. Henry. Some of these books are popular and superficial in treatment while others are studied and technical; but whether written for the high school pupil or the general reader or the college student, it is exceptional to find one that does not use some of O. Henry's stories as models.
O. Henry's real achievement, however, is not to be measured in terms of his preparation or of his present vogue. It must be sought, of course, in the nature of his work itself. Most of those who have commented upon his work have singled out his technique, especially his unexpected endings, as his distinctive contribution to the American short story. "I cannot drop this topic", says Professor Walter B. Pitkin, author of "The Art and the Business of Story Writing," "without urging the student to study carefully the maturer stories of 0. Henry, who surpasses all writers past and present in his mastery of the direct denouement".
The unexpected ending, however, is not, even technically, the main point in the structural excellence of a short story. Skill here marks only the con- vergence and culmination of structural excellence that have stamped the stor^^ from the beginning. The crack of the whip at the end is a mechanical feat as compared with the skilful manipulation that made it possible. Walter Pater speaks somewhere — and O. Henry's best stories are perfect illustrations — of "that architectural conception of the work which perceives the end in the beginning and never loses sight of it.
and in every part is conscious of all the rest, till the last sentence does but, with undiminished vigor, unfold and justify the first." In fact it is not the surprise at the end that reveals the technical mastery of O. Henry or of Poe and De Maupassant. It is rather the instantly succeeding second surprise that there should have been a first surprise: it is the clash of the unexpected but inevit- able.
It is not technique, however, that has given O. Henry his wide and widening vogue. It is rather that he has enlarged the area of the American short story by enriching and diversifying its social content. In his hands the short story has become the organ of a social con- sciousness more varied and multiform than it had ever expressed before. Old Sir John Davies once said of the soul that it was
"Much like a subtle spider which doth sit
In middle of her web, which spreadeth wide;
If aught do touch the utmost thread of it, She feels it instantly on every side."
So was O. Henry. Whether in North Carolina or Texas or New York an instant responsiveness to the humor or the pathos or the mere human interest of men and women playing their part in the drama of life, was always his distinguishing characteristic. It was not merely that he observed closely. Beneath the power to observe and the skill to reproduce lay a passionate inter- est in social phenomena which with him no other interest ever equalled or ever threatened to replace.
Man in solitude made little appeal to O. Henry, though he had seen much of solitude himself. But man in society, his "humors" in the old sense, his whims and vagaries, his tragedies and comedies and tragi-comedies, his con- flicts with individual and institutional forces, his complex motives, the good
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underlying the evil, the ideal lurking potent but unsuspected within — , what- ever entered as an essential factor into the social life of men and women wrought a sort of spell upon O. Henry and found increasing expression in his art. It was not startling plots that he sought: it was human nature themes, themes beckoning to him from the life about him but not yet wrought into short story form. Thus the short story received at his hands a new sensitive- ness, a new plasticity. It began to mirror aspects and areas of society unadmitted before.
In "An Unfinished Story" it enters the lists of social service in behalf of the under-paid and under-appreciated. Some one has said that Dickens's "Christmas Carol" has done more good than any story ever written. As the years go by will not the "Christmas Carol" be overtaken by "An Unfinished Story?" It was not hunger, it was not the need of the so-called necessities that wrecked Dulcie's life. The cause lay deeper than that; it belonged not to the eternal- human but to the eternal-womanly. It was neither food nor clothing; it was the natural love of adornment. Dulcie received S6.00 a week. The necessities amounted to $4.76. "I hold my pen poised in vain", says O. Henry, "when I would add to Dulcie's life some of those joys that belong to woman by virtue of all the unwritten, sacred, natural, in- active ordinances of the equity of heaven". In "A Municipal Report" O. Henry makes the short story enter the lists as an antagonist of the theory that New York, New Orleans, and San Francisco are the only "story cities" in the United States. "Dear cousins all (from Adam and Eve descended) ", says the author in his philosophical overture to the story, "it is a rash one who will lay his finger on the map and say: 'In
this town there can be no romance'." In "The Gift of the Magi "the philosophical paragraph comes last. It explains how the story came to be so named and throws a new light on an incident as old as Christianity. The gift of gold, frankincense, and myrrh made by the magi to the infant Christ was a gift utterly without utility. What could the infant Jesus do with these things? But the pure love that prompt- ed the gift shines all the brighter because the gift itself, humanly speaking, was an egregious misfit. Every parent or teacher who has received Christmas gifts from little children recognizes that O. Henry has here enriched a Bible incident not by formal comment but by a very modern Christmas story.
In "The Lickpenny Lover" we have a brilliant variation on a theme familiar to everyone who has ever thought at all on "language as social custom". There are thousands of working girls in New York whose world is bounded by Coney Island. From some such com- monplace of daily speech O. Henry took his cue. Masie, a shop girl, is courted by Irving Carter, painter, millionaire, traveler, poet, automobilist. He had fallen in love at first sight. "Marry me, Masie", he whispered, "and we will go away from this ugly city to beautiful ones. I know where I should take you" and he launched into a moving descrip- tion of palaces, towers, gondolas, India and her ancient cities, Hindoos, Jap- anese gardens, — but Masie had risen to her feet. The next morning she scorn- fully remarked to her chum, Lu: "What do you think that fellow wanted me to do? He wanted me to marry him and go down to Coney Island for a wedding tour". So the Hostess in "Henry V" thought that the dying Falstaff only "babbled of green fields" but he was repeating or trying to repeat
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the Twenty-Third Psalm. Words meant to Masie and to the poor Hostess only what their experience would let them mean; and words mean to you and me only what our experience will let them mean. The pathos as well as the humor of speech as a social instrument is that the appeal of every word is measured not by its formal definition but by the hearer's orbit of experience and associa- tion. Are we not all Masies more or less when we read Dante or Shakespeare or Goethe? Do not opportunities call in vain because our little personal orbits will not let us see them as opportuni- ties or hear them as challenges? For my part I can never read the "Gospel of John" with its talk of "life", "light", "truth", being "born again", "meat to eat ye know not of", with the pathetic misunderstandings that run plaintively and questioningly through it all, with- out thinking of this strangely suggestive story. The tragedy of the circum- scribed life is not that it mistakes the imitation world for the real world but that the imitation world is its all.
Or take the powerful presentation of the law of habit made in "The Pendu- lum", ending with "Thought I'd drop up to McCloskey's and play a game or two of pool with the fellows", — words apparently as empty of significance as any that could be spoken but charged here with a subtle and cumulative fate- fulness; or that luminous exposition of self-culture through the vocation which O. Henry calls "The Trimmed Lamp." Read again and note the universality but not commonplaceness of "Tran- sients in Arcadia", in which "the tables are turned on Haroun al Raschid"; or, greatest of all, "The Furnished Room", in which transiency is differently mo- tived,— a story which recalls Poe and Hawthorne at their highest, and the last part of which is as creepily powerful
as the second witch scene in " Macbeth".
O. Henry, then, as I see it, has given the American short story a new reach and a widened social content. It is too soon to attempt to assign him a com- parative rank among his predecessors. We may attempt, however, to place him if not to weigh him. It was Washington Irving who first gave the American short story a standing at home and abroad. There is a calm upon Irving's pages, an easy quiet grace in his sen- tences, an absence of restlessness and hurry, that give him an unquestioned primacy among our masters of an elder day. He was more meditative and less intellectual than Scott, but, like Scott, he was essentially retrospective. He used the short story to rescue and re- launch the small craft of legend and tradition which had already upon their sails the rime of eld. He legendized the short story.
Poe's genius was first and last con- structive. It was the build of the short story rather than its historical or intel- lectual content that gripped his interest. Poe's art, unlike that of Irving, is identi- fied with no particular time or place. He was always stronger on moods than on tenses, and his geography curtsied more to sound than to Mercator or Maury. But in the mathematics of the short story, in the art of making it converge definitely and triumphantly to a pre-ordained end, in the mastery of all that is connoted by the word technique, Poe's is the greatest name. The short story came from his hands a new art form, not charged with a new content but eff^ectively equipped for a new service. In form, at least, Poe standardized the short story.
Hawthorne made the short story a vehicle of symbolism. Time and place were only starting points with him. He saw double, and the short story was
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made to see double, too. Puritan New England, New England of the past, was his locale; but his theme was spiritual truth, a theme that has always had an affinity for symbols and symbolism. Hawthorne allegorized the short story.
With Bret Harte the short story entered a new era. He was the first of our short story writers to pre-empt a definite and narrowly circumscribed time and place and to lift both into literature. Dialect became for the first time an effective ally of the American short story, and local color was raised to an art. Though Bret Harte's appeal is not and has never been confined to any one section of the country, it is none the less true that he first success- fully localized the American short story.
A glance through O. Henry's pages shows that his familiarity with the different sections of the United States was greater than that of any predecessor named. He had lived in every part of the country that may be called dis- tinctive except New England, but he has not pre-empted any locality. His stories take place in Central America,
in the South, in the West, and in the North. He always protested against having his stories interpreted as mere studies in localism. There was not one of his New York stories, he said, in which the place was essential to the underlying truth or to the human interest back of it. Nor was his tech- nique distinctive. It is essentially the technique of Poe which became later the technique of De Maupassant but was modified by O. Henry to meet new needs and to subserve diverse purposes. The keynote of O. Henry's work, his dis- tinctive contribution to the American short story, is found in the words with which he prefaced "The Four Million": "Not very long ago some one invented theassertion that there were only ' Four Hundred' people in New York City who were really worth noticing. But a wiser man has arieen — the census taker — and his larger estimate of human interest has been preferred in marking out the fields of these little stories of the 'Four Million'." (). Henry has socialized the short story.
WINTER KING
Up rose the wild old Winter-king, And shook his beard of snow; "I hear the first young harebell ring, 'Tis time for me to go.
Northward o'er the icy rocks. Northward o'er the sea, My daughter comes with sunny locks; This land's too warm for me.
— Charles Godfrey Leland.
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FROM WHOSE BOURNE
AN UNWRITTEN STORY BY ROBERT BARR
(Told by Mary C. Robinson)
A RECENT essayist has said : Heroes and minstrels are not usually made of the same stuff. The person whom adventures befall is not neces- sarily the one best able to relate them. But there are rare beings who are born with the hero and the minstrel soul bound together within them." The late Robert Barr was one of these rare beings. His friends knew that while it was good to read the novels — and better still the short stories he wrote, it was best to sit with him by the home fireside and listen to the tales he told. Mr. Barr had a genius for having adventures; most of his fiction was built upon per- sonal experience; he lived romance. He was gifted as a raconteur, and that rarest endowment, charm — made his stories more fascinating in the hearing than the reading. The tale that follows was told in the Detroit home of the narrator, on a wintry morning (for the mantel clock had long since chimed the hour of midnight.) When Robert Barr was our guest, bed was not spoken of, even for the children of the family; all hung upon his words nor thought of sleep. Mr. Barr was a practical man, a canny Scot with strong common sense, and that is the reason, it may be, why he never told the strange story of John Ball. He called it:
"The Story I Can Never Write."
I have had a most curious experience — Mr. Barr began — I do not explain it — I can not, but if you like I will tell it to
you and see what you can make of it. The incidents leading up to it, began soon after I went to England to live. For a number of years, with the publi- cation of almost every story or novel, I received a letter from a certain John Ball. The letters were brief and well written; the hand writing was delicately old fashioned, and the letters post- marked from various towns and cities. The first came to me from Paris, and called my attention, courteously, to a slight grammatical error in my novel "The Mutable Many" giving chapter and page. I looked the matter up and found that Mr. Ball w^as correct. I wrote and thanked him for his interest, and forgot all about it. "The Countess Tekla" appeared, and John Ball wrote me from Vienna pointing out that the weapons I had put into the hands of my fighting men, were not in use, his- torically speaking, at the time I had chosen for the action of my romance. Again, looking up authorities, I found that Mr. Ball was right and I was wrong. I answered his letter, acknowl- edging my mistake and adding that I would be glad to meet him if he ever came to London.
He did come to London — was, as it developed, a Londoner — and I had many letters from him, for as regularly as story or novel of mine left the press, just so regularly came a letter from John Ball remarking, delicately, upon some error or anachronism — a French quotation too modern for the time of
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the story, a social usage or custom too old. Again and again, I wrote Mr. Ball expressing my desire to know a gentle- man of such erudition, asking that he would name the time and place and adding that in order that I might have the pleasure of meeting him, I would make my convenience suit his.
Finally I received a letter written from the London Travellers Club, call- ing my attention to a flaw in the amber of "Over The Border". I was at home at Hillhead, in Surrey, and wrote at once, inviting Mr. Ball to dine with me, on a certain day of the following week, at my club in London. To my delight, the invitation was accepted, and the day before the dinner I was planning for my critical friend I went in to Lon- don to make all arrangements for his entertainment. Late in the evening — after the play in fact — I went to my city office to look over some proof sheets. The building was dark and evidently, as was to be expected, ten- antless. I let myself in at the street door with my pass key, and climbed the two long flights of stairs, one directly above the other, that led to my office on the third floor. I had carefully closed the outer door that locked with a spring lock, and heard it click in fasten- ing, but I recalled later, that I had leaned over the bannisters and, looking down into the corridor where I had lighted a gas jet and left it dimly burning, assured myself that the door was shut.
I worked at my desk until the bells of the great city rang out the hour of mid-
night. Yawning, I began to put away my papers, when I was startled by a knock at the door, I crossed the room and flung it open. Standing without was the figure of a tall man wrapped in a loose, military cloak and wearing a broad hat. I had a vague impression of dark eyes and a pallid face.
He said, "Mr. Robert Barr, I believe? I am John Ball."
Impulsively, I put out my hand. "Come right in Mr. Ball, I am de- lighted— "
But he interrupted me, "I must ask you to excuse me. I can not stay a moment. I came to say that I am sorry, but I shall be unable to dine with you tomorrow. At once he moved away, too swiftly for me to remonstrate. The light from my office faintly illumi- nated the corridor and I followed my visitor to the stairway; leaning over the bannisters I watched him as he pro- ceeded with a curious gliding motion down the two flights of stairs and dis- appeared into the London streets.
Disappointed, and chagrined at the elusive Mr. Ball I went back to my desk and began to lock up my papers. Suddenly it occurred to me that the door into the building was locked and it was with a curious, creepy feeling that I descended the stairs and sought my London lodgings.
The following morning, as I sipped my coffee and looked over the news- paper, my eye was caught by this item :
"Died suddently, last night at mid- night, John Ball, at his apartments at the Travellers' Club,"
^
*'The purest joy,
Most near to heaven, far from earth's alloy,
Is bidding clouds give way to sun and shine,''
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THE STRENGTH OF THE HILLS
RICHARD BEARDSLEY lowered the bamboo screen before the doorway of his small mountain lodge, shutting out the glare of the waning sun, and settled himself comfortably, his gaze going past the screened doorway to the eastern window from which he could watch long purple shadows gath- ering beneath the drooping branches at the waters edge.
The scene was one of rare beauty, very peaceful and very still. Twilight descended slowly upon the mountain, a gracious lady in flowing purple robes held together by the blazing jewel of the setting sun. Leaves rustled sooth- ingly as if to the measure of some sylvan lullaby.
Beardsley, closing tired eyes in the restful half shadows of the lodge, found it hard to realize that a busy world was buying and selling at the very door of this wondrous temple of peace and solitude. The small lodge was to him a shrine at which he worshiped Nature in all of her majesty. Here he brought his many perplexities, asked counsel of the hills, the streams, and the trees, and drawing on the fullness of their strength went back to his world again, new-clothed and satisfied.
Beardsley had lived a busy life, a life in which women had no place or part. But now he found the grim ogre of business which had long been his master thrust aside by a clinging, light-fingered Dream from which there was no escap- ing and from which, indeed, he did not wish to escape. A chance evening spent
(By Zoe Kincaid Brockman)
as an unwilling guest in Annette Holmes' fountain-sprayed, rose-scented tea-gar- den had left him drunken as with wine. Wine of youth, long stagnant, beat at his pulses and brightened his eye. Business becam e buta S3rie3 of method- ical transactions to him, and he sought the tea-garden often.
Annette was his partner's wife, many years her husband's junior, elusive and alluring. In her Beardsley recognized a new type, a woman such as he could never have even dreamed, had his well trained mind been at any time the play- ground of dreams. The smooth-haired, shirt-waisted stenographers of his city acquaintance, and the pink-cheeked small town girls of his remembrance were swept from his horizon as pawns from a board.
Beardsley saw Annette many times after their first eventful meeting. An- nette's husband, grown accustomed to Beardsley's repeated refusal of all social invitations, expressed to his wife some surprise at the alacrity with which invitations to their home were now accepted by him. He had laughingly remarked on one of these occasions that Beardsley was coming out of his shell and would perhaps one day be a veritable social lion. Annette had smiled a little and had afterwards repeated the remark to Beardsley, busying herself the while in selecting a particularly inviting sprig of mint for his frosted tea-glass. After that Beardsley refused an invitation now and then, but lived in a fever of unrest away from her.
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Annette had never told him of her unhappiness by word or sign, but he was quick to read it in the wistful sweetness of her mouth, the pain- shadowed depths of her eyes. Holmes was a brusque man, not given to love making, with whom money getting was a passion, and Annette was very young. There was no child to hold the sorry fabric of a mistaken marriage together. Thus, without the medium of spoken word, Annette knew that Beardsley loved her, and he, with intoxicating joy and unspeakable pain, knew that his love was returned.
Without a word to her he had come away to his shrine to bare his heart to Mother Earth and to ask of her her wholesome counsel.
Twilight deepened into night. The sun-jewel, sunken into the small streams' shining bed, turned the peaceful waters into a sheet of living flame. Close to the window a huge branch of laurel, heavy with bloom, nodded and smiled from the yawning depths of a quaint jar of Indian pottery. Strange how the delicate beauty of the mountain flower brought Annette's witching personality before him, its petals fragile as her beauty, its branches sturdy as her soul. She would be walking in the garden now, flower-sweet and alone. Annette had told him wuth childish sweetness that she loved to watch the flowers to sleep. Annette loved soft brightness, moonlight and roses and dew. She would be wearing the lavender gown and amethyst-studded pins, sparkling in the moonlight, would arch small rain- bows above the glinting masses of her red-gold hair. An amethyst star would twinkle and glow at her throat. How he had envied that star, always with her, always so near! What a curiously pulsing throat was hers, and how softly beautiful. An exquisite pain.
gripped at his heart. All the primitive instincts of the cave-man grew rife within him. He had come to this soli- tude to decide what he must do with his love for Annette, and now he knew! She was his, Bernard Holmes had no right to her! What did he care for but money bags and account books? He, Beardsley, would bring her away to this mountain place and they would live and love and she should know happiness and joy and peace. Annette, fashioned of moonlight and rose-pink forget-me- nots. . . .
Back in the city he had, in a moment of madness, infuriated at