Chapter IV: Part 4

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

* * * * *

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

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

HENRY FORD

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I love,
I build,
I give."

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

BEN B. LINDSEY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FRANCES WILLARD

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The Eagle's Nest
Beware."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

JANE ADDAMS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Very sincerely yours,
JANE ADDAMS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--G. P. MORRIS.

JOHN MITCHELL

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--DANIEL WEBSTER.

MAUDE BALLINGTON BOOTH

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

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

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

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

1. He would pray every morning and night.

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

3. No bad language should soil his lips.

4. He would keep the rules of the prison.

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

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

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

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