Demorraiic atc
Bellefonte, Pa., December 5, 1920.
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SUCCESS.
Its doing your job the best you can
And being just to your fellow-man;
It’s making money, but holding friends,
And staying true to your aims and ends;
It’s figuring how and learning why,
And looking forward and thinking high,
And dreaming a little and doing much;
It’s keeping always in closest touch
With what is finest in word and deed;
It’s being thorough, yet making speed;
It’s daring blithely the field of chance
‘While making your work a brave romance;
It’s going onward despite defeat
And fighting stanchly, but keeping sweet ;
It’s being clean and it’s playing fair;
It’s laughing lightly at Dame Despair;
It’s looking up at the stars above,
And drinking deeply of life and love;
It’s struggling on with the will to win,
But taking loss with a cheerful grin;
It’s sharing sorrow, and work and mirth,
And making better this dear old earth;
It’s serving, striving through strain and
stress,
It’s doing your noblest—that’s Success.
AN ALTAR ON LITTLE THUNDER.
The toy-like, narrow-gauge railroad
—Blue Ride & Western by name—-
meanders lazily across blue-grass pas-
ture-lands for some eighty miles, and
then makes a sudden dash up Appa-
lachia’s instep to Pardeeville, after
further progress is barred by a lofty,
semi-circular escarpment of moun-
tain-side.
Up this grade, late one summer
afternoon, a quaint little wood-burn-
ing locomotive with a mushroom stack
dragged its train of two diminutive
coaches, taking a fresh grip every few
rods, as it were, like a terrier tugging
at a door-mat, until at last, all hot
and panting, it drew alongside th2
shabby station.
A solitary passenger appeared and
swung himself down and out from the
steps, with a quick, peculiar motion,
as if the train were a tricky horse
whose heels and teeth were dangerous.
He lifted his light blue eyes at once
to a hoary, lightning-riven pine far,
far above, gazed fixedly for a moment,
and swallowed convulsively. Then,
as if remembering himself, he shot a
suspicious glance about.
No one else was in sight except a
lean man whose battered cap still re-
tained a tinge of official blue, and this
man nodded civilly. The young trav-
eler’s coarse, square-toed shoes, cheap
gray suit, and broad-brimmed hat—
all harshly new—were familiar to the
station agent. Once or twice a year
a mountaineer, in an outfit tallying
exactly with this one, would step off
the train and look about him in a daz-
ed, half-frightened manner. And
though the train always drew in at
supper-time, when a cheery light
shone from the chintzed windows of
the Henry Clay House, just across the
street, and the aroma of sugar-cured
ham or fried chicken floated invitingly
over to the station, the agent had nev-
er known one of these men to tarry
for a meal, much less a bed.
The call of the highlands was too
strong. So, after getting their bear-
ings, like a cat dropped by a strange
roadside, they always struck up the
narrow, winding trail, at a gait whose
easy swing disguised its swiftness.
And being 2 tactful man, the agent
never showed any undue interest—for
these brogans and shoddy clothes
were the Commonwealth’s parting gift
to its discharged convicts. :
Ash Whipple proved no exception
to the rule; he made straight for the
steep inlet, and his pace was such that
dawn found him thirty miles from
Pardeeville. He was tired. His new
shoes had chafed his feet. His break-
fast, after no supper, consisted only
of a handful of blackberries and a
draught of icy water. But the drink
was sweeter to him than mulled wine,
and he was happy, for his home was
only ten miles ahead. :
He was very shy, however, of his
clothes, and was ready to plunge into
the thicket at sight or sound of a fel-
low-being. But at this early hour he
met no one, and he presently fell to
watching, with the keenness of a boy,
for certain memorable objects along
the road—the skeleton oak from which
he had once dropped an eagle at two
hundred yards, the pool by which he
had trapped nine otters in one season,
Rizpah church, where he had first be-
come conscious of his love for Nance,
and the little God’s acre in which his
parents slept their last long sleep.
But it was the “Bald” of Little
Thunder upon which his glistening
eyes rested oftenest. Never in all his
life, until he had ridden away with
the sheriff’s irons upon his wrists, had
there been a day when he had not lift-
ed his eyes to this commanding land-
mark, rooted in the unshakable bosom
of earth, yet as changeable as the
smile of a coquette, now quivering
from heat, now murky with cloud-
stuff, dazzling white under its winter
mantle, or wreathed with vapor like
a smoking crater.
He had passed the graveyard, when,
as if struck by a thought, he turned
back, climbed the rail fence, and wan-
dered among the graves, stooping
here and there to scrutinize a lowly
headstone. Finally, as if finding what
he wanted, he paused beside a mound
marked only with a board and evi-
dently comparatively new, for the
brambles and bittersweet had not yet
smothered it in their thorny embrace.
“Tim, yo're thar and I'm hyer,” he
soliloquized aloud respectfully doffing
his hat. “A second’s dif’rence on the
trigger, and I'd be lookin’ up and you
lookin’ down. Don’t know as you got
much the wust of it, arfter all. Be
retty sure you didn’t, if it wa’'n’t fer
Rae and the boy. As it is, more’n
once I've wished I war in your place.
Be there in a few years at the most,
anyhow. You know it warn't my
fault, Tim. You know who picked the
quall. You war always fair and
aboveboard, and if your sperit could
have gone on the witness-stand, the
jury’d never sent me to the pen-ten-
chy, fer they give a recommendation
of mercy as it war. You'd ‘a’ told
‘em Rufe Couch lied. I wish you
could speak now and tell the mountain
how it war, fer I'm afraid some of
’em air goin’ to hold your takin’-off
agin me.’
He replaced his hat and slowly re-
tired. Once outside the inclosure,
however, he all but ran in his eager-
ness, with his pulse pounding in his
ear. But when he reached the last
turn in the road which hid his cabin
from view he adroitly halted, tremb-
ling, and with a sudden weakness in
his legs. For the first time it occur:
red to him that he might not find
things as he had left them—that fire
or pestilence, disease or death, in their
stalking to and fro over the face of
the earth, might have crossed his own
threshold and laid their spectral hands
upon his loved ones. During his two
years’ absence he had received no ti-
dings from them, nor had expected
any, for neither he nor Nance could
write. :
Fearing the worst, therefore, he did
not start at the cabin’s closed door,
the rank weeds which hedged about
the limestone doorstep, the absence of
dogs and chickens. Mechanically he
oi the latch-string and entered.
A smothery closeness pinched his nos-
trils like invisible fingers. The bed in
the corner had the sunken appearance
of long disuse. No firewood littered
the inglenook. The basswood bin
contained no meal, no bacon hung
from the rafters, no remnant of food
was anywhere. :
Ash returned to the roadside and
sat down on a stump, with dazed
eyes. Presently a barefooted boy car-
rying a fish pole trudged by, whist-
ling—a boy whom Ash had never
seen.
“Bub,” said he, in a husky voice,
“kin you tell me where Mrs. Whipple
air at?”
The boy stared as if amazed. “Why,
stranger, she air gone to live with
her pap, over on Haws Run. Her
husbunt’s in the pen’tenchy fer killin’
Tim Wildwith. Good thing, too, pap
says, and hopes he'll die thar. What
mought your name be?”
“It mought be Andy Jackson, but it
ain’t,” answered Ash, with a wan
smile. “Obleeged, though, bub.”
When the boy had passed out of
sight Ash re-entered the cabin and
put on his old suit of “butternuts,”
boots, and gray wool hat. Lifting a
loose puncheon in the floor, he stuffed
the hated clothes which he had just
removed through the cpening. Then
he took his rifle from its pegs above
the mantel, dropped a handful of car-
tridges into his pocket, thrust a spy-
glass into another pocket, and, after
scanning the road, slipped round to
the rear of his cabin.
Next to seeing his wife and babe,
his mind during the last days of his
imprisonment had dwelt on the pleas-
ure of dropping into Cube Acre's
smithy at the hamlet of Paint Rock
and shaking hands with the “boys.”
Cube’s place was a social clearing-
house for the men of upper Little
Thunder. Nestling beneath a huge
chinkapin oak, its cool, dark interior
and compacted cinder floor were pecu-
liarly inviting on a hot day. The an-
vil music possessed a timber which
stirred the hardy denizens of these
granite girders of the earth; and the
showers of sparks, the cherry-red
iron, the thud of sledge were so true,
so genuine, so elemental that the
smithy was even more popular than
the doggery across the road, where a
barmel of whiskey was always on tap.
““But the barefooted boy’s uncon-
scious thrust had touched the quick
with Ash, and though he still felt sure
of the loyalty of the habitues of the
smithy, several of whom had laid out
bread and coffee for him when he was
hiding from the sheriff’s posse, his en-
thusiasm over meeting them was chill-
ed. Again, while Nance’s return to
her parental home, after the depriva-
tion of her husband, was a perfectly
natural thing, the news of it had
somehow jarred Ash. It had obliter-
ated by one rude stroke that picture
of his home-coming which his fancy
had lovingly retouched day after day;
it was the first clash between dream
and reality.
The root of his chagrin, doubtless,
was the fact that Jethro Haws,
Nance’s father, was no friend of his.
Jethro had opposed his marriage, had
extended no helping hand in his sub-
sequent struggle with poverty, and
a stood aloof when Ash fell into the
talons of the law. These facts were
public knowledge, and an instinctive
sense of propriety prompted Ash to
rchabilitate his domestic relations. be-
fore seeking readmission to the circle
of his friends.
He set off at once for Haws Run,
and, deciding to keep his return a se-
cret for the present, he struck into the
pathless forest which walled about the
tiny clearing. Amid the trunks of
the mighty liriodendrons, or “yellow
poplars,” he was as insignificant an
object as an ant in a timothy meadow.
Yet he laid a course as straight as a
crow’s flight except where he swerved
to avoid the presence of man.
Just one habitation he did not avoid,
and that, curiously enough, belonged
to Rufus Couch, the man whose testi-
mony had sent him to the penitentia-
ry. Rufe’s farm lay in a little emer-
ald pocket which fairly bulged with
the fat leachings from higher
ground, and was the best on Little
Thunder. “Best” was applicable to
most of Rufe’s possessions. He was,
in Little Thunder’s rating, a commer-
cial genius. He kept a store, bought
hides and pelts, ground sorghum,
owned a grist-mill and a saw-mill, op-
erated charcoal-ovens, and turpentine-
stills. That he profited from stills of
a less innocent nature was an open se-
cret, though “moonshining” is a topic
which mountain etiquette wisely in-
terdicts. :
Yet, at the age of forty, when a fair
share of Appalachian men are grand-
fathers, Rufe was still unmarried.
Once he had gone a-wooing, it is true;
but when the maid was all but won a
man fifteen years his junior had dash-
ed into the lists and borne off the fair
prize. That man was Ash Whipple,
and it was with a distinctly pleasing
recollection of this feat that he stalk-
ed cautiously toward a point which
would afford him a view of Couch’s
cabin.
An instant later an ejaculation fell
from his lips. Instead of a cabin
there was projected against his vision
a two-story, weather-boarded house,
with an ell in the rear and a veranda
across the front, all painted a glisten-
ing white in the morning sun. It was
such a house as Ash had never seen
until his enforced journey to the low-
lands, and its presence here in the
mountain might almost have been ac-
credited to the magic of a jinee.
“And him a bachelor,” murmured
Ash, “with no woman to tidy up or set
before the fire and knit a baby’s sock.”
And as he—who had a wife to sit
before the fire—thought of his own |
humble abode, a sense of the unequal
distribution of the gifts of the gods!
set his lips in a line as straight and
hard as a joint of masonry. For this
pet of Fortune was a hard man, as
Ash saw him, a usurer, an exacter of
the last penny; and it was his smug,
unctuous testimony, whether true or
false, which had tilted the scales
against Ash. For this act the young
convict had registered a vow—and
registered it again and again, night
after night, in lieu of a prayer—that | 1
his first act of freedom should be the
converting of Rufe Couch’s plump
body into buzzard’s meat.
But this tigerish thirst for ven-
geance had passed. One Sunday after-
noon, after a long talk with the pris-
on chaplain, it had dawned upon him
that there might be better things in
this world than revenge, that love was
better than hate, and peace than war.
And one night, not long after, he
promised himself and God—it was his
first prayer—that he would not injure
the man who had so grievously injur-
ed him. Recalling this promise now,
he turned his back upon the new
house as upon a temptation, and went
his way.
He desired to speak first to Nance,
if possible, without the knowledge of
her family; so he approached the
Hawses’ big double cabin in true
mountaineer fashion, dropping down
from above, along the precipitous side
of a peak known as Ellen’s Needle.
He soon discovered that something
unusual was going on below. The
fence was fringed with saddle-horses
and the roadside packed with vehicles.
For a moment his throat tightened—
it might be a funeral! If so—
But sliding down two or three hun-
dred feet farther, with perilous haste,
to where he could hear voices, he per-
ceived that the gathering was of a fes-
tal character. He then remembered
that this was Nance’s birthday—her
twenty-second. He came empty-hand-
ed, he reflected with a pang; yet, after
all, what better gift could he bring
her than himself? For a moment he
was tempted boldly to invade the
company and claim his rightful place
in the celebration. But pride and shy-
ness restrained him, and again coun-
seled him to reveal himself first to his
wife alone. :
So all day long, without bite or sup,
he lay in a bit of thicket, like a hare
in its form, harking for the attenuat-
ed sounds of merriment which floated
up from below. Now he watched the
guests playing their games, mere
pawns on a chess-board they appear-
ed, from this height; now he lay on
his back with his face turned up to the
fleecy cloud-drift, his mind also drift-
ing, from present to past, from past
to future, from his wild, free boyhood
to his courtship and marriage, from
his trailing a plow through his lean
acres, awaiting Nance’s call to dinner,
to his breaking rock within the pris-
on stockade.
Toward sunset, when the guests be-
gan to straggle away, he moved still
iarther down the declivity and took
up a position on the brim of a little
cuplike glen from which there issued
a spring that served the Hawses for
both well and refrigerator. It was an
idyllic spot, cool, sequestered, and
dusky with leaf-filtered light. Here if
anywhere Ash would find Nance alone.
She had always loved the place; loved
kneeling on the edge of the pool, to
gaze at her reflected image, to scoop
up the water in her palms and dash
it upon her face, to sit and listen to
the wild cascade of music from the
throat of the water-thrush which
every year nested in the crevice of the
rocks.
For Nance was not like other moun-
tain girls. Though full of fun and as
daring as a boy, she liked to steal off
with only the pines and the sighing
zephyrs for company, to search out
the haunts of the ghostly Indian-pipe
and quaint lady’s-slipper. Hence it
was regarded as a seven-days’ wonder
on the mountain when she married
wild Ash Whipple.
At last, with a quickened pulse, he
saw her leave the house with a bucket
in one hand and a child, who could be
no other than his own little Judah,
marvelously grown, clinging to the
other. But she had proceeded only a
little way when she was overtaken by
a tall, broad-shouldered fellow, heav-
ier than the run of mountaineers,
but brisk of foot, chesty, with no
stoop, and adorned with hair and
beard conspicuously black and glossy.
This man was Rufus Couch.
He relieved Nance of her bucket and
filled it at the spring, after which the
pair seated themselves on a slab of
stone scarcely forty feet from the
clump of witch-hazel in which Whip-
ple lay.
“Well, Nance,” began Couch, in his
soft voice, “tween you and me, ain’t
you about ready to name the day?”
She did not return his smile or al-
low him to catch her eye, but lifted
the child into her lap and folded her
arms about him. Her face was grave,
and her dark eyes, usually so animat-
ed, were lack-luster and weary.
“Rufe, I ain’t no more ready, so far
as that goes, than I was the day you
asked me to marry you. Don’t seem
as if I’d ever be ready, in any proper
way. I've only waited two years fer
him. He’d wait longer than that fer
me.”
“Mebbe yes and mebbe no,” ans-
wered Couch, with an owlish tilt of his
head and popping into his mouth one
of the peppermint-drops which he ha-
bitually used in lieu of whiskey or to-
bacco. “If I remember right, he give
you twenty-four hours to choose be-
tween me and him, and everybody
knowed Sis Elkins war the other gell
he had in mind.”
“That was fore he married me,”
answered Nance, listlessly. “He
wouldn’t be so brash to call time on
me now. A wife is more’n a sweet-
heart. Livin’ with a woman fer two
years air different from just co’tin
her.”
“Mebbe yes and mebbe no. ‘Sides,
tain’t a question of how long you've
waited. Question is, how much long-
er have you got to wait? As I've told
you more’n once, Squire Galum says
that under the new law you never
know when a feller is a-goin’ to git
out of the pen’tenchy. The jedge
don’t sentence fer no specified ‘time.
He gives what they call an in’termin-
ate sentence, which means, I reckon,
among other things, a good while.
Anyhow, a feller’s gittin’ out depends
on his behavior and the Board of Par-
dings. Now Ash might stay fourteen
years, Squire says. That’s the limit
fer manslaughter. I ain’t sayin’ he
will, ner I ain’t hopin’ he will. But
you and me know that Ash ain’t over-
ly patient when he’s crossed, and a
man in the pen’tenchy, they tell me,
air crossed at every turn. Part of the
punishment, I s’pose. They don’t al-
low he shell be happy, or too many of
’em would git to boardin’ on the State,
free gratis fer nothin.”
“Would you?” asked Nance, quiet-
y.
“No,” he admitted.
She blinked rapidly without quite
restraining her tears, and Couch, per-
ceiving his tactical error, burrowed in-
to his whiskers with thumb and fore-
finger, and pressed them back along
the sides of his jaw, outlining a chin
as sharp as a fox’s muzzle instead of
the square one which would have
matched the rest of his physique.
“Nance, if you won’t name the day,
won’t you at least go ahead and git
your divorce? All you got to do is to
ask fer it. Cote will hand it right out,
like I would a steel trap to a custom-
er. Got to. Law says so—and no
questions asked arfter you tell ’em
your husband is a feling. It would
make my comin’ hyer look more prop-
er-like to neighbors. It would please
your paw and your Aunt Dill and un-
cle Tice, and all your relatives ’cept a
few that dont’ count. It would please
me, Nance,” he added, plaintively.
“I'd like to please you, Rufe,” she
answered, as if touched by his tone.
“You've been so good to me.”
“All I want is a chanct to be still
better. My new house is done and
waitin’ fer you, all ’cept the furni-
ture, which I want you to have a hand
in choosin’. I don’t want to hurry
you. I don’t agree with what your
paw said today about people lookin’
down on you as a poor-sperited thing,
afraid to get a divorce from a feling
and a murd’rer.
“And I don’t expect you to love me
at first, like you did Ash. ’Tain’t in
female nater, I s’pose. All I ask you
to do is to let me give you a good
home—the best cn this hayr mounting
—and leave things so you'll always
pays it, whether I drap off suddint oz
not.
“You don’t want to keep on livin’
with your paw and mommoy, fer six,
eight, ten, or twelve year yet, especi-
ally when they're so sot on your mar-
ryin’ me. 'Tain’t like a home of your
own. Ag’in, ’twon’t be so long befora
that little hap thar in your lap wil
shoot up like a willar sprout. I’ve
often heerd you say you'd like to send
him down to Sharpsburg to school,
whar Chad Oaks went. You can’t do
it, Nance, ’thout money. Even if Ash
should come back tomorrer you could
not do it. Thar’s nobody likes Ash
better’'n me, and it went agin my grain
to testify agin him, especially as I
was afeerd you’d hate me fer it. But
he never was a good pervider and nev-
er will be. Sooner shoot in a turkey-
match than plow corn any day.”
“Poverty never had no terrors fer
me,” spoke up the girl, quickly. “As
fer as that went, we were just as hap-
py as if he’d been as rich as—as you.”
“Suttinly,” agreed Couch at once.
“Thar’s wuss things 'n poverty. 1
was only sayin’ that you can’t do
some things ’thout money that you
kin do with it. Eddicatin’ a boy is one
of ’em. And eddication air a great
thing these days. That little tad of a
Chad Oaks air makin’ more money to-
day than his paw, and he knows that
great city of Lexin’ton like you and
me know our back-yards.”
Nance’s eyes grew luminous, per-
haps with a vision of such a future for
her little Judah; then the light died
away. “They all leave the mounting
and their mothers when they git an
eddication,” said she slowly.
“Yes; but mebbe you and me’ll want
to leave, too, by the time Jude grows
up. I could make more money below
than I kin hyer, even with no eddica-
tion.”
He paused, as if to let this observa-
tion soak in, and then returned to the
subject from which his mind was nev-
er long absent.
“Applyin’ your own words of a min-
ute ago, you'll feel different to’ds me
arfter you've lived with me a year or
so. I mean about shakin’ Ash. S’fer
as that goes, he’s dead to you now. If
he ever comes back, it’ll be like a man
from the grave. Sfer as that goes, 1
don’t look fer him back. Fust place,
prison’s a bad place feran outdoor
man like him. Consumption gits ’em
—them long-term. fellers—like it did
Blake Orr. And even if they let him
out, ’count of his sickness, fixe they
did Blake, he’d only be a pore, no-
count, dead-alive kind of a man. He'd
on’y be—"
He broke off at Nance’s shudder.
“Rufus Couch,” she exclaimed, in a
tone which made him quail, “if ever
Ash Whipple comes back lookin’ like
Blake Orr did, I'll nuss him to his dy-
ing day, wife or no wife of yours.”
I'll give you that permission, right
hyer and now,” he answered, quickly.
“Kin a man do more? And kin you
do less than promise you’ll git your
divorce right soon now?”
She sat for some time with her
pretty square chin nestled in the palm
of one brown hand, gazing at the dis-
tant, fringy sky-line of pines.
“I’ll get it soon,” she promised.
He seized her free hand gratefully.
“Kin I kiss you now, Nance—just
once?”
“No—not while I'm another man’s
wife.”
She rose, Couch lifted the bucket of
water, and they walked away togeth-
er, little Jude chasing a monarch but-
terfly.
(Concluded next week.)
A Matter of Training.
Executive ability has been various-
ly defined, but the following from an
executive with a sense of humor seems
to cover the whole subject. He said:
“Executive ability is the ability to
hire someone to do the work for which
you will get the credit, and, if there
is a slip-up, having some one at whose
door to lay the blame.”—New York
Evening Post.
~ ——When an energetic man finds a
four-leaf clover, it generally means
that he will have good luck.—Jewell
(Kan.) Republican.
| “GALLERY GODS” HAD POWER
Actors Respected Those Who Sat
Among the Clouds in Old Drury
Lane Theater, London.
Nearly every American has at some
time in his career, generally the ear-
lier part of it, been a “gallery god.”
That is to say, he has seated himself
high in the topmost gallery of a the-
ater, to follow with tenseness the ad-
ventures of the heroine and hero.
How he obtained his title of “gallery
god” is a matter that goes back a
great many years, to the old English
Drury Lane theater in London. :
The theater was decorated in a@
somewhat giddy manner, with cupids
and cherubs scattered about in care-
less confusion. To carry on the motif
of alry summer days peopled with
lightsome crestures of fairy gardens,
the decorators painted the ceiling a
bright blue, and then placed puffy
white clouds here and there tc repre-
sent the sky, with the smirking faces
of wee angels and fairles peering out.
The gallery was built to get
money, and not to give any particular
comfort to those who paid their penny
or so to sit there, so that the heads
of the gallery sitters were in reality
among the clouds. The actors had a
great respect for this gallery, never-
theless, for its displeasure was mani-
tested by booing in no uncertain tones.
and the combination’ of painted sky.
and the desire for the approval of
the gallery provided the phrase “gal-
lery gods.”
PAINTED OVER COURT FINERY
Ruse by Which Nuns Had Queen De-
picted as a Member of Their
Religious Order.
Through a chance discovery in the
garret of a ducal palace in Madrid, a
three-hundred-year-old romance of a
wonderful Velasquez has been re-
vealed. Hidden for three centuries as
a picture of a nun, this portrait of
Queen Isabella of Spain, the first wife
of King Philip IV, has recently been
restored in London.
In the disguised picture practically
nothing but the face and hands of the
original was left uncovered, and the
secret was first guessed at owing te
the paint peeling away from the nun’s
hood. when there was revealed the
fringe of a lace collar,
Princess Isabella of Bourbon was
married to Philip in 1615, and in 1624
was staying in the convent of the nuns
belonging to the order of the Descal-
zos. As a mark of the kindness she
there received she presented the nuns
with this Velasquez portrait of her-
self.
Later Isabella wished to enter the
convent, but the pope would not con-
sent. The inmates of the convent
called In a painter. and secretly in-
structed him to paint out the queen’s
court dress and the lace handkerchief
in her left hand, and to present her In
the complete garb of a professed nun.
Excellence Need Fear No Rival.
Multitudes of employees constantly
live in terror of some one who, they
fear, is after their place. They are
suspicious of office politics, suspicious
that somebody working close behind
them is trying to crowd them out.
What is the result? This fear and sus-
picion interferes with their advance-
ment to the place above them. In-
stead of looking back and thinking of
the men after their place they should,
instead, look about to the man above
them. and be prepared for an advance
when there is a vacancy. Perfect
yourself in your line of work and you
need never have any fear of others’
rivalry. There Is always room at the
top for the man or woman who has
stamped the trademark of Individual
ity, superiority and distinctiveness
upon his or her work. Such a one
need have no fear of the usurpation of
his rights by others. His position is
assured.—Orison Swett Marden In
the New Success.
in Algerian Bazaars.
Cobbled steps mark the ways of the
Moors in the Kasbah, the native quar-
ter of Algeria, and once the traveler
leaves the streets where street cars
clang and Europeans walk, he must
climb. Pepperpods and onions hang in
rosaries beside bazaars. Mosques are
hidden here and there in nests of
houses, and cafes are open to the
street with the guttural gossip of the
Arab drinkers and the click of dom-
fnoes drifting outward,
Sandals of leather, laced and filled
with golden threads, are made by
black-eyed Arab girls with long, soft
eyelashes. Some of these girls are
only twelve years old, but married;
and they sit on carpets, twittering
through their veils at passersby, mean-
while embroidering deftly the things
they have to sell for gold.—Century
Magazine.
First Girl Ever Photographed.
While France claims to have invent-
ed photography through the genius of
Daguerre, the painter, America Is
proud of the fact that it was one of
her sons who photographed the first
face.
After years of patient labor Da-
guerre succeeded in taking sunlight
pictures of scenery on a sensitive
plate.
This was in 1839, and a year later
prof. John W. Draper of New York
took a photograph of his sister Dor-
othy, the first person to have her like-
ness reproduced on & prepared back-
ground with the help of the sun's
rays.
It took an hour to take the photo-
graph. and the picture may still be
seen.
LESSONS IN CITIZENSHIP.
Democratic Party.
DEMOCRATIC PARTY PLATFORM.
Ouhline the principles of the Demo-
cratic party adopted in 1916.
Answer: First of all the Demo-
cratic party re-affirmed its belief in
tariff for revenue only, and to this
end endosed the Underwood taiff bill.
It also endorsed the then pending
shipping bill.
It commended the present adminis-
tration for its legislation on behalf
of the farmer.
It stated that the Federal Govern-
ment should put into effect the fol-
lowing “principles of just employ-
ment” and urge them upon the vari-
ous State Legislatures:
“A living wage for all employees.
“A working day not to exceed eight
hours, with one day of rest in every
seven.
“The adoption of safety appliances
and the establishment of sanitary con-
ditions of labor.
“Adequate compensation for indus-
trial accidents.
“The standards of Uniform Child
Labor Law wherever minors are em-
ployed.
“Provisions of decency, comfort and
health where women are employed.
“An equitable retirement law for su-
peranuated and disabled employees of
the Civil Service.”
It also favored the speedy enact-
ment of a Federal Child Labor Law.
A law to regulate shipments of
prison-made goods in interstate com-
merce. .
“The creation of a Federal Bureau
of Safety within the Department of
Labor.
“The extension of the powers and
functions of the Federal Bureau of
Mines.
“The development of the means al-
ready begun under the present admin-
istration to assist laborers through-
out the Union to seek and obtain em-
ployment.”
Public health work.
The establishment by the Federal
Government of sanitoriums for needy
tubercular patients.
The alteration of the Senate rules,
to secure prompt transaction of busi-
ness.
Self-government for the Philippine
Islands was endorsed and legislation
for the development of Alaskan re-
sources was pledged; and the grant-
ing of the United States traditional
territorial government to Alaska, Ha-
waii and Porto Rico was favored.
These principles of prison reform
were urged: Training in remunera-
tive occupations; the setting apart of
the net wages of the prisoner for his
dependent family or to be paid to him
upon his release, the liberal extension
of the principles of the Federal Pa-
role Law and the adoption of the pro-
bation system.
Generous pensions for soldiers and
their widows were recommended.
The development of harbors and
waterways was favored, and the con-
trol of the Mississippi River was stat-
ed as a National problem to be han-
dled by the National Government.
REPUBLICAN PARTY PLATFORM
Describe briefly the Republican
platform adopted in 1916.
Answer: The Republican party
condemned the Democratic policy of
granting self-government to the Phil-
ippine Islands at this time, and re-af-
firmed its policy of government by
the United States with constantly in-
creasing participation by the Philip-
pine people.
It repeated its belief in a protective
tariff and condemned the Uuderwood
tariff bill.
It expressed itself in favor of “rig-
id supervision and strict regulation of
the transportation and great corpora-
tions of the country,” and that “all
who violate the laws of the country
in r~gulation of business be individu-
ally punished.”
It declared that the Democratic ad-
ministration had not made good its
claims of beneficial legislation for the
farmer and pledged itself so to do.
It condemned Government owner-
ship of vessels proposed by the Demo-
cratic party, but recommended placing
the entire transportation system un-
der Federal control.
It pledged the Republican party to
the faithful enforcement of all Feder-
al laws passed for the protection of
labor.
Declared for vocational education.
The enactment and rigid enforce-
ment of a Federal Child Labor Law.
The enactment of a generous work-
man’s compensation law.
An accident compensation law cov-
ering all Government employees.
Legislation for public safety.
PROHIBITION PARTY PLATFORM.
Qutline the Prohibition platform
adopted in 1916.
Answer: As we would expect, the
Prohibition platform declared first for
National and State legislation to stop
the liquor traffic.
It endorsed suffrage for women, a
world court for peace, abolition of
militarism, employment of the army
in peace times in reclamation work.
It claimed protection for the Amer-
ican citizen, re-affirmed its faith in
the Monroe Doctrine, recommended
that the United States continue to
govern the Phillippines, but allow to
them increasing local privileges.
It also urged reciprocal trade trea-
ties and a tariff investigation commis-
sion.
It recommended legislation for the
control of the merchant marine, for
the upholding of civil service regula-
tions, it also recommended labor leg-
islation, public grain elevators operat-
ed by the Federal Government, Fed-
eral grain inspection under a system
of Civil Service, and the abolition of
all institutions in which “gambling in
grain” or “any other so called specu-
lation is indulged in.”
It endorsed having government
warehouses for cotton, public owner-
ship of utilities and the full develop-
ment of free institutions.
It also endorsed conservation of our
natural resources, economy in govern-
ment and the budget system; the right
of the President to veto any single
item in an appropriation bill.
This party also put itself on record
as favoring a reform greatly needed
in this country, namely, the passage
of uniform marriage and divorce laws.
It also endorsed the initiative, ref-
erendum and recall, and declared it-
self in favor of a single presidential
term of six years.
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