Beers] ate
Ey]
Bellefonte, Pa., October 16, 1908.
IT IS COMMON.
80 are the stars and the srching skies,
So are the smiles in the children's eyes;
Common the life-giving breath of the spring ;
80 are the songs which the wild birds sing—
Blessed be God, they are common.
Common the grass in its glowing green ;
So is the water's glistening sheen ;
Common the springs of love and mirth;
Bo are the holiest gifts of earth.
Common the fragrance of rosy June ;
80 is the generous harvest moon,
So are the towering mighty hills,
So are the twittering, trinkling rills.
So unto all are the promises given,
80 unto all is the hope of heaven ;
Common the rest from the weary strife;
So is the life which is after lifo—
Blessed be God, it is common.
—[Anon.
THE EXECUTORS,
Since the announcamwent of his engage-
ment to Helen Tiask, Wallace Stiliwell
Hamilton, or *"Wallie”” Hamilton as be was
affectionately, and almost universally
known, had become hetle better than a
stranger to his numerous friends in town,
Almost without exception, now, the late
alsernoon found him on his way from his
office to the Grand Central Station, and his
recently acquired knowledge of ‘expresses’
and “locals’’ between Rye and Forty-sec-
ond Street was worehy of the oldest com-
muter. Ou rare occasions he made his
mother very happy by dining with her at
her home in the country aud going over
later to the Trasks, bnt more often he
dined aud spent the evening with Miss
Trask, and on such occasions Mrs. Hamil
ton was rewarded only hy a fleeting glimpse
of her son on bis arrival trom town avd s
hearty kiss just before be turned in for the
night. “Wallie” Hamilton Lad always
been accounted a good rou and now he was
cheerfully admitted vo be the true sype of |
she perfect lover and husband-elect, and |
this, in spite of the fact that he and Helen
Trask had been neighbors and playfellows
as far back as either of them could remem-
ber anything.
Neglestful as he may have been of his
other frienas and acquaintances in town,
Hamilton's engagement seemed only tn
have brooght him the vearer to his most |
intimate friend—Lloyd Druce. The two
had grown up together as boys, gone to the
same New England preparatory school,
graduated at the same university, aod later,
pow more like brothers than friends, had
returned to New York to work as well as
play together. Formerly, when neither of
them bad been dining out, they had gen-
erally spent their evenings together at their
club or more often at the theatre, but now,
on the rare occasions when Hamilton re-
mained in town, the two men dived guiet-
ly at some restaurant and afterward went
to Hamilton's apartment, where they filled
the cosey sitting room with slowly drifting
gray clouds of tobacco smoke and talked a
ittle of the days to come and a great deal
of those that bad gone.
The wedding was hut a week distant, the
details had all been arranged, the gilts, for
the most part, had heen received and ao
knowledged, and for the last time Hamil
ton was spending the night in town asa
hachelor. He and Druce had dined late,
aud now Hamilton was sitting before his
desk in the little study, and bis friend was
stretched out in a deep leather chair before
the open hearth. The two young men had
talked bat listle, aod during a long si-
lence, Hamilton opened a small drawer of
the desk, fumbled among some papers,and
took out a silver key ring from whioh there
was suspended a single key. From the
bunch of keys, which he always carried, he
took another key and twisted it on to the
silver ring. Then he swung his chair
aronnd so that he could see his friend.
“Lloyd,” he said, ‘‘the lease of these
rooms doesn’t run out until May, and I
don’t want to sublet thew. They're no
good for Helen aud me, so I think I will
give yon these duplicate keys. It might
amuse youn to run in here once in a while
to borrow a book or—or just for old-times
sake, and —"’
Druoe looked up and smiled. “Why, of
course, I'd like to, very much.” He held
out his hand and Hamilton tossed him the
keys.
““The larger one,”’ Hamilton said, ‘‘is
for the front door and the little one is for a
drawer here in the desk. It’s the lower
one on the left—you can tell it because it's
the only one that is ever locked.”
Druce dangled the deys from his finger
and looked up at his friend; interrogative-
ly, as if he expected him to go on talkiog,
but for a few moments there was silence,
while Hamilton sat staring ahead of him,
his brow wrinkled and his expression that
of a man who was trying to reach a definite
decision.
““Lloyd.’” he said at last, ‘‘if anything
should bappen to me—oh, I know,” and
he threw up his band hy way of protest—
‘‘of course nothing is going to happen—bat
I say if anything should happen, I wish
you would come bere and let yourself in
and open the drawer that is locked and de-
stroy anything you find there and—and
don’t waste any time about is.”
Druce continued to twirl the key riog
about his finger and then looked up sud-
denly and caught Hamilton's eye.
“Oh, Idon’tknow, Wallie,”” he said,
“16 doesn’t seem good enough to me. If
you've got anything to destroy, why not do
it now ? You -"’
‘You don’t understand,” Hamilton in-
terrupted.
“1 khow [I don’t ovderstand. But I
koow that you, like every other man about
to be married, are starting all over again—
tarning over a new leaf—not that the old
one was damaged, at that. Bat for Heav-
en’s sake, if yon've got any closets with
skeletons in them, now is the time to clean
them ous. At least, that’s what [ think.”
Hamilton nodded and slowly rolled the
end of his cigar hetween his lips.
““That’s the tronhle, Lloyd. That's what
yon shink--that’s pretty much what any
one would think. Skeletons in my closets
—bah ! | never had any skeletous about
me~—I don’t like them, I may have a dec
oration or twe locked up, but no skele-
“What kind of a decoration 2”
“Well, according to my ideas, there are
all kinds of decorations. There are deco-
rations of honor to the person who wins
them as well as to the person who gives
them, and there are decorations that reflect
honor on the person who wears them and
of dishouor on the one who awards them,
and vice versa. Sometimes there 18 no tang-
ible emblem—just a quarter of an hour—
i
where I spent my summers, and he was the
freshest, most uupopular boy io the vil-
lage. He went to Princeton afterward and
learned to race on one of those old-time
high-wheeled bicycles. When he gradu-
ated, he went back to hie native town and
entered the mile bioyole race at the Spring
Fair and licked the life out of all of his old
enemies, He afterwards became mayor of
the town and bred the best race horses in
she country and married a rich woman.
Bat he told me that often when the family
had gone to bed he used to get out the
dinkey medal he won at the Fair grounds
sud sit in front of the fire, and, by looking
into she flames, he could see the boys on
the other bicycles, with their matted hair
and the sweat running down their white
cheeks, and he could see the banks of faces
of tbe crowd on either side of the track and
I knew another man—about the hest cor
poration lawyer here in town today—he
showed me ouce an old revolver that had
been given him as a fee for his first case in
the town ous West where he was boro. His
clients was a murderer and things looked
altogether hopeless, but my friend, the
lawyer, wade a wonderful speech, and the
jury voted for acquittal. The marderer
tad no money, #0 he gave the lawyer the
revolver be bad killed she man with. That
man’s rich and famous now ; bat when he
showed me that old gan, his eyes softened
and he handled it as tenderly asif it bad
been some living thing that
wounded. Whenever he looked as it, he
said thas his mind went back to the liste,
stuffy, crowded court room out West and
the lean,sorrowful looking face of the judge
on the bench sitting ull alone and the line
of the twelve jurymen standing up, and as
the end of the line the moon-faced foreman
grasping the rail in fronts of him and saying
‘vos guilty.’ That was his decoration ; but
what has is to do with the domestic lile of
the present great corporation lawyer? And
yet, that was the best moment of hie life,
that moment now ?"'
abead.”
“Aud then,”
don’t wean, necessarily, pink-and-white,
well-rounded arms
elbow, but arms with verves in them—
nerves that not only go down to the heart
but up to the brain too. Or, suppose a
wowan bad never put ber arms about you,
but had just written you a» line of three
words, ‘I love you,’ and suppose she had
no right to write you that line, and the |
discovery of it would mean her finish, but
in her life,and because she wanted to show
you she trusted you. That's another kind
of d=*aration—of honor or dishonor. which
ever you choose to call it. You can’t for-
get it, and I don’t believe it’s human na
tare to want to destrov the insignia that
went with it, breanse that is always good
for ove real thrill.”
Hamilton got up and walked over to she
fireplace and looked down at his friend.
“I tell you, Lloyd, there are a whole lot
of different kinds of decorations, and pretty
muoh every man has one. Yon can’e al
ways see it because it may be at home in his
desk, or it may he that there was no em-
hlem that went with it ; bat believe me he
knows it’s there—banging on his chest—
pot very far from his heart either.”
Druoe stretched his arms above his head
and blew a long cloud of gray smoke to-
ward the ceiling. **All right,” he said,
“I'll keep the keys, but it’s only because
it's you.”
Hamilton smiled. ‘“‘It’s only becanse
you're you that I gave them to you.”
Five days later, and two days before the
date set for the marriage, a farmer driviog
a vegetable cart to town in the gray light
of the early morning, found what there was
left of Wallace Stillwell Hamilton aud his
racing oar. The accident had taken place
near Rye at the bottom of a steep hill, half
way between the young man’s own home
and thas of the girl he was soon to have mar-
ried. Hamilton was known as an occasion
ally careless, always feariess driver ; the
road had been rather slippery and the ma-
chinery of the car was demolished beyond
the possibility of finding out the condition
of the brakes at the time of the accident—
that is, if it bad occurred to any one to look
at them, which, asa matter of fact, it
probably had not.
Druce retoroed to town after the funeral
more genuinely depressed than he had ever
felt before. Hamilton bad been the hess
pars of his life, and how much this friend.
ship meant to bim, how great was the void
that noone else could fill. had begun to
strike home. He wandered aimlessly into
the club, but whenever he came near, the
men drew long faces, and their words of
sympathy only hurt him the mere ; and
#0 he went out again and walked slowly
along the streets that seemed the least
crowded. It was late in February, but the
air was warm and damp and there was a
heavy mist ; the sidewalks were wet with
melting snow, and the streets and gatters
ran deep in mad and slush. With no heed
as to where he was going, Druce waiked
aimlessly on, occasionally nodding back to
faces that smiled and nodded to him. The
mist turned to a light drizzle and a litsle
later the drizzle to rain, and the warm
drops blowing against his face brooghs
him back to his surroundings. It was
quite dark now and the street lamps were
lit and the sidewalks crowded with men
and women going home from work. Fora
few more blocks be jostled along with the
orowd, and then seemngan empty hansom
pass, he bailed it and gave the driver the
address of the apartment house where he
lived. It was on his way there thas be re-
membered the silver key riog and Hamil-
tons last request and bis friend’s injuno-
tion not to “waste any time abous it.”’ He
found the keys at his rooms and set ous for
Hamilton's apartment at once, because he
knew thas the servaut of his late friend was
almost sore to he away at that bour and on
thia visit he wished to be alone and undis-
turbed. Asa precaution Druce rang the
bell, but as no one answered, he opened
the front door and passed on into the sitting
room. He awitohed on the electric light
aud found thas the shades of the windows
that long, perbape—hut it's the quarter of
an hour tbat means most in your life.
which opened on the street were down and
the curtaine drawn. The air was damp and
tear them curse him as he crossed the line. |
bad been |
with dimples at the |
she wrote it becanse it was the real thing’
What do you suppose he would trade for | glanced about at the things on the desk he
i
i
“I can’t imagine,” Druce said ; ‘go Helen Trask in a ridiog habit and a broad
i
Hamilton continued, | of Hamilton's mother ; the old-fashioned
“‘there is another kind of decoration. Sap- | silver ink-well and the green leather rack
pose a woman —I mean the one woman you ! filled with the familiar note paper.
remember when youn are very ill, or when | the broad blotter there lay a pen, just
you have been in the open and away from | where Hamilton bad left it, and Druce
civilization for a long time. Sappose just | hesitatingly picked it up and then quickly
onge «hie had pus her arms about you—I | put it back just as he had found it.
|
i
i of the de«k.
j
PREVIEWING
> STAND
re. b fink ‘A
Ke 47
eC No
} i " 14
) ol
== 7:
7 ly
a SY lt : \
" [
ay 24\] [80
-
Prom "The Philadelphia Record,” October 5, 1908.
A FOUNDERED WEAKLING FLOAT
heavy with the odor of stale tohaoco smoke,
aud the coal grate was hall filled with gray
cinders. It was evident that the room was
juss as its late master had left it. He clos-
ed the door, and walking very softiy. as if
afraid of distarbiog the loneliness of the
cheerless room, went over to the desk and
sat down hefore is. For a moment he
knew so very well—a small photogiaph of
round sailor bat, and a larger photograph
On
The young man seemed to hecome sud-
denly conscious of the chill in the air, for
the room was very cold, and he at once set
about his task. He tried the little drawers
of the desk until he had found the one that
was locked, and then taking the keys from
his pocket, inserted the smaller one in the
lock. And, as he did so, he heard the
rustle of a portiera opening bebiud him,
followed by a low cry, and tarning he saw
the mother of his friend and Helen Trask
standing in the doorway. Unconsciously
he rose to his feet, and at the same moment
Mrs. Hamilton recognized him and came
toward him.
“Oh, Lloyd,” she said, ‘‘I'm so glad it's
yon. We had no idea any one would be
here.’
Druce put his arm about her, for she had
always heen much like a mother to him,
and led her to a hig arm-chair at the side
“I'm afraid it’s very cold for you,” he
said. “I'll try to start a fire.”
He turned, and as he did so he saw Helen
Trask standing before the desk, her eyes
resting on the key ring dangling from the
locked drawer. For a moment the girl's
face, white and as expressionless as marble
against her broad black veil, remained un-
moved. Turning toward Droce she io-
clined her head very slightly, her colorless
lips moved in words of an unheard greet:
ing, and then her eyes turned back to the
locked drawer.
He went over to the fireplace, but there
was neither coal nor kindling of any kind.
“I'm rorry. Mis. Hamilton,” he said,
““hut I fear a fire is impossible. It’s really
very cold. Do you think you ought to
stay ?"’
“It’s only for a minate. Helen and I
were so terribly lonely out there in the
country that we thought we would come to
town and spend the night with my sister.
And then Helen wauted to come here—we
thought the servant might be in, but the
caretaker says he has not heen hack since
—that is, for several days—and so he opeu-
ed the door for us.”
Helen sat down in the chair before the
desk and sarned her colorless face toward
Dince. There was a certain questioning
look in her eyes, which seemed to ask, even
demund some sort of an explanation. He
walked over to the desk, and taking the
key from the lock, dropped it into his coat
pocket. Then he wens back to his former
stand before the fire.
‘Mrs. Hamilton,” he said, ‘‘I feel that
I ought to tell you why I am here. Some
time ago Wallie told me if anything shounld
ever bappen to him that I should come
here and look for some papers, in a partic-
ular drawer in his desk, and destroy them.
I suppose they were some business papers
—probably notes from people to whom he
had loaved money which he did not wish
ever to have collected. You know how
Wallie was always doing something for
people and pever wanting to have it
known 2”
The mother smiled at him and nodded
her head. ‘Why, of course,’’ she said,
“I've no doubt that’s what it was. Wallie
was #0 good to every one and he never
spoke of his charities even to me.’
Miss Trask was lookingaway from Druce,
her elbows resting on the desk and her chin
between her palms. ‘‘Did you say, Lloyd,”
she asked, ‘‘that it wae long ago that he
told youn this ? Before—before Wallie and
I were engaged, I mean ?"’
“Oh, yes, long before.
or 80 ago.
“I can’t understand that,’’ the girl said
without locking up, ‘‘becanse this is a new
desk; I remember the day he got it; we all
Probably a year
remember. it was not more than a month
or 80 ago ?"’
The older woman looked np questioning-
ly at Helen aud shen at Droce. After all,
what difference could it make now—her
boy wae gone and a few papers more or
less, could not matter vei} much. For
some moments there was silence aod then
it was Druce who spoke.
“You're quite right, Helen,” he said.
“H. the : I
a tL (ova. >
were together.”
The girl turned and looked at him.
came here to supper that night. Don’t you pra
made of all production, of the market de-
mand and of the time is takes to supply
*‘And what are you goiog to do with these
pers?’ she asked.
“Destroy them—ol course,” he said.
“Unopened ?"’
‘*Naturally—unopened.”
For a moment the girl closed her eyes
and brushed her forehead with the hack of
her gloved hand.
“I'm afraid.” she said, ‘‘I don’t quite
noderstacd Why should he ask you to
dextroy these papers? Why should youn
try to deceive me about them !"’
Druce clasped his hands behind his back
and looked she girl evenly in the eyes.
“I don’s know that they are papers. All
I know is that he asked me to destroy
something in that drawer. Iam simply
trying to carry ont the last request of a
friend. I do not believe that the papers, if
they are papers, are of any great value to
any one except to the man who left them.”
“Value I" the girl .repeated. ‘‘Has a
name no valae, has a memory no value?
Wallie Hamilton gave his life to me—and
I gave mine to him—and now all I bave
left is that memory. I believed that it was
a life without blame, and that there was
no seores he held from me, and yet you
would destroy that memory? Iam to go
back to my grie! with that suspicion al-
ways before me® Do yon think that it is
fair to throw up this barrier between his
memory and my love for him, which is the
most real thing in my life? You claim
the rights of a friend —1 claim the rights of
the life that he gave to me.”
‘*Helen,”’ Druce said, ‘youn are making
it very hard for me. I only want to do
my duty as I see it.”
The girl rose from her seat at the desk,
and going over to Mrs. Hamilton, sat at
her feet and rested her head against her
knee. The older woman gently brushed a
loose strand of hair from the girl's eves.
**T was his mother,’’ she said, *‘his blood
was my blood, and I am his legal executor.
He wae, I think, the best son a mother ever
bad, and yet 20 mother could know all her
son's lite. My child, you are very young
in the ways of the world and you are very
tired, and you have suffered a great deal— |
more, I hope, than you will ever suffer
again. [I think you had better les me take
you home.”
The gir! buried her head in the older
woman’e lap and cried softly to herself.
Druce turned away, and, resting his
hands before him on the shelf over the fire-
place, looked down on the cinders in the
cold grate. For the first time he saw rest-
10g on the gray coals the obharred remnants
of a piece of paper—the fragile, twisted
form in ashes of a burned letter—a breath
would bave blown it into a thousand flakes.
He went over to where the girl knelt and
touched her gently on the shoulder. “Very
well, Helen,” he said, *'I think it is better
that you should bave your way. Youn will
probably find that the drawer is empty—
be bad no secret from youn. Wallie always
loved a joke.”
He took the keys from his pocket and
ressed them into the girl’s band. Then
e bowed to the two women and went out
and left them to their empty legacy.
When he bad reached the street he stop-
ped to look up at she familiar windows.
Ou how many nights daring the past years,
on his wav home had he glanced up at the
same windows to see if the lights were stiil
burning.
‘Poor dear old Wallie,”” he said half
aloud, still looking up at the dark, forbid-
ding honse front. ‘‘Poorold Wallie—I did
the best I conld for you. And now that
it’s ali over, [ wonder who is the proper
exeoutor for a man’s <ecret !"’—Byv Charles
Belmont Davis, in Scribner's Magazine.
The path of motherhood is a thorny one
to many women. They have barely vital-
ity enough for themselves, and the claims
of another life on the mother’s strength
reduces them to a pitiable condition of
weakness aud misery. Prospective moth-
ers will find in Dr. Pierce's Favorite Pre.
scription a “God send to women.” To
quote the closing paragraph of a letter
from Mrs. T. A. Ragan, of Morris, Wa-
t-uga Co, N. C.:
“I cannot tell hall that Dr. Pierce's
medicine has done for me. [am well and
hearty, can sleep at night, and do a good
day's work without feeling tired. ‘Favor-
ite Prescription’ will do all that is claimed
for it—prevent miscarriage and render
childbirth easy. I cannot say too much in
iee of it. I think it is worth its weighs
in gold. I thank God for wy life and Dr.
Pierce for my health.”
Thousands of other women support the
Yeaimony of Mi. Route, wom
sizing Hmm Up,
“1 believe I can truthfully say,’’ re-
marked the sell complacent man, ‘that I
have , only one fauit, and that's a small
one.
“Yes,” replied the candid man. “That's
just like the hole in a nickel. It may bea
small bole, but it makes the nickel no
good.""—Philadelphia Press.
that demand. Theo the value of a com-
modity can be measured by social—labor—
time, and labor receive ite juss share.
Karl Marx was born in 1818. In 1847,
in company with his life-long friend, Fred-
erick Engels, he published a manifesto of
the Communist party, which tells the
workingmen that their interests are the
same in all nations ; that they bave noth-
ing to lose and everything to gain by etand-
ing together, and ends with the words,
“Workers of the world unite.”
In 1848 Marx was bamshed from Ger-
many, and with his family spent the re.
mainder of his life an exile, in London.
In 1864 he founded The International
Workingmen’s Association. This and his
hook entitled ‘‘Capital,’’ are his great con-
tributions to socialism.
Capital bas been called the Bible of the
| Soeialists and as professor Ely says, ‘It de-
| fends their docirines wich nouteness of un-
| derstauding and profandity of learning,
| and certainly ranks among the ahlest polit-
| io-economic treatises ever written.”
Marx's name is associated with swo great
| doctrines, of which he gave clear expres-
| sion, although they bad been in the minds
| of some of his predecessors. They are call-
{ed Sarplus-valne and the Materialistio
Conception of History.
By Sarplus-value Marx means the differ.
ence hetween the cost of the production of
a commodity and the market value. This
is represented by profit, rent and interest,
and goes to those holding in their private
possession the means of production—Iland,
factories, railroads, eto.
Marx's statements of the second doctrine
is, ‘“In every historical epoch the prevail-
ing mode of economie production and ex-
change, and the social organization neces-
sarily following from is, form the basis
upon whoich is boilt up aud from which
alone can be explained the political and
intellectual history of that epoch.” That
is, that onr development ix shaped hy the
way in which we carry on the production
and dissribution of the things by which we
live.
The only point at which Marx is cousid-
ered vulnerable, is in his definition of val-
ue. That 1s that the value of 8 commodi-
ty is measured by the amount of social la-
bor necessary for its production. This is
not orginal with Marx. Both Ricardo and
Robertns bad declared labor the sole meas-
ure of value. Is was not until the political
economists aw to what logical conclusions
this led, how it struck as the very founda-
tion of capitalism, that they turned their
minds 10 weaving new definitions for val-
ue. These involve vo much p<ychology and
| metaphysics that they are unintelligible to
the average mind.
The efforts of these rupporcters of capital.
ism remind one of those learned schoolmen,
who, after Abelard bad stormed their
stronghold, rushed to the defense of the
mother charch and spent much time in
computing how many sogels could stand
on she point of a needle,
Marx also pointed ont how a sorpiue-
lahor population was necessary for capital-
ism. After a crises, when » large number
of laborers are thrown npon the commuuni-
ty, the employers are in no way responsi-
ble for their support. This has to be horn
hy the society at large, unti! the employ-
ers are ready to start again. There heing
then so great uw demand for work, wages
are low and production can be carried on
at less cost to the employers. The aim of
socialist 18 to establish a social system in
which the interest of the individual will be
for the interest of all Capitalism has di-
vided society into two hostile camps where
the advantage of ove is to the disadvantage
of the other.
Profound as was the learning of Rober-
tans, and painstaking and logical as was
that of Marx, there was needed a man of
different type from either, to call into be-
ing the Social Democratic Party of Ger-
many. This was done hy Ferdinand Las-
salle. He clothed the thoughts of Marx
aud Robertas in harning words, which at
Inst moved the minds of the German work-
ing-men and in 1863 social Democracy took
ite rise in a politioa! party called she *‘Uni-
versal German Laborer’s Union.”
Lasalle wae killed in a duel in 1864, at
the age of thirty-nine, but his work was
carried on, at first, hy his friends, and
later under von Schweitzer, the Union be-
came strong and compact. In 1875 this
Union together with the ‘German Labor-
ers’ Unions’ fored the ‘Social Demoorat-
io Labor Party,” under the leadership of
Liebkneoht and Bebel,
The introduction of universal soffrage,
by the North German confederation in
1867, and by the German Empire in 1871,
enabled the Social Democrats to enter poli-
ios.
In 1867 they had eight members in the
parliament of the German Confederation,
and in 1871, two in she Reichstag of the
Empire, with a popular vote of 101,000.
In 1898 they had increased their members
in the Reichstag to 56, with a total vote of
2,000,000. In 1903 their total vote was
3,010.000 and their members in the Reich
stag 81. In 1907 she socialist voice was
3,251,000, that is, an increase of 241,000
votes, but their membership fell to 43.
This was because of the fact thas the whole
conservative vote wae consolidated against
them and because of the inequitable appor-
sionment of votes. Although the Socialists
polled more than one-fourth of ‘the votes of
the Empire, they have less than one ninth
“of the members of the Reichstag. The die-
triots in whioh the socialist vote is greatest
have the least representation. In propor-
tion to their vote, the Socialists should
have 110 members in the Reichstag.
Of the two original leaders of the Social
Democrats, Bebel is still liviog and bas the
distinction of being the first German Arti-
san in the Imperial Parliament.
ELIZABETH M. BLANCHARD.
The History of Socialism in Germany.
To the Editor of the Democratic Watchman :
Speaking of Germau socialism, professor
Ely says: “One of its leading oharacter-
istios is its thoroughly scieutific spirit.
Sentimentalsm is bavished, and a founda.
tion sought in hard, relentless laws, resolt-
ing necessarily from the physiological, psy-
chological and sucial constitution of man
and his physical euviroument * * *¥
Coldly, passionlessly, laws regulating
wages and value are developed, which
show that in our present economic society
the poverty of laborers and their robbery
by capitalists are as inevitable facts as the
motions of the planets. Histories, bine
books and statistical journals are searched,
aud facts are piled on facts mountain-high,
to sustain every separate and individual
proposition. Mathematica! demonstiations
as logical as problems in Eunchid take the
place of fine periods, perorations and ap-
peals to the Deity. Political economy is
nos rejected, but in its strictest and moss
orthodoxy form becomes the very corner.
stone of the new social structure. No
writer 18 valoed wo bighly as Richards,
who, in political economy, was the strictest
of the strict, a Pharises of the Pharisees,
Euglish political economy is developed to
its logical and consicie* conclusion with
wonderful learning and skill." ,
There were in Germany three men whose
influence has so far exceeded those who
went before and those who came alter, that
they can be taken as representatives of so-
cialism, not only in their own conutry but
throughout the world. These three men
are Robertns. Marx and Lasalle. Karl
Kobertas lived from 1805 to 1875. He was
known and honored for his character and
learning.
Robertus found two chief evils in the
economic life, and considered these the
cause of most of theothers. These evils
| are pauperism and finavcial crises. He far-
| ther declared that panperism and crises re-
sult from one and the same circumstavce,
{ viz: “That when econowio processes are
lefs to themselves in respect to the distri
bation of goods, certain relatinus, connect:
| ed with the development of society, bring
| it about that as the productivity of social
| labor increases, the wages of the laboring
| classes constitute an ever-deoreasiog por-
i tion of the national product.” Robertus
does not mean that the wages ol the labor-
ers necessarily become less, bat that real
wages- that is, wages measured by what
they will buy —decrease relatively to the
increase of the productivity of social labor.
Society, from the economic point of view
is divided into laborers, capitalists and
landlords. This is because of the division
of labor and because laborers produce more
than they consume. Landlords receive
rent ; capitalists, profits and interess, in
either case, an income derived from private
possession and not from labor. Land and
capital constitute the instruments of labor
and their possessors can refuse their use,
by the laborers, anless a share of she pro-
duct is guaranteed. The laborers are de-
pendent on she instraments of production.
They are being harled together by their
ever increasing numbers, avd, at the same
time by their displacement through wa-
chinery, 80 that lahor is treated as a com
modity to he bought and sold in the mar-
ket. Its value depends on its cost—that
is, the cost of enabling the laborer to live
and support a family. Now labor prodaoces
more than it consnmes but Rohertus proves
“from the income returns in England since
1800 and from the divieion of she national
product of England into rent, wages and
profits, that the increased production of
machine power, estimated as equal to the
Iasbor of five hundred and fifty millions of
men, has benefitted wholly and entirely
landlords and capitalists.”
Poverty is relative. It is uot what a
man has, but what relation his possessions
hold to those about him, that causes his
discontent. It is therefore the relative de-
crease of labor's share in our increased pio-
ductivity, which Xobertus claims to be the
cause of pauperism. Crises also he proves,
resuls from the same cause.
The products of labor are the necessities,
the comforts and the luxuries of life.
When the supply of these fall short of the
demand, capital uses its wealth to build
new factories, railroads, eto. Pro iunotion
ivoreases while labor's relative share di-
miniehes, and as the laborers have no:
enough to buy back all that they have pro-
duced, and the capitalists cannot consome
more thao a certain amount of necessities
and do not care for more comforts aud lux-
uries, the demand diminishes, the market
is stocked with undesirable merobaudise
and the crash comes, We witness then
the great anomaly —that, at the first time
in the world’s history, when itis possible
to prodace enough to keep all in comfort,
we have our barns and store-houses full,
while an army of Hungry Jeople are ask-
ing, not for alms, but for . Eqailib.
rium is pot again restored until these glut-
There are people who still earry a potato
or a horse chestout in the pocket as a
oharm against rheumatism. Bus for the
most pars men and women have been edu-
caced to helieve in the scientific fact that
rheumatism is a blood disease and must be
cured through the blood. The many cures
of rheamat credited to Dr. Pierce's
Golden Medical Discovery are due to the
fact thas it is probably the greatest hlood
medicine of she age. It cleanses the blood
from contaminating impurities, increases
the blood supply by increasing the activity
of the blood-making glands, avd pours
through vein and artery a supply of rich,
pure blood, which is like a river of health
to the diseased body.
ted markets have been consumed by t