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MODERN AMERICANS

A Biographical School Reader for the Upper Grades

By

CHESTER M. SANFORD

Head of the Department of Expression

Illinois State Normal University

GRACE A. OWEN

Teacher of Reading

Illinois State Normal University

LAUREL BOOK COMPANY

New York--CHICAGO--Philadelphia




Copyright, 1918, 1921

by

Laurel Book Company




INTRODUCTION


"Tell us about real folks." This is the request that comes to us again
and again from children in the upper grades. In response to this
appeal, the authors, in preparing "Modern Americans," have attempted
to give the pupils the worth-while things they like to read rather
than the things adults think they ought to like.

Those who have taught reading very long agree that the old-time hero
stories have always had a peculiar charm for pupils. But all the
heroes did not live in olden times; they are with us today. Why, then,
isn't it well to acquaint the children with present-day heroes? Young
people in the upper grades are especially interested in the men and
women who are actually doing things. They desire to study in school
the persons they read about in the daily papers. Elihu Root recently
said: "It seems sometimes as if our people were interested in nothing
but personalities."

To bridge the gap between our schools and practical everyday life has
become one of the chief concerns of the wide-awake teacher.
Accordingly, in geography we are studying the industries about us. In
English, civics, and history we are devoting an increasing amount of
time to a consideration of "Current Events." All this is in the right
direction; for, to create an interest in the men and women of the hour
and the social activities of the day makes for an intelligent
citizenship. "Acquaint the people with the great men of any period and
you have taught them the history of the period," says Carlyle. Know
the _past_, if possible; know the _present_ by all means.

At first thought the reader may disagree with the authors in the list
of characters chosen. He may think that many of America's greatest men
and women have been omitted while others of less importance have been
given a place. In reply permit us to say that greatness of achievement
has not been the only consideration in choosing the character studies.
Not all great men and women have life stories that appeal to
children, and unless the stories do appeal, it is better to omit them
until the children are older. Then, too, it seemed desirable to select
persons in various fields of human activity, thus broadening the scope
of the child's knowledge.

The reader will observe that we have placed much stress upon the
childhood experiences of the men and women studied, for the reason
that children are to read the stories; and since they are sure to
interpret what they read in terms of their own experiences, we must,
as far as possible, record experiences that are common to all, namely,
childhood experiences.

It is hoped that these stories have been so brought within the
experiences of the pupils that they will be led to discuss them. Many
of the stories were tried out with children in the University Training
School and the enthusiastic discussions that followed were both
interesting and helpful.

Lastly, and most important, the authors have attempted to inspire the
pupils with a purpose to make the most of themselves. The lives of
great men and women are sure to be an inspiration to the young. Since
great men stand for great things they are sure to embody the latest
and best in science, art, government, religion, and education. By
studying the lives of these representative men and women it is hoped
that the pupils will be stimulated to lofty purposes.

Acknowledgement is hereby made to The Bobbs-Merrill Co., publishers of
Mr. Riley's poems, for kind permission to republish "The Old
Swimmin'-Hole"; and also, to the publishers of "The Story of a
Pioneer"--_Jordan_; "The Story of My Life"--_Keller_; and the magazine
"Success" for additional source material.

                                                    CHESTER M. SANFORD
                                                         GRACE A. OWEN




CONTENTS

   1. Calvin Coolidge                                                9
   2. Thomas A. Edison                                              17
   3. Alexander Graham Bell                                         29
   4. Theodore Roosevelt                                            37
   5. John Pershing                                                 44
   6. William Howard Taft                                           51
   7. Luther Burbank                                                57
   8. Clara Barton                                                  65
  19. George W. Goethals                                            73
  10. James Whitcomb Riley                                          81
  11. Helen Keller                                                  91
  12. Wilbur and Orville Wright                                     99
  13. Robert E. Peary                                              109
  14. William Jennings Bryan                                       117
  15. Henry Ford                                                   125
  16. Ben B. Lindsey                                               131
  17. Frances Willard                                              139
  18. Jane Addams                                                  147
  19. John Mitchell                                                155
  20. Maude Ballington Booth                                       161
  21. Andrew Carnegie                                              169
  22. Anna Shaw                                                    177
  23. Ernest Thompson Seton                                        187
  24. John Wanamaker                                               195
  25. Woodrow Wilson                                               205
  26. Mark Twain                                                   213
  27. Warren G. Harding                                            221




[Illustration: PRESIDENT COOLIDGE, MRS. COOLIDGE, AND SON, JOHN]




CALVIN COOLIDGE


As I begin this story, I am seated in an old-fashioned hotel in a
small village nestled amid the hills of Vermont. I have come all the
way from the broad prairies of Illinois that I might catch a little of
the spirit of Calvin Coolidge.

In his autobiography, Mr. Coolidge wrote: "Vermont is my birthright.
Here one gets close to Nature, in the mountains and in the brooks, the
waters of which hurry to the sea; in the lakes that shine like silver
in their green setting; in the fields tilled, not by machinery, but by
the brain and hand of man. My folks are happy and contented. They
belong to themselves, live within their income, and fear no man."

Yes, and I have met the folks of whom he boasts, and in conversing
with them it seems easy for my mind to go back to the time when Mr.
Coolidge was a barefoot boy, roaming amid these beautiful hills. In
fact, everything about this rugged New England state, with its
farmhouses and barns that were built so many years ago, seems to carry
one back to the early history of our country.

As I looked upon the little country schoolhouse to which Mr. Coolidge
used to go, I thought of this story. One time, many years ago, there
lived a schoolmaster who had this unique custom. Every time he met a
boy who attended his school, he would lift his hat. When asked why he
did this, he replied, "Who can tell but that one of these boys will
some day become the chief ruler of the land; and inasmuch as I cannot
tell which one it will be, I must lift my hat to them all."

Surely if a teacher were to slight any of the boys, it would be the
one with freckles and red hair, for never before in the history of our
great country have we had a red-headed president.

Let us go back then in our imagination forty-four years and visit the
little red schoolhouse at Plymouth, Vermont, that was then better
known as the "Notch."

To reach Plymouth is not easy, for it is eleven miles from Ludlow,
which is the nearest railroad station, and the road from Ludlow is
rough and hilly. When we reach Plymouth, we are likely to drive by,
for the town is so small it doesn't seem possible that a future
President could have been born in such an out-of-the-way place.

The first man we meet in Plymouth is John Calvin Coolidge, the father
of our President. We soon learn that he keeps the village store, shoes
horses, collects insurance premiums, and runs a small farm. In
conversing with him, we discover that he is of staunch American
stock--in fact, he reminds us that his ancestors came to America in
1630, just ten years after the Pilgrims landed. In 1880, his
grandfather moved to the hill country that is now known as "Vermont,"
and for four generations the Coolidges have lived on the same farm.

But, we are not so much interested in the father as in the son, who,
we are told, is at school. As we approach the little country school,
we observe that it is recess, and the children are playing. Soon young
Calvin is pointed out and we try to get acquainted with him, but he is
silent and bashful. From his teacher we learn that he has few friends
and no enemies. Unlike the average freckled, red-headed boy, he is
rarely teased and never gets into a fight. He is so modest and minds
his own business so well, that the other pupils are inclined to leave
him by himself. Rarely does he play any games--not even marbles or
baseball. Later in life he bought a pair of skates, but was never
known to wear them but once.

Young Calvin had no brothers and only one sister, Abigail, who died
when she was fifteen. His mother also died when he was a lad of
twelve, but his stepmother was always very kind to him. His own
mother, however, was his idol and even to this day, President Coolidge
carries in one of his pockets a gun metal case that holds a picture of
his mother. Calvin's father, in speaking of his son, says that he was
always a great hand to work. He continues, "When Calvin was a boy on
the farm, if I was going away and there was anything I wanted him to
do, I would tell him; but when I came back, I never thought of going
to see whether it had been done. I knew it was done."

The following incident shows that he could not bear to leave his work
undone. "One night an aunt who was sleeping in the house heard a
strange noise in the kitchen. Hurriedly she put on her kimona, and
went downstairs to see what the commotion might be. There she found
little Calvin filling the wood box, for he had forgotten to do so the
night before. She tried to persuade him to wait until morning, but he
would not return to bed until the job was finished, declaring that he
could sleep better if the wood box were filled."

No doubt, were we to ask President Coolidge to recall some of his
boyhood experiences on the farm, he would tell us how he slid off the
old, white mare and broke his arm so badly that the bone stuck out
through the flesh, and how long it took to bring the doctor eleven
miles over the rough road from Ludlow to set it. Or, he might tell us
about the wall-eyed cow that the hired man hit with a milking stool
and so frightened her that he could never milk her again. Alas, for
Calvin; this meant that he had to get up at five o'clock each morning
to help with the milking.

After completing his work in the country school, Calvin attended the
Black River Academy in Ludlow where he graduated at the age of
eighteen.

One September morning, the next fall, Calvin's father hitched up the
old, bay mare and drove his son to Ludlow where the boy took the train
for Amherst College. At that time, the college had an enrollment of
only about four hundred students.

While in college, young Coolidge lived very modestly, paying only
$2.50 a week for room and board. His nickname in college was "Cooley."
We were able to learn very little about his college days. From one of
his professors, we learned that he never took part in athletic
sports, never danced, and attended but few of the social functions of
the school. We were able, however, to find the following in the
_Amherst Olio_, the school paper:

               "The class in Greek was going on,
                 "Old Ty" a lecture read,
               And in the row in front there shown
                 Fair 'Cooley's' golden head.

               "His pate was bent upon the seat
                 In front of him: his hair
               Old Tyler's feeble gaze did meet,
                 With fierce and ruddy glare.

               "O'ercome by mystic sense of dread
                 "Old Ty" his talk did lull,--
               'Coolidge, I wish you'd raise your head,
                 I can't talk through your skull.'"

While in college, his favorite studies were debating, philosophy,
history and the political sciences. His greatest achievement came when
he was a Senior. The Sons of the American Revolution had offered a
prize for the best essay on "The Principles of the American
Revolution." The contest was open to all college students of America.
Coolidge won first place.

After graduating from college, young Coolidge returned to the farm and
worked all summer. That fall he went to Northampton, a mill town in
Massachusetts, where he entered the law office of Hammond & Field.
Here, under the guidance of two able lawyers, he studied so hard that
within less than two years he was admitted to the Bar. As soon as he
became a full-fledged lawyer, he organized the law firm of Coolidge &
Hemenway.

From this point his advancement was steady and rapid. There were no
jumps in his career. In 1900, we see him City Solicitor; in 1904,
Clerk of Courts; in 1907-1908, a member of the State Legislature; and
in 1910, Mayor of Northampton. In 1912, he was elected a member of the
State Senate, and in 1914 was chosen President of the Senate. In
1916-1917-1918, he was Lieutenant Governor of Massachusetts, and in
1919 was chosen Governor. He has been elected to every office for
which he ever ran. This seems strange when we study him, for he is not
considered a good speaker, does not resort to flattery, is a poor
"mixer," and is not attractive in appearance. But, possibly we are
tired of the show-window type of politician, who does entirely too
much talking. Those who know him best, admit that Coolidge has earned
every promotion by attending strictly to the work he had in hand.

An event in 1919 made Governor Coolidge a National character. The
Boston police force had organized a union and had planned to enter the
American Federation of Labor. Edwin E. Curtis, Boston's Chief of
Police, declared they had no right to do this. Three-fourths of the
policemen immediately went on a strike. The forces of lawlessness
broke loose and mob rule prevailed. Mr. Coolidge at once had nineteen
leaders of the police force brought before him for trial. He held that
the best interests of all the people could not tolerate any such
conduct on the part of the policemen. His attitude was so sound and so
firmly taken that he won the support of all law-abiding citizens. His
position also met the approval of the Nation and at once he became a
National figure.

While Mr. Coolidge was in Northampton, he married Grace Anna Goodhue,
a teacher in the Clark School for the Deaf, at Northampton. She is a
graduate of the University of Vermont. In many ways she is the exact
opposite of the President; she is vivacious, attractive, tactful, and
richly endowed socially. To this union have been born two sons, John
and Calvin Coolidge, Jr.

When Mr. Harding was chosen President of the United States, Calvin
Coolidge was elected Vice President. Upon the death of President
Harding, Mr. Coolidge became President, and so faithfully did he
discharge the duties of his office, that in 1924 he was chosen
President by an overwhelming majority of the voters of the Nation.

The American people like President Coolidge because, like Lincoln, he
belongs to the plain people. He understands and loves them; he is
modest, sincere, and honorable. Even as a boy, he had a purpose, and
willpower enough to carry it out. He works hard and speaks little, but
when he does, the public listens to his wise counsel.




[Illustration: THOMAS A. EDISON (On left)
The Greatest Inventor of All Time]




THOMAS A. EDISON


Suppose the Pilgrim fathers that landed at Plymouth Rock so many,
many years ago should come back to earth, how many strange sights
would greet them! No longer would they be permitted to ride in a
slow, clumsy wagon, but, instead, would ride in an electric car.
Furthermore, when night came, instead of the tallow candle, they
would marvel at the brilliant electric lights. Wouldn't it be fun to
start the phonograph and watch them stare in astonishment as "the
wooden box" talked to them? But the most fun would be to take them
to the moving picture show and hear what they would say.

Odd as it seems at first, all these marvelous inventions, and many
others, are the result of one man's work; in fact, this man has
thought out so many marvelous inventions that the whole world agrees
that he is the greatest inventor that has ever lived. Should you like
to hear the life story of one who is so truly great? I am sure you
would, for in the best sense he is a self-made American.

But, you ask, what is a self-made American? He is one born in poverty
who has had to struggle hard for everything he has ever had; one who
has had to force his way to success through all sorts of obstacles.

This great inventor first saw the light of day in the humble home of a
poor laboring man who lived in Milan, a small canal town in the state
of Ohio. In 1854 when Thomas A. Edison, for that is his name, was
seven years of age, his parents moved to Port Huron, Michigan, where
most of his boyhood days were spent.

As we should naturally expect, Thomas was sent to school, but his
teachers did not understand him and his progress was very poor.
Finally his mother took him out of school and taught him herself. This
she was able to do, for, before she married, she was a successful
school teacher in Canada.

Later in life, in speaking of his mother, he said: "I was always a
careless boy, and with a mother of different mental caliber I should
have probably turned out badly. But her firmness, her sweetness, her
goodness, were potent powers to keep me in the right path. I remember
I never used to be able to get along at school. I don't know why it
was, but I was always at the foot of the class. I used to feel that my
teachers never sympathized with me, and that my father thought that I
was stupid, and at last I almost decided that I must really be a
dunce. My mother was always kind, always sympathetic, and she never
misunderstood or misjudged me. My mother was the making of me. She was
so true, so sure of me; and I felt I had someone to live for, some one
I must not disappoint. The memory of her will always be a blessing to
me."

When young Edison was twelve years of age, he became a newsboy on the
Grand Trunk Railroad. That he was a wide-awake, energetic lad is shown
by the following experience as told by himself.

"At the beginning of the Civil War I was slaving late and early at
selling papers; but to tell the truth I was not making a fortune. I
worked on so small a margin that I had to be mighty careful not to
overload myself with papers that I could not sell. On the other hand,
I could not afford to carry so few that I found myself sold out long
before the end of the trip. To enable myself to hit the happy mean, I
found a plan which turned out admirably. I made a friend of one of the
compositors of the Free Press office, and persuaded him to show me
every day a galley-proof of the most important news articles. From a
study of its head-lines, I soon learned to gauge the value of the
day's news and its selling capacity, so that I could form a tolerably
correct estimate of the number of papers I should need. As a rule I
could dispose of about two hundred; but if there was any special news
from the seat of war, the sale ran up to three hundred or over.

"Well, one day my compositor brought me a proof-slip of which nearly
the whole was taken up with a gigantic display head. It was the first
report of the battle of Pittsburgh Landing--afterward called Shiloh,
you know, and it gave the number of killed and wounded as sixty
thousand men.

"I grasped the situation at once. Here was a chance for enormous
sales, if only the people along the line could know what had happened!
If only they could see the proof-slip I was then reading! Suddenly an
idea occurred to me. I rushed off to the telegraph operator and
gravely made a proposition to him which he received just as gravely.
He, on his part, was to wire to each of the principal stations on our
route, asking the station-master to chalk up on the bulletin-board,
used for announcing the time of arrival and departure of trains, the
news of the great battle, with its accompanying slaughter. This he was
to do at once, while I, in return, agreed to supply him with current
literature for nothing during the next six months from that date.

"This bargain struck, I began to bethink me how I was to get enough
papers to make the grand coup I intended. I had very little cash, and,
I feared, still less credit. I went to the superintendent of the
delivery department, and preferred a modest request for one thousand
copies of the Free Press on trust. I was not much surprised when my
request was curtly and gruffly refused. In those days, though, I was a
pretty cheeky boy and I felt desperate, for I saw a small fortune in
prospect if my telegraph operator had kept his word, a point on which
I was still a trifle doubtful. Nerving myself for a great stroke, I
marched up stairs into the office of Wilbur F. Story himself and asked
to see him. I told him who I was and that I wanted fifteen hundred
copies of the paper on credit. The tall, thin, dark-eyed man stared at
me for a moment and then scratched a few words on a slip of paper.
'Take that down stairs,' said he, 'and you will get what you want.'
And so I did. Then I felt happier than I have ever felt since.

"I took my fifteen hundred papers, got three boys to help me fold
them, and mounted the train all agog to find out whether the telegraph
operator had kept his word. At the town where our first stop was made
I usually sold two papers. As the train swung into that station I
looked ahead and thought there must be a riot going on. A big crowd
filled the platform and as the train drew up I began to realize that
they wanted my papers. Before we left, I had sold a hundred or two at
five cents each. At the next station the place was fairly black with
people. I raised the 'ante' and sold three hundred papers at ten cents
each. So it went on until Port Huron was reached. Then I transferred
my remaining stock to the wagon, which always waited for me there,
hired a small boy to sit on the pile of papers in the back, so as to
prevent any pilfering, and sold out every paper I had at a quarter of
a dollar or more per copy. I remember I passed a church full of
worshippers, and stopped to yell out my news. In ten seconds there was
not a soul left in the meeting, all of the audience, including the
parson, were clustered around me, bidding against each other for
copies of the precious paper."

Though, as you will admit, Mr. Edison was a very successful newsboy,
he was not satisfied merely to sell papers, so at the age of fifteen
he began editing and publishing a paper of his own. To do this he
purchased a small hand printing press and fitted out, as best he
could, a printing office in an old freight car.

The _Grand Trunk Herald_, as the paper was called, consisted of a
single sheet printed on both sides, and sold for eight cents a month.
When the paper was at the height of its popularity he sold five
hundred copies each week, and realized a profit of forty-five dollars
a month.

He might have continued in editorial work had not a sad mishap
overtaken him. In addition to his editorial work he performed many
experiments, for his was the soul of the inventor. These experiments
were performed in the baggage car of the train. One day, as he was in
the midst of one of these experiments, a sudden lurch of the train
upset his bottle of phosphorous, setting the baggage car on fire. The
conductor, a quick-tempered man, after putting out the fire, dumped
young Edison's precious printing press and apparatus out of the car
and went on. This was a very sad experience for the lad, but the
saddest part was the fact that, as the conductor threw Edison out he
boxed his ears so severely that he was partially deaf ever after.

Now that young Edison had lost his job as newsboy, and could no longer
print the _Grand Trunk Herald_, what was he to do? He decided, if
possible, to get a position as telegraph operator. But, you ask, how
did he learn to be a telegraph operator?

While yet a newsboy, he had saved the life of a child by snatching it
from before a moving train. The father, a telegraph operator, was so
grateful to young Edison for saving his child that he offered to teach
him telegraphy. This offer the lad eagerly accepted, and devoted every
spare minute to his new task. From the first his progress was rapid,
and when he lost his job as newsboy he applied for a position as
telegraph operator and was given a job as night operator at Stratford
Junction, Canada, at a salary of twenty-five dollars a month. He was
now sixteen years of age.

Within a very few years Edison became a swift and competent operator,
as the following incident will show. "Edison had been promised
employment in the Boston office. The weather was quite cold, and his
peculiar dress, topped with a slouchy broad-brimmed hat, made
something of a sensation. But Edison then cared as little for dress as
he does today. So one raw, wet day a tall man with a limp, wet duster
clinging to his legs, stalked into the superintendent's room and
said:

"'Here I am'.

"The superintendent eyed him from head to foot, and said:

"'Who are you?'

"'Tom Edison.'

"'And who on earth might Tom Edison be?'

"The young man explained that he had been ordered to report at the
Boston office, and was finally told to sit down in the operating room,
where his advent created much merriment. The operators made fun of him
loudly enough for him to hear. He didn't care. A few minutes later a
New York operator, noted for his swiftness, called up the Boston
office. There was no one at liberty.

"'Well,' said the office chief, 'let the new man try him.'

"Edison sat down and for four hours and a half wrote out messages in
his clear round hand, stuck a date and number on them, and threw them
on the floor for the office boy to pick up. The time he took in
numbering and dating the sheets were the only seconds he was not
writing out transmitted words. Faster and faster ticked the
instrument, and faster and faster went Edison's fingers, until the
rapidity with which the messages came tumbling on the floor attracted
the attention of the other operators, who, when their work was done,
gathered around to witness the spectacle. At the close of the four and
a half hours' work there flashed from New York the salutation:

"'Hello!'

"'Hello yourself!' ticked Edison.

"'Who are you?' rattled into the Boston office.

"'Tom Edison.'

"'You are the first man in the country', ticked in the instrument,
'that could ever take me at my fastest, and the only one who could
ever sit at the other end of my wire for more than two hours and a
half. I'm proud to know you.'"

While employed as telegraph operator Edison's inventive mind was hard
at work. Accordingly, when but seventeen years of age he invented the
Duplex telegraph which made it possible "to send two messages in
opposite directions on the same wire at the same time, without causing
any confusion."

Though a brilliant operator, young Edison found it difficult to hold a
job, as he was always neglecting his regular work to "fool with
experiments," as his employers put it.

Accordingly, when twenty-one years of age, he found himself in New
York City seeking work. Suppose we invite Mr. Edison to tell us of
this dramatic period of his life.

"On the third day after my arrival, while sitting in the office of the
Laws Gold Repeating Telegraph Company, the complicated general
instrument for sending messages on all the lines suddenly came to a
stop with a crash. Within two minutes over three hundred boys,--a boy
from every broker in the street, rushed upstairs and crowded the long
aisle and office that hardly had room for one hundred, all yelling
that such and such a broker's wire was out of order and to fix it at
once. It was pandemonium, and the man in charge became so excited that
he lost control of all the knowledge he ever had. I went to the
indicator and, having studied it thoroughly, knew where the trouble
ought to be, and found it."

"One of the innumerable contact springs had broken off and had fallen
down between the two gear wheels and stopped the instrument; but it
was not very noticeable. As I went out to tell the man in charge what
the matter was, George Laws, the inventor of the system, appeared on
the scene, the most excited person I had seen. He demanded of the man
the cause of the trouble, but the man was speechless. I ventured to
say that I knew what the trouble was, and he said, 'Fix it! Fix it! Be
quick!' I removed the spring and set the contact wheels at zero; and
the line, battery, and inspecting men scattered through the financial
district to set the instruments. In about two hours, things were
working again. Mr. Laws came to ask my name and what I was doing. I
told him and he asked me to come to his private office the following
day. He asked me a great many questions about the instruments and his
system, and I showed him how he could simplify things generally. He
then requested that I should come next day. On arrival, he stated at
once that he had decided to put me in charge of the whole plant, and
that my salary would be three hundred dollars a month."

"This was such a violent jump from anything I had ever seen before,
that it rather paralyzed me for a while. I thought it was too much to
be lasting; but I determined to try and live up to that salary if
twenty hours a day of hard work would do it."

It is needless to say that he made good in the biggest and best sense
of the word.

It was at this time that Mr. Edison, now twenty-one years of age,
invented an electric stock ticker for which he received forty thousand
dollars.

Always desiring to devote his entire time to inventive work, he now
saw that with the aid of his forty thousand dollars it was possible to
do so. Accordingly, a little later we see him constructing a
laboratory one hundred feet long at Menlo Park, a little station
twenty-five miles from Newark, New Jersey. Here for years, in company
with his assistants, he has made inventions that have revolutionized
the world.

Finally, in 1886, his business had so seriously outgrown his quarters
that he built his present laboratories at Orange, New Jersey. These
laboratories are now housed in two beautiful, four story brick
buildings each sixty feet wide by one hundred feet long. In addition
to these laboratories there are Edison factories located in various
sections of the country.

Though now seventy years of age, he is devoting all his time and the
time of his laboratory force in solving the great problems connected
with the present war.

                  *       *       *       *       *

"_A tool is but the extension of a man's hand, and a machine is but a
complete tool. And he that invents a machine augments the power of a
man and the well being of mankind._" --HENRY WARD BEECHER.




[Illustration: ALEXANDER GRAHAM BELL
Inventor of the Telephone]




ALEXANDER GRAHAM BELL


There is in New York City a great building seven hundred and fifty
feet high. It has fifty-three stories, and provides business homes for
ten thousand persons.

If you had watched it rise from story to story, you would have been
amazed at the tons of cable running from the basement towards the
roof. You would have exclaimed in wonder over the miles upon miles of
wire that extended from room to room. Suppose you had asked the
purpose of these wires and cables. Do you know what the answer would
have been? You would have been told that they were placed there so a
person in any room of the building could talk to some one in any other
room within the towering walls; to any one outside in the great city,
and even to persons far away in Chicago and St. Louis. Then you would
have said, "Of course, they are telephone wires."

You use the telephone often, do you not? Probably if you were asked to
say how many times you had talked over the telephone in your life, you
would have to reply, "More than I can remember."

Let us think about the messages we send along the telephone wires from
day to day. They are for the most part of two kinds. We have friendly
talks with persons we know well, and we give brief business orders at
office and shop.

But if we were gunners in the army of our country we should be told by
telephone just when, where, and how we were to fire our guns. We
would not see our target, but would shoot according to the directions
of a commanding officer who knows what must be done and telephones his
orders to us.

If we were acting with hundreds of persons in a great scene for a
motion picture film, we should be told what to do by a man called the
director. He could not make us all hear if we were out of doors and
scattered about in groups, but he would telephone orders to his
helpers. One of these would be with each large crowd of actors.
Perhaps the telephones would be hanging on the side of a tree or set
up in rude fashion on a box. Nevertheless, that would not interfere
with their use and we should receive directions over them to do our
part in the scene then being photographed.

These uses seem wonderful to us, but each year sees the telephone
helping man more and more in strange and powerful ways. It is likely
that we have just begun to know a little of what this great invention
can do for us.

However, if we had been boys and girls in 1875 we should have known
nothing about talking over a telephone, for that was the year when the
public first heard that it was possible to send sounds of the human
voice along a wire from one place to another.

There was a great fair in 1876. It was held in Philadelphia and was
called the Centennial because it celebrated the one-hundredth birthday
of our land. Persons came from foreign countries to attend the fair.
Among these visitors was a famous Brazilian gentleman. He was a man
of great knowledge and was interested in inventions. His name was Don
Pedro, and at that time he was Emperor of Brazil. Because he was the
ruler of a country, the officers of the Centennial showed him every
attention, and tried to make his visit alive with interest.

Late one afternoon they took him to the room where the judges were
examining objects entered for exhibits. The judges were tired and
wanted to go home. They did not care to listen to a young man standing
before them. This young man was telling them that he had a new
invention; it was a telephone, and would carry the sounds of the human
voice by electricity. The judges did not believe this, and were about
to dismiss the young man without even putting the receiver to their
ears and seeing if he spoke the truth. Don Pedro stood in the doorway
listening. He looked at the judges; he looked at the young man, and
was disgusted and angered that an invention should not receive a fair
trial. He stepped forward and as he did so looked squarely at the
young man. To his surprise he recognized in him an acquaintance made
while visiting in Boston.

At once Don Pedro examined the new instrument and then turning to the
judges asked permission to make a trial of it himself. The young
inventor went to the other end of the wire, which was in another room,
and spoke into the transmitter some lines from a great poem. Don Pedro
heard perfectly, and his praise changed the mind of the judges. They
decided to enter the invention as a "toy that might amuse the public."
This toy was the Bell telephone, the young inventor was Alexander
Graham Bell, and he had the satisfaction of seeing the "toy" become
the greatest attraction to visitors at the Centennial. This must have
brought comfort to his heart, for Mr. Bell had been trying for some
time to have people see what a convenience his invention would be.

He had first thought of the telephone while searching for some way to
help deaf mutes to talk. His father and grandfather had both been
voice teachers in Edinburgh and London, so when young Alexander came
to America to seek his fortune it was natural he should teach methods
of using the voice. But his pupils were unfortunate persons who could
not talk because they were unable to hear the sounds of the voice. His
father had worked out a plan for teaching the deaf, that the young man
improved. It was based on observation of the position of the lips and
other vocal organs, while uttering each sound. One by one the pupil
learned the sounds by sight. Then he learned combinations of sounds
and at last came to where he could "read the lips" and tell what a
person was saying by looking at his moving lips.

So you see Alexander Graham Bell knew a great deal about the way we
talk. He kept studying and working in his efforts to help his pupils,
and his knowledge of the human ear gave him the first idea of his
remarkable invention.

He thought if the small and thin ear drum could send thrills and
vibrations through heavy bones, then it should be possible for a small
piece of electrified iron to make an iron ear drum vibrate. In his
imagination he saw two iron ear drums far apart but connected by an
electrified wire. One end of the wire was to catch the vibrations of
the sound, and the other was to reproduce them. He was sure he could
make an instrument of this kind, for he said, "If I can make deaf
mutes talk, I can make iron talk."

One of his pupils helped him to do this by her words of sympathy and
interest. She was a young girl named Mabel Hubbard. While still a baby
she had lost her hearing, and consequently her speech, through an
attack of scarlet fever. She was a bright, lovable girl, and had
learned to talk through the teaching of Alexander Graham Bell. Her
father was a man of great public spirit and the best friend Mr. Bell
had in bringing the telephone before the public. Mabel Hubbard became
the wife of her teacher, and encouraged him constantly to try and try
again until his telephone would work.

Professor Bell made his first instrument in odd hours after he had
finished teaching for the day. You may smile when you hear he used in
making it an old cigar box, two hundred feet of wire, and two magnets
taken from a toy fish pond. But this was because he was very poor and
had scarcely any money to spend on materials for his experiments. But
he kept on working, and after the Centennial he was able to found a
company and put his new invention on the market. The company had
little money, so Mr. Bell lectured and explained his work. By this
means he not only raised money, but established his name as the
inventor of the telephone. There were a number of other students who
had been thinking along the same lines as Mr. Bell, but he went
farther than any one else and was the first to carry the sounds of the
human voice by electricity.

In the year 1877, the telephone was put into practical use for the
public. It grew slowly. People did not realize how it could help them
and they looked upon having a telephone as a luxury rather than a
necessity. It was in the same year that the first long distance line
was established. Today, when we can talk from Boston to San Francisco,
it seems strange to read that the first long distance telephone
reached only from Boston to Salem, a distance of sixteen miles. But
then Mr. Bell thought twenty miles would be the limit at which it
would be possible to send messages. So you see the Salem line was
really quite long enough to satisfy the inventor, whose first
instrument could convey sound only from the basement to the second
story of a single building.

Before long the reward that follows struggles and trials came to
Alexander Graham Bell. The telephone went around the world because so
many countries adopted it. Japan was the first, but she was followed
quickly by others. It went to far off Abyssinia, where it is said the
monkeys use the cables for swings and the elephants use the poles for
scratching posts.

Mr. Bell saw his invention enter every field of activity. It brought
him riches and honor, but, more than all, it became a servant of
mankind, and he could feel he had given a blessing to every class of
people.

                  *       *       *       *       *

                             _OUR COUNTRY!_

"_And for your Country, boy, and for that Flag, never dream a dream
but of serving her as she bids you, even though the service carry you
through a thousand hells. No matter what happens to you, no matter who
flatters you or who abuses you, never look at another flag, never let
a night pass but you pray God to bless that Flag. Remember, boy, that
behind officers and government, and people even, there is the Country
Herself; your Country, and you belong to Her as you belong to your own
mother. Stand by Her, boy, as you would stand by your mother._"

                                                --EDWARD EVERETT HALE.




[Illustration: EX-PRESIDENT THEODORE ROOSEVELT
Addressing the Home Defense League]




THEODORE ROOSEVELT


A little boy lived in the greatest city of the United States. He
looked out from the windows of his home and saw tall buildings rising,
story upon story, until they seemed to meet the sky. He saw narrow
streets that twisted and turned in the queerest manner. Through these
streets crowds of people were forever hurrying.

There was no chance for this boy to run races, to play ball, to ride a
horse, to row, or swim. He could not have a garden because the city
lot on which his home stood was, like all the lots around it, just
large enough for the house, so he had no yard.

Where could he play and exercise? He was not strong, and his loving
parents wanted him to grow into a healthy, hearty boy. Can you guess
what they did for him? They turned their back porch into a gymnasium.
Here he could have great sport and some hard work too. Hard, because
at first he was so delicate he could not do what other boys did. He
tried to climb the long pole that hung from the ceiling, but would
slip back and have to begin all over again. However, he did not give
up, but kept on trying until one day he reached the top. How proud he
was! He grew so daring that the neighbors were frightened, but his
mother only said, "If the Lord hadn't taken care of Theodore Roosevelt
he would have been killed long ago."

Fortunately not all his life was to be spent in the crowded city, for
his parents bought a country home on Long Island overlooking Oyster
Bay. Theodore went there in the summer and had a chance to live out of
doors. He tramped the woods, knew all the birds, hunted coon, gathered
walnuts, and fished in pools for minnows. But even with all these
outdoor pastimes he was far from well. Often he had choking spells of
asthma at night. Then his father would hitch a team of horses, wrap
his little invalid boy up warmly, and, taking him in his arms, drive
fifteen or twenty miles in the darkness. This was the only way he
could get his breath.

Twice his father and mother took him to Europe in the hope of
improving his health. A playmate remembers him as "a tall, thin lad
with bright eyes, and legs like pipe-stems." He was not able to go to
school regularly, so missed the fun of being with other boys. Most of
his studying was done at home under private teachers, and in this way
he prepared for college.

Theodore Roosevelt spent four years at Harvard University and was
graduated in 1880. It had been his aim to develop good health and a
strong body, as well as to succeed in his studies. This was a
struggle, but he won the fight, and, in speaking of himself at the
time of his leaving college, he says: "I determined to be strong and
well and did everything to make myself so. By the time I entered
Harvard, I was able to take part in whatever sports I liked. I
wrestled and sparred, and I ran a great deal, and, although I never
came in first, I got more out of the exercise than those who did,
because I immensely enjoyed it and never injured myself."

Some time after leaving college, the frontier life of the Wild West
called him. The lonely and pathless plains thrilled him, and he became
a ranchman. His new home was a log house called Elkhorn Ranch in North
Dakota. Here he raised his own chickens, grew his own vegetables, and
got fresh meat with his gun. He bought cattle until he had thousands
of head, all bearing the brand of a Maltese Cross. No fences confined
these cattle, and sometimes they would wander for hundreds of miles.
Twice a year it was the custom to round up all the Maltese herds for
the purpose of branding the calves and "cutting out" the cattle which
were fat enough to be shipped to market.

On these round-ups, Theodore Roosevelt did his share of the work.
Often this meant he rode fifty miles in the morning before finding the
cattle. By noon he and his cowboys would have driven many herds into
one big herd moving towards a wagon that had come out from the ranch.
This wagon brought food for the men, and Mr. Roosevelt has remarked,
"No meals ever tasted better than those eaten out on the prairie."

Dinner over, the work of branding and selecting could be done.
Sometimes Mr. Roosevelt spent twenty-four hours at a stretch in the
saddle, dismounting only to get a fresh pony. He did everything that
his men did, and endured the hardship as well as the pleasure of
ranch life. Often during the round-up he slept in the snow, wrapped in
blankets, with no tent to shield him from the freezing cold.

Although he kept Elkhorn Ranch for twelve years he gradually quit the
cattle business and spent more and more time in New York City where he
entered political life.

But his vacations always found him in the West where his greatest
pleasure was hunting. He hunted all over his ranch and through the
Rocky Mountains beyond. Frequently he would go off alone with only a
slicker, some hardtack, and salt behind his saddle, and his horse and
rifle as his only companions. Once he had no water to drink for
twenty-four hours and then had to use some from a muddy pool. But such
adventures were sport for him, and he liked to see how much exposure
he could stand. Then he would return to the East, rested and
refreshed.

When war between Spain and the United States was declared in 1898, Mr.
Roosevelt was Assistant Secretary of the Navy. He resigned this
office, saying, "I must get into the fight myself. It is a just war
and the sooner we meet it, the better. Now that it has come I have no
right to ask others to do the fighting while I stay at home."

He decided to raise a regiment made up of men he had known in the
West, together with adventure loving Easterners, and call them his
"Rough Riders." He borrowed the name from the circus. The idea set
the country aflame, and within a month the regiment was raised,
equipped, and on Cuban soil. There was never a stranger group of men
gathered together. Cowboys and Indians rode with eastern college boys
and New York policemen. They were all ready to follow their leader,
Lieutenant-Colonel Roosevelt. They were full-blooded Americans. They
believed in their country, and they obeyed their leader, not because
they had to do so but because it was right that they should obey.

The most important battle in which the Rough Riders engaged was that
of San Juan Hill, July 1 and 2, 1898. This helped to decide the war.
Roosevelt led the charge. His horse became entangled in a barb wire
fence, but he jumped off, ran ahead, and still kept in front of his
men. He lived up to his advice, "When in doubt, go ahead."

At the close of the war, when the Rough Riders returned to the United
States, they landed on Long Island and the country rang with applause.
The men could talk of no one but their commander, Colonel Roosevelt.
The last night in camp was given over to a great celebration, and when
goodbyes were said, he told them, "Outside of my own family I shall
always feel stronger ties exist between you and me than exist between
me and anyone else on earth."

After his bravery in the war, every one in the United States admired
Theodore Roosevelt, and was glad to honor him. He was elected Governor
of the State of New York. Two years later, when William McKinley was
made president, Roosevelt was chosen as vice-president. He had held
this office but three months when President McKinley was killed, and
Theodore Roosevelt became president of the country he loved to serve.

In 1904 he was elected president to succeed himself, and so for seven
and one-half years he gave his energies to the greatest office in our
country.

When his duties in the White House ended, he went on a long hunting
trip to South Africa. There he killed many strange and savage animals.
These he had mounted and sent home to government museums so they could
be observed and studied.

Returning to the United States as a private citizen, he spent much
time in writing, for he had always liked to set down his ideas and
experiences. If you look in a library catalogue, you will find
Theodore Roosevelt wrote more than twenty books during his life.

He died at his Sagamore Hill home in 1920, after a life of vigorous
activity to the last.

So we see he was a cowboy, a hunter, an author, a soldier, and
president, but it was not for any of these achievements alone that we
honor Theodore Roosevelt. It is because he was first, last, and
always, an American, eager to serve our country and follow its free
flag.

                  *       *       *       *       *

"_Speak softly and carry a big stick._"

                                         ROOSEVELT'S FAVORITE PROVERB.




[Illustration: GENERAL JOHN J. PERSHING ON A FAVORITE MOUNT]




JOHN PERSHING


For two long years we in America watched the progress of the great
European War. Again and again, as we read the accounts of battles in
which thousands of the brightest, best educated young men in Europe
were cut down, we ardently prayed that we in America might escape the
scourge of war. Protected by the broad Atlantic, we hoped that we
might not be drawn into this vortex of destruction.

Finally, all our hopes were blasted when Germany, with her sly
submarines, began sinking our ships and drowning our citizens. As this
was more than any honorable nation could endure, we, too, took up arms
against Germany.

No sooner had we entered the war than the task of raising a large army
was earnestly begun, and within a few weeks training camps were
established in every part of our country. After raising the army the
next most important task was to find a general big enough to lead it.
In this hour of need the nation turned to General John Pershing, and
asked him to lead our boys on the bloody battle fields of Europe.

As soon as he was chosen, General Pershing, better known as "Jack"
Pershing, sailed for Europe. Days before he arrived the eyes of all
Europe were turned in eager expectation, and as soon as he reached
there, the people gave him a joyous welcome and extended to him every
possible courtesy. From the first, Europe liked General Pershing.
Tall, broad shouldered, deep-chested, with frank, clear eyes, he
impressed all with the fact that he was indeed a soldier.

The social life of London and Paris had small attraction for General
Pershing; he was restless for the battle front that he might
thoroughly learn the war game, so that he could better teach it to our
American boys. For weeks, associating with French and English
officers, he studied methods of modern warfare. As he was doing this a
vast army of American boys landed in France, and it has now fallen to
the lot of General Jack Pershing to lead these brave lads into the
midst of the most deadly war of all time.

Who then is Jack Pershing? Where did he come from, and what has he
done that should merit the confidence thus placed in him?

General Pershing was born in Linn County, Missouri, Sept. 13, 1860. As
his parents were poor, young Jack, from very early in life, had to
work hard. Able to attend school for only a few months each winter,
the lad often longed for a better opportunity to get an education.
Finally he was able to go for a term to the Normal School at
Kirksville, Missouri. This was a proud day for him. But soon he had to
quit school as his money had given out. Fortunately, he was able to
pass the teacher's examination, and soon began teaching a country
school. Now that he had a taste of knowledge, he resolved not to stop
until he had secured a good education. Accordingly, he was soon back
in the Normal School, where he was graduated at the age of twenty.

In less than a month after his graduation, he learned of a competitive
examination for entrance into West Point Military Academy. With no
rich or influential friends to help him, the young normal graduate had
little hope of getting into West Point. So excellent, however, were
his examination papers that the poor Missouri boy was readily accepted
and soon became a student in this great Military Academy. How
fortunate that he was a hard working student and passed that
examination, otherwise America today would be without General
Pershing.

Relieved of all financial burden, for the government paid all his
expenses in West Point, he settled down to four years of hard work. So
successful was he in this work that upon his graduation he was made
senior cadet captain--the highest honor West Point can give to any
student.

Immediately after graduation he was sent into New Mexico and Arizona
to help settle Indian difficulties. Life among the cowboys and Indians
was indeed exciting, but perhaps his most exciting experience was with
an Apache Chief by the name of Geronimo. This old chief, with his
group of warriors, had defied the entire United States for two years.
Finally he fled into Mexico and young Pershing with his army was sent
in pursuit. Odd as it may seem, the old Indian chief took almost the
same route through Mexico that Villa followed some thirty years later.
No doubt General Pershing in his pursuit of Villa often thought of his
experiences years before when after Geronimo and his warriors.

After spending several years in the Southwest, at the age of thirty,
he was made Professor of Military Tactics in the University of
Nebraska. Here he remained four years during which time, in addition
to his work as teacher, he completed the law course in the University.
His next promotion pleased him greatly, for he was chosen a professor
in his old school, West Point, where he remained but one year when the
Cuban War broke out. Immediately he felt his country's call, and with
the Tenth United States Cavalry sailed for Cuba.

No sooner did he land than he found himself in the thick of the
war. Among the hardest battles he was in were those at San Juan Hill
and Santiago de Cuba. Twice during this war he was recommended for
brevet commissions "for personal gallantry, untiring energy, and
faithfulness." General Baldwin, under whom he served, had this to
say of him, "I have been in many fights, through the Civil War, but
Captain Pershing is the coolest man under fire I ever saw."

At the close of the Cuban War he was made Commissioner of Insular
Affairs with headquarters in Washington. Here he remained but a short
time when again he heard his country's call and was sent to the far
distant Philippine Islands.

The task assigned him was by no means easy. On Mindanao, one of the
larger islands in the group, lived the Moros. So cruel and fierce were
they that during all the years Spain held the Islands she had never
attempted to civilize them. To Pershing was given the task of going
back into the mountains and capturing these Moros. To him was assigned
the most stubborn problem the Islands presented.

The best description of this Moro campaign is written by Rowland
Thompson who says: "Up in the hills of western Mindanao some thirty
miles from the sea, lies Lake Linao, and around it live one hundred
thousand fierce, proud, uncivilized Mohammedans, a set of murderous
farmers who loved a fight so well that they were willing at any time
to die for the joy of combat, whose simple creed makes the killing of
Christians a virtue.

"Pershing warned the hot-head of them all, the Sultan, if there were
any further trouble he would destroy their stronghold. The Sultan in
his fortress, with walls of earth and living bamboo forty feet thick,
laughed at the warning. In two days his fortress was in ruins. So
skillful was Pershing's attack that he captured the stronghold with
the loss of but two men."

In a similar manner he later took stronghold after stronghold until
finally all the Moros were conquered. Having subdued the Moros he was
then made Governor of the Island, holding the office until he was
sent to help settle the bandit difficulty on the Mexican border.

In his journey from the Philippine Islands to the Mexican border,
General Pershing was called upon to fight the hardest battle of his
entire life. Leaving his wife and four children at the Presidio Hotel
in San Francisco, he went to El Paso, Texas, to rent a house. While in
El Paso he was shocked to get a telegram stating that the Presidio had
burned and that his wife and three daughters had perished in the
flames. Surely this was enough to crush an ordinary man, but again he
showed the superior qualities of his manhood by bearing up bravely,
and continuing faithfully to perform the responsible tasks assigned
him.

Though the Mexican trouble did not give General Pershing a chance to
show his ability to lead men under fire, it did give him ample
opportunity to convince his countrymen that he possessed remarkable
skill in rounding up and developing a large army.

During the World War, General Pershing was placed in command of the
entire American Army in Europe and, through his wise council and able
handling of his forces, was proclaimed one of the greatest officers
who took part in this great war.

                  *       *       *       *       *

"_Lafayette, we are here!_"

                               --GENERAL PERSHING AT LAFAYETTE'S TOMB.




[Illustration: EX-PRESIDENT WILLIAM H. TAFT
At His Son's Wedding]




WILLIAM HOWARD TAFT


Most great men have been born poor. For one in early life to struggle
with poverty seems to prepare him in later years to struggle with the
big problems that make men great.

To be born amid wealth too often has a softening effect. Pampered with
all that money can buy, the rich lad looks to others rather than to
his own efforts. Not so with William Howard Taft. Though he was born
with a silver spoon in his mouth, as we sometimes say, and fortune
smiled upon him, he was never spoiled; but on the contrary he early
developed a capacity for hard work, and a willingness to take rather
than avoid hard knocks. These, as we shall see, insured his success in
later life.

Born as he was in a beautiful home in the aristocratic section of
Cincinnati, his boyhood surroundings were almost ideal. Not only was
his home provided with every comfort, but it also was one in which
culture and refinement reigned. When you are told that young William's
father held the following positions, Judge of the Superior Court of
Cincinnati, Secretary of War under President Grant, Attorney General,
Minister to Austria and to Russia, you will readily see that the lad's
home life was truly stimulating.

As you study the picture of Mr. Taft, you will observe that he is an
extremely large man, weighing nearly three hundred pounds. Unlike
many men, he did not become fleshy in his maturer years, but from his
boyhood has been large and, as the boys say, fat. When a mere lad he
was a plump, chubby, roly-poly chap who was always liked because he
was so good-natured. Can you guess the nicknames the other boys gave
him? Sometimes they called him "Lubber," but most of the time he was
hailed simply as "Lub." Big, over-grown boys are sure to be awkward,
and "Lub" was no exception. If he started to run across a field with
the other boys, he was sure to fall. When they turned to gather him
up, they would fairly roll with laughter, declaring that he was too
fat to see where he was stepping. The fact that when he fell he was
sure "to land on his head," caused the boys to call him "Lead-Head and
Cotton-Body."

When he entered the Woodward High School, the boys changed his
nickname from "Lub" to "Old Bill" and later to plain "Bill." In high
school he was too fat to run, too slow for baseball, and didn't care
for football.

At seventeen he had graduated from high school and was about to enter
Yale. Can you imagine him as he enters that great University? With
beardless cheeks that were as red as an apple, and able to tip the
scales at two hundred thirty pounds, he seemed indeed a giant. No
longer was he chubby and awkward; he was now broad shouldered, tall
and sure of step. His muscles were so firm that he was a hard
antagonist for anyone.

Hardly had he entered school before he got "mixed up" in one of the
many college rushes of those days. In that particular rush Taft went
crashing through the sophomores like a catapult. One, a man of his own
weight, leaped in front of him. Then Taft let forth a joyous roar and
charged! He grappled with the other Ajax, lifted him bodily, and
heaved him over his head. No wonder he got the nickname of "Bull
Taft."

Of course a chap capable of such a feat must join the football squad,
said the fellows of the University. But Bill's father back in
Cincinnati had entirely different plans for the giant freshman. He was
eager to have his son win his laurels in the classroom rather than on
the gridiron. The father, while in Yale, had won honors, and why
shouldn't his son? Furthermore, Bill had some pride, for already his
brother had carried away from Yale high honors in scholarship, and, if
possible, Bill was not to be outdone by his brother. Accordingly, he
settled down to four years of downright hard work, and "from day to
day, lesson by lesson, he slowly made his way close to the head of the
class."

That he acquired, while in college, a relish for hard work is shown by
the fact that as soon as he had graduated he undertook three jobs at
the same time: he studied law in his father's law office, carried the
regular work of the Cincinnati Law School, and was court reporter for
_The Times Star_ of Cincinnati.

So rapid was his achievement that at the age of twenty-four he was
made Internal Revenue Collector at a salary of $4500 a year. Surely
this was a good salary for a man so young. But other promotions were
destined to come in close succession; for, at the age of twenty-nine
he was made Judge of the Superior Court of Ohio, and a year later was
appointed by President Harrison Solicitor-General of the United States
at a salary of $7000 a year.

After three years of service as a Solicitor-General, President
Harrison made him Judge of the Federal Court of the Sixth Circuit that
included Michigan, Ohio, Kentucky, and Tennessee. As judge of this
court, several of the most famous cases in our history came before
him, and in every case his power of analysis was so manifest, and his
decision so just that the entire nation learned to look to him with
confidence. Into his court came, on the one hand employers who were
eager for every possible advantage, and were willing to crush labor in
order to gain it; and on the other hand laborers who distrusted their
employers and were morbid and resentful. To preside over a court where
force was thus meeting force, where battle lines were distinctly drawn
was no small task. Mr. Taft, however, since he was always fair and
kind, since he possessed largeness of vision and pureness of soul, was
big enough for the task.

At this time in Judge Taft's life he seems to have had but one
ambition--he desired to become a Judge of the Supreme Court of the
United States. But while he was eagerly looking in that direction,
his nation was preparing other and greater tasks for him.

Far across the broad Pacific lie the Philippine Islands--more than
three thousand of them. On these islands live eight million people. As
a result of our war with Spain these islands came into our possession;
but what were we to do with them? Representing as they did every stage
of development from University graduates to Moro headhunters, the task
of governing them was indeed difficult.

Who should be assigned this task? Where was a man big enough to bring
order out of confusion and mould these widely divergent tribes into a
unified colony?

President McKinley and those in authority with him finally decided
that Judge Taft was the man for the place. Accordingly, he was soon
seen on the broad Pacific hurrying to the task that awaited him. From
island to island he and his commissioners journeyed studying
conditions. Everywhere he found the people suspicious and eager to
state their grievances. Naturally kind, frank and fair, he so won
their confidence that he was soon able to direct their efforts. It is
impossible here to tell of his remarkable work in the Islands. As
Governor-General he greatly reduced the death rate by introducing
sanitary conditions; he established and developed a free public school
system, and, most important of all, he trained the Filipinos in the
art of self government.

From Governor-General of the Philippines Mr. Taft was made Secretary
of War. Fortunately, his experiences in the Islands, in a peculiar
manner, fitted him for this new responsibility; for, during his entire
sojourn in the Philippines he had come in closest contact with the
soldiers. As they at all times were his closest companions, he learned
to understand them perfectly. Able to get their viewpoint on all
matters pertaining to war, he was able to secure from the start the
highest possible cooperation. His greatest single task as Secretary of
War was to finish building the Panama Canal, and indeed this was a
task; but the Big Man kept at the big job until finally it was
completed.

But the crowning event in the life of this great man was his election
to the presidency of the United States. Here he was the same frank,
genuine man he had always been. Had he been more of a politician he,
no doubt, would have gained greater popular favor, but, after all, the
approval of the multitudes is not the highest goal to be sought. Above
this is fidelity to duty, and this Mr. Taft always possessed in an
unusual degree.

With the completion of his term in the White House he did not withdraw
from active life as so many ex-presidents have done; on the contrary,
he became at once a member of the faculty of his beloved Yale
University.

During the great World War, Mr. Taft was made director of the American
Red Cross Association, and in 1920 he became the Chief Justice of the
United States Supreme Court.




LUTHER BURBANK


To whom does Luther Burbank belong? Massachusetts, in old New England,
claims him as her son. But far to the west, proud California, kissed
by the majestic Pacific, declares that he more truly belongs to her.
But why argue? A man whose life has so materially blessed mankind
everywhere belongs to the whole world. Recently, in far way France,
when the name of Mr. Burbank was spoken in the Chamber of Deputies in
Paris, every member arose to his feet as a tribute of honor.

But why do we all claim Luther Burbank? Why is his name a household
word in every country? Because, without him, the world today would no
doubt be hungry.

Mr. Burbank was born almost beneath the shadow of Bunker Hill Monument
on the seventh day of March, 1849. When able to toddle about, his
playmates were plants rather than animals. Oddly enough his first doll
was a cactus plant that he carried about proudly until one day he fell
and broke it.

As a boy he was not strong, and did not like the rougher sports. In
school he was bashful, retiring, and serious. Though a good student he
could neither recite well nor speak pieces, as he was afraid even of
his own voice.

[Illustration: LUTHER BURBANK
World Famous Plant Wizard]

When he was just a lad he was taken out of school and put to work in a
plow factory that belonged to his uncle. But he did not like the
factory. Often he longed for the out of doors with its plants and
flowers. So strong was this desire for the out of doors that he left
the factory and began truck gardening on a small scale; and it was
while caring for this truck garden that he developed the Burbank
potato, thus achieving his first success. So valuable was this
discovery that the United States Department of Agriculture declares
that the Burbank potato has added to the wealth of this country
seventeen million dollars each year since this variety was developed.

When twenty-six years of age, Mr. Burbank decided that the climate and
soil of far-away California were best suited to his work. Accordingly,
with ten of his best potatoes, and his small savings, he started
across the continent. When his journey was ended he found himself in a
fertile but unimproved valley about fifty miles north of San
Francisco. On either side of this beautiful valley were spurs of the
Coast Range Mountains.

His first task was to find work, but as few people at that time lived
in the region, jobs were hard to get. In speaking of this period of
his life, Mr. Burbank says: "One day I heard that a man was building a
house. I went to him and asked him for the job of shingling it. He
asked me what I would do it for. The regular price was two dollars and
a half a thousand, but I was so anxious for the work that I offered to
do it for one dollar and seventy-five cents. 'All right,' he said,
'come and begin tomorrow.' But I had no shingling hammer and all the
cash I had in the world was seventy-five cents, which I at once
expended in purchasing the necessary hammer. Next morning when I
reached the job, my new hammer in hand, all ready to go to work, I was
surprised and--what shall I say--dismayed, to find another man already
at work, while the owner calmly came to me and said, 'I guess you'll
have to let that job go, as this man here has undertaken to do it for
one dollar a thousand.'

"How disappointed I was! I had spent my last cent, had a hammer that
was no use to me now, and no job. But I kept a stiff upper lip and
work soon came, and I've never been so hard up since."

Mr. Harwood in describing this period in the life of Mr. Burbank says:
"The man who was to become the foremost figure in the world in his
line of work, and who was to pave the way by his own discoveries and
creations for others of all lands to follow his footsteps, was a
stranger in a strange land, close to starvation, penniless, beset by
disease, hard by the gates of death. But never for an instant did this
heroic figure lose hope, never did he abandon confidence in himself
nor did he swerve from the path he had marked out. In the midst of all
he kept an unshaken faith. He accepted the trials that came, not as a
matter of course, not tamely, nor with any mock heroism, but as a
passing necessity. His resolution was of iron, his will of steel, his
heart of gold; he was fighting in the splendid armor of a clean
life."

As a result of his industry, in a few years, Mr. Burbank was able to
buy four acres of land where he started a nursery. From the first this
enterprise was successful. Upon this plot he built a modest home where
he still resides. Here, and on a larger plot a few miles distant, all
his remarkable experiments have been made.

Before we learn more about his achievements I am sure we should like
to become better acquainted with the man. Suppose, then, we invite
Professor Edward Wickson of the University of California, who knows
him well, to tell us about him.

"Mr. Burbank is of medium stature and rather slender form; light eyes
and dark hair, now rapidly running to silver. His countenance is very
mobile, lighting up quickly and as quickly receding to the seriousness
of earnest attention, only to rekindle with a smile or relax into a
laugh, if the subject be in the lighter vein. He is exceedingly quick
in apprehension, seeming to anticipate the speaker, but never
intruding upon his speech. There is always a suggestion of shyness in
his manner, and there is ever present a deep respectfulness. He is
frank, open-hearted, and out-spoken. All his actions are artless and
quiet; even the modulations of his voice follow the lower keys."

But, you ask, what marvelous things has this modest man done that
should make his name a household word the world over?

All truly great people have high ideals that guide them in their work.
The one ideal that guides Mr. Burbank is his love for humanity.
Naturally sympathetic, he cannot endure the thought of human
suffering.

Since so much human misery is due to lack of food, to hunger, he has
resolved if possible to make the world produce more bread. But how can
he do this? If only he can get each head of wheat to produce just one
additional grain then the problem will be solved--for then the wheat
crop of this country will be increased five million two hundred
thousand bushels. Year after year he worked at this task until finally
each head of wheat actually did produce more grains. Now that he has
succeeded in increasing the yield of wheat, he has resolved not to
stop until the yield of all the cereals is increased in a like
manner.

By what principle, then, does he accomplish these marvelous feats?
What are his methods? Eager as we are to understand them, doubtless
most of us must wait until we have learned a great deal about science,
for his methods are extremely scientific.

Though unable to comprehend his methods, we are able to appreciate the
results of his work. So marvelous are these results that they seem
like fairy tales. For example, he has developed a white blackberry;
but this is not all, he has developed blackberry plants so large that
a single plant produces more than a bushel of berries.

I am sure that we all like strawberries so well that sometimes we have
wished that the strawberry season were not so short; and in the future
it will not be, for he has produced plants that bear strawberries all
summer.

Mr. Burbank, knowing that boys and girls are likely to hit their
fingers cracking walnuts, has developed a walnut with a very thin
shell, so thin in fact that the birds can break through it and help
themselves to the meat. Now he has to thicken the shell again.

How should you like to eat a peach that had, instead of the ordinary
stone, a fine almond in the center? In the future you may eat just
such peaches, for Mr. Burbank has developed them.

Most of us have seen the ordinary cactus. We have been very careful,
however, not to touch it as the spines are sure to prick us. It is
interesting to know that the cactus is a desert plant--that, though
millions of acres of arid land in the West can produce little else,
they can produce enormous quantities of cactus. Unfortunately, these
plants have always been useless as neither man nor beast would eat
them. True, cattle liked them, but the cruel spines made the eating of
them impossible.

As good pasture lands are so scarce in the West, Mr. Burbank wondered
why a cactus could not be developed that had no spines. Accordingly,
he began his work, and already has accomplished results far greater
than he had expected. Not only has he developed spineless cactus, thus
redeeming millions of acres of desert land for the use of animals, but
he has also developed scores of varieties that are pleasing to the
taste of man. Some taste like the cantaloupe, others like the peach,
and still others like the plum or pomegranate. Fortunately, they ripen
at all times during the year and can be carried to every part of the
country without decaying en route. Through the efforts of Mr. Burbank
the hitherto worthless cactus has become the most promising fruit of
the desert.

Just as Mr. Burbank has improved the wheat, the blackberry, the
strawberry, the peach, and the cactus, so he has increased the yield
and improved the quality of practically every cereal, fruit, and
vegetable.

True, he has not made a great fortune for himself, but a knowledge
that tens of thousands who otherwise might go hungry are, because of
his efforts, fed, must give him a satisfaction that is far greater
than money could give. And, after all, doesn't true greatness lie in
giving to others rather than in gathering to one's self?

                  *       *       *       *       *

_"And he gave it as his opinion, that whoever could make two ears of
corn, or two blades of grass, to grow upon a spot of ground where only
one grew before, would deserve better of mankind and do more essential
service to his country, than the whole race of politicians put
together."_

                                                         --DEAN SWIFT.




CLARA BARTON


In the little Maryland village of Glen Echo, a frail, gentle old lady
was taking leave of this world one April day, in the year 1912. She
was greatly beloved and many friends from every state in the Union
sent her words of comfort and cheer. They praised her noble work and
called her "The Guardian Angel" of the suffering, but the little old
lady looked into the faces of those about her and said, "I know of
nothing remarkable that I have done."

She was Clara Barton, the woman who brought the Red Cross to our
country; but, being accustomed to working always for others, her
labors did not seem great or unusual to her. Today we know she is one
of the heroines of the world, for she believed in the brotherhood of
man, and her aim was to relieve suffering humanity, irrespective of
nationality or creed.

Her childhood was a happy, joyous one spent in the little village of
North Oxford, Massachusetts. She was the youngest child of a large
family, and her brothers and sisters were very proud of her because
she learned so rapidly and because she was never afraid of anything.
She would follow her oldest brother about the house with a slate,
begging him to give her hard sums to do. Out of doors she was eager
for adventure; her brother David often said, "Clara is never afraid,
she can ride any colt on the farm," and often he would throw her on
the bare back of a young horse and cry, "Hold fast to the mane," and
away she would gallop over the fields.

[Illustration: CLARA BARTON
Founder of the American Red Cross]

Winter evenings the family would gather about the great fireplace in
the living room and listen to the father tell of his experiences on
the battle fields of the Revolutionary War. He had been a soldier
under the dashing General Anthony Wayne, called "Mad Anthony" Wayne,
because of his reckless daring. Clara was thrilled by these stories of
army life, and never tired of hearing her father recount them.

When Clara was eleven years of age, her brother David had a terrible
fall, and for more than two years he was a helpless invalid. At once
she became his nurse and he relied upon her for all manner of service,
preferring her to his older sister or even his mother. "Clara is a
born nurse," said the family, as they saw the care she was giving the
boy, and indeed she was. It was a joy to her to wait upon the sick,
and she considered it no hardship to sacrifice herself.

When David was well, Clara went to school and prepared herself to
teach. Her scholars found her an able teacher and liked her ways of
instructing them. We know this to be true, because when she opened her
first school she had only six pupils, but her fame spread so rapidly
that when June came six hundred children had entered her classes and
were much disappointed when they found she could not teach them all
but had to have assistant teachers.

The strain of planning for so many pupils was too heavy for her, so
she gave up teaching and took a position in the pension office at
Washington. She was there at the beginning of the great war between
the North and South, and at once felt it to be her duty to leave her
work and minister to the wounded soldiers.

At first she busied herself in the hospitals at Washington, but she
longed to go to the front and help on the battle fields. She told her
father of her strong desire, and he said to her, "Go, if you feel it
your duty to go! I know what soldiers are, and I know that every true
soldier will respect you and your errand."

At last our government gave her permission, and she went to the front
as fearless as any officer in the army. Amid the rain of shot and
shell she went about on errands of mercy. Then there was no organized
relief for the soldiers, no Red Cross, no Y. M. C. A., no help of any
kind except what kind persons here and there over the country tried to
give. This was very little, when compared to the vast amount of
suffering, but Clara Barton managed to gather supplies and money so
that she was able to give assistance to both the boys in blue and the
boys in gray. She saved many lives, she wrote countless letters home
for wounded soldiers, and she stood alone by the death-bed of many a
brave fellow, speaking words of comfort and cheer. Whenever anyone
suggested that she was working beyond her strength, she would say, "It
is my duty," and go on regardless of her personal welfare. One of her
best friends, Miss Lucy Larcom, wrote of her as follows:

"We may catch a glimpse of her at Chantilly in the darkness of the
rainy midnight, bending over a dying boy who took her supporting arm
and soothing voice for his sister's--or falling into a brief sleep on
the wet ground in her tent, almost under the feet of flying cavalry;
or riding in one of her trains of army-wagons towards another field,
subduing by the way a band of mutinous teamsters into her firm friends
and allies; or at the terrible battle at Antietam, where the regular
army supplies did not arrive till three days afterward, furnishing
from her wagons cordials and bandages for the wounded, making gruel
for the fainting men from the meal in which her medicines had been
packed, extracting with her own hand a bullet from the cheek of a
wounded soldier, tending the fallen all day, with her throat parched
and her face blackened by sulphurous smoke, and at night, when the
surgeons were dismayed at finding themselves left with only one
half-burnt candle, amid thousands of bleeding, dying men, illuming the
field with candles and lanterns her forethought had supplied. No
wonder they called her 'The Angel of the Battle Field'."

After the war, President Lincoln asked her to search for the thousands
of men who were missing. She at once visited the prisons, helped the
prisoners to regain their health, and get in touch with their
families. Besides this, she searched the National Cemeteries and had
grave stones put over many of the graves telling who were buried
there. This work took four years, and at the end of it she was so
broken in health that she went abroad for a long rest.

While she was in Switzerland she heard first of the Red Cross Society
and attended a meeting called to establish an International Society.
Twenty-four nations were represented at the meeting, but the United
States was not among that number. For some years it refused to join.
Miss Barton devoted herself to showing our government that in joining
the International Red Cross we would not be entangling ourselves in
European affairs but would be working for the good of all men. At
last, in 1887, she won her victory, and the United States signed the
agreement of the Red Cross Society. This is called the Treaty of
Geneva.

When the first meeting was held in Geneva, Switzerland, there were
persons present who found fault with the plan. They said the world
should do away with warfare instead of caring for those it injured.
But the Swiss President said it would take a long time for the world
to learn to do without warfare. He believed the Red Cross would help
to bring about the era of peace by caring for the afflicted and
relieving the horror of war. The terrible struggle in Europe is
showing us the truth of his words, for, when we hear about the
frightful happenings, all the glory and grandeur of warfare fade
away.

A man who sees far into the future, has written, "Some day the Red
Cross will triumph over the cannon. The future belongs to all helpful
powers, however humble, for two allies are theirs, suffering humanity
and merciful God."

Clara Barton, who also could look beyond her day, saw another use for
the Red Cross besides war service. She said: "It need not apply to the
battle field alone, but we should help all those who need our help."
So the American Red Cross passed an amendment to the effect that its
work should apply to all suffering from fires, floods, famine,
earthquake, and other forms of disaster. This amendment was finally
adopted by all nations.

At the time of the Spanish War, Miss Barton was seventy years old, but
she went to Cuba and did heroic work. When the Galveston flood
occurred she was eighty, but she went to the stricken community and
helped in every way. After giving up her active work, she retired to
Glen Echo and spent the remainder of her days quietly, always
interested in the great cause to which she had given her life.

We know what the American Red Cross does for our soldiers, and
whenever we see its emblem we should think of Clara Barton, as a
"Noble type of good, heroic womanhood; one who was kind, humane, and
helpful to all peoples, one who longed for the time when suffering and
horror should pass away."




[Illustration: GEORGE W. GOETHALS
Builder of the Panama Canal]




GEORGE W. GOETHALS


The men who worked on the Panama Canal used to sing this little song
of their own composing:

             "See Colonel Goethals,
             Tell Colonel Goethals,
             It's the only right and proper thing to do.
             Just write a letter, or even better,
             Arrange a little Sunday interview."

Colonel George W. Goethals was the chief engineer of the canal, and
when he arrived in Panama he found that many of the men were
discontented. They felt they were not treated fairly. Now there were
sixty-five thousand persons employed there, and Colonel Goethals knew
that if they were not kept well and in good spirits the great work
would never be completed. So he said he would be in his office every
Sunday morning at seven o'clock. Then, any man or woman who had a
complaint could come and tell him about it. He was so wise, and
decided the cases with such fairness that the men came to believe in
their new chief and were anxious to serve him.

It was when Theodore Roosevelt was President of the United States that
Colonel Goethals was sent to Panama. President Roosevelt was anxious
to have our dream of a canal across the Isthmus of Panama come true,
but many persons in our country as well as in other parts of the world
told him it was foolish to spend money on such an uncertain
undertaking. They said the great slides of gravel and sand along the
sides of the canal could never be stopped. They said the locks would
never work. President Roosevelt paid no attention to these comments,
but selected Colonel Goethals because he was sure he could build the
canal.

Colonel Goethals cared as little as President Roosevelt for the
opinion that the task was impossible. In fact, he told the President:
"Say nothing to such doubting persons. By and by we will answer them
with the canal."

We know that he did give such an answer. He built the canal right
through the red shifting hills of sand that threatened to slide down
and choke his work. He cut away a jungle so the banks of the canal
could be kept free and open. But best of all, he taught order to the
men who worked under him, and they found out that he believed in them,
he believed in the work that he was doing, and he believed in the
Government of the United States. No wonder they made a song about him
and praised his splendid leadership.

As his title tells us, Colonel Goethals belongs to the regular army.
Until he was appointed as the chief engineer of the Panama Canal, no
military man had been in charge there. The men working on the canal
were performing civil duties, and in no way resembled soldiers. When
they heard a regular army officer was coming down, they did not like
the idea of having to obey just as if they were soldiers. Many of the
foremen and officials told their men they would have to spend their
time saluting Colonel Goethals and standing at attention with their
little fingers against the seams of their trousers.

During the first days of his stay in Panama, a banquet was given in
honor of Colonel Goethals, for the men felt they must entertain their
new chief, though they were not friendly to him.

At this banquet, they cheered the former engineer, John G. Stevens,
and did not applaud Colonel Goethals when he appeared. However he was
exceedingly polite and did not notice their bad manners. The men had
expected to see him wear a full dress uniform, and you can imagine how
surprised they were when they saw him dressed in citizens' clothes.
Never once while he was in Panama did Colonel Goethals appear in
uniform.

After the banquet there was a program of speeches. Each speaker made
cutting remarks about the new military control, but the Colonel did
not seem to notice their insults. At last it was his time to speak. He
said only a few words, but they changed the minds of his hearers. He
told them they were all there to build the canal. They were working
for their government, the United States of America. He wanted no
salutes, but he wanted work. This pleased the men and they were
ashamed of their impoliteness.

The Colonel's first act was to organize the workmen into three
divisions, the Atlantic, the Central, and the Pacific.

He put each under a superintendent. Then he stirred up contests
between these divisions. He would tell the men on the Pacific division
how rapidly the men on the Atlantic division were digging or putting
in concrete. Of course, each division wanted to make the best showing,
and the men were always eager to get the Canal Record, a small weekly
newspaper, so they could read the scores of the different divisions.
These scores grew to be more exciting than those of ball games, and
the men worked hard and well.

They liked Colonel Goethals and whenever he went by they saluted him;
not with the army salute which they had scorned, but by waving their
hands, lifting their caps, and greeting him with a smile on their lips
and in their eyes.

They felt free to talk to him because they knew he was their friend.
Shortly after he started his Sunday morning office hours, some of the
lowest paid men told him that their bosses swore at them all day and
used the worst kind of language. At once he sent the following order
out all over the Canal Zone.

                            PROFANE LANGUAGE

                                       Culebra, C. Z. Aug. 4, 1911

    Circular No. 400:

    The use of profane or abusive language by foremen or others in
    authority, when addressing subordinates, will not be
    tolerated.

                                         Geo. W. Goethals,
                                    Chairman and Chief Engineer.

Some of the foreman did not talk much for a while, they had been so
used to swearing, but the Colonel's orders were obeyed.

The work then moved along smoothly and Colonel Goethals was looking
forward to the end of his labors, when one day an engineer on the
Panama Railroad paid no attention to the signals and let his train run
into the rear coaches of another train, killing the conductor.

This engineer was drunk, and it is against the rules of any railroad
for an intoxicated person to be in its employ. Colonel Goethals had
the engineer arrested and put in jail. However, the man belonged to a
labor union, and this union sent a committee demanding that he release
the engineer by seven o'clock that evening. If he did not, they would
order all the men working along the canal to strike. This meant that
the work on the canal would stop, and it might be weeks before it
would be resumed. They would wait, they said, for his answer until
seven o'clock that evening. Colonel Goethals listened to the
committee, then shook hands with them and went to his home.

Seven o'clock came, then eight. The committee was worried. They
telephoned Colonel Goethals and asked for his answer. He replied in
surprise that they had it. They said it had not reached them. He
reminded them that they intended to strike at seven o'clock if the man
was not released, and then said, "It is now eight o'clock; if you call
the penitentiary, you will find the man is still there."

The leaders did not want to strike. They had expected to make Colonel
Goethals do what they wanted. Then they said, "Do you want to tie up
the work down here, Colonel"?

"I am not tying it up," he told them. "You are. You forget that this
is not a private enterprise, but a government job."

When asked what he was going to do, his answer was: "Any man not at
work tomorrow morning will be given his transportation to the United
States. He will go out on the first steamer and he will never come
back."

There was only one man who had failed to report, and he sent a
doctor's certificate saying he was too sick to work. There were no
more strikes.

In May, 1913, a Congressman introduced a bill into the House of
Representatives providing for the promotion of Colonel Goethals from
Colonel to Major-General as a reward for his services in building the
canal. At once Colonel Goethals wrote the gentleman saying he
appreciated his kindness but he did not believe he should be singled
out for such an honor. There were many men, he said, who had done
great work in Panama, and they, as well as himself, felt repaid for
their services not only by their salary but by the honor of being
connected with such a wonderful task. He said also that the United
States Government had educated and trained him so it was but right
that it should have his services. The bill was withdrawn and Colonel
Goethals was satisfied.

When we look at the life of this successful man it seems as if all the
years before his going to the Canal Zone were but a preparation for
the great feat that awaited him there. He was always eager to work,
and when he was a little boy in New York City he earned his first
money by doing errands. At that time he was eleven years of age, but
by the time he was fifteen he was the cashier and bookkeeper in a
market. Other boys spent their time playing ball, but he worked after
school and every Saturday. He was paid five dollars a week. His first
hope was to be a physician, but the steady indoor work had weakened
his health and he decided to become a soldier. He thought the
excellent military training would make him well and strong, so he
passed the examinations for West Point Military Academy.

As he knew no one there, George Goethals' entry into the famous school
was but little noticed. However, as the months and years passed, every
one there was proud to claim him as a pupil or classmate.

There are three great honors to be won at West Point. Any man who wins
one of these is called an honor man, and the entire school looks up to
him. The first honor is to have the highest grade as a student. The
second is to be named a leader and an officer over all the rest of the
class. The third is to be chosen for an office by one's classmates
because they like him. George W. Goethals won all three of these. He
was an honor man in his studies; his teachers chose him as one of the
four captains taken from his class; and this same class elected him
president in his senior year.

With such a school record it is not at all surprising that Colonel
Goethals made steady progress in the army and so was considered by
President Roosevelt to be the one person who could build the canal.
Since its completion, this able soldier has continued to serve his
country, and when President Wilson declared we were in a state of war
with Germany, Colonel Goethals was among the first persons summoned to
help plan and supervise the great war program; for at the root of his
success lies loyalty,--loyalty to his work, to his fellow men, and to
the Government of the United States.

                  *       *       *       *       *

                          _CHILDREN'S PLEDGE_

              _I pledge allegiance to my Flag
                And to the Republic for which it stands;
              One Nation indivisible,
                With liberty and justice for all._




JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY


On one of the more modest streets of Indianapolis there lived, in
1916, an invalid. He was a man sixty-two years of age, with a genial
face that had not been hardened by his years of suffering. This man,
though living in a modest home and a confirmed invalid, had the rare
distinction of being the most beloved man in America. While all
classes loved him, the children loved him most; and fortunately they
did not wait until he was dead to show their love. One of the nice
things they used to do was to send him post cards on his birthdays.
Sometimes he would get, on a single birthday, as many as a thousand
cards from school children in all parts of the country.

While he could not answer all these cards, he did his best to let them
know that he appreciated their kindly attention, as the following
letter shows:

                "To the School Children of Indianapolis:

  "You are conspirators--every one of you, that's what you are! You
  have conspired to inform the general public of my birthday, and I
  am already so old that I want to forget all about it. But I will
  be magnanimous and forgive you, for I know that your intent is
  really friendly, and to have such friends as you are makes
  me--don't care how old I am! In fact it makes me so glad and
  happy that I feel as absolutely young and spry as a very
  schoolboy--even as one of you--and so to all intents I am.

  "Therefore let me be with you throughout the long, lovely day, and
  share your mingled joys and blessings with your parents and your
  teachers, and, in the words of little Tim Cratchit: 'God bless us,
  every one.'

                              Ever gratefully and faithfully
                                                Your old friend,
                                            James Whitcomb Riley."

[Illustration: JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
The "Hoosier" Poet]

On one of his birthdays the school children of Indianapolis decided to
march in a great throng by his house and greet him as he sat by his
window in an invalid's chair. To their sorrow, when this birthday came
it rained hard all day--so hard that they could not think of going out
in the storm. But in the high school was a group of pupils who decided
that no storm could keep them from showing their love. Accordingly,
early in the evening, in the pouring rain, they gathered about his
home and in clear, ringing tones sang several of his beautiful poems
that had been set to music. So delighted was the great poet that he
invited them in and they packed his large sitting room. And what an
hour they had together! As they sang he forgot his suffering and was
young again. Before they left he recited several of his poems in such
a pleasing and impressive manner that I am sure those present will
never forget it. One of these, and one which is a great favorite, is
entitled _The Old Swimmin'-Hole_.

                         THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE

     Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! Whare the crick so still and deep
     Looked like a baby-river that was laying half asleep,
     And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest below
     Sounded like the laugh of something we onc't ust to know
     Before we could remember anything but the eyes
     Of the angels lookin' out as we left Paradise;
     But the merry days of Youth is beyond our controle,
     And it's hard to part ferever with the old swimmin'-hole.

     Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the happy days of yore,
     When I ust to lean above it on the old sickamore,
     Oh! it showed me a face in its warm sunny tide
     That gazed back at me so gay and glorified,
     It made me love myself, as I leaped to caress
     My shadder smilin' up at me with sich tenderness.
     But them days is past and gone, and old Time's tuck his toll
     From the old man come back to the old swimmin'-hole.

     Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the long, lazy days
     When the hum-drum of school made so many run-a-ways,
     How pleasant was the jurney down the old dusty lane,
     Whare the tracks of our bare feet was all printed so plane
     You could tell by the dent of the heel and the sole
     They was lots o' fun on hands at the old swimmin'-hole
     But the lost joys is past! Let your tears in sorrow roll
     Like the rain that ust to dapple up the old swimmin'-hole.

     Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! When I last saw the place,
     The scenes was all changed, like the change in my face;
     The bridge of the railroad now crosses the spot
     Whare the old divin'-log lays sunk and fergot.
     And I stray down the banks whare the trees ust to be--
     But never again will theyr shade shelter me!
     And I wish in my sorrow I could strip to the soul,
     And dive off in my grave like, the old swimmin'-hole.

Though Mr. Riley is no longer with us, he still has the same big place
in our hearts. Why do we love him so? Is it not because he was able to
reach our hearts as few have done; because he was able in all his
poems to speak the word that we needed most?

James Whitcomb Riley was born at Greenfield, Indiana, in 1853. His
father was a lawyer and farmer combined. While he did the legal work
of the village, he also owned a farm at the edge of town. As he was a
good speaker he was in constant demand in that part of the state to
speak on all kinds of occasions. Generally, on these trips, he took
young James along; thus it was that the lad acquired a desire to
travel that it took years of his after life to satisfy.

It was from his mother that James received his talent for writing
poetry. Though never a poet, she was exceedingly apt, as were all her
people, in writing rhymes. The beautiful tributes that Riley, later in
life, paid his mother show that she always understood and helped
him.

Greenfield, during the boyhood days of Riley, was not the kind of
town we think of as producing poets. There were no mountains to
kindle the imagination, and no babbling brooks to encourage
meditation. In every direction were broad stretches of level land
largely covered with forests that still remained untouched. Between
these forest stretches were patches of land that were cultivated by
hand; for at that time there was but little farm machinery. The
greatest single task of the people was to clear the forests and bring
the soil under cultivation. Greenfield was, therefore, in part an
agricultural town and in part a lumber town. Like most small towns,
it was slow-moving and uninteresting. The scenes most frequented were
the loafing places.

As there was very little in Greenfield for a lad to do, James' father
very often pressed him into service planting and cultivating corn, but
he never liked it. While at first we are inclined to regret this, we
wonder, had farm life appealed to him, whether he would have made a
great poet.

Years later in speaking of his lack of experience in real farm life
Mr. Riley says: "Sometimes some real country boy gives me the round
turn on some farm points. For instance, here comes one slipping up to
me, 'You never lived on a farm,' he says. 'Why not'? says I. 'Well,'
he says, 'a turkey-cock _gobbles_, but he doesn't _ky-ouck_ as your
poetry says.' He has me right there. It's the turkey-hen that
_ky-oucks_. 'Well, you'll never hear another turkey-cock of mine
_ky-ouckin_,' says I. But generally I hit on the right symbols. I get
the frost on the pumpkin and the fodder in the shock; and I see the
frost on the old axe they split the pumpkins with for feed, and I get
the smell of the fodder and the cattle, so that it brings up the right
picture in the mind of the reader."

James never enjoyed his earlier experiences in school. When he should
have been studying his history and arithmetic lessons he busied
himself with writing rhymes. Later in life he was very sorry that he
had not persevered in his regular school work. There were some things
in school, however, that he did exceptionally well. Few boys in that
part of the state could recite poetry as well as he, and he was always
called on to speak pieces at the school entertainments. Though some of
his teachers were inclined to neglect him, he had one teacher who
understood him and took a great interest in him. The name of this
teacher was Mr. Lee O. Harris, and Mr. Riley never tired of saying
good things about him. The fact that Mr. Harris loved literature and
had some poetic ability of his own made it possible for him to see in
James powers that others did not see, and to encourage him when others
discouraged him.

After leaving school James had some experiences that were so unusual
and yet so very interesting that I am sure we should be delighted to
have him, in his own delightful manner, tell us about them.

"I tried to read law with my father, but I didn't seem to get
anywhere. Forgot as diligently as I read; so what was the use. I had
learned the sign-painter's trade, but it was hardly what I wanted to
do always, and my health was bad--very bad.

"A doctor here in Greenfield advised me to travel. But how in the
world was I to travel without money. It was just at this time that the
patent-medicine man came along. He needed a man, and I argued this
way: 'This man is a doctor, and if I must travel, better travel with a
doctor.' He had a fine team and a nice looking lot of fellows with
him; so I plucked up courage to ask if I couldn't go along and paint
his advertisements for him.

"I rode out of town without saying goodbye to anyone, and though my
patron wasn't a doctor with a diploma, as I found out, he was a mighty
fine man, and kind to his horses, which was a recommendation. He was a
man of good habits, and the whole company was made up of good straight
boys.

"My experience with him put an idea into my head-- a business idea,
for a wonder--and the next year I went down to Anderson and went into
partnership with a young fellow to travel. We organized a scheme of
advertising with paint, and we called our business 'The Graphic
Company.' We had five or six young fellows, all musicians, as well as
handy painters, and we used to capture the towns with our music. One
fellow could whistle like a nightingale, another sang like an angel,
and another played the banjo. I scuffled with the violin and guitar.

"Our only dissipation was clothes. We dressed loud. You could hear our
clothes an incalculable distance. We had an idea it helped business.
Our plan was to take one firm of each business in town, painting its
advertisement on every road leading to town.

"You've heard the story about my traveling all over the state as a
blind sign-painter? Well, that started this way: One day we were in a
small town, and a great crowd was watching us in breathless wonder and
curiosity; and one of our party said; 'Riley, let me introduce you as
a blind sign-painter.' So just for the mischief I put on a crazy look
in the eyes, and pretended to be blind. They led me carefully to the
ladder, and handed me my brush and paints. It was great fun. I'd hear
them saying as I worked, 'That feller ain't blind.' 'Yes he is; see
his eyes.' 'No, he ain't, I tell you; he's playin' off.' 'I tell you
he _is_ blind. Didn't you see him fall over a box and spill all his
paints?'

"Now, that's all there was to it. I was a blind sign-painter one day
and forgot it the next. We were all boys, and jokers, naturally
enough, but not lawless. All were good fellows, all had nice homes and
good people."

When he had spent four years with "The Graphic Company" he accepted a
position as reporter for a paper published at Anderson, Indiana. In
addition to his reporting work he wrote many short poems in the
Hoosier dialect that took well. So successful was his work on this
paper that Judge Martindale of the Indianapolis Journal offered him a
position on that paper. About the first thing he now did was to write
a series of Benjamin F. Johnson poems. In speaking of this series Mr.
Riley said, "These all appeared with editorial comment, as if they
came from an old Hoosier farmer of Boone County. They were so well
received that I gathered them together in a little parchment volume,
which I called, 'The Old Swimmin'-Hole and 'Leven More Poems', my
first book."

This book met with immediate favor. Speakers from east to west quoted
from it. All wanted to know who the author really was. Modest as Mr.
Riley was, he had to confess that he had written the book. Other books
followed in close succession until when he died he had written
forty-two volumes. But people were not satisfied with reading his
books merely, they wanted to see and hear him. He, therefore, began in
a modest way to read his poems before audiences in his native state.
So delighted were these audiences, for he was a charming reader as
well as a capable writer, that urgent calls came from every state in
the Union to come and read for them. For a number of years he traveled
widely and appeared before thousands of audiences, but this kind of
life never appealed to him.

Though he never married, Mr. Riley was always fond of the quiet of a
modest home. Accordingly, the closing years of his life were spent in
semi-retirement in his cozy home on Lockerbie Street, Indianapolis.




HELEN KELLER


A little girl was traveling with her father and mother. They were
going from a little town in Alabama to the city of Baltimore. The
journey was long and, as the little girl was only six years old, she
wanted toys and playthings with which to pass the time.

The kind conductor let her have his punch when he was not using it.
She found that it was great fun to punch dozens of little holes in a
piece of cardboard and she would touch each hole with one of her
little fingers, but she did not count them because she had not learned
how.

By and by a pleasant lady thought she would make a rag doll for the
little traveler. She rolled two towels up in such a way that they
looked very much like a doll, and the little girl eagerly took the new
plaything in her arms. She rocked it and loved it; but something
troubled her, for she kept feeling the doll's face and holding it out
to the friends who sat near her. They did not understand what was the
matter.

Suddenly she jumped down and ran over to where her mother's cape had
been placed. This cape was trimmed with large beads. The little girl
pulled off two beads and turning to her mother pointed once more to
the doll's face. Then her mother understood that her daughter wanted
the doll to have eyes; so she sewed the beads firmly to the towel and
the little girl was happy.

[Illustration: HELEN KELLER
"Hearing" Caruso Sing]

Are you wondering why the little girl did not talk and tell what she
wanted? She could not. Just think, she was six years old and could not
speak a word! All she could do was to make a few queer sounds.
Perhaps, too, you wonder why she was so anxious for the towel doll to
have eyes. I think it was because although she herself was blind, she
liked to fancy her doll had eyes that could see the beauties of the
world. To be blind and speechless seems hard indeed, but besides
lacking these two great gifts, this little girl was deaf. Think of it!
She could not hear, she could not see, and she could not talk.

Yet this same little girl learned to talk. She learned to read, with
her fingers, books printed for the blind in raised letters. She
studied the same lessons that other children had in school, and she
worked so hard that she was able to go to college.

Should you not like to hear Helen Keller, for that is the name of the
little girl, tell about herself?

She says: "I was born on June 27, 1880, in Tuscumbia, a little town of
Northern Alabama. I am told that while I was still in long dresses I
showed many signs of an eager, self-asserting disposition. They say I
walked the day I was a year old. My mother had just taken me out of
the bath-tub and was holding me in her lap, when I was suddenly
attracted by the flickering shadows of leaves that danced in the
sunlight on the smooth floor. I slipped from my mother's lap and
almost ran toward them. The impulse gone, I fell down, and cried for
her to take me in her arms.

"These happy days did not last long, for an illness came which closed
my eyes and ears and plunged me into the unconsciousness of a new born
baby. The doctor thought I could not live. Early one morning, however,
the fever left me, but I was never to see or hear again."

From the time of her recovery until the journey of which we have been
reading, Helen Keller lived in silence and darkness. This journey was
undertaken in order to consult a famous physician who had cured many
cases of blindness. Mr. and Mrs. Keller hoped this gentleman could
help their child, and you can imagine how sad they were when he said
he could do nothing. However, he sent them to consult Dr. Alexander
Graham Bell, who had taught many deaf children to speak. Dr. Bell
played with Helen and she sat on his knee and fingered curiously his
heavy gold watch. He not only advised her parents to get a special
teacher for her, but told them of a school in Boston in which he
thought they could find some one able to unlock the doors of knowledge
for the little girl. This was in the summer, and the next March Miss
Sullivan went to Alabama to be Helen Keller's friend and teacher.

Let us read how the little girl felt when this kind, loving woman
came. "On the afternoon of that eventful day I stood on the porch,
dumb, expectant. I felt approaching footsteps. I stretched out my
hand, as I supposed, to my mother. Some one took it and I was caught
up and held close in the arms of her who had come to reveal all things
to me.

"The next morning my teacher gave me a doll. When I had played with it
a little while, Miss Sullivan slowly spelled into my hand the word
d-o-l-l. I was at once interested in this finger play and tried to
imitate it. When I at last succeeded I was flushed with pleasure and
pride. In the days that followed I learned to spell a great many words
with my fingers, among them were pin, hat, cup, sit, stand, and walk.

"But my teacher had been with me several weeks before I understood
that everything has a name."

Months and years of happy companionship now came to pass for Helen
Keller. Every winter she and her teacher went to Boston where they had
greater chances for study than in the little southern town. Here Helen
learned about snow for the first time and all her memories of her
studies in these years are joined with remembrances of the merry times
she had after school riding on a sled or toboggan and playing in the
snow.

It was when Helen was ten years old that she learned to speak. This
was a great and wonderful experience. Her teacher took her to a lady
who had offered to teach her. It was not easy for a deaf child to
learn to talk, and Miss Keller says:

"The lady passed my hands lightly over her face and let me feel the
position of her tongue and lips when she made a sound. I was eager to
imitate every motion, and in an hour had learned to make the sounds of
M, P, A, S, T, I. In all I had eleven lessons. I shall never forget
the surprise and delight I felt when I uttered my first connected
sentence, 'It is warm.' After that my work was practise, practise,
practise. Discouragement and weariness cast me down frequently; but
the next moment the thought that I should soon be at home and show my
loved ones what I could do spurred me on and I thought, 'My little
sister will understand me now.' When I had made speech my own, I could
not wait to go home. My eyes fill now as I think how my mother pressed
me close to her, taking in every word I spoke, while little Mildred
kissed my hand and danced."

Now a new world was indeed open to the bright girl who was so anxious
to learn. She finished studies similar to those taught in the eight
grades of our schools and began to prepare for college. Miss Sullivan
was still with her and, although she had for a tutor a kind, patient
man who taught her algebra, geometry, and Greek, it was Miss Sullivan
who sat beside her and talked into the girl's hands the tutor's
explanations and made it possible for her to enter Radcliffe College
in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

While at college Miss Keller, with Miss Sullivan, attended classes and
followed the lessons through the help of this noble teacher who gave
some of her best years to training her pupil. College life brought
many pleasures and interests into Helen Keller's life, and when she
finished her work there, it scarcely seemed possible that the bright,
informed young woman had ever been kept a prisoner by darkness and
silence.

Today Miss Keller often appears in public and tells to large audiences
some of her thoughts and opinions. She is a pleasant-faced, rather
serious woman and, while her voice has a hoarse sound, quite different
from the usual tones of the human voice, it is possible to understand
her very well indeed. Her teacher is still with her as a companion and
it would be hard to say who has worked the harder in the past years of
study, Miss Keller or her devoted friend.

Upon being asked what were her greatest pleasures Helen Keller named
reading, outdoor sports, playing with her pet dogs, and meeting
people. What she says about each of these pleasures is so interesting
that you will surely be glad to read it and see, perhaps, if you and
she, by any chance, think alike.

She says, "Books have meant so much more to me than to many others who
can get knowledge through their eyes and ears. My book friends talk to
me with no awkwardness, and I am never shut away from them; but
reading is not my only amusement. I also enjoy canoeing and sailing. I
like to walk on country roads. Whenever it is possible my dog
accompanies me on a sail or a walk. I have had many dog friends. They
seem to understand me, and always keep close beside me when I am
alone. I love their friendly ways, and the eloquent wag of their
tails. I have often been asked, 'Do not people bore you?' I do not
understand what that means. A hearty handshake or a friendly letter
gives me genuine pleasure."

But it has not always been easy for her to be cheerful and contented.
She has had many struggles with sad thoughts when she thinks how
she sits outside life's gate and cannot enter into the light; cannot
hear the music or enjoy the friendly speech of the world. When these
gloomy ideas come to her mind she remembers, "There is joy in
self-forgetfulness," and tries to find her happiness in the lives of
others.

                  *       *       *       *       *

                      "_One flag, one land;
                        One heart, one hand:
                      One Nation over all._"

                        --OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.




WILBUR AND ORVILLE WRIGHT


There is a poem called "Darius Green and His Flying Machine." In this
poem Darius, a country boy says, "The birds can fly and why can't I?"
A Greek story, centuries old, tells how a certain man and his son made
themselves wings of wax. They flew far out over the sea, but the warm
sun melted the waxen wings, and the two flying men were drowned.

Today the aeroplanes cut through the air with great speed. There are
many different designs, and daring young men are eager to manage these
swift flying crafts.

However, it is but a short time since two American boys made the first
successful flights in the United States and started a factory for
building aeroplanes. Wilbur and Orville Wright lived in Dayton, Ohio.
Their father was a minister, who spent his spare time working with
tools. Once he invented a typewriter, but it was never put on the
market. The boys were interested in his workshop, and while very young
began to find their greatest pleasure in making things that would go.

It was in the year 1879, when Orville was eight years old, that his
father brought home a toy that made a great impression on the boyish
mind. It was called a heliocopter, but the Wright boys called it "the
bat." Made of bamboo, cork, and thin paper, it had two propellers that
revolved in opposite directions by the untwining of rubber bands that
controlled them. When thrown against the ceiling, it would hover in
the air for a time. They made many models of this toy, but after a
time they became tired of it and wanted to build something more
difficult.

[Illustration: ORVILLE WRIGHT
Joint Inventor of the Aeroplane]

Their first venture was a printing press; and when Orville was fifteen
years of age, they were publishing a four-page paper called the
Midget. They did all the work from editor to delivery boys.

Just about this time the bicycle craze passed over the country.
Everyone rode a wheel. Automobiles were unknown, and the new machines,
that could be ridden so fast along the highways, seemed a wonderful
invention. The Wright brothers had no money to buy a bicycle, so they
made one. You may laugh when you hear that they used a piece of old
gas pipe for the frame, but nevertheless they succeeded in their
undertaking and could ride as well on their home-made machine as their
friends did on expensive, high-grade ones. No doubt they had many long
rides and great sport with the bicycle they had built, but the Wright
brothers always found their greatest pleasure in making things rather
than in using them. Therefore, it did not seem strange to any one when
they said they wanted something better than a bicycle; but when it
became known that instead of riding rapidly over city streets and
country roads they wanted to fly through the air like birds, the
people were amazed and thought the two boys had lost their wits.

So to do this and buy materials with which to build their new machine,
they opened a bicycle repair shop. It was in the shed back of this
shop that they first made their models of air craft. They had no
wealthy friends to back them with money. They had no chance to go
abroad, where clever men were being urged by their governments to make
experiments with what the world called "flying machines." They were
not able to go to college or to any school where they could obtain
help in working out their plan, so they started in to study by
themselves what the German, French, and English inventors had to say
about the art of flying.

Seemingly, nothing discouraged them. Everywhere the newspapers and
magazines were poking fun at mad inventors who thought men would some
day soar through the air as birds do. There was a Professor Langley, a
man much older than the Wright brothers, who finished a machine in
1896. It flew perfectly, on the sixth day of May in that year. The
flight was made near Washington, D. C., along the Potomac river for
the distance of about three-quarters of a mile. He made another
successful flight in November. Then the United States Government urged
him to build a full-sized machine, capable of carrying a man. He
completed this machine in 1903 and attempted to launch it on the
seventh day of October in that year. An accident caused the machine to
fall into the Potomac. The aviator was thrown out and came near
drowning. Professor Langley tried to launch his machine again in
December and the same accident occurred. The machine was broken. The
newspapers made cruel fun of Professor Langley; he was criticized in
the U. S. Congress; and overcome by grief at the failure of his great
idea he tried no more. Two years later he died, crushed and broken in
spirit.

But the Wright brothers did not let any such unkind comment hinder
their work. They kept on studying the flight of birds. Lying flat on
their backs they would watch birds for whole afternoons at a time,
until at last they came to believe that a bird himself is really an
aeroplane. The parts of the wings close to the body are supporting
planes, while the portions that can be flapped are the propellers.
Watch a hawk or a buzzard soaring and you will see they move their
wings but little. They balance themselves on the rising currents of
air. A hawk finds that on a clear warm day the air currents are high
and rise with a rotary motion. That is why we see these birds go
sailing round and round. When you see one poised above a steep hill on
a damp, windy day you may be sure he is balancing himself in the air
which rises from its slope and he will be able to glide down at will.

The Wright brothers were certain if they could balance a machine in
the air they could make it go. To find out how to do this they made a
difficult experiment with delicate sheets of metal balanced in a long
tube. Through this tube steady currents of air were blown. The speed
with which the currents were sent through the tube was changed often,
as well as the angles of sending. Over and over they did this, until
they were sure of the same results each time. They knew how to plan
the shape of a surface that would do what they wanted it to in the
air, and they were soon ready to make a trial flight with their
aeroplane.

The United States Weather Bureau told them the winds were strongest
and steadiest at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, and there they made their
first test flights in 1900. That year they had only two minutes of
actual sailing in the air. But they went back the next year and the
next, learning more each time, and working untiringly.

One day Dr. Octave Chanute, the man who knew more than any one else in
the United States about flying, appeared suddenly at Kitty Hawk. He
watched them, and gave as his opinion that they had gone farther than
any one else in this new art. Cheered by his words they began to work
harder. Now that they could balance in the air they must make their
machine go.

It took them a year to learn to turn a corner. During the years 1904
and 1905, they made 154 flights. At last they were ready, in 1909, to
make a test for our government. The United States said it would pay
$25,000 for a machine capable of going forty miles an hour. Every mile
above this speed would be paid for at the rate of $2500 and for every
mile less than this down to the rate of thirty-six miles an hour they
would deduct $2500 from the purchase money. The flight was to be in a
measured course of five miles from Ft. Meyer to Alexandria, Va. It was
not an easy flight, and it was considered to be more difficult than
crossing the English Channel, a feat then engaging the attention of
Europeans.

Orville Wright with one passenger made the flight in fourteen minutes
and forty-two seconds, a rate of speed a little more than forty-two
miles an hour. Army officers then went to him to learn how to manage
the machine, for even then it was believed the greatest use of the
aeroplane would be in war.

When Orville Wright was succeeding in this country, Wilbur Wright went
to France with one of their machines. At first the French people
laughed, made cartoons of him and his machine, even wrote a song about
his effort; but he soon rose above all such petty and silly things.
The French people began to see the progress the Americans were making
and took hold of the new invention more rapidly than any other
nation.

On the same trip, Wilbur Wright visited Italy, Germany, and England,
making many flights and winning a large number of prizes. When he
returned to this country he was overwhelmed with dinners, receptions,
and medals. He made a great flight in New York City, encircling the
Statue of Liberty in the harbor and flying from Governor's Island to
Grant's Tomb and return, a distance of twenty-one miles.

Not long after these successes Wilbur died, and his brother Orville
was left to go on with their plans. Orville still lives in Dayton,
Ohio, and has a large factory given over to building aeroplanes.

Long before the outbreak of the great war he had said warfare could be
carried on extensively in the air, and that we were realizing but a
few of the uses of this new invention. Although he believes air travel
will become quite an everyday happening, he does not expect it to take
the place of the railroad or the steam boat. However, he hopes to see
the government carry the mails by an aerial route, and to go quickly
and easily to out-of-the-way places.

At present his greatest interest lies in making an aeroplane that is
simple enough for any one to manage and at the same time can be sold
at a low enough price for the average person to own. This may not seem
possible to you, but remember no one ever believed the Wright boys
would be able to fly, so it would not be strange if before many years
aeroplanes were used as much as automobiles are today. In fact,
Orville Wright says: "The time is not far distant when people will
take their Sunday afternoon spins in their aeroplanes precisely as
they do now in their automobiles. People need only to recover from the
impression that it is a dangerous sport, instead of being, when
adopted by rational persons, one of the safest. It is also far more
comfortable. The driver of an automobile, even under the most
favorable circumstances, lives at a constant nerve tension. He must
keep always on the lookout for obstructions in the road, for other
automobiles, and for sudden emergencies. A long drive, therefore, is
likely to be an exhausting operation. Now the aeroplane has a great
future because this element of nerve tension is absent. The driver
enjoys the proceeding as much as his passengers and probably more.
Winds no longer terrorize the airman. He goes up except in the very
bad days."

Concluding he says: "Aeroplaning as a sport will attract women as well
as men. Women make excellent passengers. I have never yet taken up one
who was not extremely eager to repeat the experience. This fact will,
of course, hasten the day when the aeroplane will be a great sporting
and social diversion."

                  *       *       *       *       *

_"Life affords no higher pleasure than that of surmounting difficulties,
passing from one step of success to another, forming new wishes and
seeing them gratified. He that labors in any great or laudable
undertaking has his fatigues first supported by hope and afterwards
rewarded by joy."_

                                                        --DR. JOHNSON.




[Illustration: ROBERT E. PEARY
Discoverer of the North Pole]




ROBERT E. PEARY


Robert E. Peary was born at Cresson Springs, Pennsylvania, May 6th,
1856. When he was but three years of age his father died and his young
mother moved back to her old home at Portland, Maine. Here his boyhood
days were spent in fishing and swimming in the bay, or in roaming over
the hills and through the forests. True, the fields with their birds
and flowers interested him to some extent, but the mighty ocean,
heaving with its mysterious tides and beset with treacherous gales,
interested him most. Never did he tire of the stories of danger and
hardship as told by the sturdy, adventurous fishermen. So eager was he
to learn the mysteries of the mighty deep that he would sit for hours
at a time listening to the sailors as they explained the tides and
shifting winds. Little did he realize in those early days that this
was precisely the knowledge that he would later need in his work as an
arctic explorer.

But the fishermen were not his only teachers; for so faithful was he
in his regular school work that, at the age of seventeen, he was ready
to enter college. Bowdoin, the oldest and best known college in the
state, was chosen. Upon his graduation, at the age of twenty-one, he
was ready to start in life. But where should he go and what should he
do? Odd as it then seemed to his friends, he chose the little village
of Fryeburg, away back amid the mountains of Maine. Here he hung out
his sign as land surveyor. As practically no one in that little town
wanted land surveyed, he had much leisure time which he spent in long
hikes over the mountains and along the trout streams. This experience
further fitted him for his tasks as an arctic explorer.

That he had always been an energetic student was shown by his success
in passing the United States Civil Service examination which he took
at the age of twenty-five. This examination, given by the Navy
Department, was for the purpose of choosing civil engineers. Out of
forty who took the examination only four passed, and Mr. Peary was the
youngest of the four.

As soon as he had won the rank of Lieutenant, his first task was to
estimate carefully the cost of building a huge pier at Key West,
Florida. When the estimate was handed in, the contractors said that it
could not be built for that amount. Since Lieutenant Peary insisted
that it could, the government told him to engineer the building of the
pier himself. This he did so skillfully that he saved for the
government thirty thousand dollars.

So brilliant was this success that he was sent to Nicaragua to
engineer the survey for the Inter-Oceanic Canal. Here his experience
in equipping an expedition, and in managing half-civilized men,
further fitted him for his great work in the north land.

Prior to this time he seems never to have thought of arctic
explorations, for he writes: "One evening in one of my favorite
haunts, an old book store in Washington, I came upon a fugitive paper
on the Inland Ice of Greenland. A chord, which as a boy had vibrated
intensely in me at the reading of Kane's wonderful book, was touched
again. I read all I could upon the subject, noted the conflicting
experiences of the explorers, and felt that I must see for myself what
the truth was of this great mysterious interior." Then it was, as he
tells us later, that he caught the "Arctic Fever" which he never got
over until he had discovered the North Pole. As a result of this fever
he has made nine trips into the north land, and these expeditions have
consumed so much time that, though he had been married twenty-one
years when he reached the Pole, only three of these years had been
spent in the quiet of his home with his family.

Interested as we are in all these expeditions, we are most interested,
I am sure, in the one in which he reached his goal.

Embarked on the good ship _Roosevelt_, his expedition had no trouble
in reaching Etah Fiord on the north coast of Greenland. This place
interests us because it is the northernmost Eskimo village and is
within seven hundred miles of the Pole.

In speaking of these Eskimos, Mr. Peary says: "There are now between
two hundred and twenty and two hundred and thirty in the tribe. They
are savages, but they are not savage; they are without government, but
they are not lawless; they are utterly uneducated according to our
standard, yet they exhibit a remarkable degree of intelligence. In
temperament like children, with a child's delight in little things,
they are nevertheless enduring as the most mature of civilized men and
women, and the best of them are faithful unto death. Without religion
and having no idea of God, they will share their last meal with anyone
who is hungry. They have no vices, no intoxicants, and no bad
habits--not even gambling. Altogether they are a people unique upon
the face of the earth."

In his journeys into the far North Mr. Peary enjoyed many a walrus
hunt. How should you like to hunt walruses? Before you answer read the
following description of a walrus hunt:

"Walrus-hunting is the best sport in the shooting line that I know.
There is something doing when you tackle a herd of fifty-odd, weighing
between one and two tons each, that go for you whether wounded or not;
that can punch a hole through eight inches of young ice; that try to
get into the boat to get at or upset you,--we could never make out
which, and didn't care, as the result to us would have been the
same,--or else try to raise your boat and stave holes in it.

"Getting in a mix-up with a herd, when every man in the whale-boat is
standing by to repel boarders, hitting them over the head with oars,
boat-hooks, axes, and yelling like a cheering section at a football
game to try to scare them off; with the rifles going like young
Gatling guns, and the walruses bellowing from pain and anger, coming
to the surface with mad rushes, sending the water up in the air till
you would think a flock of geysers was turned loose in your immediate
vicinity--oh, it's great!"

The _Roosevelt_ after leaving Etah Fiord was able to go as far north
as Cape Sheridan, about 500 miles from the North Pole. Here, on
February 15, 1909, the little party left the ship for the long journey
over a wide waste of ice. The army that was to fight the bitter polar
cold was made up of six white men, one negro, fifty-nine Eskimos, one
hundred forty dogs, and twenty-three sledges.

For the first hundred miles after leaving the ship they were forced to
cut their way through vast stretches of jagged ice. After twenty-four
days of struggle, only twenty-four men remained; all the others having
been sent back. These twenty-four, however, were the freshest and
strongest. On they battled, always sending back the weakest. Finally,
when but two degrees from the Pole, only the negro, four Eskimos, Mr.
Peary and forty dogs remained.

Suppose we ask Mr. Peary, in his own language, to describe the final
dash to the pole.

"This was that for which I had worked for thirty-two years; for which
I had trained myself as for a race. For success now, in spite of my
fifty-three years, I felt trim-fit for the demands of the coming days
and eager to be on the trail. As for my party, my equipment, and my
supplies, I was in shape beyond my fondest dreams of earlier years. My
party was as loyal and responsive to my will as the fingers of my
right hand. Two of them had been my companions to the farthest point
three years before. Two others were in Clark's division, which had
such a narrow escape at that time, and were now willing to go
anywhere. My dogs were the very best. Almost all were powerful males,
hard as nails and in good spirits. My supplies were ample for forty
days.

"I decided that I should strain every nerve to make five marches of
fifteen miles each, crowding these marches in such a way as to bring
us to the end of the fifth long enough before noon to permit the
immediate taking of an observation for latitude."

Usually these marches were for ten or twelve hours, and the distance
covered averaged about twenty-five miles. The dangers encountered are
suggested by the following: "Near the end of the march I came upon a
lead which was just opening. It was ten yards wide directly in front
of me, but a few yards to the east was an apparently good crossing
where the single crack was divided into several. I signaled to the
sledges to hurry; then, running to the place, I had time to pick a
road across the moving ice cakes and return to help teams across
before the lead widened so as to be impassable. This passage was
effected by my jumping from one cake to another, picking the way, and
making sure that the cake would not tilt under the weight of the dogs
and the sledge, returning to the former cake where the dogs were,
encouraging the dogs ahead while the driver steered the sledge across
from cake to cake, and threw his weight from one side to the other so
that it could not overturn. We got the sledges across several cracks
so wide that while the dogs had no trouble in jumping, the men had to
be pretty active in order to follow the long sledges."

Luckily at the end of the fifth march they were less than two miles
from the pole. Should you like to know how Mr. Peary felt at this
eventful hour?

"Of course, I had many sensations that made sleep impossible for
hours, despite my utter fatigue--the sensations of a lifetime; but I
have no room for them here. The first thirty hours at the Pole were
spent in taking observations; in going some ten miles beyond our camp,
and some eight miles to the right of it; in taking photographs,
planting my flags, depositing my records, studying the horizon with my
telescope for possible land, and searching for a place to make a
sounding. Ten hours after our arrival the clouds cleared before a
light breeze from our left, and from that time until our departure on
the afternoon of April 7th the weather was cloudless and flawless. The
coldest temperature during the thirty hours was thirty-three degrees
below zero, and the warmest twelve below."

Thus it was that after the nations of the world had sent out over five
hundred expeditions in search of the North Pole, an American,
educated in Old New England, schooled in hardship in the United States
Navy, planted "Old Glory" at the northernmost point of this mighty
world. To Admiral Peary, then, is conceded the greatest scientific
triumph of the century and April sixth, 1909, is a memorable day in
the history of America and the world.

                  *       *       *       *       *

                         _THE AMERICAN'S CREED_

I believe in the United States of America as a government of the
people, by the people, for the people, whose just powers are derived
from the consent of the governed; a democracy in a republic; a
sovereign Nation of many sovereign States, a perfect Union, one and
inseparable; established upon those principles of freedom, equality,
justice, and humanity for which American patriots sacrificed their
lives and fortunes.

I therefore believe it is my duty to my country to love it; to support
its Constitution; to obey its laws; to respect its flag, and to defend
it against all enemies.

                                                 --WILLIAM TYLER PAGE.




WILLIAM JENNINGS BRYAN


In the summer of 1880 three speakers were advertised to deliver
democratic addresses at a farmers' picnic to be held in a grove near
Salem, Illinois. When the eventful hour arrived, the only person
present to hear the speeches was the owner of the grove. For an hour
the speakers waited but no one else came. While each was disappointed
and humiliated, it was a crushing blow to the young man who was to
speak third on the list. This was his home community, and his own
neighbors and townsmen had thus ignored him.

For six years he had been away to school, and during all that time he
made a special study of public speaking. So good was he in the art of
speaking that his college had heaped many honors upon him. He was
chosen one of the speakers on graduation day, and most important of
all, he had been chosen to represent his college in the annual
oratorical contest with the other colleges of the state. Now, after
all these honors, he had come back to his home vicinity, and for some
mysterious reason the people would not hear him. Surely this was
enough to dampen the ardor of any ordinary young man and put an end to
his speaking career.

[Illustration: WILLIAM JENNINGS BRYAN
The Great Commoner]

It was a hot August day in 1914. On every road entering a beautiful
Indiana city, strings of automobiles were seen hurrying to the city.
Farmers, busy as they were, forgot their work and hastened to the
city. Merchants, too, had locked their stores and refused to sell
goods. Why all the excitement? At the edge of the city, in a huge
steel auditorium that seated thousands, the people were gathering--and
such a multitude--people as far as the eye could see. Soon the speaker
of the afternoon was introduced. For two hours he held that vast
throng as no other man in America and possibly in the world could have
done. So magnetic was his personality and so genuine his appeal that
the people forgot the heat and gave him the closest possible
attention.

Odd as it may seem, the speaker before this vast Chautauqua throng was
the same man that, years before, had tried to speak near Salem when no
one would hear him. Why the difference? What had he done that had made
the people so eager to see and hear him?

To answer these questions it will be necessary to study his life. Mr.
Bryan was born at Salem, Illinois, March 19, 1860. Though he is of
Irish descent, his ancestors have lived in this country for more than
a hundred years. Through all these years the Bryans have belonged to
the middle class. While none of them have been very rich, on the other
hand none have been extremely poor. Though members of the family have
entered practically every profession, more have engaged in farming
than in all the other professions combined.

Fortunately for Mr. Bryan, most of his boyhood was spent on a farm.
When he was but six years of age his father purchased a farm six
miles from Salem. It was indeed an eventful day for young William when
they moved to the large farm with its spacious farm house and broad
lawns. From the first the animals interested him most. William's
father, seeing this, built a small deer park. Here the deer,
unmolested by dogs or hunters, became so tame that the lad never tired
of petting and feeding them.

With the abundant, nutritious food of the farm, with plenty of fresh
air, sunshine, and exercise, William soon grew into a sturdy,
broad-shouldered, deep-chested lad. Those who knew him best say that
while the other boys always had their pockets filled with keys,
strings, and tops, his were sure to be filled with cookies and
doughnuts.

William's first day in school was indeed eventful. Ten years old and
large for his age, he seemed out of place in the first grade where the
pupils were so much younger and smaller. Soon, however, the teacher
discovered that he did not belong in this grade. Though he had never
been at school, his faithful mother had taught him to read so well
that he at once took his place with pupils of his own age.

After five years in the public school of Salem he was sent to
Jacksonville, Illinois, where he attended Whipple Academy. From the
Academy he entered Illinois College, also in Jacksonville. Mr. Bryan
says that the thing that most impressed him in college was his tussle
with Latin and Greek. From the first these dead languages did not
appeal to him. Again and again he pleaded with his parents to be
permitted to drop these studies but they insisted on his taking the
"Classical Course."

Though he was of ideal size and build for football and baseball,
neither appealed to him. The only forms of athletics that he liked
were running and jumping. Only once was he able to carry away a prize.
This was when he won the broad jump with twelve feet and four inches
as the distance covered.

It was in speaking contests of all kinds that young Bryan took the
deepest interest. When he was but a green freshman in the Academy, he
had the courage to enter the declamatory contest. No one worked
harder, but in spite of his best efforts he was given a place next to
the foot of the list. Unwilling to yield to discouragement, he tried
again the next year. This time he got third place.

The following September he entered college, and during his freshman
year took part in two contests, getting second place in each. During
his sophomore year, he had the satisfaction of winning first place in
declamation. Then it was that he made his boldest effort. He delivered
an oration that he himself had written, and again won first place.
After these successes it was not to be wondered at that his college
elected him to represent the school in the intercollegiate oratorical
contest. Pitted against the ablest contestants of the other colleges
of the state, he was able to win second place, for which he received
a prize of fifty dollars.

Suppose Mr. Bryan had decided when he lost his first three contests
never to try again, thus yielding to defeat, do you think he ever
could have become the famous orator that he now is?

From Mr. Bryan's picture we see that he is a large, good-natured,
friendly man. Should you like to know how he looked when he was a
young fellow? If you should, the following from the pen of the lady
who afterward became his wife will interest you.

"I saw him first in the parlors of the young ladies' school which I
attended in Jacksonville. He entered the room with several other
students, was taller than the rest, and attracted my attention at
once. His face was pale and thin; a pair of keen dark eyes looked out
from beneath heavy brows; his nose was prominent, too large to look
well, I thought; a broad, thin-lipped mouth, and a square chin,
completed the contour of his face.

"He was neat, though not fastidious in dress, and stood firmly and
with dignity. I noted particularly his hair and his smile, the former
black in color, plentiful, fine in quality, and parted distressingly
straight; the latter expansive and expressive.

"In later years his smile has been the subject of considerable
comment, but the well rounded cheeks of Mr. Bryan now check its
outward march. No one has seen the real breadth of his smile who did
not see it in the early days. Upon one occasion a heartless observer
was heard to remark, 'That man can whisper in his own ear,' but this
was a cruel exaggeration."

Upon his graduation from Illinois College at the head of his class, he
entered the Union College of Law in Chicago where he was graduated at
the age of twenty-three. Immediately he hung out his shingle in
Jacksonville, and waited for clients. Month after month he impatiently
waited until finally it dawned upon him that among the old established
lawyers of Jacksonville there was no room for an ambitious beginner.
Then it was that he remembered the advice of Horace Greeley, "Young
man, go West."

Accordingly, with his talented young wife he went to Lincoln,
Nebraska. Here fortune smiled upon him, for so rapidly did he make a
place for himself that at the age of thirty he was chosen to represent
his district in Congress.

If any of you have ever seen the United States Congress in session you
will realize that Mr. Bryan must have been very much younger than most
of the congressmen. Keen, quick, and eager to learn, the young
Congressman made the most of every opportunity during the four years
he was in Congress.

In 1896, or when Mr. Bryan was thirty-six years of age, his greatest
opportunity came. Then it was that the Democratic party conferred upon
him the highest honor within its power by selecting him as its
candidate for president. Though defeated in 1896, so great was the
confidence the party had in him, that twice afterward his party asked
him to run for president. Since he was defeated every time, it is only
natural to ask what there is about him, after all, that is so great.
Though the American people differ widely in their answers to the above
query, most of them admit that he towers above the rank and file of
American politicians in his pronounced Christian integrity, in his
willingness to sacrifice for the sake of principle, and in his ability
to move men with speech, for no doubt he is one of the greatest
orators this continent has ever produced.

                  *       *       *       *       *

"_You shall not press down upon the brow of labor this crown of
thorns. You shall not crucify mankind upon a cross of gold._"

                                 --W. J. BRYAN'S CROSS OF GOLD SPEECH.




HENRY FORD


In the year 1879, there was a sixteen year old boy living in the
country near Detroit, Michigan. He was not fond of farm work but
nevertheless he did his share in helping his father, who was a thrifty
farmer. Day after day, this boy trudged back and forth two and
one-half miles each way to the school house. In his spare hours when
he was not farming, he had fitted up a work shop for his own use.
There was a vise, a bow-string driven lathe and a rudely built forge.
He had made these tools himself and was very proud of them. When he
was only a small boy, he had made his first tool by taking one of his
grandmother's knitting needles, heating it red hot and plunging it
into a bar of soap as he bent it into shape. Then he added a wooden
handle that he had whittled and the tool was done.

As soon as he had something with which to work, he began to take to
pieces all manner of things just for the fun of putting them together
again. He says: "I must have taken apart and put together more than a
thousand clocks and watches." He thought it would be a fine thing to
be able to make many good watches, and to make them all alike. He
never realized this dream, but in later life he did make a good
automobile, he made many of them, and he made them all alike.

[Illustration: HENRY FORD
In His First Motor Car]

His first step towards this great business undertaking happened before
he was seventeen years of age, when he left his father's farm and went
to Detroit to work as a mechanic in a shop. He never returned to the
farm, although for a time he lived on some land his father had given
to him, and conducted a lumber business. All the time he was
experimenting, and he wanted to make something that would go. By the
time he was twenty-one years of age, he had built a farm locomotive
mounted on cast-iron wheels taken from a mowing machine. It was not
designed for any particular use, but was to serve as a general farm
tractor, and he had great sport running it up and down the meadow
while the cows fled in terror.

From that time his chief interest was in building wagons to be run by
motors. His health was always good, he worked unceasingly, and slept
just as little as possible, and at last, in 1893, he made what people
called then, a wagon driven by gas; today we call it an automobile. It
ran but was not a great success, and the public made fun of the
inventor. This wagon driven by gas was the first Ford automobile and
the man who invented it was Henry Ford. He had married and lived in a
little house in Bagley Street, Detroit, Michigan. He was employed by
the Edison Company, but he had a workshop of his own in his barn.
There he built his first motor car. For material he used nothing but
junk, as he had no money with which to buy costly materials for
experiments.

Henry Ford does not know the word discouragement, so after his first
failure he built another car and in 1898 placed it on the road. It
was better than the first one, but there were still difficulties to be
overcome. People laughed more than ever, and Detroit thought him
mildly insane on the subject of "little buggies driven by gas," as the
newspapers called them. Then one day, when no one was paying any
especial attention to him, Henry Ford made a car that would run on
level ground, would run up and down hill, and go backward and forward.
His problem was solved, and he began to make automobiles. Today he is
the head of the Ford Motor Company which has its largest factory in
Highland Park, a suburb of Detroit, Michigan, not more than fifteen
miles from his birthplace.

At the Highland Park plant, one thousand times a day a newborn car
pushes open a door by itself and goes out into the world. At once
these cars are loaded on trains and sent away, for the plant has no
storage and there are always more orders than can be filled. The Ford
cars are used by many persons, they are all made alike and they are
made in large numbers. Henry Ford's old dream about making watches has
come true, only he makes automobiles instead of timepieces.

In his great factory the most improved machinery is used, and the
business is run on a profit-sharing plan, which means that the daily
pay of the men in his employ increases as the profit of the plant
increases. A just amount is paid to each workman and Mr. Ford says:
"If a man can make himself of any use at all, put him on, give him
his chance and if he tries to do the right thing, we can find a living
for him any way." Eight hours is the length of the working day with
extra pay for overtime work. The wages in the Ford factories have
always been above what is generally paid so there are always many
persons who want to work there.

However, Henry Ford has two other great interests besides automobiles.
They are boys and birds. His only child is a bright and earnest boy
but Mr. Ford does not forget other boys in doing for his own. There
are always a dozen or more boys that he is training and helping to
prepare for life, thus giving to the world strong, helpful citizens.

As for birds, he has built two hundred bird houses in the grounds of
his home. They are heated with electricity in winter so as to keep the
birds' drinking water from freezing, and by a clever arrangement of
tubes, food can be sent electrically to each little house. Recently
Mr. Ford brought from England three hundred and eighty song birds not
native to the United States. They settled down and built nests in his
trees and shrubbery. He hopes to have them increase and add to the
beauty of our natural life.

His interest in birds and out of door life has been strengthened by
his long friendship with John Burroughs, the naturalist, and the two
have had many tramps and camping trips together. These excursions are
Mr. Ford's vacations and he likes to take them with this great nature
lover or with his other good friend, Thomas A. Edison, with whom he is
most congenial.

Having no bad habits, perfect health, never being tired, willing to
listen to others, able to decide quickly, and world-wide in his
interests, Henry Ford is one of the twentieth century's greatest
public-spirited business men. No better illustration can be found than
the fact that although Mr. Ford did not believe in war and was a man
of peace, yet when the United States entered the World War, he
hastened to Washington, offered his great factory to the government to
make war supplies, and began running night and day to furnish our
country with war-time necessities. If some one wished to choose for
him a coat of arms they should select, "A file and hammer crossed, a
warm, glowing heart placed above them," while the words,

                               "I love,
                               I build,
                               I give."

should be written underneath. This should be sufficient to describe
the nature of the kindly, frank and unassuming man, who, with a large
amount of money coming in each month, cares nothing for it as money
but wishes to use it to promote the good will of the world.




BEN B. LINDSEY


Late one afternoon a tired judge was seated at his bench in the city
of Denver. The docket showed that the next case to be brought before
him was one for stealing. Anxiously he waited for the hardened
criminals to be brought in, when lo and behold! three boys hardly in
their teens were brought before him.

When asked what they had stolen, they replied, "Pigeons." Beside the
boys stood the old man whose pigeons had been stolen. To say that he
was angry was putting it mildly.

As the boys described the pigeon loft and how they came to steal the
pigeons, the judge became very absent-minded; for his mind went back
to the time when he himself was a boy and had been in a crowd that had
stolen pigeons. Odd as it may seem, the judge's old gang had, years
before, visited this same pigeon loft and stolen from this same old
man. Little wonder then that the judge had a warm place in his heart
for the boys who were now in trouble.

But the old man had been annoyed for months, had watched hours to
catch the boys, and now that he had caught them, surely they should be
punished severely. He was sure the boys should be sent to prison.

What should the judge do under the circumstances? Certainly he must
see that the pigeons were protected, for they were fancy stock and the
old man made his living by raising them.

[Illustration: BEN B. LINDSEY
"The Kids' Judge"]

Would sending the three boys to prison protect the old man and his
pigeons? No, for no doubt the boys belonged to a gang, and unless the
whole gang were caught, the thefts would continue. For a long time the
judge studied the matter until finally he told the boys, that if they
would go out and bring in the other members of the gang, he would be
"white" with them; he would give them a square deal.

The boys eyed the judge critically. Did he mean what he was saying?
The boys liked his looks, for he was young and not much larger than
themselves. Then, too, he did not talk down at them from the bench,
but had left his bench, sat among them, and talked like one of them.

It wasn't long before the boys were convinced that the judge was their
friend. He understood them, and his heart was in the right place, as
they put it. Accordingly, they went out and brought in the other
members of the gang. In his talk with the gang, the judge was as kind
and frank as he had been when talking with the three boys the day
before. He told the boys how the old man made his living by raising
pigeons, and he asked them whether they thought it was square for them
to steal his pigeons. They agreed that it was not.

Then he told the gang how the old man and the police had caught the
three boys stealing the pigeons, and he asked them whether they
thought it would help matters to send the boys to prison. As this
remedy did not appeal to the gang the judge asked what should be done.
After some discussion, the members of the gang agreed that the best
thing to do was to give the judge their word of honor that they would
never molest the pigeon loft again. Thus it was that the old man's
rights were protected and at the same time the boys were saved from
the disgrace of a prison sentence.

The above is but one among hundreds of instances in which Judge Ben B.
Lindsey of Denver has shown that he is indeed the boy's friend. Since
he is the boy's friend, all boys are interested in his life.

Since he was born in Tennessee in 1869, it is not difficult for us to
figure that he is now in the prime of life. As he looks back over his
boyhood days he admits that he can recall little else than hardship.
His father, who had been an officer in the Confederate army, died when
Ben was about eighteen years of age. Before the war the Lindseys had
been in comfortable circumstances, but so great were the ravages of
war that at its close the family had lost everything. Ben, therefore,
was born in poverty. So severe were the hardships in the South that
the Lindseys came north and finally settled in Denver, Colorado. When
Ben was twelve, the family was so poor that the lad could not go to
school. Forced to work while yet so young, he had to pick up any odd
jobs that came his way. For a time he was messenger boy, and then he
managed a newspaper route. Since he was once a newsboy, is it any
wonder that he understood newsboys? It is also interesting to know
that he afterward became a judge in the same city in which he used to
peddle newspapers.

Though Ben could not attend day school, he did go to night school
regularly. As he was not robust, it was difficult, however, for the
lad after delivering messages all day to settle down to hard study in
a night school. But Ben liked books and was not afraid of hard work.

A little later he secured employment in a real-estate office. Here he
had some leisure time. Can you guess what he did with it? Did you know
that about the best way to learn whether or not a boy is destined to
become a great man is to find out what he does with his leisure hours?
Ben, now a young man, spent his time in studying law. To play games or
go to shows would have been much more interesting than studying great
law books, but he was determined to climb regardless of the cost.
Accordingly, at the age of twenty-four, he was made a "full-fledged"
lawyer.

In his practice of law there was nothing exceptional until at the age
of thirty-two he was made county judge. For weeks he discharged the
usual duties connected with his office until one evening a case came
before the court that changed his entire life. The story is as
follows:

"The hour was late; the calendar was long, and Judge Lindsey was
sitting overtime. Weary of the weary work, everybody was forcing the
machinery of the law to grind through at top speed the dull routine of
justice. All sorts of cases go before this court, grand and petty,
civil and criminal, complicated and simple. The petty larceny case was
plain; it could be disposed of in no time. A theft had been committed;
no doubt of that. Had the prisoner at the bar done it? The sleepy
policeman had his witnesses on hand and they swore out a case. There
was no doubt about it; hardly any denial. The law prescribed precisely
what was to be done to such 'cases,' and the bored judge ordered that
that thing be done. That was all. In the same breath with which he
pronounced sentence, the court called for the 'next case,' and the
shift was under way, when something happened, something out of the
ordinary.

"A cry! an old woman's shriek, rang out of the rear of the room. There
was nothing so very extraordinary about that. Our courts are held in
public; and every now and then somebody makes a disturbance such as
this old woman made when she rose now with that cry on her lips and,
tearing her hair and rending her garments, began to beat her head
against the wall. It was the duty of the bailiff to put the person
out, and that officer in this court moved to do his duty.

"But Judge Lindsey upheld the woman, saying: 'I had noticed her
before. As my eye wandered during the evening it had fallen several
times on her, crouched there among the back benches, and I remember I
thought how like a cave dweller she looked. I didn't connect her with
the case, any case. I didn't think of her in any human relationship
whatever. For that matter, I hadn't considered the larceny case in any
human way. And there's the point: I was a judge, judging 'cases'
according to the 'law,' till the cave dweller's mother-cry startled me
into humanity. It was an awful cry, a terrible sight, and I was
stunned. I looked at the prisoner again, but with new eyes now, and I
saw the boy, an Italian boy. A thief? No. A bad boy? Perhaps, but not
a lost criminal.

"'I called him back, and I had the old woman brought before me.
Comforting and quieting her, I talked with the two together, as mother
and son this time, and I found that they had a home. It made me
shudder. I had been about to send that boy to a prison among criminals
when he had a home and a mother to go to. And that was the law! The
fact that that boy had a good home; the circumstances which led him
to--not steal, but 'swipe' something; the likelihood of his not doing
it again--these were 'evidence' pertinent, nay, vital, to his case.

"'Yet the law did not require the production of such evidence. The
law? Justice? I stopped the machinery of justice to pull that boy out
of its grinders. But he was guilty; what was to be done with him? I
didn't know. I said I would take care of him myself, but I didn't know
what I meant to do, except to visit him and his mother at their home.
And I did visit them, often, and--well, we--his mother and I, with the
boy helping--we saved the boy, and today he is a fine young fellow,
industrious, self-respecting, and a friend of the Court.'"

So deep was the impression that this case made upon Judge Lindsey that
he could not keep from thinking about it. As he thought, he made up
his mind that boys and girls should not be tried in the same court
with grown people. He also concluded that in trying a boy the
important thing was not _what_ he had done, but _why_ he had done it.
To discover and remove the cause of the crime was of much greater
importance than punishing him after the crime had been committed.

Furthermore, he thought it very wrong to put a boy in a prison with
hardened criminals. He looked upon the prison not as a place where men
are made better but as a school of vice. To send a boy to prison,
then, must be the last resort.

While it was not hard for Judge Lindsey to see all these things, it
was difficult indeed for him to make the people of Denver see them.
Gradually, however, he carried on his campaign of enlightenment until
today Denver is pointed out as one of a few cities that knows how
successfully to handle its boys. With its excellent juvenile court and
its sane probation laws it has blazed the path for other cities to
follow.

And to whom are these changes due? We answer, to the man who by dint
of hard work struggled all the way from newsboy on the streets to
judge on the bench--Ben B. Lindsey.




FRANCES WILLARD


Two sisters and a brother lived with their parents in the country near
what is now the town of Beloit, Wisconsin. They had many pleasures in
their free, healthy life, and they were all fond of writing down in
diaries accounts of their plays, their hopes, and their plans. One day
the older of the two girls wrote:

"I once thought I should like to be Queen Victoria's maid of honor;
then I wanted to go and live in Cuba; next I made up my mind that I
would be an artist; next that I would be a mighty hunter of the
prairies--but now I suppose I am to be a music teacher, simply that
and nothing more."

She never became any of these things, but she did grow into such a
wise and noble woman that the entire world recognized the good she did
and was glad to honor her. The little girl's name was Frances Willard,
and the great office that was hers in later life was the presidency of
the Woman's Christian Temperance Union.

Frances' father and mother moved to Wisconsin from the State of New
York when their children were very small. Then the new home seemed to
be in the wilderness, and the family were indeed pioneers. Frances had
a genius for planning the most exciting games. She was always the
leader of the three, and delighted in organizing her willing playmates
into Indian bands, or into daring sailors of unknown seas. The other
two children called her Frank, and were glad to have her "think up"
wonderful plays.

[Illustration: FRANCES E. WILLARD
Founder of the
World's Woman's Christian Temperance Union]

One day long before Frances was twelve years of age her sister wrote
in her journal, "Frank said we might as well have a ship if we did
live on shore; so we took a hen coop pointed at the top, put a big
plank across it, and stood up, one at each end, with an old rake
handle apiece to steer with. Up and down we went, slow when it was a
calm sea and fast when there was a storm, until the old hen clucked
and the chickens all ran in and we had a lively time. Frank was
captain and I was mate. We made out charts of the sea, rules about how
to navigate when it was good weather and how when it was bad. We put
up a sail made of an old sheet and had great fun, until I fell off and
hurt me."

So you see they must have had many daring adventures. Frances longed
for a horse to ride, but there was none the children could have. This
did not discourage her in the least. She wanted to ride and so she
decided to train their pet calf. The calf's name was Dime, and Frances
said, "Dime is an unusually smart calf, she can be trained so we can
ride her." So she proceeded to do it and the children rode Dime to
their hearts' content.

But all of their play was not out of doors. Mr. and Mrs. Willard had
brought with them from their old home many books, and the children
liked to spend hours reading in their library. The father and mother
taught them and encouraged them to study. Frances liked to write,
and, as she was a neat and orderly girl, she did not want her books
and papers disturbed. In her sister Mary's journal we read how she
managed to have her belongings untouched:

"Today Frank gave me half her dog Frisk that she bought lately, and
for her pay I made a promise which mother witnessed and here it is:

"I, Mary Willard, promise never to touch anything lying or being upon
Frank Willard's writing desk which father gave her. I promise never to
ask either by speaking, writing, or signing, or in any other way, any
person or body to take off or put on anything on said stand and desk
without special permission from said Frank Willard. I promise never to
touch anything which may be in something upon her stand and desk. I
promise never to put anything on it or in anything on it; I promise if
I am writing or doing anything else at her desk to go away the moment
she tells me to. If I break the promise I will let the said F. W. come
into my room and go to my trunk or go into any place where I keep my
things and take anything of mine she likes. All this I promise unless
entirely different arrangements are made. These things I promise upon
my most sacred honor."

As Frances grew older she longed to travel. She had a great desire to
take a large part in the work of the world; but this did not seem
possible for two reasons. First, she had no money, and in the second
place, she lived in such an out of the way settlement that a journey
to the great cities of the world seemed to be nothing but a pleasant
dream that would never come true.

Once in one of these moments of longing, she wrote,

                    "Am I almost of age,
                    Am I almost of age,
                    Said a poor little girl,
                    And she glanced from her cage.
                    How long will it be
                    Before I shall be free,
                    And not fear friend or foe?
                    And I some folks could know
                    I'd not want to be of age,
                    But remain in my cage."

This was her first poem, and she grew very fond of writing and then
reading aloud her own efforts. The children printed a paper, and
Frances was the editor. While writing articles to appear in it she
would often retire to a seat high up in a favorite tree. On the tree
she hung a sign,

                           "The Eagle's Nest
                                  Beware."

You may be sure the other children left her undisturbed until her
important writing was finished.

But it was not long before Frances went out into the world of which
she dreamed and wrote, for she was not eighteen years old when she
began teaching. This experience gave her great pleasure. She liked
her pupils and was earnest and enthusiastic. There were two questions
that she kept always before her pupils: "What are you going to be in
the world, and what are you going to do?" Every one who ever had
Frances Willard for his teacher heard these two questions many times,
and numerous young people were influenced by her to lead earnest,
helpful lives.

During one of her summer vacations, she made the acquaintance of a
warm-hearted, generous girl who became one of her closest friends.
This young girl, of about the same age as Frances Willard, had no
mother. Her father, who was exceedingly wealthy, was deeply immersed
in his business, so his daughter was glad to have her new friend with
her often.

One day she thought, "How splendid it would be for us to go abroad."
To think was to act with her, and almost before Frances knew it they
had started for Europe. They remained there three years and during
that time visited many remote places seldom seen by the average person
traveling in foreign lands. Frances Willard wrote many accounts of
their experiences which were published in American magazines.

Upon her return to the United States she lectured about her journey
and became such an excellent public speaker that every one wanted to
hear her on any subject she chose, so she continued to lecture after
she ceased giving her travel talks. It is estimated that she spoke on
an average of once a day for ten years.

Meanwhile, she was made president of a college for young ladies in the
town of Evanston, Illinois. Later she became a member of the faculty
of Northwestern University in the same community. Here she brought
wonderful help to her students, and they said of her that she was so
interesting "she turned common things to gold."

But her life was not to be given entirely to teaching, and after a few
years she was drawn into the temperance work. This was then in its
beginning. Liquor was sold freely in every state, and there were no
laws regulating its sale or distribution.

Miss Willard saw the sorrow and suffering caused by intemperance and
she determined to war against this great evil. Her first work was done
with what was called the Woman's Crusade. Bands of women met and
prayed in front of saloons. Often they asked to hold brief services in
the saloons and then they urged men to give up drinking. Going to
these places and praying in public was distasteful to her, but Miss
Willard felt she must do so.

Soon, because of her zeal, the Chicago branch of the Woman's Christian
Temperance Union gave her an office. From that time she rose rapidly
from office to office in the great organization until she was made
World President of the International W. C. T. U. in 1879. She brought
the necessity for temperance before the people of the United States as
they had never seen it before, and always she said to them with
tongue and pen, "Temperance is necessary for God and Home and Native
Land."

She went over the entire country speaking to thousands of persons and
turning their thoughts toward the great cause. Little by little she
gained ground, made progress, and could say of the spread of interest:
"It was like the fire we used to kindle on the western prairie, a
match and a wisp of dry grass was all that was needed, and behold the
magnificent spectacle of a prairie on fire, sweeping across the
landscape swift as a thousand untrained steeds and no more to be
captured than a hurricane."

Today the results of Frances Willard's work are seen in the great and
growing interest in prohibition. What was to her a dream is coming to
pass; what she hoped for will, in all probability, soon be a reality,
and her great achievement lies in having made the question, "Shall we
permit our homes and our country to be ruined by intemperance?" one of
national importance, a question that every citizen of the United
States must answer.

In Statuary Hall of our Nation's Capitol, where stand the statues of
those persons whose deeds have earned them the right to fame and
honor, there is only one statue of a woman. That woman is Frances E.
Willard.




JANE ADDAMS


Not so many years ago a little girl, living in a small Illinois town,
had a strange dream. She was quite a little girl; just old enough to
be in the second grade at school, nevertheless she always remembered
that dream. She says, "I dreamed that every one in the world was dead
excepting myself, and that upon me rested the responsibility of making
a wagon wheel. The village street remained as usual, the village
blacksmith shop was 'all there,' even a glowing fire upon the forge,
and the anvil in its customary place near the door, but no human being
was within sight. They had all gone around the edge of the hill to the
village cemetery, and I alone remained in the deserted world. I stood
in the blacksmith shop pondering on how to begin, and never once knew
how, although I fully realized that the affairs of the world could not
be resumed until at least one wheel should be made and something
started."

The little girl dreamed this dream more than once, but she never made
the wagon wheel. However, when she was a grown woman she founded and
built up something that has become a great force for good in the
largest city of her native state.

Perhaps you are wondering what she did. She went to live in one of the
poorest and most wretched parts of Chicago. There she furnished her
house exactly as she would if it had been in some beautiful street.
She called her home a Settlement, and invited her neighbors to come in
daily for comfort and cheer.

[Illustration: JANE ADDAMS
Founder of Hull House, Chicago]

In her description of the street in which she lived she says,

"Halsted Street is thirty-two miles long, and one of the great
thoroughfares of Chicago. Polk street crosses it midway between the
stock yards to the south and the ship building yards to the north. For
the six miles between these two industries the street is lined with
shops of butchers and grocers, with dingy and gorgeous saloons, and
places for the sale of ready-made clothing. Once this was the suburbs,
but the city has grown steadily and this site has corners on three or
four foreign colonies."

It was in the year 1899 that Jane Addams, for that is the name of the
little girl who dreamed she was to make a wagon wheel and help start
something in the world, began living in Halsted Street, and named her
home Hull House after the first owner.

In those early days people asked her over and over why she had come to
live in Halsted Street when she could afford to live among richer
people.

One old man used to shake his head and say it was the strangest thing
he had ever known. However, there came a time when he thought it was
most natural for the settlement to be there to feed the hungry, care
for the sick, give pleasure to the young and comfort to the aged.

From the very first Miss Addams and her helpers made their neighbors
understand that they were ready to do even the humblest services. They
took care of children and nursed the sick. They even washed the dishes
and cleaned the house for some of the poor foreign women who had to
work all night scrubbing big office buildings.

Besides helping in true neighborly fashion, they brought many joys to
the people about them. Some of these were quite by chance, as once
when an old Italian woman cried with pleasure over a bunch of red
roses that she saw at a reception Miss Addams gave. She was surprised,
she said, that they had been "brought so fresh all the way from
Italy." No one could make her believe they had been grown in Chicago.
She had lived there six years and never seen any, but in Italy they
bloomed everywhere all summer.

Now the sad thing about this story was that during all the six years
of her stay in Chicago she had lived within ten blocks of a flower
store, and one car fare would have been enough to take her to one of
Chicago's beautiful public parks. No one had ever told her about them,
and so all she knew of the city was the dirty street in which she
lived.

Miss Addams learned that most of the foreigners were as helpless as
this woman in finding anything to bring them pleasure. So Hull House
became a place where hundreds of persons went. Some joined classes
and studied, but at first it was for social purposes that the
Settlement was used the most.

The people lived in tiny, crowded rooms and the only place they had to
gather in celebration of weddings and birthdays, and meet each other
was the saloon halls. These halls could be rented for a very small sum
with the understanding that the company would spend much money at the
saloon bar. Because of this custom many a party that started out quiet
and orderly ended with great disorder. So you can see that every one
would be glad to have Hull House where they could go and enjoy
themselves comfortably with their friends.

A day at Hull House is most interesting. In the morning come many
little children to the Kindergarten. They are followed by older
children who come to afternoon classes, while in the evening every
room is filled with grown persons who meet in some form of study, club
or social life.

But if you should go there now you would find instead of one building,
with which Miss Addams began, thirteen buildings and forty persons
living there to help to teach anyone who may come to Hull House.

There are classes in foreign languages, and one may study in the night
classes almost any subject that is taught in a high school. Besides
these classes there are concerts and plays. Hull House has a theater
of its own, and the boys and girls of the neighborhood act out their
favorite dramas there. One story that has been told frequently shows
the kind of plays the boys and girls make. Almost every one thinks
this play was given in the Hull House Theater but Miss Addams writes:

  I have told the story you have reference to several times. It is
  about a settlement boys' club, not at Hull House, who were asked
  to write a play on the origin of the American flag. They were told
  the climax must come in the third act, etc., but were given no
  outline.

  The play was as follows: The first act was at "the darkest hour of
  the American Revolution." A sentry walking up and down in front of
  the camp, says to a soldier: "Aint it fierce? We aint got no flag
  for this here Revolution." And the soldier replies: "Yes, aint it
  fierce?" That is the end of the first act. Second act: The same
  soldier appears before George Washington and says: "Aint it
  fierce? We aint got no flag for this here Revolution." And George
  Washington replies: "Yes, aint it fierce?" and that is the end of
  the second act. Third Act: George Washington went to call on Betsy
  Ross, who lived on Arch Street in Philadelphia, and said:
  "Mistress Ross, aint it fierce? We aint got no flag for this here
  Revolution," and Betsy Ross replied: "Yes, aint it fierce? Hold
  the baby and I will make one."

  I sometimes tell this with a little more elaboration but I have
  given you what the boys actually wrote. Of course, it has always
  been detailed in the line of a funny story and cannot be taken too
  seriously.

                                       Very sincerely yours,
                                                       JANE ADDAMS

Is it not wonderful what Miss Addams has done for the people who had
no comfort or care? Perhaps she has but kept a promise she made to her
father when she was only seven years of age.

They were driving through the poor, mean streets of her native town of
Cedarville, Illinois. She had never seen this particular part of the
town before, and asked her father many times why persons lived in
such dreadful places. He tried to tell her what it meant to be very
poor. She listened eagerly and then exclaimed, "When I grow up, I am
going to live in a great, big house right among horrid little houses
like these."

In her "big house" on Halsted Street many lives have been brightened
and thousands have found the help that started them upon useful
careers.

Jane Addams is one of the noblest women our country has had, and she
has been honored by Chicago and the entire United States for her life
of service.

A member of the English Parliament called her "the only saint America
has produced," while an enthusiastic Chicago man, when asked to name
the greatest living man in America, answered, "Jane Addams."

When in Chicago, try to go out to Hull House and visit for an
afternoon or evening. There are so many kinds of activities going on
all the time you can see what you like best, whether it be gymnastics,
acting, music, pottery, carpentery, or any of the literary or
industrial pursuits.

Later on you will want to read the book Miss Addams has written of her
experience called, "Twenty Years of Hull House."

                  *       *       *       *       *

"_The union of hearts, the union of hands, and the flag of our Union
forever._"

                                                       --G. P. MORRIS.




[Illustration: JOHN MITCHELL
President of the United Mine Workers]




JOHN MITCHELL


Have you ever thought how common it is for the persons who work for
others to think that they do not have enough pay for what they do? The
boy who mows the lawn wants more than the landlady is willing to pay.
Thus it was in 1902 when thousands of coal miners in Pennsylvania
became dissatisfied with their wages and started a great movement to
force their employers to pay them more.

On one side were the rich men who owned the mines. They, eager to make
as much money for themselves as possible, were not willing to pay the
miners fair wages. Furthermore, they would not spend money to make the
mines safe for the men who worked in them. Accordingly, the living
conditions among the miners were wretched indeed. Poorly paid, they
were forced to dwell in houses that were little more than huts, and
were required to live on the coarsest fare. So dangerous were the
mines that accidents were of almost daily occurrence; yet nothing
could be done as the miners were without a leader. True, labor
agitators came and with silver speech aroused the miners, but they did
not tell them what to do.

For a long time the battle cloud grew darker until finally the whole
nation became alarmed. So grave was the situation that Theodore
Roosevelt, then president, was asked to help avert the crisis that
seemed inevitable. At once the president left Washington for the
scene of conflict. Day after day he sought among the sullen,
half-crazed men for some solution of the difficulty, until finally he
discovered a man big enough to bring order out of confusion.

Mr. Hugh C. Weir, in speaking of this discovery, says: "From the
inferno of the coal-strike dates the cementing of those ties of
friendship and comradeship which have bound John Mitchell and Theodore
Roosevelt. The president, plunging into the heart of the strike,
sought and found the man whose hand held the pulse of events. He found
him, haggard and white with the strain of a great exhaustion, upheld
by the inspiration of a great purpose, and forthwith John Mitchell,
coal-miner, son of a coal-miner, came into a place in the Roosevelt
esteem which few men have equaled and no man surpassed. When at the
White House conference of American governors, the president invited as
guests of honor those five Americans who, in his judgment, ranked
foremost in current progress, John Mitchell, the labor man, was high
in the quintette." To have a plain coal-miner thus honored by the
President of the United States is so exceptional that we cannot help
wondering what there was about Mr. Mitchell that earned for him such
distinction. To discover the source of his greatness it is necessary
to study his life.

John Mitchell was born in the cottage of a humble coal-miner at
Braidwood, Illinois, in 1870. In those days Braidwood was a dreary,
dirty mining town almost surrounded by broad stretches of swamp.

When John was but three years of age his mother died. His stepmother,
who no doubt meant well, was not affectionate; on the contrary she was
very severe. As they were very poor she had to take in washings, and
day after day it fell to John's lot to help his stepmother with the
washings.

When he was six years of age, his father, the only real friend he had
in the world, was brought home dead, killed in a mine disaster. In
speaking of this period in his life Mr. Mitchell says: "The poverty
and hardships that followed were marked by one circumstance that is
imprinted indelibly upon my memory and which has had an impelling
influence upon my whole life. My father had served a full term of
enlistment as a volunteer in the Civil War. When he was discharged
from the army he brought home with him his soldier's clothes, and I
remember so well that when we had not sufficient bed clothing to keep
us warm in the cold winter nights, I would arise and get the heavy
soldier's coat and spread it over my little half-brother and myself.
When we were snug and warm beneath it I would feel so happy and proud
that my father had been an American soldier. And through all the years
that have passed since then I have felt that same pride in the memory
of my father, and in the love of country which, along with a good
name, was our sole heritage from him."

When John was about ten, his stepmother married again. From the first
his stepfather did not like him, and soon he became so cruel that the
boy's heart was completely broken. With no home, with no one who cared
for him, the big world seemed cold indeed.

Finally, unable to stand the abuse of his stepfather longer, he
gathered his few belongings in a small bundle and started out to make
his own way in the world. For a boy of only ten this was by no means
easy. From house to house he asked for work until finally a farmer
gave him a job. Though the hours were long and the work heavy, John
stuck to it for more than a year when he went to a mine in Braidwood
and got a job as breaker boy. Here he remained until he was twelve
when he decided to go west. With no money and no friends he worked his
way by slow stages all the way from Illinois to Colorado. He had hoped
that mining conditions would be much better in Colorado, but found
them even worse than they had been in Illinois. Unable to earn enough
to supply the bare necessities of life, the miners were suffering
hardship and want.

Thus surrounded by misery, John, though but a lad, found himself
trying to think out ways of helping these unfortunate men and their
families, for he could not believe that it was right for them to
suffer as they did.

Finally conditions in Colorado became so bad that John, then twenty
years of age, decided to return to Spring Valley, Illinois. Here, for
the first time in his life, he saw a labor union so conducted that it
was a force. The members of this union, all working men, met each week
and discussed matters that were of interest to all. After discussing
the topics they passed resolutions which they presented to the mine
owners. In this way they were able to secure better wages, shorter
hours of work, and safer mines in which to work.

In these labor meetings young Mitchell took an active part and soon
developed ability as a public speaker. From the first his advancement
in the ranks of organized labor was rapid, so rapid in fact that at
thirty we find Mitchell president of the United Mine Workers of
America. At the time he became president the organization had but
about forty thousand members, but under his skillful leadership it
grew until in 1908 its membership numbered over three hundred thousand
men. Mr. Mitchell is still in the prime of life and is one of our most
skillful and trusted labor leaders.

Better to appreciate the worth of the man, let us consider the
following tribute to him: "He chose to use this unusual ability for
the many rather than for himself alone. It seemed better to him that
many thousands should eat more and better bread each day than that he
should have for himself ease and luxury.

"Andrew Carnegie, beginning as John Mitchell did, in poverty and
ignorance, made himself one of the foremost men of his time in the
finance of the world. Behind him lies, as the result of his life work,
a better system of refining steel, innumerable libraries--his gifts,
and bearing his name,--a hundred millionaires and more--his one-time
lieutenants--and personal wealth so great as to tax his gigantic
intellect to find means for its expenditure.

"John Mitchell, in a life much shorter, leaves behind him not a better
system of refining steel, not a hundred millionaires, not innumerable
libraries with his name in stone over the doors, but better living
conditions for four hundred thousand miners--more wages, fewer hours
of labor, less dangerous mine conditions, far-reaching laws for
greater safety, a better understanding between capital and labor."

                  *       *       *       *       *

"_Let our object be our country, our whole country, and nothing but
our country. And, by the blessing of God, may that country itself
become a vast and splendid monument,--not of oppression and
terror--but of wisdom, of peace, and of liberty, upon which the world
may gaze with admiration forever._"

                                                     --DANIEL WEBSTER.




MAUDE BALLINGTON BOOTH


A pleasant-faced little woman was talking to many persons in a great
hall. She wore a dark dress. On the front of it were three white stars
joined by slender chains. In the center of each one was a blue letter.
The first letter was V, the second was P, and the third was L. Their
meaning is Volunteer Prison League.

The little woman was Maude Ballington Booth, and she was explaining
the work of this league, for she founded it. She said that she had
come from England to the United States many years ago. Upon reaching
here one of the first places she visited was a great prison in
California. There she saw so much sadness and misery that she could
not rest until she did something to help the men and women who were
shut behind iron bars.

She began her work by holding a meeting in Sing Sing Prison on the
Hudson River in the State of New York. She told the men that she was
their friend and believed in them. She declared that there was no one
so cast down or disgraced that he could not rise and make something of
himself, if he would only try. Many of the men who heard Mrs. Booth
that day had no families and had even lost trace of all their
relatives. She said they could write her letters and she would answer.
They had never before had any one treat them so kindly, and so letters
by the hundred reached Mrs. Booth. One young man scarcely more than a
boy, wrote her thanking her for the kind letter she had sent him. He
called her "Little Mother." Soon this title became known, and all up
and down the prisons of the United States men came to talk of the
Little Mother and look for her coming; for her first work in Sing Sing
Prison was so successful that she went from state to state organizing
Volunteer Prison Leagues.

[Illustration: MAUDE BALLINGTON BOOTH
Founder of the Volunteer Prison League]

It is not always easy to do right even when one is well, happy, and in
his own home. Think, then, how hard a task the men in prison found it
when they became members of the new league! The day a man joined, he
had given to him a white button with a blue star and in the middle of
the star was "Look Up and Hope." He promised to do five things:

  1. He would pray every morning and night.

  2. He would read faithfully in the little Day Book the league sent
     him.

  3. No bad language should soil his lips.

  4. He would keep the rules of the prison.

  5. He would try to encourage others, too, in right doing, and when
     possible get new members for the league.
From the moment a man put on a button, his guards and fellow prisoners
watched to see if he would keep his promise. A framed copy of what he
promised to do was hung in his cell as a daily reminder. If a man was
strong enough to accept these five conditions, he came to be a changed
person. He wanted to do right, and he looked forward to the time when
he would be free and could once more try anew in the big world.

Many persons told Mrs. Booth her plan would never work, but one by one
men began to prove that it did. First there were dozens, then there
were hundreds of men returning to their homes or going out to succeed
in the business world.

By and by Mrs. Booth saw there should be places where the men with no
families could go when they left prison. So she started "Hope Halls."
These are homes in the different large cities of the United States.
The Volunteer Prison League has officers who manage them but the
general public is never told where these houses are.

In bygone days many men upon leaving prison have been led away by old
evil companions. Others have found no place to stay and no work open
for them because a cold, unthinking public had called them "jail
birds." Mrs. Booth wanted these men to have a chance. Today a man who
belongs to the league can, upon leaving prison, be directed to the
nearest Hope Hall. There he can stay in comfortable quarters until he
gets work. Kind friends help him and many business firms have come to
take the word of the manager of Hope Hall. They give the man work and
he goes out to take his place as a man among men.

Mrs. Booth has given her life to building up this league, and for many
years earned all the money that was needed for running expenses. She
did this by writing, and speaking in public. Everywhere she went the
people listened to her story and many were glad to help her.

Although we claim her as an American, Maude Ballington Booth was born
in a pretty little English village. Her father was the rector of the
little church, and her mother was a loving woman devoted to her home.
She died when Maude was fifteen years of age and on the moss-covered
stone that marks her grave are the words: "They that be wise shall
shine as the brightness of the firmament, and they that turn many to
righteousness, as the stars forever and ever."

From such a home the young girl went to London. There she met
Ballington Booth, son of General Booth, founder of the Salvation Army.
They were married and she came to the United States with him to
interest Americans in the cause of the Salvation Army. This was a hard
task. Oftentimes the army was jeered openly. The Booths were actually
stoned while holding meetings in the streets. But this did not stop
them. Their work grew, and at last they founded the Volunteers of
America and became the head of this order.

The busiest persons generally have time to do many things. So it was
with Maude Ballington Booth, for she wrote a number of books about her
work with prisoners, as well as lovely fairy tales for her little boy
and girl. These children missed their mother very much when she went
away to speak, so the next best thing to having her at home was to
have the stories she made for them. These stories were sure to have
accounts of pet animals in them, suggesting to the Booth children
their own pets, and the following description of Snowball shows how
well Mrs. Booth could picture the feelings of an insulted pussy cat.

"The three children seated themselves by the stately white cat; slowly
the ragged coat was opened and out sprang a frisky plebeian kitten
right under the Angora's aristocratic nose. What a picture it was. The
little black kitten startled and dazed by the light and warmth, and a
great prince of a cat towering over her. Snowball was frozen into an
attitude of horror at the unexpected apparition. Every hair stood
erect and his back looked like a deformed hunch, while his yellow eyes
flashed fire.

"'Naughty, naughty Snowball,' called Baby, when the cats had gazed at
each other for a full minute. 'It's little, and it's cold and it's
hungry.'

"Whatever he thought of Baby's reproof, Snowball did think it was
time to act, and like a flash the white paw darted at the offending
kitten's ear, and, I am ashamed to say, he spit most crossly in
its frightened little face, then at one bound he sprang to the
mantle-piece and sat there growling. The children looked dismayed; the
little kitten stood looking up at its unsociable host with a sweet,
questioning little face, uttering mild little mews of protest in
answer to his thunderous growls.

"Then Brown Eyes' wrath broke, and folding the kitten in loving arms,
he said to Snowball, 'You bad, ungrateful ill natured cat, I am
surprised at you, petted and cuddled and fed on good things, you turn
and spit at a poor little kitten, who only looked up into your face
and asked you to love it. We'll go away and leave you. You can stay
there, and we'll get a saucer of cream for this kitten who is far
nicer than you, cross cat; you bad cat, we'll leave you to yourself.'

"Left to himself Snowball repented but, alas! the door was shut. The
merry voices that resounded through the house did not call him, while
through the still room sounded the voice of his taunting enemy, that
hateful clock, the words of which his conscience could so well
interpret, 'Cross cat, bad cat, bad cat.'"

For years Mrs. Booth went from place to place throughout the United
States raising money for the Volunteer Prison League, but when her
father died he left her a small fortune. Now she uses this money for
the great cause she loves, and is spared the hard work of traveling
and speaking. Those who have heard her, remember a small woman with a
soft, beautiful voice. This voice urged the world not to look at
trouble and failure, but to lend a helping hand to men and women who
want to lead a better life by following the stars of hope.




[Illustration: ANDREW CARNEGIE
Founder of Many Libraries]




ANDREW CARNEGIE


Have you a library in your town? What is it called? Should you like to
know why Andrew Carnegie decided to spend millions and millions of
dollars in building beautiful libraries in this country and Scotland?
I should like to tell you, for the story is very interesting.

Mr. Carnegie was born in far away Scotland in the year 1835. His
father was a poor man who earned his living by weaving linen by hand.
Soon machines were invented for the weaving of linen. As these
machines could weave more cheaply, those who had made a living by hand
weaving were thrown out of work. "Andie's" father was thus thrown out
of employment and, hardly knowing which way to turn, decided to come
to America.

Accordingly, when Andie was seven years of age, in company with his
parents and brother, he came to this land of promise. In a land so
large, it was not an easy matter for them to decide where to live.
Finally they decided to settle in Allegheny City, just across the
river from Pittsburg.

After the home was settled, one of the first questions to be solved
was, whether Andie should go to school or go to work. But what could a
boy so small do? He could be a bobbin boy in a big factory, he was
told. So as bobbin boy, we soon see him earning his first money. Can
you guess what his first wages were? From early morning until late at
night he worked and, for a whole week's work received but one dollar
and twenty cents.

So faithful and energetic was he, that he was soon promoted to
engine-boy at a salary of a dollar and eighty cents a week. While the
increase in salary pleased him, the work was not so pleasant, for he
had to work in a damp cellar away from fresh air and sunlight. Then,
too, he was alone most of the time.

It was while he was engine-boy that an event happened that caused him
later in life to build libraries. Suppose we invite Mr. Carnegie, in
his own language, to tell us about it.

"There were no fine libraries then, but in Allegheny City, where I
lived, there was a Colonel Anderson, who was well-to-do and of a
philanthropic turn. He announced, about the time I first began to
work, that he would be in his library at home, every Saturday, ready
to lend books to working boys and men. He had only about four hundred
volumes, but I doubt if ever so few books were put to better use. Only
one who has longed, as I did, for Saturday to come, that the spring of
knowledge might be opened anew to him, can imagine what Colonel
Anderson did for me and other boys of Allegheny City. Quite a number
of them have risen to eminence, and I think their rise can be traced
easily to this splendid opportunity."

No doubt it was the kindness of Colonel Anderson that prompted Mr.
Carnegie, later in life, to bestow his wealth for the founding of
libraries.

Since the work as engine-boy had never appealed to Andie, he was
delighted when another promotion was earned. This time he was made
messenger boy in a telegraph office in Pittsburg at a salary of two
dollars and fifty cents a week. In speaking of this period Mr.
Carnegie said: "If you want an idea as to heaven on earth, imagine
what it is to be taken from a dark cellar, where I fired the boiler
from morning until night, and dropped into an office, where light
shone from all sides, with books, papers, and pencils in profusion
around me, and oh, the tick of those mysterious brass instruments on
the desk, annihilating space and conveying intelligence to the world.
This was my first glimpse of paradise, and I walked on air."

Fortunately, the man in charge of the office, a Scotchman by the name
of James Reid, took a liking to the Scotch lad and began to help him
by teaching him telegraphy. Accordingly, during the leisure moments
when Andie had no messages to deliver he studied so diligently that in
a remarkably short time he became a skillful telegraph operator.

At this time his father died, leaving the support of the family to
Andie. To support them he must earn more money, and so he left his job
as messenger boy to become a telegraph operator on the Pennsylvania
railroad. While thus engaged as an operator he invented a system of
train dispatching that, each year, saved the company thousands of
dollars. This invention attracted the attention of the railroad
officials to young Carnegie, and he was made private secretary to
Colonel Scott, vice-president of the road, and a little later was made
superintendent of the Western division of the Pennsylvania railroad,
all before he was thirty years of age.

It was while he was superintendent of the railroad that Mr. Woodruff,
the inventor of the sleeping car, came to him with the invention. Mr.
Carnegie listened to a description of the proposed cars. He saw that
the idea was good and adopted it at once. Thus it was that on Mr.
Carnegie's division of the Pennsylvania railroad the first sleeping
cars in the United States were run.

Prior to this time all the railroad bridges had been made of wood; but
it occurred to Carnegie that bridges should be made of steel, rather
than wood. Accordingly, he organized the Keystone Bridge Company that
built the first steel bridge across the Ohio River. As the bridge
business grew, Mr. Carnegie decided that he could make more money by
making his own steel for the bridges. To do this he organized a
company and built the Union Iron Mills. So profitable were these mills
that in a short time he purchased the Edgar Thompson Steel Rail Mill
and the Homestead Steel Works. Gradually his business grew until in
1901, when he retired, his payroll exceeded eighteen million dollars a
year, and he received two hundred and fifty millions for his share of
the business.

But, I hear you ask, "How could he earn so much money? How did he get
the money to start these great enterprises?" From the first he was
economical and saved every penny possible; and fortunately for him his
investments were always profitable, as the following examples will
show.

When he was a telegraph operator, his friend, Mr. Scott, urged him to
buy ten shares in the Adams Express Company for six hundred dollars.
As Mr. Carnegie was able to get together but five hundred dollars, Mr.
Scott lent him the extra hundred, and the investment was made. Soon
these shares were yielding large dividends, which Mr. Carnegie
carefully saved.

Already I have told you how Mr. Woodruff, the inventor of the sleeping
car, came to Mr. Carnegie to get him to try out these cars. So
enthusiastic was Mr. Carnegie over the invention, that he organized
the Woodruff Sleeping Car Company, and borrowed money from every
possible source to finance the enterprise. Here, too, he met with a
degree of success that was far beyond his fondest expectations.

Suppose we invite Mr. Carnegie to tell us about his third investment.
He says: "In company with several others, I purchased the now famous
Story farm, on Oil Creek, Pennsylvania, where a well had been bored
and natural-oil struck the year before. This proved a very profitable
investment. When I first visited this famous well, the oil was running
into the creek where a few flat-bottomed scows lay filled with it,
ready to be floated down the Allegheny River on an agreed upon day
each week, when the creek was flooded by means of a temporary dam.
This was the beginning of the natural-oil business. We purchased the
farm for forty thousand dollars, and so small was our faith in the
ability of the earth to yield, for any considerable time, the hundred
barrels per day which the property was then producing that we decided
to make a pond capable of holding one hundred thousand barrels of oil,
which we estimated would be worth, when the supply ceased, one million
dollars.

"Unfortunately for us, the pond leaked fearfully. Evaporation also
caused much loss, but we continued to run the oil in to make the loss
good day by day, until several hundred thousand barrels had gone in
this fashion. Our experience with the farm is worth reciting: its
value rose to five million dollars, and one year it paid in cash
dividends one million dollars." Surely this was a very profitable
investment.

But most of Mr. Carnegie's money was made in the steel business, and,
you ask how this was done.

Prior to 1868 the process of making iron into steel had been extremely
expensive. In that year Mr. Carnegie introduced a method for making
steel known as the Bessemer process. For years his mills had a
monopoly of the process; and, as it reduced the cost of making steel
by more than half, he made vast sums of money.

About all rich men two questions are always asked: How did they get
their money, and what did they do with it?

While Mr. Carnegie may be justly criticized for some of the methods
he adopted in getting his money, few can criticize the beautiful
spirit that he has shown in giving it away. So liberal has he been
that in a single year he gave away one hundred and twelve million
dollars. Some of his more notable gifts are $22,000,000 for the
Carnegie Institution in Washington, $24,000,000 for the Carnegie
Institution in Pittsburg, $15,000,000 for Teachers' Pensions,
$10,000,000 for Scotch Universities, and $70,000,000 for libraries.

In the northern part of Scotland is a large and beautiful mansion
known as Skibo Castle. This was Mr. Carnegie's country estate, and
here he and his wife and daughter lived in comparative quiet. In his
late years, as in boyhood days, he loved to tread on the free heather
of his beloved country. As the years multiplied, his sympathies
gradually enlarged and his vision broadened. Though some, as they grow
old, become sour and crabbed, Mr. Carnegie became increasingly
optimistic and youthful in spirit, until death claimed him.

                  *       *       *       *       *

"_He is never alone that hath a good book._"




[Illustration: DR. ANNA SHAW
Honorary President, Woman's National Suffrage Association]




ANNA SHAW


When Anna Shaw was four years old, her mother left Scotland with her
family of small children and started for America to join her husband.
After a few days' sail, a fearful storm arose and the ship returned
with great difficulty to Queenstown. This was the first impressive
experience of Anna's life, and she was destined to live through many
exciting ones. Finally, another ship started on the long voyage across
the Atlantic and this time the family reached the shores of our
country and met the husband and father. Anna remembers his joy over
their reunion.

But the next event that stands out clearly in her mind occurred after
they had lived in the United States for a year or more. Her parents
did not believe in slavery, and were anxious to help runaway slaves
gain a place of safety and freedom. They had read Uncle Tom's Cabin
aloud to their children, so Anna was not surprised when one day she
went into the cellar on an errand and found a negro woman hiding
there. The little girl was greatly excited and anxious to know just
how the woman came there and where she was going. But when she told
her parents of her discovery they became alarmed lest she might,
through her interest, say things before strangers that would disclose
their secret. Therefore they kept her away from the cellar on one
excuse or another, and although Anna was sure her home sheltered many
slaves on their journey to a free land, she never again saw one or
knew anything about the system that helped these suffering persons.

The Shaw home was in a small Massachusetts town, and there was much
happening to engage the attention of the children. Anna recalls the
first money she ever earned. The amount was twenty-five cents, and she
was paid that for riding in a Fourth of July celebration. After this
seemingly great sum of money was hers, she and a small sister decided
to spend some of it. They bought a banana, which was to them a strange
and wonderful fruit, but they did not like it because they did not
know how to eat it. They gave it away to a boy who quickly removed the
peel and enjoyed eating the fruit. They were amazed, for they had
tried to eat it just as they bought it from the dealer. When Anna saw
their gift eaten so rapidly she was astonished and disappointed.

This incident was to be one of the last memories of her New England
home, for the family moved to Northern Michigan and became pioneers.
For toys she received at Christmas a small saw and an axe. These were
typical of the life she was to lead for a number of years. Unlike many
girls of her age, she had no time to play with dolls or sew; she was
forced to do a man's work in helping with the new home.

Her father was a kind, gentle man, but very much of a dreamer. He did
not realize that things must be done promptly if a family is to have
food and shelter. Once he spent weeks reading and planning what kinds
of grains would be best to sow, but long before he had decided, the
planting season was over, the young crops were up, and the Shaws had
none. The mother was not strong, yet she did an immense amount of
work. As she had been highly trained in sewing, she made the clothing
for the entire family. The two older girls, Eleanor and Mary, did the
housework and this left Anna and her brother to do the rough outdoor
work. Together they accomplished this and many other tasks. They even
made a set of furniture for their simple cabin home.

Indians were all about through the woods, and once while out playing
Anna saw a band of them going towards her home. She hurried back to
see her mother giving them food. This they took with no thanks and
departed. But later in the year they returned and brought Mrs. Shaw a
large supply of venison to show her they appreciated her kindness.

Another time a number of Indians stopped at the Shaw cabin, and they
had been drinking whiskey. They demanded food, and it was prepared for
them. Meanwhile Anna and her brother, fearful lest the liquor might
excite their guests, managed to go to the attic and let down a rope
from the gable window. With it they drew up all their firearms, one by
one. Then at long intervals, members of the family would slip away and
hide upstairs where they knew they would be safe unless the Indians
set fire to the house.

The hungry guests ate up everything, then stretched themselves out and
fell into a drunken sleep. The Shaw children watched them all night
through cracks in the attic floor, and when morning came were glad to
see the Indians sneak away as if they were ashamed.

Many hardships came to the little family. Their cow died, and for an
entire winter they had no milk. They had no coffee either, but made
something they called coffee out of dried peas and burned rye. Anna
was always cold; she cannot remember that the house was ever warm
enough to be comfortable; still she enjoyed life and made up her mind
to go to college, to be a preacher, and to be worth one hundred
thousand dollars. She named this amount because it seemed so unlikely
she would ever have any money. Often she would steal away and preach
in the woods to an imaginary audience.

When she was fifteen years of age she began to teach school. She had
but fourteen pupils, and they learned to read from whatever books they
could find. The result was that their text books were almanacs and
hymn books. For teaching she was paid two dollars a week and board.
This latter did not amount to much, as often all she had for her
luncheon was a piece of raw salt pork. Her salary was not paid
promptly either, as the school authorities had to wait until the dog
tax was collected because it was from this fund that the teacher's
salary was drawn.

The largest salary Anna Shaw ever received for teaching was one
hundred and fifty-six dollars a year, so at last she stopped and
started to learn the trade of sewing. This was very distasteful to
her, and she determined she would not earn her living with the needle.
What she wanted to do was to preach. Finally she had a chance to give
her first sermon, and her brother-in-law, who owned the county
newspaper, printed this notice:

  "A young girl named Anna Shaw preached at Ashton yesterday. Her
  real friends deprecate the course she is pursuing."

This did not discourage Anna Shaw, for she kept on working and in 1873
managed to enter Albion College in Albion, Michigan. She had earned a
little money to pay her way, and she intended to get the rest by
preaching. Her family disapproved so strongly of this step that they
had nothing to do with her, and it was some years before they became
reconciled and good feeling was once more established between them and
the bright young woman.

Anna was twenty-five when she entered college, and she had had so much
experience in her pioneer home she seemed much older. Every Sunday she
preached in mission churches to congregations composed chiefly of
Indians who sat listening solemnly, while their papooses were hung
along the walls in their queer little Indian cradles.

From Albion College, Anna Shaw went to Boston Theological School, and
after a hard struggle with poverty, was graduated from this
institution as a minister. She had given to her for her field of labor
a little church on Cape Cod, that part of Massachusetts that seems to
stretch forth to meet the sea. Here she was the minister for seven
years. The members of her church liked her, and she was always busy
helping them in every way, from preaching funeral sermons and
performing marriage ceremonies to helping settle neighborhood
quarrels.

There were many amusing episodes in her life. One over which she has
laughed many times was her purchase of a horse. She wanted a horse
gentle and safe for a woman, so when she went to look at one that had
been offered her the only question she asked was, "Is she safe for a
woman?" The family who owned her said she was, so Miss Shaw bought
her. When the errand boy at the Shaw residence went out to the barn to
hitch up the new horse, the creature kicked so that the boy ran from
the building thoroughly frightened. However, Miss Shaw went into the
stall and harnessed the horse easily. Soon she discovered the truth;
the horse was safe for women, she liked them, but she would not let a
man or boy come near her. The only way she could be outwitted was
when the errand boy put on a sunbonnet and long circular cloak of Miss
Shaw's. Even then the horse would eye him suspiciously, but did not
kick. Miss Shaw thought she had made a most peculiar purchase, but she
became fond of Daisy, as the horse was called, just as she did of
every person and thing in her parish.

At last, feeling the need of more training, in order to do good in the
world, she went to a medical school, and after serious study became
Dr. Anna Shaw. While there she became interested in the cause of
Woman's Suffrage. At that time only a few persons believed that women,
as well as men, should have the right to vote, and anyone saying they
should was criticized severely.

Dr. Shaw went to work for this cause with great energy and steadfastness
of purpose. From 1888 to 1906 she was closely associated with Miss
Susan B. Anthony who was then the head of the suffrage movement. When
Miss Anthony passed away, Dr. Shaw became one of the great leaders. In
1906 only four states had granted suffrage to women,

                          Wyoming in 1869,
                          Colorado in 1893,
                          Idaho in 1896,
                          Utah in 1896.

Suddenly all over the United States women became interested in this
cause to which a few devoted women had already given years of their
lives, and in 1910 Washington was added to the small list of states
where women had equal political rights with men. Then in quick
succession came

                         California in 1911,
                         Arizona in 1912,
                         Kansas in 1912,
                         Oregon in 1912,
                         Alaska in 1913,
                         Nevada in 1914,
                         Montana in 1914,
                         New York in 1917.

By 1917 women also had the right to vote for president and all offices
except the judiciary, in Illinois, North Dakota, Nebraska, and
Michigan. At that time there was partial suffrage for women in Arkansas,
New Mexico, South Dakota, Iowa, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Oklahoma,
Louisiana, Mississippi, New Jersey, Connecticut, Massachusetts, New
Hampshire, Florida and Ohio. In some of these states just mentioned,
women voted for very few offices, but still they had a slight voice in
the affairs of their state, and a large number of states refused
women all voting rights. They were Texas, Missouri, Alabama,
Tennessee, Pennsylvania, West Virginia, Maryland, Georgia, South
Carolina, North Carolina, Maine, Indiana, Delaware and Virginia.

Dr. Shaw's life dream was realized when woman was given the right to
vote on all questions in every state in the union by an amendment to
the Constitution of the United States.

Dr. Shaw died in the service of her country at Washington, in 1918.

Like so many of America's noble men and women, the secret of Anna
Shaw's life has been service to others,--doing good to her fellowmen
and working always for human justice.

                  *       *       *       *       *

                        _AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL_

                 "_O Beautiful for spacious skies,
                   For amber waves of grain,
                 For purple mountain majesties
                   Above the fruited plain!
                       America! America!
                   God shed his grace on thee
                 And crown thy good with brotherhood
                   From sea to shining sea._"

                              --KATHARINE LEE BATES.




[Illustration: ERNEST THOMPSON SETON and WIFE
Founder of the Boy Scout Movement]




ERNEST THOMPSON SETON


How many boys of ten years of age know what they want to do when they
are grown? Surely there are some boys of that age who have planned
their future work or at least have dreamed about it. But how many ever
do in later life just what they had thought of doing when in the
fourth grade of the public school? Not many, you may be sure. However,
some years ago there was a boy living in England who had decided on
his life work by the time his tenth birthday passed. What is more, he
carried out his plans with great success. Today you may read many of
his books and look at interesting pictures he has drawn of wild
animals that are as familiar to him as are the pets most boys and
girls have in their homes. More than this, if a boy belongs to the Boy
Scouts, he is a member of an organization that this man helped to
found in the United States.

Ernest Thompson Seton was born in the northern part of England. His
family moved to Canada, but he attended school in England and did not
stay in America for any length of time until his schooling was
completed. His name was originally Ernest E. Thompson Seton, but some
years ago he changed it by turning the last two names around and
putting a hyphen between them. As he has written under both names,
persons sometimes wonder if there are two men who love the out of
doors and write with pleasure of their open air experiences.

Mr. Thompson Seton's wish was to spend a large part of his life
tramping over the country studying animals and learning woodcraft. The
rest of the time he would write and make pictures of what he had seen.
He felt he could stay within doors only part of each year. So as soon
as he finished school and returned to the province of Manitoba he went
to work in the fields. It did not take him long to earn enough money
to live on during the winter, as his wants were few; then he set out
to tramp all over the province. He watched the birds; he learned the
ways of all the animals and could tell wonderful stories of their
instinct and cunning. When he did live under a roof for a few weeks,
he was always busy drawing pictures of his friends in the open or
writing down accounts of their lives. One of his best known books was
published in 1898 and was called, "Wild Animals I Have Known." This
brought him to the attention of many readers; but he had been helping
make books long before this one, for when the Century Dictionary was
published he drew for it more than a thousand pictures of the animals
that he had watched and studied.

In the course of his life he has been a hunter, a day laborer, a
scientist, a naturalist, and an artist. At the same time he has been
able to carry out his plan of spending the greater part of each year
out of doors. Loving a free active life from his earliest boyhood, it
is not strange that Ernest Thompson Seton was the first man to
organize the Boy Scouts in America. In the Outlook for July 23, 1910,
he tells the story in a most interesting manner. He says:

"My friend John Moale, a rich man, had bought several thousand acres
of abandoned farm lands near Boston in the year 1900. This he made
into a beautiful park, all for his own enjoyment. Around this park he
built a strong fence twelve feet high so that no one could get into
the park. His prospects of peace and happiness were excellent. But the
neighbors resented his coming. He had fenced in a lot of open ground
that had been the common cow-pasture of the adjoining village. He had
taken from the boys their nutting-ground, and forbidden the usual
summer picnics. He was an outsider, a rich man despoiling the very
poor, and they set about making it unpleasant for him.

"They destroyed his fences, they stoned his notice-boards until they
fell, and they painted shocking pictures on his gates. Mr. Moale, a
peace-loving man, rebuilt the fences and restored the notice-boards
only to have them torn down again and again.

"All summer this had been going on, so I learned on visiting Mr. Moale
in September. Finally I said to him: 'Let me try my hand on these
boys.' He was ready for anything, and gave me a free hand. I bought
two tents, three old Indian teepees, and two canoes. I got some bows
and arrows and a target.

"Then I got a gang of men to make a campground by the lake on my
friend's grounds. On this I set up the tents and teepees in the form
of an Indian village.

"Now I went to the local school house and got permission to talk to
the boys for five minutes. 'Now boys,' I said, 'Mr. Moale invites you
all to come to the Indian village on his land next Friday, after
school, to camp with him there until Monday morning. We will have all
the grub you can eat, all the canoes necessary, and everything to have
a jolly time in camp.'

"At first the boys were bashful and suspicious, but finally they
accepted the invitation, and at 4:30 forty-two boys arrived in high
glee.

"'Say, Mister, kin we holler?'

"'Yes, all you want to.'

"'Kin we take our clothes off?'

"As the weather was warm I said, 'Yes, every stitch, if you like.' And
soon they were a mob of naked, howling savages, tearing through the
woods, jumping into the lake, or pelting each other with mud."

After supper, Mr. Thompson Seton tells us, the boys gathered around
the camp fire while he told them one Indian story after another. For
two days the boys ate, swam, canoed, and, what was most important of
all, they became acquainted with the two men. There was no harm done
the boats, teepees, or outfit other than fair wear and tear during
that camping, and before it was over Mr. Moale, instead of having a
gang of bandits to combat the year round, had now a guard of staunch
friends, ready to fight his battles and look out for his interests
when he was away.

That was the beginning of it. Every boy in the village is now a member
of the tribe, and three other bands have been formed in the
neighborhood. All this was in 1900. Since then thousands of workers
have become interested and the work has spread, until today the Boy
Scouts of America is one of the best known organizations of the
country.

One reason for the growth of the Boy Scout movement is the fact that
scouting usually makes boys cleaner and more manly than they were
before. Should you like to know the Scout Laws that they learn and
practice? The first law is this: "_A scout is trustworthy._" This
means a scout's honor is to be trusted. Boy Scouts everywhere make a
great deal of the word _honor_. The following story shows the scout's
idea of honor: "A little newsboy boarded a crowded car the other night
with a very large bundle of papers, and the conductor, with coarse
good-nature, tried to favor him by not taking his fare, although of
course he could not do this without cheating the railway. The boy
looked at him with indignation, and could not believe that he was the
conductor. He went all through the car hunting for the real conductor
to whom he might pay his fare."

"_A scout is loyal_," is the second law. _Loyalty_ is another word
that is dear to the scout. Have you ever heard a scout say bad things
about his scout master or about his fellow scouts behind their backs?
Not very often, I am sure. If a scout has anything to say against any
one, he goes directly to him and talks it over. The Scout Law explains
loyalty saying: "He is loyal to all to whom loyalty is due, his scout
leader, his home and parents and country." He must stick to them
through thick and thin against any one who is their enemy, or whoever
talks badly of them.

Have you ever seen the scouts salute the flag? The smiling faces and
beaming eyes show that they love the flag dearly. Few can sing better
than the scouts, for they mean every word they sing.

The instant our nation entered the great world war the Boy Scouts
offered themselves to their country to do whatever the president
asked. Since most of them were too young to enlist, it was at first
thought that they could not do much. As the months passed, however,
the boys have found one task after another, until now they are so busy
that they put to shame many older people.

Then, too, the Boy Scouts have worked so silently, without making a
fuss about what they were doing. In many of our large cities they have
planted "war gardens" on every vacant lot they could get. In most
cases all they raised in these gardens was given to the Red Cross.
Furthermore, they have been the best friends the farmers have had.
These scouts in large numbers have left their comfortable city homes
to work on farms. They have not asked for the easy, pleasant jobs,
but have been willing to do the thing that needed to be done most
whether it was pleasant or not. Have you ever wondered who put up the
thousands of posters asking the people to save food and buy bonds? In
many cases this work has been done by the scouts.

The Boy Scout has been able to do so much because he is taught to be
brave. The coward has no place among the scouts. The lad who is not
willing to rough it soon drops out. Long hikes, coarse food, and hard
work try the _stuff_ that's in a boy. If he can stand up to all these
he is sure to develop the endurance that makes him brave.

As soon as the war began, the educated young men of our country went
to the officers' training camps to learn to become officers. After
thousands of these young men who had tried to become officers had
failed, the people began to wonder what the trouble was. Finally they
asked the great army officers who had examined them, and received this
answer: "Your young men are slouchy; slouchy in the way they hold
their shoulders, slouchy in the way they walk, slouchy in their use of
the English language, slouchy in the way they think." Should you like
to know how the young men who had once been scouts fared? Almost
without exception they passed, for the training they had received as
scouts had cured them of much of their slouchiness.

A scout is not only brave but he is also courteous and helpful to
others. Nothing delights a scout more than to be able to help a child
or an old man or woman across a busy street. For these little services
he must not receive tips. Major Powell, the great English Scout
organizer, tells of a little fellow who came to his house on an
errand. When offered a tip the lad put up his hand to the salute and
said, "No, thank you, sir, I am a Boy Scout."

About the hardest thing a scout is expected to do is to smile and
whistle under all circumstances. "The punishment for swearing or using
bad language is, for each offense, a mug of cold cold water poured
down the offender's sleeves by the other scouts."

Much more could be written in favor of the Boy Scouts. They are a body
of boys of whom we are proud. And we shall ever be grateful to Ernest
Thompson Seton for his noble work in organizing the Boy Scouts in
America.

                  *       *       *       *       *

                            "_Be Prepared_"




JOHN WANAMAKER


It was a stormy, rainy day in New York City. We wanted to visit some
of the great stores and shops, but were afraid of the bad weather.

Our friends who lived in the city laughed at us. They said: "This is
just the kind of a day to go to Wanamakers. We will take the subway to
the basement door and never be in the wet at all."

So we hurried to the underground railroad that runs beneath the busy
streets, and were soon riding away in a fast express train. On we went
in the darkness, through winding tunnels to the other end of the city.
At last we stopped at a brilliantly lighted platform and were told
that this was our destination. Leaving the train we did not ascend to
the street, but went through great doors into a large room that was as
light as day. Elevators took us up, up, from floor to floor. And what
did we see, I hear you ask. We saw everything one could wish to buy.
We saw everything we had ever dreamed of purchasing. We saw many
beautiful things of which we had never heard, and we felt as if we
were visiting a magic palace.

At noon we ate our lunch in a pleasant restaurant up at the very top
of the enormous building. It was quiet and peaceful, and we were glad
to rest. When we were through, we found an attractive little concert
hall where many persons were listening to a deep-toned organ.

[Illustration: JOHN WANAMAKER (On left)
Great Merchant and Philanthropist]

We were told we were welcome to sit down and hear the sweet music. An
hour passed before we were ready to leave. Then we continued our
sightseeing, and it was late in the afternoon before we were ready to
go home. We returned the same way we had come and when we were once
more far up town in our own familiar street the rain had just stopped.
Then we realized we had been in doors all day long and known nothing
of the storm. It had indeed been just the kind of a day to go to
Wanamakers.

And what is Wanamakers? It is the name of two great stores, one in New
York City and the other in Philadelphia. The owner, John Wanamaker, is
the man who first thought of selling all manner of articles in one
store, and so built what we call today a department store.

No one who knew John Wanamaker when he was a boy thought he had any
better chances than any other boy among his playmates, and no one
foretold that he would become a great merchant.

A plain two story house in Philadelphia was his early home. There he
lived with his father and mother. His father was a brick maker, and
while John was very small he would help his father by turning the
bricks over so they would dry evenly. His father died in 1852. John
was just fourteen, and he went to work in a book store. His wages were
$1.50 a week, but he managed to save a little. His mother encouraged
him and he says of her, "Her smile was a bit of heaven and it never
faded out of her face till her dying day."

Although at first the boy earned but little to help this good mother,
he soon was able to care for her in a way beyond his highest hopes.

What caused him to succeed? His capital! "But," you say, "he had no
money; he was poor." True, his capital was not money. Let us see what
it was. A few words will tell us. He had good health, good habits, a
clean mind, thriftiness, and a tireless devotion to whatever he
thought to be his duty.

He worked hard outside of business hours, improving himself for any
opportunity that might come. And one came when he was twenty-one years
of age.

The directors of the Philadelphia Y. M. C. A. were looking for a young
man to become Secretary of the Association. They were anxious to
secure an earnest energetic person who would make a great success, for
it was the first time that such a position as Y. M. C. A. secretary
had been established. They selected John Wanamaker and paid him $1,000
a year.

He went to work with a will, and everyone felt that he more than
earned his salary. All the time he was saving, just as he had been
doing when he worked in the book store. He had great hopes and plans.
When he had saved $2000 he and a friend of his own age started a
business of their own. Their store was named Oak Hall and they sold
men's clothing. At that time business houses did not advertise in the
newspapers as they do today. Neither were signboards used. Just
imagine how puzzled the good folk of Philadelphia were when, one
morning, they saw great billboards all over their peaceful city. On
these were two letters, W. & B. No one knew what these letters meant.
Everyone was guessing, and it was not until Oak Hall was opened that
the public learned that W. & B. stood for Wanamaker & Brown, the name
of the new firm.

Their first day's business brought in thirty-eight dollars. John
Wanamaker himself delivered the goods in a wheel barrow. Then he
hurried to a newspaper office and spent the entire thirty-eight
dollars for advertising. After reading of the wonderful goods on sale
there, customers poured into Oak Hall. They bought, too, for again
John Wanamaker had spent his money wisely. He had hired the highest
paid clerk in Philadelphia to manage the sales room, which meant that
each customer was waited upon well and went away pleased, ready to
tell his friends about the new store.

What do you suppose was told the oftenest? Probably you would not
guess, because today all business houses have followed the plan that
was used first in Oak Hall.

You will be surprised when you hear that it was the custom of having
one price for a garment and sticking to it that caused the most talk.
This price was marked plainly on a tag attached to the article to be
sold, and any one could see it. Before this, clothing merchants had
not marked their goods, but tried to get as much as possible from a
customer. Often one suit of clothes had a dozen prices on the same
day. So you can see what a change the energetic young man made. He did
more than this. Because he wanted to please the public, he said if any
customer was not satisfied he could return his purchase and receive
his money back. This was a startling idea, but it worked, and made
many friends for the young firm.

Their store waked up Philadelphia. Every week some new advertising
appeared. Once great balloons were sent up from the roof. Stamped on
each one was the statement that any one who found the balloon and
returned it to Oak Hall would receive a suit of clothes. You can
imagine how the people hunted for those balloons. One was found five
months afterward in a cranberry swamp. The frightened farmer who saw
it swaying to and fro thought at first that some strange animal was
hiding there. You may be sure he was glad to hurry to Oak Hall with
his prize and get the promised suit of clothes.

John Wanamaker kept on economizing and saving, for he wanted a bigger
business. Then the idea came to him of selling many kinds of goods
under one roof, and the modern department store was born. The store,
though small at first, gradually grew until it finally became the
largest in Philadelphia. Then it was that he decided to build an even
larger one in New York City.

Today there are department stores throughout our country in every city
and town. We like them and take them as a matter of course. But let us
remember they had their beginning in the idea of this boy from
Philadelphia.

His success looks very great to us, but it was built up step by step.
He says it is due "to thinking, toiling, and trusting in God." This
seems to sum up his life. Besides business, his interest in religious
affairs has always been great. He has given of his wealth to many
noble charities and helpful organizations. In Philadelphia he built a
great building for a Sunday School alone. Thousands of persons attend
this school each Sunday and there are classes there during the week
for those who have had to leave school at an early age. He has
remembered the Y. M. C. A. and, perhaps because of his early work with
it, has been unusually generous in giving buildings to struggling
associations. He even built one in the far away city of Madras, India,
thus stretching out his influence for good nearly around the world.

But while he has had thought for those far away, he has also cared for
the people who work for him. His stores were the first to have an
entire holiday on Saturday during the hot days of summer. This was
done so the men and women could leave the crowded city, if they
wished, on Friday evening, and have a vacation of two full days in the
country or at the seashore.

Then, too, he has encouraged the various departments of the stores to
form clubs and musical societies. At times there have been two bands
in the New York store, one composed of men and the other of women.
They have rooms and hours in which to practice.

Besides playing and singing, some of the clubs study English, foreign
languages, and many other subjects. It is possible for every person
employed in one of the Wanamaker stores to add to his stock of
knowledge through this club life.

Some years ago John Wanamaker began giving a pension to those who had
served him for a certain length of time. This plan has since been
followed by other firms because it promotes faithfulness and interest
in the business.

This interest makes each one connected with the store realize he is a
part of it. Perhaps this is shown best by the way pensioned men and
women responded to Mr. Wanamaker's call in 1917, after so many men had
left to join the army and navy. They went back to take the places of
those who had gone, feeling that in so doing they were serving their
country.

There was one fine old Scotchman past eighty years of age living in
New York who had been forty-four years in the employ of Wanamaker. He
had been on the pension roll for some time and was enjoying old age
quietly. When he heard the call from his former employer, he went down
to work as eagerly as a boy, glad he was strong and sturdy enough to
do his part in keeping the great store open to serve the public.

Is it not a fine thing to be able to develop such spirit and energy
among thousands of persons? Surely the mother of the boy who turned
bricks for his father would rejoice if she could read her son's
record. He has become one of the greatest business men of his day; he
served our country well as Postmaster General but most of all he has
given each year more and more time and money to help make the world
better.

Can we not say of him that, while he has always recognized that the
object of business is to make money in an honorable way, he has tried
to remember that the object of life is to do good?

                  *       *       *       *       *

                    "_And the star-spangled banner
                      In triumph shall wave
                    O'er the land of the free
                      And the home of the brave._"

                              --FRANCIS SCOTT KEY.




[Illustration: EX-PRESIDENT WOODROW WILSON]




WOODROW WILSON


Thomas Woodrow Wilson was born at Staunton, Virginia, December 28,
1856. At that time Staunton was a town of five thousand inhabitants,
situated in the beautiful and famous Valley of Virginia. Woodrow's
father, a thoroughly trained and able preacher, was pastor of the
Southern Presbyterian Church of the city.

When Woodrow was two years of age the family moved to Augusta,
Georgia. In those days Augusta, a city of fifteen thousand people, was
one of the leading manufacturing cities of the South. With its great
railroad shops, furnaces, rolling mills, and cotton mills, it was
indeed a hive of industry.

As a boy Woodrow was called "Tommy" by his playmates; but as he grew
into manhood he dropped his given name and signed himself--Woodrow
Wilson. His mother was a Woodrow, and by signing his name Woodrow
Wilson he hoped to do equal honor to each parent.

During Woodrow's boyhood days, the Civil War storm-cloud was
gathering; and when he was five years of age it broke in all its fury.
Fortunately for him, Augusta was far removed from the scenes of
conflict. Never can he remember having seen troops of southern
soldiers marching through the streets of the city. Only once was he
thoroughly frightened. When General Sherman was on his famous march to
the sea, word came that he was about to capture Augusta. Immediately
the few men who were left in the city, for most of them had gone to
war, gathered all sorts of fire arms and marched forth to meet the
enemy. All night they lay on their arms, but greatly to their relief
the foe never came.

Naturally enough the most vivid memories young Woodrow had of the war
were those in connection with the scarcity of food. Before the war the
people of the South had never thought of eating cow peas, as they were
thought to be fit only for cattle; but so scarce did food become that
Woodrow had to eat so much cow pea soup that even yet, whenever he
thinks of it, he feels the old time disgust.

Two things that happened immediately at the close of the war made a
deep impression upon the lad who was then nine years of age. All
through the war the president of the Southern Confederacy was, as you
know, Jefferson Davis. Imagine young Woodrow's surprise when he saw
the former president marched through the streets of Augusta, a
prisoner of war, guarded by Federal soldiers. They were on their way
to Fortress Monroe. During the war Woodrow, as we have already said,
saw very little of the Confederate soldiers; but as soon as peace was
declared, the Union soldiers took possession of the city, even
occupying his father's church as a temporary barracks. The hardships
suffered during the few years immediately at the close of the war were
even greater than those during the war itself.

A thrilling event in the life of the lad was the day when Augusta had
its first street cars. The bob-tail cars, with their red, purple, and
green lights, and drawn by mules, afforded all sorts of fun for the
boys. To make scissors by laying two pins crosswise on the rail for
the cars to pass over was one of their most pleasant pastimes.

In those days there were no free public schools with their beautiful
buildings for Woodrow to attend, so he was sent to a private school
that was held in rooms over the post office. With Professor Derry, who
was in charge of the school, spanking was the favorite form of
punishment. While Woodrow and his chums differed very decidedly with
the Professor's views regarding spanking, the boys were never able to
convince him that their views were right. Finally, the lads discovered
that pads made from the cotton that grew in the fields on every side
of the city served them well whenever the evil day of punishment
arrived. After they had made this discovery they were more reconciled
to the Professor's views.

The best chum Woodrow had was his father. Busy as he was with the
cares of his large church, he never was so occupied that he could not
find time to chum with his boy. For hours at a time he would read to
his son the worth-while things that Woodrow enjoyed hearing. Then,
too, the busy pastor was in the habit of taking a day off each week to
stroll with Woodrow in field, factory, or wood as the case might be.
On these long strolls the father and son talked over many of the
problems that were of interest to the lad. Little wonder, then, with
such comradeship, that Woodrow rapidly developed along right lines.

Like all boys, he was fond of building air castles. Dwelling much in
the realm of fancy, he imagined that he occupied all sorts of
positions and did remarkable things.

Mr. William Hale in his excellent story of the life of Wilson
describes one of these flights of the imagination as follows: "Thus
for months he was an Admiral of the Navy, and in that character wrote
out daily reports to the Navy Department.

"His main achievement in this capacity was the discovery and
destruction of a nest of pirates in the Southern Pacific Ocean. It
appears that the government, along with all the people of the country,
had been terrified by the mysterious disappearance of ships setting
sail from or expected at our western ports. Vessels would set out with
their precious freight never to be heard from again, swallowed up in
the bosom of an ocean on which no known war raged, no known storm
swept.

"Admiral Wilson was ordered to investigate with his fleet; after an
eventful cruise they overtook, one night, a piratical looking craft
with black hull and rakish rig. Again and again the chase eluded the
Admiral. Finally, the pursuit led the fleet to the neighborhood of an
island uncharted and hitherto unknown. Circumnavigation seemed to
prove it bare and uninhabited, with no visible harbor. There was,
however, a narrow inlet that seemed to end at an abrupt wall of rock a
few fathoms inland. Something, however, finally led the Admiral to
send a boat into this inlet--and it was discovered that it was the
cunningly contrived entrance to a spacious bay; the island really
being a sort of atoll. Here lay the ships of the outlawed enemy and
the dismantled hulls of many of the ships they had captured. And it
may be believed that the brave American tars, under the leadership of
the courageous Admiral, played a truly heroic part in the destruction
of the pirates and the succor of such of their victims as survived."

Thus he dreamed dreams, studied, and chummed with his father until the
eventful day arrived when he must go away to college. But where should
he go? What college should he attend? A small Presbyterian college in
the South was chosen. Before the end of the first year he was taken
sick and had to leave college. Then it was that he decided to go to
Princeton University, a decision that had much to do with his future
career. Life in Princeton proved to be just the stimulus that he
needed. Here, surrounded by the keenest, most alert young men of the
country, he developed rapidly. Interested in every school activity,
from baseball to debating, he won for himself a prominent place in the
student body. So great was his thirst for knowledge, however, that his
graduation from Princeton did not satisfy him. Accordingly, he next
went to the University of Virginia where he was graduated from the
law school in 1881. But even this did not satisfy, so he spent two
years in Johns Hopkins University, receiving in 1885 the degree of
Ph.D., the highest degree that any university can give.

Thus equipped, he became a professor first in Bryn Mawr College, then
in Wesleyan University, and finally in Princeton. So pronounced was
his success as professor in his beloved university that in 1902 he was
made President of Princeton. So able was his leadership in Princeton
that the state of New Jersey called him to be its governor. Could a
University President make a good governor? The politicians were very
much in doubt. It is needless to say that all watched him with deepest
concern. Soon, however, it became apparent even to the most skeptical
that he was destined to be New Jersey's ablest governor. Gradually,
because of his strength, his popularity grew until the eyes of all the
nation were fastened upon him. From the governor's chair he rose to
the highest honor the Nation could bestow, he was elected to the
Presidency of the United States.

Little did he realize when he accepted this honor that with it would
come the heaviest burdens that any president save Abraham Lincoln had
been called upon to bear. For eight long years he patiently bore those
burdens and heroically faced every responsibility. Great as were the
demands made upon him, he always proved himself equal to the
emergency.

The last three years of his service as President found him dealing
with problems of the Great World War, and at its conclusion he was one
of the leading figures in the making of the final treaty of peace
between the warring nations.

To take part in the treaty-making, Mr. Wilson twice went to Paris. It
was the first time a president of the United States had ever traveled
beyond the borders of our own country.

At the expiration of his term of office, Mr. Wilson took up the
practice of law, at Washington.

                  *       *       *       *       *

"_To such a task we dedicate our lives and our fortunes, everything
that we are and everything that we have, with the pride of those who
know that the day has come when America is privileged to spend her
blood and her might for the principles that gave her birth and
happiness and the peace which she has treasured. God helping her, she
can do no other._"

                                     --PRESIDENT WILSON'S WAR MESSAGE.




[Illustration: MARK TWAIN
(Samuel Langhorne Clemens)]




MARK TWAIN


"Talk about trying to cure warts with spunk-water. You got to go all
by yourself, to the middle of the woods, where you know there's a
spunk-water stump, and just as it's midnight you back up against the
stump and jam your hand in it and say:

           "Barley-corn, Barley-corn, Injun meal shorts,
           "Spunk-water, spunk-water, swaller these warts,"

and then walk away quick eleven steps, with your eyes shut and then
turn round three times and walk home without speaking to anybody.
Because if you do speak, the charm's busted.

"I've took off thousands of warts that way, Huck. I play with frogs so
much that I've always got considerable warts. Sometimes I take 'em off
with a bean."

"Yes, a bean's good. I've done that."

"But say, Huck, how do you cure 'em with dead cats?"

By this time, doubtless you are saying, "Oh, I know from what book you
are quoting. I have Tom Sawyer at home and Huckleberry Finn, too. I
read them over and over."

But would you not like to know something about the man, who could
write so understandingly of boys? Suppose we read the story of his
life and see if we can decide what gave him his wide knowledge of
games and adventures, of boyish larks and youthful troubles.

We must go for his earliest experiences to a town on the Mississippi,
one hundred miles from St. Louis. In the year 1839, the Clemens family
moved to Hannibal from a still smaller town in Missouri, named
Florida. The youngest child in the Clemens family was four years old.
He was named Samuel Langhorne Clemens. For eight years this boy roved
over the hills and through the woods with his playmates. There was a
cave near Hannibal. Many strange creatures were said to hide in its
depths. Also, there was Bear Creek where the boys went swimming. Young
Sam tried hard to learn to swim. Several times he was dragged ashore
just in time to save his life, but at last he learned to swim better
than any of his friends.

Then there was the river, the broad Mississippi.

"It was the river that meant more to him than all the rest. Its charm
was permanent. It was the path of adventure, the gateway to the world.
The river with its islands, its great slow moving rafts, its marvelous
steamboats that were like fairyland, and its stately current going to
the sea. How it held him! He would sit by it for hours and dream. He
would venture out on it in a surreptitiously borrowed boat, when he
was barely strong enough to lift an oar out of the water."

We are told that when Sam Clemens was only nine years of age he
managed to board one of the river steamers. He hid under a boat on the
upper deck. After the steamer started he sat watching the shore slip
past. Then came a heavy rain and a wet, shivering, little boy was
found by one of the crew. At the next stop he was put ashore and
relatives, who lived there, took him home, and so ended his first
journey upon the river.

Years later he became a pilot on a Mississippi river boat and made
many trips from New Orleans up the river and back. Such a trip
required thirty-five days.

While acting as a river pilot, Samuel Clemens heard the name, "Mark
Twain." An old riverman had used it as an assumed name, taking the
term from the cry of the boatmen as they tested the depth of the
river. Samuel Clemens had an intense love of joking and fun, so when
he first began to write, he suddenly thought it would be amusing to
sign some name other than his own. Therefore, he signed his articles
"Mark Twain." This name clung to him, and many persons forgot or never
knew that his real name was Samuel Langhorne Clemens.

Accordingly, in the river of his boyhood love, he found the name by
which the world knows today one of the foremost American authors. Yet,
in those early days in Hannibal, he had no idea of writing. Indeed,
his days were so busy it is not likely he thought much of the future
at all. He was the leader of a band of boys that played Bandit, Pirate
and Indian. Sam Clemens was always chief. He led the way to the caves
whose chambers reached far back under the cliffs and even, perhaps,
under the river itself.

When he was a man, Mr. Clemens wrote two books telling of these early
days in Hannibal. "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer" and "Huckleberry
Finn." "Tom Sawyer" was himself, and the incidents in the book all had
their foundation in the days of his boyhood. The cave, as you may
know, plays an important part in the latter story. In "Tom Sawyer,"
Indian Joe dies in the cave. There was an Indian Joe in Hannibal and
while he did not die in the cave, he was lost there for days and was
living on bats when found. This incident made a strong impression on
young Samuel Clemens and he never forgot it. It was in the Clemen's
house that Tom gave the cat pain-killer; there, too, that he induced a
crowd of boys to white-wash the fence all one Saturday morning. It was
at the Clemens' home, too, that a small boy in his night clothes came
tumbling down from an over-hung trellis upon the merry crowd cooling
taffy in the snow.

Such happenings were part of young Sam's life. He lived the
out-of-doors and, when grown to manhood, he could recall all the
sports and pleasures of those days. He cherished the memory of his
boyhood friends and so wrote of "Huck" Finn, making him like Tom
Blakenship, one of the riotous, freedom-loving members of Sam Clemens'
band.

These boys crowded many adventures into a few years. Hannibal was the
scene of stormy times. Black slaves were sold in the open market.
Desperadoes roamed the streets. Lawlessness was everywhere and it was
not strange that the residents of Hannibal did not think Sam Clemens
amounted to much and prophesied that he would never grow up to follow
a respectable calling.

Yet when his father died, Sam went to work in his brother's printing
shop. Printed matter began to interest him. Then one day, in the dusty
street of Hannibal, this half-grown, lively boy picked up a scrap of
paper. A leaf torn from a history! Where did it come from? No one
knows.

Books were not plentiful then in that little town. Yet, on this paper
the fun-loving Sam Clemens read for the first time of Joan of Arc, the
wondrous maid who led the French to victory. He had never heard of
her. He had read no history, nor had he had an active interest in
books. Studying there in the village street, reading the few lines of
the marvelous story of the Maid of Orleans, there was created in him
an interest that went with him throughout life.

He was by turn a printer, a pilot, a pioneer, a soldier, a miner, a
newspaper reporter, a lecturer, but at last he found his true place.
He became a writer and wrote books that continue to delight thousands
upon thousands of readers. His life went into his books. Just as he
drew upon his early days in Hannibal for the material in "Huckleberry
Finn" and The "Adventures of Tom Sawyer," so he used all of his
experiences. He wrote "Life Upon The Mississippi," a record of his
days as a pilot; "Roughing It," a story of a mining camp; "The Jumping
Frog," a western story that made his fame throughout the United
States; "Innocents Abroad," a tale of his experiences abroad, and
"The Life Of Joan Of Arc," a beautiful story that was always the
author's favorite.

During the last years of his life, Mark Twain passed the winters in
Bermuda and there he was, as ever, the friend of children. There was a
pretty, little girl at his hotel named Margaret, who was twelve years
old. She and Mr. Clemens went everywhere together and, on one
excursion, he found a beautiful, little shell. The two halves came
apart in his hand. He gave one of them to Margaret and said, "Now
dear, sometime or other in the future, I shall run across you
somewhere, and it may turn out that it is not you at all, but will be
some girl that only resembles you. I shall be saying to myself, 'I
know that this is Margaret by the look of her, but I don't know for
sure whether this is my Margaret or somebody else's;' but, no matter,
I can soon find out, for I shall take my half shell out of my packet
and say, 'I think you are my Margaret, but I am not certain; if you
are my Margaret you can produce the other half of the shell.'"

After that Margaret played the new game often and she tried to catch
him without his half of the shell, but Mark Twain writes, "I always
defeated that game, wherefore, she came to recognize, at last, that I
was not only old, but very smart."

Mark Twain had lived 74 years when the close of his life here came
April 20, 1910, in Redding, Connecticut. Once he wrote in one of his
humorous moments, "Let us endeavor so to live that when we come to
die even the undertaker will be sorry." When his life here ended,
tributes were received from every land. He was mourned as few men have
ever been. Why? Because he knew people; he loved them and interested
them. Because, in his most famous days he still remained at heart the
boy who played beside the river and loved the surging, restless flow
of the mighty current.




[Illustration: EX-PRESIDENT WARREN G. HARDING]




WARREN G. HARDING


On the Saturday morning after election day in November, 1920, a crowd
of people stood waiting in the railway station in Marion, Ohio. They
were there to say goodbye to President-elect and Mrs. Harding, who
were starting on a vacation journey; for, after the stirring times of
the long campaign, they needed rest.

When the conductor of the train asked Mr. Harding if he should make
fast time, the President-elect replied: "Go slow; I have been going
too fast for the past two weeks."

It was not at all strange that so many should meet to say a fond
farewell, for nearly everyone in Marion seems to like Mr. Harding. As
we asked his fellow townsmen the reason for this affection, we were
surprised that nearly all gave the same reason. They said: "We like
him because he is genuine, frank, fair." "He is generous, considerate,
and knows how to be a good neighbor." Indeed this spirit of
neighborliness was shown clearly during the campaign preceding his
election, when Mr. Harding decided to remain in Marion and meet his
friends on the front porch of his own home. Because of this decision
the Republican campaign of 1920 will long be known as "The Front Porch
Campaign." To this front porch came many thousand men and women from
every section of our broad land to meet Mr. and Mrs. Harding.

Had you been one of these pilgrims, you would have met a man over six
feet tall, with broad shoulders and a deep chest. Though he is not
bald, his hair is exceptionally gray for a man of his age. He has the
rare faculty of making you comfortable in his presence. While, with
his deep blue eyes, he looks you squarely in the face as he talks to
you, his look is so kindly that you feel at ease.

After this brief but delightful interview, you join an expectant
multitude that has assembled on the lawn. Suddenly all eyes turn to
the porch. Here stands Mr. Harding, gracious, dignified, serious.
Breathlessly each awaits his first utterance. With a well modulated
voice he addresses the multitude as he would speak to a group of
friends. Soon you are listening as though he were speaking only to
you. With no tendency to bicker he discusses the problems of
government in a manner that reveals his clearness of vision and
pureness of soul. All too soon the address is ended and the crowd
begins to scatter. As each wends his way, the remark that is most
frequently heard is this: "I like him and I'm sure we can trust him."

Now that you have met him and heard him speak I am sure you will want
to learn more about his life.

On November second, in the year the great Civil War closed, Mr.
Harding was born in Corsica, Ohio. How old, then, is he? Most of his
boyhood days, however, were spent in Caledonia, Ohio, where his father
was the village Doctor. In addition to practicing medicine he owned
the Caledonian Argus, a typical village newspaper.

Since all boys of eleven must have at least a little spending money,
Warren, as Mr. Harding was then called, found that setting type was
his easiest way to earn pin money.

The first year Warren worked on the Argus, the circus came to town and
brought Hi Henry's Band. Warren and another boy helped with unusual
faithfulness and speed that day. They knew the paper had free tickets
for the circus. Of course they would be given tickets. They planned
what a glorious time they would have and, as long as the tickets did
not cost anything, they could spend some of their hard earned money on
side shows and ice cream. Noon came and no one had mentioned the
circus tickets. The afternoon passed slowly; two o'clock, no tickets;
three o'clock, no tickets; four, five, six o'clock, and no mention of
the circus. Two indignant boys held counsel. Then as night fell, they
went to the editor and demanded two tickets as their right. The
tickets were forthcoming and two pleased boys went to the circus.

Perhaps the glories of Hi Henry's Band aroused the citizens of
Caledonia. At any rate a band of fifteen pieces was afterwards
organized there. An old harness maker, who liked to have the boys play
about his shop, was an expert on the valve trombone. He showed his
frequent visitor, Warren Harding, how to play the instrument; then
Warren learned the tenor horn and became a full-fledged member of the
Caledonia Band. Only those of you who have lived in a small town can
know how important the band is. It gives concerts in front of the
court house or on the square. It plays at rallies, picnics, shows, and
leads in parades. So when Warren Harding joined the Caledonia Band, he
felt quite grown up and impressive, perhaps more so than when he was
elected President.

Not until 1882 did Dr. Harding trade his farm and move to Marion. His
son had by that time been graduated from the Ohio Central College.
Like many another young man of those days, he taught a term of school
after leaving college. But he did not plan to remain a teacher. For a
time he thought of the law as a profession, and also made some efforts
to sell insurance. But his early knowledge of a printing office and
the making of a newspaper influenced his tastes and desires.

His father had acquired an interest in the Marion Star, a struggling
Republican paper in the county seat. Warren Harding became the editor.
He had held this office only two weeks when he went to Chicago to the
Republican National Convention hoping to see James G. Blaine nominated
for the Presidency. While he was in Chicago, his father sold the Star
and so upon his return Warren Harding, a Republican, became a reporter
on the Marion Mirror, the Democratic paper.

In those days, the admirers of James G. Blaine wore high, gray felt
hats. Warren Harding wore his when he went about Marion gathering news
for the Democratic paper. Soon this annoyed the editor of the Mirror
and young Harding was told he must stop wearing his "Blaine" hat. He
refused, and so lost his job on the paper.

The night of election day, when Cleveland was elected President,
Warren Harding and two old Caledonia friends decided to buy the Marion
Star. That was the beginning of an ownership that has lasted ever
since. There were plenty of hard days for the young editor but with
prophetic insight he wrote and published in the Star:

"The Star is _not_ going to change hands but is both going to go and
grow."

Friends laugh and joke about the hard struggles of the Marion Star and
the difficulties of the editor to make the paper go. They tell of
times when Editor Harding didn't have money enough to pay the help.
Nevertheless, he made the paper both go and grow, and these hardships
only endeared him the more to the citizens of Marion. In the end he
overcame all difficulties and his fellow citizens felt proud of his
success.

Warren Harding had a strong sense of fairness and justice. When he had
been editor but a short time, he wrote out his newspaper creed. Today,
any reporter, who enters the service of the Marion Star, has given to
him the following rules, which the President of our Country believes
should be followed:


                            NEWSPAPER CREED

  Remember there are two sides to every question. Get them both.

  Be truthful. Get the facts.

  Mistakes are inevitable, but strive for accuracy. I would rather
  have one story exactly right than a hundred half wrong.

  Be decent, be fair, be generous.

  Boost--don't knock.

  There's good in everybody. Bring out the good in everybody and
  never needlessly hurt the feelings of anybody.

  In reporting a political gathering, give the facts, tell the story
  as it is, not as you would like to have it. Treat all parties
  alike.

  If there's any politics to be played we will play it in our
  editorial columns.

  Treat all religious matters reverently.

  If it can possibly be avoided, never bring ignominy to an innocent
  man or child in telling of the misfortunes or misdeeds of a
  relative.

  Don't wait to be asked, but do it without asking, and above all,
  be clean and never let a dirty word or suggestive story get into
  type.

  I want this paper so conducted that it can go into any home
  without destroying the innocence of any child.

                                                     WARREN HARDING.

Thus we see that President Harding has spent most of his life in
newspaper work. Here, as we can readily see, he has gained the
intimate knowledge of people that has made him genuinely human.

But his training for the Presidency by no means stopped here. For
twenty years he has taken an active part in the problems of State and
Nation. When only thirty-five years of age he was elected a member of
the Ohio Legislature. As a member of this body, his efforts were so
successful and so thoroughly appreciated that he was later chosen to
Represent Ohio in the United States Senate. In this strategic position
he did not lose an opportunity to acquaint himself with the complex
problems of National Government. Little did he then realize that all
this knowledge was fitting him to become the Head of the Nation. Such
is the mystery of life.

"A large upstanding man. A man of great virility. A man of undoubted
courage. An honest man, honest with himself and with the public. A man
of good judgment and entire practicality. A generous, kind-hearted,
and thoughtful man. Thoughtful of his subordinates, generous to his
adversaries, and cordial to his equals. A man whose head has not been
turned by the honors thrust upon him. A plain, everyday, practical man
without illusions or visionary ideas. A man that is a supporter of
stable government. A man intensely American in his instinct."




ADDENDA
Note: The following pages are intended for a record of additional
facts concerning the lives of these eminent Americans.




ADDENDA




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End of Project Gutenberg's Modern Americans, by Chester Sanford and Grace Owen