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CAMPAIGN AGAINST THE CHICKASAWS—By B. F. Riley
NEVER felt one surer of success than Bienville when he took up afresh his expedition against the t hickasaws. By prearrangement D'Arta "M°tte was to descend from the Illinois re find meet him near the stronghold " the (’hickasaws and aid him in their subjection. Of ardent temperament. Bien ville was easily made overconfident, aqd •vet bo had but little on which to rely. Save tlie veterans of the command, he had little else. I hr motley horde tliet had enlisted un der ins banner at Mobile was not worthy “i trust in an emergency, nor did he l nu\N how far he could depend on his Indian allies, for Red Shoes hated the whHc man, only lie hated the Chlckasaws i he more. He was going not so much In fid of the French as he was to punish the Chlckasaws. This made his influ ence a doubtful quality, and that influ ence was great with* the ChoctawsA But i if Bienville could hav. the command of LVArtaguette to aid him. which was des tined not to be, he could possibly suc j ceed, though the Chickasaw's were the fiercest fighters among the tribes, arid ! they had among them English officers who were training them for the coming attack, Tlie command was again ready to move, hat the keen edge of the novelty and en thusiasm was now blunted on the part | of at least a large contingent of the com mand which was going simply because they had to go. The scene was a peculiar one as the l^outs were ranged along the bank of the river at Fort Tombeckbe. With refreshing complacency the French took possession of the boats, Simon and !iis 75 black followers owned their crafts, and the Canadians and Indian allies were left to make their way as best they could along the river to u.c point where all were to unite to go against the Chicka saw'S. On .May 22. 173K, they reached the region where Cotton Gin Port. Mississippi, now is. where Bienville built a temporary for* which lie named Fort Oltibia, and after securing his stores, locking his boats to the trees, and appointing a guard to pro tect them, lie started with 12 days’ rations to the Chicksaws* stronghold still 27 miles In the interior. It was a racing season, the prairie mud was deep, the inland streams were up, the country a tangled region of under brush, the banks of the streams slippery with lime mud, and most of the host already demoralized. They started Inland, the men sometimes were forced to wade waist deep in crossing the streams, the march was slow and laborious, and the prospect drew dimmer with decreasing enthusiasm as they proceeded. There was straggling not a little, but from which Bienville was largely saved by reason of the fact that they were in the enemy's country and a sense of common interest welded them together. They marched past fortified villages of the Chlckasaws. which villages Bienville disregarded, but he found it next to Impossible • <> restrain the Choctaws in their hatred of the Chlckasaws from attacking these. One fortified village, Schouafalay, the Choc taws did attack, much against the judg ment of Bienville. There was partial relief afforded the troops when they emerged from the tan gled wilderness and readied the open prairie. Here was an abundance of game, of much of which the troops availed themselves, while they were cheered not a little by the patches of ripe strawber ries growing in wildness on the plain, and by tlie unbroken green of the prarie dashed here and there ny patches of beau tiful blossoms. They were now w ithin six miles or the object of attack. Here it was proposed that the commands nf Bienville and of D'Artaguette w'ere to unite, but the latter failed to appear. The scouts sent on in i advance by Bienville reported that they j could not find D'Artaguette and could learn nothing of his whereabout*. This was a sore disappointment to Bienville, for lie had counted much on D*Artaguette and his veterans, but he could not now stop. He still had about 1500 In his com mand, and he was confident of success. Bienville's plan was to pass around Ackia, where the Chickasaws were strong ly fortified, and proceed to the town of the Natchez, overthrow the Indians there, and by that means inspire the troops, and at the same time demoralize the Chickasaws. In a council of officers now called, he advocated this plan, but the Choctaw leaders would not hear to *t. They wanted to attack the Chickasaws outright, crush them, and then quietly return. Some of the French officers con curred in tlie proposed policy of the Choc taws, while not a few coincided with Bienville. The Choctaws seemed almost um-ontrolable in their frantic desire to reach the Chickasaws. To have heard idem rave one would* have thought that there was little use of the French In the expedition at all. Nothing was now left but to traverse the remaining six miles, and give battle to the waiting Chickasaws. The line of march was again taken up, and another half day brought them within full view of the battlements of the enemy. The conditions were not such as to occasion much inspiration. The fortifications were imposing, and seemed sufficiently strong to resist any force. On an eminence stood the fort of heavy logs. Around it were palisades with port holes just above the ground, while just within the palisades was a trem-h in which the defenders would stand, rest their guns within the port holes and fire with ease on the plain below without the slightest exposure of their bodies. Outside the palisades were a number of strongly fortified structures or cabins. The fort Itself was of triangular shape, with flic roof of heavy green logs, overlaid with a thick stratum of dried mud, a double security against fire, should the French undertake the use of combusti bles. The imposing fortifications had h disheartening effect even on the officers of the French troops and much more the men. A careful Inspection was made, ani there was nothing left but to plan fo, the attack. The French were to open the battle, and the Choctaws were left to attack as they might wish. The Tn ciians occupied a ramp some distance from the others and proceeded to paint and to deck themselves for battle They stood in readiness as though waiting for the battle to open. All plans were gotten in readiness and at 2 o'clock in the aft ernoon the fight was to begin by regu lar assault from the outset. LESSON FROM OHIO RESERVOIRS—By Morris Knowles EARLY reports of the recent Ohio! floods gave many the impression that the disasters were due to j the failure of reservoirs, and as these reports were not generally corrected later, this impression no doubt remains i in the minds of some. , An investigation made dining the week following the clis asters showed this to be incorrect; but Lie escape was so narrow in some in stanees that tfffe lesson of the reservoirs • dlvc-n home almost as strongly as if they had failed with enormous destruc tion of life arid property. Most of the reservoirs in question be long to the Ohio state canal system, hav ng been constructed to supply water #to ) ihe canal In dry seasons. In addition, the | Columbus water supply storage dam on he Scioto river, was reported to have l ailed, causing a panic in Columbus, and a number of power dams In various parts «»f the state were the subjects of similar rumors. Rut these rumors were either entirely without foundation, as in the < a sc of the Columbus dam, or else the dams were relatively unimportant, so j that for the purpose of this article con ' si deration may well be confined to the canal feeder reservoirs. , The Ohio canal system, built in the second quarter of the last century, con sists of two main divisions—the Ohio canal, or eastern route, connecting Lake Erie and the Ohio river by way of the Cuyahoga, Tuscarawas, Muskingum, Licking and Scioto river valleys, and the Miami and Erie canal, or western route, connecting Lake Erie and the Ohio river by way oi the Maumee, Auglaize and Miami river valleys. In addition, the Muskigum * river was slack watered be low Zanesville. Numerous lateral, feeder and tributary canals completed a system which had cost a total of approximately $16,000,000 and which comprised in 3850 over 3000 miles of canals, more than 300 lift locks and half a dozen reservoirs. In Jhe case of each of the main canal routes, water was lacking on tlie summit level during the dry season, and the reservoirs were constructed to supplement the normal flow at such times. The Portage lakes, just south of Akron, were dammed about 1S4S to supply the sum mit of the eastern route; Loramie and Lewistown reservoirs about 3850-60 for the western route, and the Licking reservoir, or Buckeye lake, about 1832 for the Lick ing summit. In addition. Grand reser 1 voir, the largest in the state, was built about 1841, to supply the northern slope of the Miami ami Erie canal, entering just below the summit level. During the middle of the last century, just prior to the civil war, these canals were very active, and brought in a gross revenue, during some years, of over half a million dollars. In 1851 the gross earn ings were over $700,000. and the net earn ings almost $470,000. But later the decline came, as it did on all of the old canals, and as the canal section and lock dimen sions were outgrown by the demands of modern traffic, a gradual abandonment of navigation occurred, until now, and for many years past, there has been no • anal freight traffic at all. Some of the branch and feeder canals ’have been of ficially abandoned, and either left to de teriorate without attention, or else filled up. Several of the reservoirs were dedi cated by the legislature by several acts passed since 1894, to use as public parks and* pleasure resorts, with the provision, however, that they must he maintained for canal purposes. For the past few years, therefore, the only revenues from the canal 'have been from the leasing of lands for oil well drilling and from the sale of wafer or water power to private or municipal waterworks and Industrial plants. An annual appropriation lias been made, in addition, to assist In meeting the ex pense of maintenance. There lias nere fore been ho great stimulus to compre hensive and thorough work, and prob ably a great deal of the maintenance has been of a very perfunctory character. The canals and reservoirs are in charge of a board of public works of three mem bers. but neither this nor an\ oilier stale body or'official appears to have had the specific duty of Inspecting or investigat ing these reservoirs from the sole point of view of public safety. The earth dam at the. Portage l.akes had no spillway whatever. The high water washed out a crevass in one of the embankments and overflowed a consid erable area of farm land. At (lie Lewis ton reservoir waves dashed over the south bank. Both hanks were despaired of and only the most strenuous work by a large Kfrce of men from nearby towns saved them. The I.oramle reservoir overflowed and two crevasses in tlie embankment were washed oul. The Grand Reservoir is one of the largest artificial bodies of water in the world, covering 13.4<» acres. A large force of volunteers worked with the laborers, filling 'and placing bags of sand, while a company of state militia rationed the banka. No breaks occurred at ant point, but the situation was critical for two or three days. These situations tench a lesson that ought never to need repetition. It may l»e stated with certainty that reservoir failures did not contribute measurably to tile flood damage in Ohio. The trouble was caused entirely by excessive rain, attending excessive run-off ami insuf ficient channel capacity to carry t lie water. But even if the reservoirs did not fail with disastrous results, the margin was a narrow one and the lesson is equally plain. It has long been one of the most firmly established engineering principles that an earth embankment must not he overstopped. Twenty-tour years ago, the Johnstown disaster due to insufficient spillway capacity impressed this upon the whole world And it is an interest ing parallel that this was caused by an old reservoir originally built by the state for canal purposes ami later abandoned and used for pleasure purposes. Yet here In Ohio were four earth embank ment reservoirs, one of which has no spillway and a far from sufficient dis charge pipe; two/of which filled up so jtliat the hanks were overflowed, and one which did not overflow* hut filled up suf ficiently so that waves were driven over j the embankments. Nor was the rainfall one beyond the range of probability. The March storm probably broke at! records for combined Intensity, duration and ex tent. But for small drainage areas such as these (lit to 114 square miles) the rain tall was not unprecedented. At least two storms have occurred in Ohio in the last. 40 years in which the rainfall in K hours was greater than that recorded In any IS hours of the late storm, at any station, excepting Piqua. which is below the revei* voirs in question. And in at least one storm In the same period, the rainfall for ‘24 hours was within .0(1 inch of tlie highest 24 hour rainfall of last month <5.55 as compared with 5.61.) The faults in these reservoirs, then were not due to lack of knowledge a to what to expect, but only to failure to apply knowledge already gained, in tins case, of course, state ownership put an extra responsibility on tile sta'o to sec that Its property was not a menace to its citizens. But, in any. case, the state is the only institution which can se* that such structures are adequately pro vided with the necessary facilities to make them safe. Johnstown ought to have taught the necessity of examining reservoirs and dams, and of enforcing suitable standards of design and construc tion Vet If we examine the statute books of Ohio we find no legislative provision of this kind whatever. Nor is there any provision for study, mapping and gauging of the water resources: a very necessary preliminary to a full understanding not only of the potentialities of regulated i flow, but the possible menace from un ion tlulled waste. Rut before we criticise Ohio for this? let each reader pause and consider the situation in his own state. With only two or three exceptions, conditions are pre cisely the same throughout the country. Kvnn in Pennsylvania, which has probably suffered more grievously from dam fail ures than any other state, there is as yet no public knowledge of the design and com| tion of all dams, and no authori iory in any official or body to correct a dangerous condition, even if it were dis covered. Must we watt for anotfypr Johnstown or an Austin to change these tilings? Or will we learn from what might well have occurred in Ohio, und make a repetition of such disasters—at least of those due 10 Ignorance or neglect Impossible? The lesson Is plain. M ill we profit by it? MAN WHO WOULD MAKE RHYMES AND THE EDITOR GO AFISHING—By Karl Kaffer f f^^ERTAIN you know the way?” I ~ asked the poet, as he and the editor, off for an afternon of fishing, drove out of the city. “Know it! Suie,” replied the editor so confidently that the poet settled himself comfortably In the buggy seat, and did not think it necessary to state that he himself didn’t know that road from a path leading out of Jerusalem. As a mat ter ot fact, the editor didn't either. Hut he thought he did. Years ago he bad gone fishing in a day of exTFavagant idleness, lie remembered distinctly they had left town by that road. hess dis tinctly he remembered they had turned off somewhere, and still more vaguely ‘he had a dim recollection of having turned off again somewhere else. So. of course he knew. 'rile day was very alluring; one of those warm, spicey, intoxicating days—the kind of day tiiat makes one feel an irresistible desire to say and do foolish tilings. On the side of the sandy road rose several diminutive mounds. “hook!” exclaimed tlie poet. “I >ood le—houses!” The editor grinned appreciatively, and frit a strong inward urge to take oft his shoes and socks and stir up those doodle bugs with Ids bare toes. He knew just how the warm dry sand would feel. That's the kind of day it was. If there bad been n pretty woman present, the poet and the editor would have made love to her beyond doubt. Jn the ab sence of the pretty woman, they drove lazily along, letting their thoughts drift aimlessly into any inconsequent channel. “Do you know, that old story about the good apple and the specked apple is a mighty true thing,” finally remarked the editor, alter a rather long, contented silence. "How’s the story? J’ve forgotten.” mur mured the poet with only half attention. He was wishing with all his heart he had tlie nerve to stop the horse and get out and pick a hatful of the 'blue violets that covered the steep bank by the road side. "Well, you see. if you place a sound ap ple In close contact with a specked ap-1 pie.” explained the editor, "the sound apple gets the worst of it. Pretty soon it's a specked apple Itself. Now. for ex ample, here I've been associating with you a good bit lately, and the other day when 1 happened to be thinking about certain political situations 1 caught my self making tip a rhyme about Teddy. Never was guilty of thinking a rhyme before In my life.” The poet sat up. "Say, who's the specked apple in the case?” he politely Inquired. "Well,” deliberated the editor, "that's a debatable point.” It really was; however, each had his private opinion of the matter. "I’ll read it to you and sec what you think of it,” said the editor, drawing a slip of paper from his pocket. "There was a little man, And he had a little gun, And the bullets were made of Bluff, bluff, bluff. \\ 1th dark deliberation He aimed it at a nation. And how the little gun went Puff, puff, puff! But the nation wouldn't flop: It .just wouldn't be "held up'" With bullets that were simply made of •J.’ ‘I.’ ‘I!' Tho’ destruction he’s predieted, The nation's not afflicted. And hasn’t yet cried a single Cry, cry, cry.” "Bully!” cried the poet. "Why, old man, it's the most sensible thing I ever heard you say, if you did have to borrow Mother Goose to do it!' In the meantime the 'horse had walked straight into the Intersection of ..three roads. The editor drew up with a blank expression. "Which way?" carelessly asked the poet. One road led straight ahead; the one to the right turned sharp ly up a hillside; the one to the left did not seem fu be a much traveled road, but it was shady and tree bordered, and It wound in and out in a long vista of alluring, sun flecked beauty. "This is the road!” cried the editor with enthusiasm. "I remember now. It ends at an old mill and there's a big mill pond fairly svanning with lish.” He chuckled up the horse energetically as they turned into the grass grown road of mystery and beauty. “By the way, that Teddy stuff of yours has given me an idea,” remarked the poet. •You know I’m doing a column of suffragette-isms for Town Items, and it makes me think of just what 1 need, j Something like this: "There was a little maid, And she had a little vote, And was taking it to the Polls, polls, polls. She met a little chum. Who said ’Let's go and bum And get some nice hot chocolate and Rolls, rolls, rolls.' "So they went to a cafe, Then they saw a photo play, Then to a sale of silken hose they Went, went, went. When they reached the polls at last They were closed, all good and fast. Said the maiden, I don't care a cupper I Cent, cent, cent! ” “Well I like your nerve,” said the edi tor coldly. "Did you eve r hear of some person or other stealing Jones’ thun | tier?" "It’s not a steal,” calmly returned the poet, “Mother Goose Is public property. You haven't got her patented, have you?” "Not exactly.” said the editor, “but just the same, you let my verse alone. If you want to make a suffragette rhyme a-la Mother Goose, why n«*t try this: "Little suffragette stop blowing your horn. Or you’ll be in the lock-up, sure as you’re born. Ts that the way you mind your biz? Smashing out windows and things? Gee whiz!" The poet was lost in admiration, and if the truth must be told, he was like wise just a bit chagrined. He had thought he held a monopoly on quick verse-making, and here was the editor slinging off rhymes as if lie had been born to it. He bore it. however, with good grace, saying mildly: "Ves. that's pretty good. Or T might say this: (the poet was not going to be outdone) "Mary. Mary quite contrary. Ilovv are you voting today?" "I’m voting the ticket that matches my hat, Pinkish, trimmed with gray." At this point the road which hail curved and wound through a long stretch of woodland, curved once more an dbrought up short before a dilapi dated and obviously long-deserted log cabin. And that was the end of t lie shady and alluring road. Not a trickle of water in sight: not a living crea ture excepting the birds and insects. “Where’s your old mill? Where's your mill pond swarming with fish?” unkind ly inquired the poet. The editor said something, it wasn’t exactly unprintable, for It has been seen in print, but it wasn't just the word for the politest section of a Sun day paper, so we’ll pass it by. He said it though, good and loud, an I with emphasis, and then lie added in more conventional phraseology that he guessed it was the other road lie should have taken—the one that led up tile hillside. So they turned about and retraced tlieii way, in silence for a brief space. In the minds of Hot It crept the thought that the mysterious and inviting woodland road was very realistic of life. One dis covers a new phase, an a liming bit of sun-flecked road that promises —who knows what? one follows it up, o n 1;. to find that it ends in a blind alley 01 mere commonplacenes That shady curve ahead, thick with bordering ferns, dim with the softened light coming through overlapping houghs, what wierd tiling, what exciting myster. lies beyond? One presses onward, one passes tin shadowy bend and beholds a cornfield. When (lie editor ami the poet reached Hie intersection of the three roads again, they tossed pennies to **e which road they ahold follow, and Fate, having .1 tittle fun just on her own account, led them up tlie hill road. 'Seems to me this road gets narrower and rockier the farther we go." grumbled the poet. ^ "That's just the way i remember it." was the editor's cheerful reply, "it was very narrow and rocky just before we pot to the pond.” Hut they didn't pet to a pond. They not to an abandoned coal mine, where the road lost itself in a tangle of gullir and rocks and underbrush. By this time the editors spirits were beginning to droop and the poet found it was up to him to be cheerful. •Say. I’m hungry. Let s ear our fish,”* he suggested. The editor glared; but the poet reached tinder the buggy seat and drew forth two cans of sardines and a box of crackers. He also drew forth another package, but what was in it has nothing to do with this story, and cot cents no one whomsoever1. They lunched in the shade of a hip boulder, and then sei out mi their home ward way in a frame of mind decidedly more exhilarated. When thev reached the intersection of roads for the third time the editor casual ly remarked: ‘‘After all. I believe you go out of the opposite side of town to rind that mill pond road. I must have forgotten.” 111 shouldn’t be surprised if you had,” said the poet. “It's going to rain. too. You’d better pet that horse going.” It did rain, .hist a nice little spring shower, sufficient to la the dust and wet the near-fishermen to the skin. •Hullo, there! What did you catch?* called out an officious acquaintance, as thev drove their wearied steed into tic. livery stable. “Caught a cold.” said the editor shortly. HEART TO HEART TALKS—By James A. Edgerton I THINK 1 have hoard you complain of handicaps, of obstacles, in the way of your success. I advise you to study the career of Helen Keller. Then if you are not ashamed of your complaints there is no hope for you. Helen Keller Is h'lnd and deaf. Being deaf, she is also dumb. Yet today she is a well educated wom an, known In many lands, a writer of ability whose work is eagerly sought by the best magazines, a lecturer who is heard by cultured audiences. What are your obstacles compared to hers? you have all five senses. You can read for yourself, write with your own hand, speak without being taught by a long dif ficult and laborious process. You have five senses where she has but three. But the two which she lacks are those most needed for education and ex pression. Therefore you possess more than five chances to her three for win ning success. Yet she has won out, won in a notable and noble way. You, then, should be ashamed to fail. i Immured in her sightless and soundless dungeon, Helen Kellar had the will to win. That is the secret. Have you th« will to wiu? Having the will, she also worked and induced others to help her work. Are yon afraid to W'ork? There are no obstacles so great but what there may. be a will great enough to overcome them. It Is simply a question of measuring up to your opportunities and to the part you would play. You say you can't write or speak. Cer tainly you can write and speak if you have anything to say. You say you have no money. Lack of money did not prevent the world’s very greatest men and women from arriving at the goal. Read the list of the immortals. How many of them had money? It is so with all imaginary or real dif ficulties. If you have the will and en ergy you can find a way around or over them. Remember Helen Keller. She found i way. So can you. In the Omaha convention that witnessed the birth of the people’s party back *u 1892 there was a delegate from Pennsyl vania who aroused both amusement and enthusiasm by frequently ejaculating with camp meeting fervor: “Ameh! Let all the people say ‘Amen!’ ” Twenty years have passed, and many of the policies tirst enunciated in the platform adopted by that convention have since become laws or are in the way of becoming laws. There is the postal savings bank. The parcel post. Popular election of United States sena tors. The income tax. The initiative, referendum and recall. The dethronement of bosses. The submergence of partisan spirit. The rule of the people. The control of railroads. The curbing of monopoly. The conservation movement looking to the curbing of the monopoly in land and natural resources. These and many more remedial meas ures have come or are on the way. As they have one by-one been crystal lized in the national policy I have often thought of the pious ejaculation of the Pennsylvania delegate: "Let all the people say ‘Amen!’ ” Not only in our own land, but abrgad, the rule of the people has been arriving. The great strides made in Britain and in Australasia and other parts of the British empire, the growth of the demo eratic movement in Germany, the estab lishment of a .parliament in Russia, the advance of popular government in France, the gradual awakening of Spain, the in auguration of republics in Portugal and China, the freeing of Cuba, the driving of Turkey from Africa and nearly from Eu rope, the prospect of a new United Stdtes of the Balkans—all these are signs of the advance toward enlightenment and a higher order throughout the earth. Let all the people say “Amen!" We have but started on the road toward the word republic. It may yet seem a long way off, but with man’s ever accelerated progress who dares to say that it may • IMMUIHMMMHMMMUMHHMMIIIIMHMIMII not arrive during the lifetime of t lie present generation? Whether it comes now or later, how ever, it is happily on its way. The masses of men are going to de velop themselves, enlighten themselves, rule themselves. W are approaching the era of the peo ple. I Did you ever hear tlie complaint that history is dry? I have. But I never heard it that I did not wonder at the sort of dry mind that could transfer its aridity to the most delightful and human study in the world. To him who sees the golden thread of the divine running through it history is a sort of holy writ. The annals of the last 1900 years are in a way a continuation of our Christian Bible, the unl'oldment of tlie plans there formulated. All drama, fiction and poetry are but history revealed through seeing eyes. Not infrequently it is revealed in distorted foriji. If read iinderstandingly^the real record is more beautiful than these fan cies drawn from it. for It is nearer 141c* truth and therefore has deeper depths than even the novelist or poet has seen. History is romance, religion, politics, poetry, heroism, tragedy and drama all rolled into one. Did you never read it and identify yourself with its characters, thus living over the old scenes? If not you have failed to find the soul. History is the gigantic drama of the ages, with some unseen hand shifting the scenes. Did you never imagine the delightful pastoral scenes and the simple folk that lived when the world was young the folk that talked of fairies and of wonders, who saw God in the clouds and the rising and setting suns, who heard his voice In tlie thunders, who believed (lie old tales, with their miracles and divinities? Did you never picture ..yourself as a knight or a lady fair of jre. olden time? Did you never gain a thrill and a higher ideal from the battles for liberty and the martyrdoms oi the far days when the world was young? History reveals us to ourselves be cause it reveals man. It enlarges us because it gives us a glimpse into the lives of large souled men and women. As we read it we are the kings, the heroes, the deliverers, the liberators. We live over the great deeds of the past. History reveals to us our own age, shews us the meaning of the struggles through which we are passing, warns us of tlie pitfalls, holds out to us a hope of better things. Study of the progress of the past gives us faith in the progress the future. Read history, but read it between Hie lines. Read it wit 11 understanding, insight and quick sympathy, and read it to dis cern tlie divine hand behind it that shapes it ever to better ways and nobler ends. It. has been more than 250 years since <’rumwell played his stormy part in English history, yet his examp)* and Influence are still potent in all English speaking lands and to sonu* ciagree in all other lands that feel the impulse toward democracy. For Cromwell was the father of mod ern democracy, the forerunner uf the age of republics. We think of him as the iron man. ,but see only one side **f Ills complex character. Lord Morley is the only biographer. outside of Carlyle, who really understood the great Puritan leader. Morley revealed this Insight to a single phrase when he called from* Well a ‘•practical mystic.’ For this iron man had the soul of n prophet and poet, lie saw coming ages Some one has called him a "dumb prophet." Dumb lie was not, yet his speech was ever inadequate to voiv* his mighty vision of the movements toward political and religious freedom beyond his own times. Cromwell was one of those rare char acters who combined the spiritual and political vision, lie was an evangelist carrying a sword. He was a preacher clad In armor. Mistakes In* made, "f course -mis takes in Ireland, mistakes with hi parliament- y* t his misiakes cam* more from the app in which lie lived than from tin* man himself. He played about the most difficult role of any man in modern history. He had to ere * te» a republic • *u i of raw material mere than a century before the age of republic*. Jfe had to hew his way with the* .'•word in a time when reason would not avail. lie had to kill the serpent oi king, raft in an era when mankind knew no rule hut that of kings, lie had to practice religious tolei*iion in a time when llie world knew nm tin meaning of the term. Cromwell literally fought the d« vl With fire, met force by fore** and du plicity by duplicity. Yet through it all he kept his soul white Withal lie was a matt. He was true to the heavenly vision. He fought i good light, lie kept Hie faith, lie whs loyal to (Jod and to humanity. It was his faith mm well as his ironsides that nude him invincible. Ills belief in t;«M was like a burn ing lire. It was present, with him in all his battle*. < romwell had the saving gvaee of common sense He was practical in all things. 4 me well known sentence of his, reveals something of his two sided cha racier. “Trust God, hut keep your powder dry." It took the world two centuries to understand him, to remove the cloud ■1 f Clumsy and lying calumnies heaped upon his great name > et the ages do justice, and Oliver Cromwell, tall and white of soul, tho great hearted soldier of God. is coming into hi* own. THE RIGHT OF - A CHILD TO BE BORN—By Dr. W. E. Eyans AN interesting paper might be1 written on the subject, the child’s right not to be born at all, but I do not purpose to discuss it row. I have in mind other things that are just*as important. That an unborn child has certain [lights, has often been decided in the courts, and some of these rights are protected by stipulated conditions In iortnsic phraseology used in many le gal documents, such as wills, deeds, as signments, etc. There is a case, fresh in the public mind, in which an Astor, ' f till unborn, was. protected and his rights recognized fry documentary in Btruments, just as if he had been a child playing upon the lawn at the tho will was written, or when the Titanic went down. I shall ussuim, then, that the reader accepts the thesis that the unborn child has rights. The first and highest right of the unborn child is that he shall be well [born. 1 do not mean that be has a light to be born into conditions of wealth and luxury, nor inio a social I sphere where his birth will be heralded by the songs of a nation and the boom ! ing of cannon, as was the case with Napoleon’s child. Many of the world’s best men first opened tliejr eyes upon Beenes of poverty, and were nurtured in humble cottages, and reared in ob scurity. Indeed, the curse of some lives [ is that plain living and its usual utten ! riant, good discipline, have ever been Absent. But I mean by the language, the right of a child to l>e well born, that first of rll, be has a right to be born with a Found body. He who begins the race of life enfeebled by inherited disease of riibd or body, is placed nt a terrible disadvantage. The competitions in the world are so great, the struggles for success so heated, and the “top” so far * way* that it requires all the vigor pos sible to a sound mind in a sound body lo reach the place o£ even reasonable y \ r j happiness, and to succeed even partial ly. There is a premium upon the sound healthy body, in the marts of tlie world. But the diseased man is disabled from tlie very start, *fhe world has not the time to wait for him to catch up. Tie is like Hawthorne's lame boy in the story. Yet what a sad tale medical statis tics relate, in this country alone oOO. 000 little ones die annually before their first anniversary, to say nothing of the thousands who are horn deaf, blind, or Imbecile, and other thousands who are epileptics, and cannot die. Countless thousands have organic diseases before they come into the world, and are born With scarce vitality enough to breathe* through the first hour of their little lives. There are many causes of this record of tragedy. Sometimes no one is to Ik blamed. Parental shocks. horrible scenes that cause maternal fright, poor health of the mother often from pre vious illness, and a thousand other causes for which no one is responsible, may be charged with much infantile suffering and many deaths. But not all. Many people marry who have no right to marry, and they are responsible for many infantile tragedies. How shall r say the things that are in my mind? My very purpose in this paper embar rasses me. I shall copy an entry in .» clergyman’s diary, it is one case tak en from many. •**’ “You have come to ask me to marry you to Miss Blank, a pure and lovely girl.” “Yes. doctor.” “I cannot marry you. You have no right to marry and you know it. 1 cannot be a party to ! so gross a crime. If you will bring me i a certificate from your physician do- ; daring you to lie in a physical condition to marry, I shall change my mind.” The cc itiflcate, as 1 expected, was not forth coming. They were married, but not by the rector of the girl s family. Within six years tlie young wife was I a hopeless invalid and the «UtU annl versary of her * wedding was spent by her in a bed at a hospital. The first child was still-born. The second was pathetically scrofulous, the diseases af reet ing her eyes. The third child was quite deaf, and from the day of her birth her head was a mass of malignant and offensive sores. The young mother ha 1 learned the secret of her children’s affliction and long ago her love for her husband had turned to loathing! t?he used to ask, “Why has God so af iiicted me?” But she asks this ques tion no longer. She knows that God did not send these distresses upon her. A biological law’ was violated and this law' visited the sins of the lather upon the children and the innocent wife, who once trusted in the honor and love of Mu? man she married. The law is a be nign one, and is meant to protect and to warn the race, but its violation is 1 uurous and damning! Has the unborn child no rights? It has. Justice, one of the attributes of God, pleads for the child that it may not “in the iniquity of the father pine away and die.” I have not the space to dwell on the many forms of excesses that have al ready started the unborn child on the path to the hospitals for the mentally inelfieient and for the insane. O, it is a pitiful story—all of it. Talk of the evil of race suicide! Why, in my judg ment, this is far more desirable than the evils that are disclosed by the statistics of hospitals and asylums for th* insane. Perhaps it would be well If no more children were born, until men and women learned more of the solemn laws and principles that wnder liejhe propagation of the species. There might not be so many people in the woi Id as now; but there would arise a generation of stalwart men and stur dhr women understanding the physlol i g\ of the human body, and knowing .•unitary principles that would protect iilr and keep it in health. Furthermore, the child has a right to inherit tendencies and appetencies for the very highest thins of life, and to come into the world witJi proclivities aireudy formed to embraie the good arid true things of the world. I do not believe In the theological dogma of "original sin.' Nor do I believe that personal piety i„uv bo inherited to the extent of waiving one's responsibility for individual en deavor. Hut upward tendencies may be reproduced in the offspring, just as cer tanly as passions of tiie other sort may be Inherited. I do not know the process ot the correlation of thought and physi cal Impressions. This phenomenon is be yond our present state of science and baffles our experimentation. But it needs no scientific training to discover the fact of hereditary Influence*. We often see children of whom wo say. He has his father's physique, but his mother’s cast of mind; or she is like her mother’s peo ple. but’ mentally she "takes after' her father's mother. Beyond question, the doctrine of heredity is an established proposition of science. 1 knew two certain boys at college. One of them was the child of devout. Ood fear ing parents. Along with this characteris tic they were highly Intellectual people tl,P two do not always go together, more's the pity. Tills boy was a manly fellow, actjVH 'in athletics, sought after on tire ball field, and alert for everything that tended to elevate the student body. He was also a tine student and consistent in ids application, arid conscientious in all tilings Morally he was incapable of a wrong deed, and bis mind seemed always es pine as a girl's. The best things In the life of his parents were reproduced in hint it was as plainly disclosed us sun light. The other hoy was not good nat urally- He had to fight for every inch of progress that he made. He was not particular!' lever as a student, yet ae won some distinction in his work. Ill* gicatcst difficult' was with his charac ter. He had an ideal, but seemed never to make an> approach toward it. One day be was in mj room uu the campus, ami opened his heart to me. As he was clos-1 ing his confidential talk, he seemed to for get himself, and with great feeling cursed his father’s memory. I had been told enough to understand the untold. His father had not been a good man. On the contrary, he had been a very had man, and had sent this poor boy Into the world with the very worst tendencies of hi* own character reproduced in his son. Thu way that hoy had to tight his Inherited proclivities was painful to see. Life is hard enough at best; but to send a child out into the world with everything in his nature against him, to throttle and destroy which costs intensest suffering by day and by night, year In ami year out, is the coarseness of criminal selfishness and absolutest cruelty. We read with horror of the ancient nations giving up their deformed or diseased children to some form of a destroying Moloch. But I wonder if that dreadful custom was not more merciful, than to send a child out j upon the path of file beating in ids heart and nature the promise and potency of a cursed character, that shall be to him ! self, and probably to many others, worse [than a living death! This many are do ing. They are transmitting to children elements that are worse than death. If it be said that people generally do not know this, then they should defer mar riage and parental responsibility until they learn. The laws of the stale assume a limited control of marriage contract* This control should be extended and the | laws ought to he more rigorous. No man should have the sanction of the state to his marriage unless lie can produce a “clean bill of health.” and a certificate of good moral character. And if the av erage woman whose hand Is solicited :ri marriage knew what marriage means. | she would require the same. I believe that simple Justice demands another light that belongs to the child.' that is. that tiic name lie is to hear shall he an untarnished one. Let the fa mil name lie what it may, Tudor, Flanta gcuet, Guelpbs, Haps burg, Hohenzoilern, or the must inconspicuous name of the obscures! citizen. it does not matter. But it does matter vastly, whether or not the name that Mie child Is to bear through life be a < lean name, unstained by wrong, unsmirched by a deed of dishonor, lie has a right, since lie comes into tlie world without his volition, but at your call, to be untrammelled b.v a name that will ever associate him with some act of per fidy or a course of life that was foreign to integrity. The child with a bad name from the very beginning of his life is fettered. Communities do not forget. They re member the sins of the father, whether justly or unjustly, for many years; and the sins of the father are visited upon the children that bear his name. “Poor child.” says the community, "it lias bad blood and a bad name; tlie father never knew what honor was, though he was shrewd* enough to escape his deserts.” There are instances of men's changing their family names because those names had been soiled bv fathers or grand fathers. and were unfit to be borne by those who hoped to grapple successfully with life's difficulties and attain high est places. A had name is like lead that weighs a man down, especially a young man; while a good name gives wings to ambition and effort, it is bet ter than wealth and fame. Says the best of books, "A good name is rather to lie chosen than great riches.” and "a good name is better than precious ointment.” “Good name in man or woman, dear my lord. Is the very jewel of their souls; Who steals my purse steals trash: ’ti* something, nothiijg: ’Twas mine, 'tis Ids, and has been the slave to thousands; But he who filches from me my good name Hobs me of that which not enriches him. And makes rae poor indeed.’* < ’anipbell, In hi** "Pleasures of Hope," asks: "Who hath not owned with rapture smit ten frame. The power of grace, the magiq of a name.'* We have all felt It, apart from senti mentality. There are names that fill us with dismay. There is a name that Mil ton says "made Hell tremble." Lord Mac aulay tells, in his History of England, how horror struck the masses were at hea "ie the name of Jeffreys. There are good names, however, which, when pro I nounced, bring benedictions along with them, and stand for benevolence, for so briety. for integrity, and for uprightness ami downrightness of character. To the latter the child has a right He should not be obliged to bear a name that suggests falsehood, sharp dealing, inebriety or dishonesty in any form. Start the boy with a blameless and unblamed name, It will be as "an ornament of grace upon bis head and chains of gold about his neck." j I wanted t»* w i ite, also, of the e\ il of bringing children Into families where practical starvation sits at the table, and direst poverty crouches at the hearth stone In rags and shivering with cold. Prom these conditions comes much of our pauperism, and many of the criminal clasts grow up in such homes, if homes they may be called. Here *re sown the seeds that spring up and hear the shock ing fruit of anarchy and nihilsm. There should be such legislation as to require, under penalty, that if a child cannot ha /e reasonable provision for his health, for his education, and for his moral in sin ction. then the man and his wife shall remain childless, for the child has a right to the best conditions, and as he cannot speak for himself, the stare should authoritatively declare his •fight* for him and protect him.