TEACHING THE CHILD
PATRIOTISM

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	TEACHING THE CHILD PATRIOTISM BY KATE UPSON CLARKE Author of "The Dole Twins," etc. With a Frontispiece by HARRIET O'BRIEN THE PAGE COMPANY BOSTON MDCCCCXVIII

Copyright, 1918, by
The Page Company
All rights reserved
First Impression, October, 1918

CONTENTS

TEACHING THE CHILD
PATRIOTISM

CHAPTER I

THE APPEAL TO HISTORY

Let us suppose for a moment that any set of men could succeed in sweeping away from them all the influences of past ages. Suppose a race of men whose minds had been suddenly deadened to every recollection—can we imagine a condition of such utter confusion and misery?—Frederic Harrison.

WE have been lately told by one of our foremost educators that "the best schools are expressly renouncing the questionable duty of teaching patriotism by means of history."

To some of us who have brought up children, this startling statement came like a bomb. If history is to be used, as it certainly is used, in many of our "best schools," in the teaching of political economy, sociology, philosophy, psychology, biology, religion and nearly everything else, why should we not use it also in teaching a child the value of his own country, how dearly it has been bought, and his duty to serve it?

When anybody undertakes to prove that a child who hears, for instance the story of the six "leading citizens" of Calais offering their lives for the redemption of their city, does not feel a deeper sense of patriotism after it, he must prove that the children whom most of us know are exceptional.

See the widening eyes and working features of children listening to a spirited reading of "Horatius at the Bridge," or "Hervé Riel," or the story of Nathan Hale.

Your "educator" may say that all this means merely an "emotional spasm." What is that but interest or enthusiasm? And what is more potent in moving the will?

Most of our intelligent mothers can testify that there seems to be nothing which more rouses a child's loving consciousness of his own land, and more enkindles a desire to do something for it,—even to die for it—than listening to these fiery old tales of exalted patriotism.

In an eloquent panegyric upon the influence of a knowledge of history, President Woolley of Mt. Holyoke College says: "It is a circumscribed life which has no vision into the past, which is familiar only with present conditions and forms of government, manners, customs and beliefs. Such a life has no background, no material for comparisons, no opportunity to learn from the mistakes of others, nor from their achievements."

And, in re-inforcement of the contention that much besides general culture and useful information is gained from the study of the past, and especially from the study of the classics, Senator Henry Cabot Lodge during a recent session of the New York Latin Club uttered a strong plea for the study of Latin and Greek, as an incentive to patriotism.

"It is impossible," he said, in effect, "to read of 'the brave days of old,' of Marathon and Salamis, of Martius Curtius, Lycurgus and a hundred others of the heroes of Greece and Rome, without a sense of the glory of living and dying for one's country. All children should be made familiar with them, and especially with the ringing lines and sound patriotism of the Iliad. They not only teach patriotism, but many of the other higher virtues, and in such an interesting way that children want to hear the stories over and over. Thus their lessons become indelibly impressed upon young minds."

But one of the hard truths which should be taught in connection with these tales of heroism, is the fact that by far the greater number of splendid sacrifices for one's country are never heard of. Cincinnatus, Hector, Ajax, Pheidippides, have come to fame, which is generally considered reward enough for any hardship; but most of the world's heroes are unknown or forgotten. Every soldier can relate courageous deeds which he has witnessed but which live only in his memory or in those of his comrades. In fact, we are told that heroism is so common in the present war that almost every soldier deserves a medal.

An interesting instance of obscure heroism is quoted by Miss Repplier from Sir Francis Doyle:

"Dr. Keate, the terrible head-master of Eton, encountered one morning a small boy crying miserably, and asked him what was the matter. The child replied that he was cold. 'Cold!' roared Keate. 'You must put up with cold, sir! You are not at a girls' school.'

"The boy remembered the sharp appeal to manhood; for fifteen years later, with the Third Dragoons, he charged at the strongly intrenched Sikhs (thirty thousand of the best fighting men of the Khalsa) on the curving banks of the Sutlej. And, as the word was given, he turned to his superior officer, a fellow-Etonian, and chuckled, 'As old Keate would say, "This is no girls' school,"' and rode to his death on the battlefield of Sobraon, which gave Lahore to England."

Thus does the true hero lay down his life, cheerfully and unrewarded, for his country.

The anonymous hero, so numerous and so grand, is well typified also by Browning's "Echetlos," "The Holder of the Ploughshare." This can be so read that even children of eight or ten can take it in.

One wishes that a real historical event were commemorated in Browning's "How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix"; but it has the heroic ring, and fires the young imagination as well, perhaps, as "An Incident of the French Camp," which is said to be true,—another story of an unnamed hero.

It will interest those same children to hear Browning's ballad of "Pheidippides," who did

"—his part, a man's, with might
And main, and not a faintest touch of fear."

The story should be told before the poem is read.

It is a pity that Napoleon III proved to be such a small man; for Mrs. Browning made some wonderful lines about him, which might well be read to children for the promotion of patriotism. In "Casa Guidi Windows" occur some of the finest lines for the awakening of true patriotism, that can be found in our language, yet they are seldom mentioned by writers on this subject. The best should be read, a few at a time, often in the family circle.

From the history of the Crimean War many striking tales of patriotism can be culled, such as incidents in the life of Lord Raglan and the careers of the wonderful Napiers, who were connected even more closely with the Peninsular War. Girls will especially find joy and inspiration in the story of Florence Nightingale. Boys and girls alike will revel in Mrs. Laura E. Richards' charmingly written "Life" of that heroine.

It is the fashion to speak rather slightingly of the patriotic poems which were thundered from the old lyceum-platforms by our forefathers, but many of them naturally possess the spirit of the first patriots, and thus are of especial value to our children. It goes without saying that every child should early become familiar with the lives of George Washington and Abraham Lincoln. Show them that such men "set the pace" for America, and taught us what true patriotism really is.

Washington's Farewell Address should be read often in every American Family, and portions of it should be known by heart to every American child. So should Lincoln's Gettysburg Address, as well as portions of his other great speeches. The stories should be often rehearsed to them of Joseph Warren, Israel Putnam, John Paul Jones, Decatur, Marcus Whitman, Grant, Sherman, Sheridan, Lee, Jackson and our other heroes of war and peace. Many of their achievements have been celebrated in worthy verse. The great orations of Daniel Webster, Edward Everett, Wendell Phillips, William Lloyd Garrison and others, and the magnificent state papers of Woodrow Wilson, are well calculated to stir the spirit of true patriotism in the hearts of noble children, and they should not be ignorant of those splendid compositions.

A year or more before the great war, a young man was speaking lightly one evening of "all this sentimental rot about 'love of country'"; how it showed "that a man hadn't traveled," and is "provincial." He spoke in the tone affected by a certain class of blasé, hypersophisticated youths, who might well be punished by the same means that were used for Edward Everett Hale's "Man Without a Country,"—another book which all older children should know.

The boy had recently returned from a long sojourn abroad. His mother was horrified to hear his words, though she had detected an unsoundness in his views ever since he had come back. Still, she said nothing at the moment. She wanted to think it over.

One evening shortly afterward the family were assembled on the broad porch. Several guests were present. It was warm, but a soft breeze blew in from the moonlighted Hudson just below them. Some one suggested that it was just the time for poetry. Why should not every one recite his favorite poem?

They began. One gave Rudyard Kipling's stirring "Song of the English." Another followed with a portion of Tennyson's "Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington," beginning with the familiar words,

"Not once nor twice in our rough island story,
The path of duty was the way to glory,"

and ending with the fine repetition,

"And keep the soldier firm, the statesman pure;
Till in all lands and through all human story,
The path of duty be the way to glory."

By this time, the party of eight or ten cultivated people were all plainly affected. The one who sat next said, "I was going to recite 'The Antiseptic Baby,'—and, of course, that is always good, but it doesn't seem to chime in with our mood to-night. I used to know Daniel Webster's great speech on the Constitution. Maybe I can recall it," and slowly he rolled forth the stately words.

When the mother's turn came, she begged them not to groan if she should give them a very well-worn selection, and started out upon Walter Scott's, "Lives There a Man with Soul so Dead."

There was some derision in the laugh which greeted her first words, but all were soon caught in the swirl of the great sentiment, and when she came to the line "Unwept, unhonored and unsung," there was long applause, the blasé youth joining in most heartily of all.

"That's an old corker, isn't it, mother!" he cried. "I'd forgotten that it was so lively. There's a lot in it."

She knew that his ideas were being cleared.

All of this heroism and love of country is represented by our flag. Its meaning should be explained to our children. Teaching them to salute it, and to repeat the words which go with the salute, becomes a mere form unless they understand its deeper significance. Henry Ward Beecher once gave a noble interpretation of it, which has been amplified by Secretary Franklin K. Lane in an address to the employees of the Department of the Interior. Only a few words of it can be given here, but your children should hear or read them all.

The Flag seemed to say to him: "The work that we do is the making of the Flag. I am not the Flag at all. I am but its shadow. I am all that you hope to be and have the courage to try for.

"I am the day's work of the weakest man and the largest dream of the most daring. I am the Constitution and the courts, statutes and statute-makers, soldier and dreadnaught, drayman and street-sweep, cook, counselor and clerk. I swing before your eyes as a bright gleam of color, the pictured suggestion of that big thing which makes this nation. My stars and stripes are your dream and your labors. They are bright with cheer, brilliant with courage, firm with faith, because you have made them so,—for you are the makers of the Flag."

This is no mere sentimental fancy.

The thrill of the flag is best understood by those who have seen it on a foreign shore; but the deepest thrill of all comes on beholding the flag which bears the marks of shot and shell.

A little boy of six, who had been considered in his family as unemotional, was one day riding with his mother past a public building, gaily decorated with bunting. Among the unstained banners above the entrance hung a cluster of old battle-flags. The child gazed at them with the greatest interest. Then he turned suddenly to his mother.

"Which do you like best, mother?" he asked. "The bright new flags, or the old, ragged flags that have been in the battle?"

"Which do you like best?" she said.

"Oh," he replied, while his little lip quivered, "I like best the old, ragged flags that have been in the battle,—don't you?"

This child had been brought up from infancy upon the stories and poems of the patriots of the past, but he had never shown before such a marked effect from them. This effect grew with his years.

The most stolid and selfish child can be made into a fervid patriot, I firmly believe, by a proper use of the great patriotic literature.

Until within a short time, some of us have deprecated the idea of filling the minds of our children with visions of killing and of killers, however brave and noble. But we have learned that, as long as there are barbarians in the world threatening to overwhelm civilization, the arts of war must still be practiced. History has described civilizations as good as ours, perhaps better, which were destroyed by barbarians, physically stronger than the gentler races which they attacked. So long as powerful tribes exist, covetous of the wealth and the territory of their neighbors, and willing to trample down everybody and everything else to get them, what can we do but fight?

"'Tis man's perdition to be safe,
When for the truth he ought to die."

That means, in the terms of to-day, that we must still sing to our children the glories of war. Americans properly hate war. It is antiquated, out of date,—utterly opposed to the spirit of the twentieth century. We should bring up our children to see that it is just that, and that we are fighting now simply because otherwise barbarism would overspread the world,—a barbarism which includes autocracy and militarism as its chief features, two elements which are intolerable in a world of democracy.

And yet war is often a purifying fire. It has its noble and uplifting side. This is the side which is emphasized in the heroic tales which have been mentioned, and which makes for the development of patriotism in the child and in the man.

CHAPTER II

THE PATRIOTISM OF PEACE

The great mind knows the power of gentleness—
Only tries force because persuasion fails.
—Robert Browning.

THE patriotism of war is far easier to teach than the patriotism of peace. When bands are playing and the love of adventure is calling, men find it easy to march away to battle for their country, and boys and girls throb through all their young beings to do something for it.

But when men are staying at home, with comfort beckoning; with the government jogging along and getting the main things done somehow or other, under the guidance of professional politicians; and with one's personal affairs requiring apparently the application of all one's mortal powers,—then patriotism needs a spur.

It was of such "piping times of peace" that Goldsmith wrote:

"Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates and men decay."

The task set forth before the conscientious citizen then is to keep alive in himself the clear torch of patriotism,—which simply means the duty to sacrifice as freely, in proportion to the need, in time of peace as in time of war.

It is the difficulty of this task, seldom yet accomplished, which has led to the many eloquent panegyrics, in all languages, upon war as necessary to the very existence of a nation. Several entire books have been written to prove that sordidness and selfishness always possess and soon destroy a nation which does not have frequent wars. The philosophy of Nietzsche is largely founded upon this theory. Treitschke and Bernhardi follow him closely. Even De Quincey, Ruskin, and others from among our best English writers, subscribe to this monstrous doctrine, and it is true that there is plenty of support for it in history.

But we Americans have always believed in brains rather than brawn for the settlement of international as well as personal controversies. The duel has been banished from our country as an antiquated means of adjusting the quarrels of individual men, and logic requires that a similar course be pursued toward quarrels on a larger scale. Because we have been obliged to lay aside temporarily our convictions in order to save ourselves and the right, from a mad dog of a nation, which threatens to overthrow civilization, does not mean that we have given up our ideals. If the American nation stands for anything, it stands for peace, though we can and will fight if liberty and right are threatened.

In the study of the Iliad which has been suggested, the words which Agamemnon speaks to Hector should be especially commended to children:

"Cursed be the man, and void of law and right,
Unworthy property, unworthy light,
Unfit for public rule or private care,
The wretch, the monster, who delights in war,—
Whose lust is murder, and whose horrid joy,
To tear his country and his kind destroy."

But in the face of the almost universal testimony against it, all of us should realize that extraordinary pains must be taken to inculcate the truth, and live it, that high patriotism can be kept alive in peace as well as in war.

Precept alone goes not very far in any line, and less, perhaps, in this, than in any other. The study of history and a little of the most modern literature, helps. Classical literature, in all languages, preaches with frightful unanimity, the necessity and the nobility of war. In the religion of Rome, Mars received ten times more homage than did Jupiter. The book and the precept must not be neglected, but your chief weapon in teaching your child the patriotism of peace must be the deed. You must set a strenuous example, or else all your words will pass like the whistle of the wind.

In President Hadley's inaugural, he asserted that the main object of education is to make good citizens,—which is, perhaps, only another way of saying that the chief object of education is to make patriots.

He was talking of the education of the schools; but Emerson somewhere says, in effect, that though we send our children to the schoolmaster, it is, after all, their environment which does most of the educating.

Emerson speaks of the shop-windows along the child's way; but it is his home which forms the most influential factor in his environment; and the part of the home usually dearest to him is his mother. It is a common saying, especially in our cities, that fathers see their children only when they are asleep, leaving them at breakfast-time, and returning after they have gone to bed. Up to the age of twelve, or thereabout, children should retire shortly after eight o'clock. During the next few years, even though they sit up later, they generally have to study. Thus, during their formative period, it is upon the mother that the home training of the children chiefly devolves.

A distinguished clergyman in a public address once eulogized his mother. He attributed to her every virtue and a wonderful mind. He was a violent anti-suffragist, and supposed that he was presenting a strong argument for his side when he said, "But though my incomparable mother counseled us upon almost every subject that could engage our attention, she never mentioned to us the subject of politics."

Had he not struck, perhaps, the main reason for the corruption of our politics? The fathers have no chance to instruct their young children in the rudiments of politics,—yet those children ought to be so instructed by somebody. They get little or nothing of it in school. If their mother does not teach them something about it, they will probably grow up ignorant of many of its snares and its opportunities.

To-day the anti-suffragists are wiser. They say that women should understand civic duties and should canvass them thoroughly with their children. The sin and the shame come only, in their opinion, when women actually vote for the best men and women to fill the offices.

The case is as if a woman should furnish a house, supplying its kitchen with every facility for cooking and cleaning; fitting its dining-room with the proper linen, silver and china; arranging its bedrooms for comfortable sleep; making its parlors beautiful for guests; and then, though she has known so well the needs of a household and how to provide for them, she draws back from the responsibility of running her model house, as if to say: "My sisters and I are not competent to manage this house. You men are far abler. Please make and enforce all the rules to govern it."

Let the men and the women work together, dividing the responsibility according to the fitness of each individual. There are stupid men and stupid women and there are bright men and bright women. Women are human beings before all else and all human interests are their interests. There is among us too much of cowardice and laziness, posing as hyper-refinement and modesty. Women as voters, "weavers of peace," as the old Saxons called them, are bound to be a helpful force in many departments, and especially in this great work of establishing universal peace, and teaching men how to use it. They should begin with the child in its cradle.

For, let us repeat, it cannot be too strongly impressed that the underlying and fundamental principles of politics must be taught by the mother, if they are taught at all; and like everything else that is good, they can be and should be taught. It does not seem to be generally understood, but it is a fact, that a training in politics is possible, and if our great experiment in government is to succeed, such a training should be given to every child, and the mother seems to be the natural, and often the only person to give it.

A mother was one day walking along the streets of the great city in which she lived, when she saw that a new liquor-saloon had been opened within two blocks of her home.

"Oh, dear!" she said to her little boy of eight, who held her hand, "Here is another saloon,—another place where men will spend their money foolishly and perhaps become drunkards,—and so near our own home! We have never had one so near before."

As she spoke, two men staggered out from the saloon-door and made their way unsteadily along the sidewalk. The child had never seen a drunken man before. His eyes widened with horror and an expression of utter disgust settled upon his eager little face.

"Why do they let 'em do it!" he burst forth. "Aren't there any Christians in Congress?"

It was plain that ideas of law and restraint, and of the difference between good government and bad government, were struggling for form and coherence in the child's mind.

The mother seized her opportunity. She explained briefly some of the evils of the saloon; the meaning of "high license" and "prohibition," and something of the arguments on both sides; how most good people agree that the saloon, as at present conducted, is a cancer on the body politic, and how the chief disagreement is concerning the best ways of controlling or suppressing it; how the liquor men are active in politics, while the temperance men are so busy with their own affairs, and usually so contemptuous of legislatures that they do not look carefully after the laws; how voters are often bribed; and as many more details as the boy seemed to want to hear.

He listened closely and asked many intelligent questions. He had received a lesson in politics which he did not forget, as his chance remarks showed for months afterward. He talked the matter over with his younger brothers, and they, too, began to ask questions. During the next few years that mother gave her boys brief talks on arbitration, the tariff, public education and its bearing on democracy, street-cleaning, road-making, silver and gold money, and many other topics of current politics. She was careful never to force them, for she knew that it is only when the mood is upon him that a boy likes to discuss serious subjects. The terms she used were of the simplest; and her husband, who was deeply interested in her efforts, and helped her whenever he could, supplied her with many illustrations, such as children could understand. Especially did she impress upon her children's minds the true and striking saying of a great Frenchman, that "governments are always just as bad as the people will let them be"; and that, as a part of the people, it was their duty to see that the government was made and kept good.

By "line upon line, precept upon precept," knowing that opinions are formed

"As boys learn to spell,—
By reiteration chiefly."

this mother tried to impress upon those children the duties of good citizenship. They are grown up now and show the effects of their training.

Many of us feel that more upon the subject of politics,—again we should remind ourselves that politics and patriotism are very nearly the same thing,—might easily and properly be taught in our public schools; for the foundation principles of politics are only those of ordinary ethics. In this way, morality, which is far more necessary than book-learning for the perpetuity of our institutions, would take that dominant place in our educational system, so strongly advocated by that prince of educators, Horace Mann. "Among all my long list of acquaintances," he says, "I find that for one man who has been ruined for want of intellectual attainments, hundreds have perished for want of morals. And yet we go on bestowing one hundred times more care and pains and cost on the education of the intellect than on the cultivation of the moral sentiments and the establishment of moral principles." He insists that morals should be regularly taught, and not "left to casual and occasional mention."

Thus broad and clear ideas of perfect honesty, with Abraham Lincoln and other good and great men as examples, form the foundation of clean politics, and should be impressed upon the children in our schools. The daily papers often describe shining instances of this cardinal virtue.

Suppose that a theater is burned and many lives lost. Laws may have been passed for the safeguarding of theaters, but the manager of this house disregarded them in order to save a few dollars. There is a chance to impress regard for law and its enforcement.

Or suppose that bribery is under discussion. Here is a true story of the way in which its devious methods were impressed upon the mind of a small boy:

He was stopping with his mother in a country town, when the tailor of the place, in speaking of the day's voting, remarked: "I don't gen'ally vote, but I did to-day, because they sent a carriage up from the Center for me. It takes time to vote and 'tain't much use. What does one vote amount to anyway? But when one of the bosses is anxious enough to come an' git me, why, then I'll vote, or if they'll give me my fare on the cars."

"Why," said the boy quickly, "isn't that bribery?"

"Lord, no!" said the man, shuffling about uneasily. "That jest pays me for my time an' trouble. I don't git nothin' for my vote."

Sophistries like this should be immediately made clear to the child. It would probably be impossible to show them to that tailor.

"Our Revolutionary fathers," said Horace Mann again, "abandoned their homes, sacrificed their property, encountered disease, bore hunger and cold, and stood on the fatal edge of battle, to gain that liberty which their descendants will not even go to the polls to protect. Our Pilgrim Fathers expatriated themselves, crossed the Atlantic,—then a greater enterprise than now to circumnavigate the globe,—and braved a savage foe, that they might worship God unmolested,—while many of us throw our votes in wantonness, or for a bribe, or to gratify revenge."

This is a terrible indictment. It is not as true now as it was in the time of Horace Mann. Still, the lesson contained in it should be impressed upon our children.

CHAPTER III

PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY IN POLITICS

Let us have faith that right makes might, and in that faith let us to the end dare to do our duty as we understand it.—Abraham Lincoln.

DURING the last few years the magazines have published many helpful series upon politics and a number of these deserve especial credit for their work in this line. In one of these articles the writer reminds us that though the sins of our time are the same old sins which were denounced by Jeremiah and Ezekiel, they are likely now to be enameled with fine new exteriors and called by new names. "Especially, the current methods of annexing the property of others are characterized by an indirectness and refinement very grateful to the natural feelings."

This is terribly true, and the child should be made aware of it. A dazzling outside may cover a black heart. Illustrate this fact to him by the story of those beautiful flowers whose sweet odor is laden with death. Tell him of William M. Tweed, whose gigantic thefts almost bankrupted a great city, yet who read a chapter in his Bible every day, and who possessed many kind and even noble qualities. Many other public men of ancient and modern times will afford equally striking examples of inconsistency.

A certain excellent country gentleman, who did not realize the possible deceitfulness of the outside, went down to the capital of his state to see about some bills which vitally affected his business. He had written to the Senator from his section that he was coming and had asked for an appointment to meet him. He had never met this man, but the papers had criticized him severely, and our friend was prepared to encounter a mean and churlish creature.

"Instead," he reported upon his return to his home, "I found him a perfect gentleman. He met me at the train and took me to my hotel in his own automobile, and invited me to dine with him the next day. He lives in a beautiful home. I was surprised to see what kind of a man he really is. You would think by the way the papers go on about him that he had horns and hoofs, but," he repeated, "he was a perfect gentleman."

Yet this man was one of the most dangerous "practical politicians" in the state—one of those who believe that the Ten Commandments have no place in politics, and who scrupled at nothing which could benefit himself and his friends. He simply could not understand a man who could "swear to his own hurt and change not."

"Unlike the old-time villain," says Mr. E. A. Reed, "the latter-day malefactor does not wear a slouch-hat and a comforter, and breathe forth curses and an odor of gin. Fagin and Bill Sykes and Simon Legree are vanishing types. Good, kindly men let the wheels of commerce and industry redden rather than pare their dividends, and our railroads yearly injure one employee in twenty-six, while we look in vain for that promised day of the Lord, which shall make 'a man more precious than fine gold.'"

And, again, "The tropical belt of sin into which we are now sweeping is largely impersonal. The hurt passes into that vague mass, 'the public,' and is there lost to view. Hence it does not take a Borgia to knead 'chalk and alum and plaster' into the loaf, seeing that one cannot know just who will eat that loaf. The purveyor of spurious life-preservers need not be a Cain. The owner of rotten tenements, whose 'pull' enables him to ignore the orders of the Health Department, fore-dooms babies, it is true, but for all that, he is no Herod.

"Often there are no victims. If the crazy hulk sent out for 'just one more trip' meets with fair weather, all is well. Briber and grafter are now 'good men,' and would have passed for virtuous in the American community of seventy years ago. Therefore, people do not always see that boodling is treason; that blackmail is piracy, that tax-dodging is larceny. The cloven hoof hides in patent leather, and to-day, as in Hosea's time, the people are destroyed for lack of knowledge."

Let us see to it that our children are not so destroyed.

In the old abolition days, Mr. Emerson wrote: "What an education in the public spirit of Massachusetts have been the speeches and reading of our public schools! Every district school has been an anti-slavery convention for these two or three years last past."

Special policies cannot often be taught like this in the modern public school, but the broad principles of pure politics can and should be.

For instance, a lesson in Civil Service management may be given without once uttering those words, simply by teaching the sentiment well uttered by Ruskin: "The first necessity of social life is the clearness of the national conscience in enforcing the law,—that he should keep who has justly earned."

Children can be taught the dangers, not only to their principles, but their worldly fortunes, of office-seeking and of making a profession of politics. The child of wealth should be especially instructed in his duty to look after the affairs of his own town, county, state and nation. The man whose powers are strained to the utmost in order to support and educate his family, can of necessity give little time to the searching out of civic wrongs and their remedies. The well-to-do citizen must give all the more to make up for the limitations of his poorer neighbor.

Children can be taught, too, something of the protean forms of bribery, the schemes for trading votes; the duty of every voter to vote and do jury-work; the need of looking at every question from both sides; of avoiding blind partisanship; and much of the rest of the elementary ethics of politics.

And, again, it is upon the mother that this patriotic duty must chiefly devolve. As with all of her training, she may often feel that the work is slow and uncertain, but she may well take to heart the encouraging words of the poet:

"Thou canst not see grass grow, how sharp soe'er thou be;
Yet that the grass has grown, thou presently shall see.
So, though thou canst not see thy work now prospering, know
The fruit of every work-time without fail shall show."

Jacob Riis used often to say that the apparent corruption of our politics was largely due to crass ignorance. There are, too, many human beings who are born moral idiots, who cannot be made to understand ethics, any more than intellectual "subnormals" can be made to understand proportion and international law. But we know that up to the ability of every being he should be taught. We know that the appalling illiteracy of Mexico, Russia and China renders a stable republic in any one of them almost impossible. Education is a slow business. Generations of it will be required to make those countries what they ought to be; but it is the desideratum to successful republicanism. Therefore it is vital that we guard our public schools.

But again it must be emphasized that though school discipline should be of the best, yet the real education of your child depends more upon his home than upon his school.

What newspapers are lying around there? What magazines? Do you patronize salacious plays? Do you exalt in your conversation the prize-fight and the automobile-race? What sort of people visit your home?

What sort of conversation goes on at your table? Is wine or beer served there? Is the air in your parlor or study often thick with tobacco-smoke?

The father who wishes his children to become pure-minded and unselfish patriots, must ask himself many questions like these. Remember that the boy is influenced by your words only to a certain degree. Our seer of Concord never uttered a more impressive truth than when he pictured a youth as demanding of his father, "How can I hear what you say, when what you are is thundering so loud in my ears?"

You can bring very near to your boy and your girl, the responsibility of us all for good home government, by mentioning often to them the burning issues in their home town. In many of our towns and villages, one part of the city or township is jealous of another part, will not vote for improvements there and is generally suspicious and contrary.

Explain to your children how contemptible such an attitude is. Weigh for them the arguments on both sides, and make them help you to decide justly how you ought to vote. Make the girl, especially, form an opinion. On her may devolve the future political training of influential citizens. In fact, she may herself be a Member of Congress or a United States Senator!

Are the roads bad in your town? Are the taxes improperly collected? Are the schools inferior or managed by politicians? Is the town poorly policed? Are the back yards unsanitary? Are the town officers inefficient?

Explain to your children how the taxes are laid,—how a town has to spend a good deal to keep itself up, so to speak; and how important it is that its tax-money should be carefully spent.

Particularly should we impress it upon our children that if a town is a slipshod, ugly or unhealthy place, it is not the fault of a vague, formless thing, called "the town" or "the city," or "the state," but of each and every one of us; and especially of every separate voter who fails to be on hand at the town-meetings or caucuses, and to try his best to get good men elected and good measures passed.

An American was riding in a cab through the streets of Vienna, some years before the war, reading his mail. As he finished with certain letters, he tore them up and threw the fragments out of the cab-window. The driver soon began to notice what was going on, left his box and picked up the torn papers. Then he put his head in at the window, and cried, with a passion which seemed to the careless and untidy American quite uncalled-for, "What do you mean by littering up our beautiful streets in this way? Where do you come from? Have your people no pride in their country? Do they wish it to look all over like a slum?"

He actually reported the matter to the police. The man was thereupon haled to court and had to pay a considerable fine.

Although some of our cities, as well as foreign ones, carry civic pride to an almost ridiculous extent, it is a good fault. Children should early be taught to regard the neatness and beauty of their town.

If they complain that these matters are hard to remember and to do, give them to understand that patriotism is not easy. Few virtues are easy to practice, and perhaps unselfish patriotism is the hardest of all.

A young man graduated from that great American university where it is said that citizenship is most strenuously taught, and where he had certainly imbibed a lofty desire to do his duty by his country. He lived in a great city and presented himself in due time after his graduation at the door of his ward political organization. There he met with an experience something like this:

A gentleman, plethoric and red-faced, welcomed him, asked his name and address, and gave him "the glad hand." At the same time, he showed a spice of suspicion.

"Are you a Republican?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I suppose you have always voted the straight ticket?"

"Well,—I have been voting only a year or two. I think I have voted the straight ticket so far."

"And I suppose you intend to vote the straight ticket right along?"

"I may or I may not," said the youth, with some spirit. "I reserve for myself the right to vote for the best candidate, especially in local affairs."

"Then,—ahem—perhaps you haven't got into just the right place. This is a straight organization, you know. Maybe you can find an 'independent'" (pronounced with scorn) "organization somewhere in the ward. I rather think that is where you belong. We have found these 'independents' a sort of obstruction to the transaction of business,—a kind of kickers, you know, though of course, you might not turn out so. Still,"—with decision,—"you really don't belong here."

"I was mad clear through," said the youth, in relating the story later. "I was disgusted with the looks of the man and with those who were in there with him. I just turned on my heel and left, and I haven't darkened that door again."

Was that patriotic? Was not that boy deliberately turning over the government of his city to "boodlers" and "grafters"?

"But," you may say, "should he have stayed on where he was not wanted?"

Certainly he should. He had a right there, as any citizen had. He should have taken time to find other voters like himself, which he could no doubt have done, and together they could have maintained themselves. He saw that this man and his companions were not proper persons to have control of an organization of his party, and he should have done his best, even at the sacrifice of considerable time, to oust them and get better men in. He was no patriot.

CHAPTER IV

TEACHING THE MEANING OF DEMOCRACY

In a country like ours, there is a public opinion of almost uncontrollable power. The educated and the intellectual may have a decisive voice in its formation; or they may live in their own selfish enjoyments, and suffer the ignorant and depraved to form that public opinion.—Horace Mann.

ONE of the most irritating things in the world to a true patriot, is the visitor at his table, who exalts the superiority of other nations to our own.

Not that nearly every other nation may not have some one or more points of superiority, which should be acknowledged and emulated; but your worshiper of the foreign usually makes a blanket indictment of America.

One such man was a guest at a certain table just before the war. He had recently returned from a long stay in Europe, where his great wealth and important commercial and social connections gave him access to many of the circles which largely control the life over there.

"How are the people abroad thinking of us nowadays?" inquired his hostess rather lightly. "Do they despise us as much as ever?"

"Yes, indeed," replied the great man emphatically.

"But I hope you stood up for us?"

"I wish I could say that I did," he had the effrontery to reply calmly; "but how could I? They consider that the corruption of our government is so bad that it cannot possibly continue very long. I couldn't deny it, could I? I agreed with them entirely that we were nearly at the end of our rope."

"Really?" gasped his hostess. "Are you in earnest?"

"I never was more so in my life. Look at the condition of affairs in Blank and Blank and Blank,"—naming several states in which legislative scandals had been lately unearthed,—"How long do you think that things can go on like that and a government survive? I had to admit that a democratic form of government is a failure. Of course, it was a great dream of the fathers, but it has proved to be as impracticable as a good many other rainbow visions. Sometime the world may be ready for it, but it evidently is not now."

"And what do you think will follow?" asked his hostess, holding on to her temper with difficulty. "Are you in favor of an autocracy like Germany, or of a limited monarchy like Great Britain? Or do you think an oligarchy a better form? And if we decide on a monarchy, where should we get our royal family? Should we elect one from candidates that present themselves? Or should we request Europe to send us one?"

"Now you are making fun of me," he commented with some feeling.

"Oh, no, not exactly," she laughed. "But really, if Europe is unanimous in thinking our republic a failure, there must be 'something in it.' You have been in many countries and have met the leading people, and you know what you are talking about. If we are truly on the verge of a revolution, it is to the men like you, our foremost and ablest men, that we must turn to save us. Therefore you ought to be thinking of ways and means. Here is a nation of nearly a hundred million persons. If its government is so rotten that it cannot last, what should be done?"

But he declined to continue the discussion. He merely laughed rather weakly and some one just then introduced a new topic.

Strange to say, during the next few months several other men were encountered, who also bemoaned the "failure" of our institutions.

Our children must be taught how to meet such pessimists. They would probably, in the light of recent developments, say that they repudiate the doctrines of Nietzsche, but they are really endorsing one of his prime tenets, namely, that democracy is bound always to be a failure; that the "masses" should be kept down; that all attempts to elevate "the herd" are folly; that they should be made to observe that strict morality, from whose shackles the "supermen" are free; and should submit unquestioningly to authority. Women, even in the "super" class, are made in Nietzsche's opinion, simply, as Milton says, to serve by "standing and waiting."

One would think that men who hold such views as this traveled guest, had never studied democracy. They surely do not understand its deep and splendid meaning. They should be made to see, as our children should be, by every means that we can devise, the tremendous advance which a democratic form of government shows beyond any other that the world has hitherto known. They should have impressed upon them Elihu Root's definition: "Democracy is organized self-control."

Especially should they be told that universal education and unselfishness of patriotism are the only conditions under which a democracy can be perfected; and that no nation has ever yet been sufficiently educated and unselfish to arrive at perfection, and probably will not be until the millennium.

We all realize that our government has many defects; but most of our critics stupidly fail to recognize that our public officials, instead of being our masters, are regarded by us, and in no Pickwickian sense, as our servants. We are all so criminally busy with our personal affairs that we allow our government to run along almost anyway, often knowing that grafters are in charge of it; but feeling that it is cheaper to let matters go until they become unendurable, than to take the trouble to keep close track of them. After awhile, we say to ourselves, we will have a regular cleaning-up, turn the rascals out, and put in a new set of officials, who, we hope, will do better.

Our children must be taught that this is a wicked way to do. They must devote some of their time to following public affairs. They must understand also that, while low salaries must usually be paid to public officials, in order that offices may not be too eagerly sought, yet that patriots must be willing, when they can possibly afford it, to accept these low salaries, if their country is to be well and honestly served. In this war, we have seen many noble men resign large incomes in order to serve the nation. We must learn to do that in peace as well as in war.

And we must all understand too, that these officials do not really represent the governing power of our country, which is undoubtedly that intangible thing called Public Opinion. It is as subtly invisible as electricity or gravity, but in this nation as powerful.

In China, in India, and in most of the other oriental countries; in Russia also, as the recent upheavals there have proved, there is nothing which can properly be called organized Public Opinion. In France and in Great Britain, there is much. In our country, it is everything. It dominates our whole social and political system. Our press is sometimes said to create it. Oftener the press says that it follows Public Opinion,—while a considerable section of our population declare that the press and Public Opinion are the same thing.

In any case, the child should be made to understand that in a truly and nobly democratic form of government, no czar, no kaiser, no caste nor clique controls, but the people themselves, who, as Lincoln said, can be fooled by their leaders part of the time, but whose sober second thought usually sets them ultimately on the right side. The child should be made to feel that since he is one unit in this controlling mass, he should form his opinions with care.

One of the most frequent accusations against us among foreigners, is that we are wholly and ineradicably sordid. As outsiders often put it,

"All that Americans care for is the dollar."

Most of us, when we hear this, share the sentiment of a bright High School girl, who took part in a debate in 1913 on the comparative excellence of foreign and domestic manners.

"I have just come back from a summer in Europe," she said, "and I found there, on the whole, much worse manners than we have here. For instance, in nearly every country where we went, we had relatives and friends, and they were constantly saying, and very rudely, I thought, 'Oh, yes, we understand your America. All you care for over there is the dollar.' But I don't care for the dollar and my father and my mother, and my uncles and my aunts, and our friends,—hardly anybody I know, in fact,—none of them care for the dollar,—not half so much as they do over there,—and I told them so!"

Her passionate plea brought forth equally passionate applause from her young hearers,—for it was true. Human nature is inherently selfish and grasping. We have only to read the book of Proverbs to see that it was so in ancient times and it will probably always retain something of that meanness; but Americans are the most generous people in the world, and, as a whole, are the freest from miserliness and avarice. Look over the marriage notices of a century or more ago in any English periodical, and you will probably find mentioned there the amount of the bride's dowry. We all know how invariably it has to be ascertained nowadays before a foreign nobleman takes an American bride. Among ourselves, there is almost nothing of this sort.

One reason, perhaps the principal one, for this universal accusation, is not far to seek. All foreign nations have their leisure classes. The great nobles and gentry often do not even manage their own estates. Some "factor" or "agent" does it for them. As for working for money, the very idea would shock them unspeakably. A woman who works for money is especially scorned over there. It is seldom that such a woman has any social standing whatever.

Utterly different is the American estimation of merit. Here we have a leisure class, but it is so small as to be negligible, and it is commonly despised. All of our men are expected to work for money, or, as we put it,—to earn their living, though many of our rich men often contribute freely much time and labor to public affairs and to philanthropy. A woman who earns her living over here is quite as likely as not to rank among our most respected citizens.

As a well-known snob once said, "Even in our first circles, you once in a while meet one of these writers or painters, who expects to be treated as if he were one of us."

Thus Public Opinion controls our social as well as our political life.

CHAPTER V

SACRIFICING FOR PATRIOTISM

Look back upon Washington and upon the Savior-like martyrs, who, for our welfare, in lonely dungeons and prison-ships, breathed a noisome air; and when the minions of power came around day after day and offered them life and liberty if they would desert their country's cause, refused and died. The great experiment of republicanism is being tried anew. In Greece and Italy it failed through the incapacity of the people to enjoy liberty without abusing it. Millions of human beings may be happy through our wisdom, but must be miserable through our folly. Religion, the ark of God, is here thrown open to all, and yet is to be guarded from desecration and sacrilege, lest we perish with a deeper perdition than ever befell any other people.—Horace Mann.

A LITTLE boy many years ago was marching down Fourth Avenue in New York, his face bright with interest and his whole air that of one who has important business on hand. A gentleman who met him was curious to know what was in the child's mind and stopped him.

"Where are you going so fast, my little man?" he asked.

"I'm going to the Bible House," replied the boy promptly. "You see the Morning Star,—that's the missionary ship, has just got in, and I paid a penny to get that ship, and so it's part mine, and I'm going down to hear all about it."

The gentleman who told this story was old, and the incident had occurred in his young manhood, but he said he had never forgotten it, for it illustrated better than anything he had ever seen the effect upon the mind of a personal share in any enterprise.

The child who has worked in a garden is likely to watch its growth and progress with an interest which he could not otherwise feel. In the same way he can be made to appreciate his home better if he has daily light tasks to do in maintaining its order and comfort; but these tasks should, if possible, be made regular ones, and their performance should become a habit. If they are done only now and then, they are much more likely to be felt as a burden.

The maintenance of the ordinary home requires great labor and expense. Without unduly distressing them, children should be made to understand this, and that it is only fair that each member of the family should do his part in keeping it up. In the households of the rich, such a course is hard to manage, for servants do all the work; but in the average home where but one servant, or none at all, is kept, a little ingenuity on the part of the parents will accomplish it, without "nagging" or tiresome repetition.

In one family of five children, where there was no servant, but where the standards of the mother were high, there was naturally an enormous amount of work to do. The eldest child was a girl of twelve, the next, a girl of ten. Then came a boy of eight, and so on down. The older ones were in school, but all helped cheerfully in the household work as far as they were able.

The boy of eight, who may be called Chester, was a thoughtful little fellow, and when he saw his mother rising at four or five o'clock every morning to wash or iron or cook; then, all day long cutting out little garments, running the sewing-machine, tending the teething baby, or engaged in the never-ending task of cleaning the house, his tender heart was deeply moved.

He was a great reader and the lady who superintended the village library came to know him well, and often had long talks with him. From his extensive reading, coupled with a naturally rather "old-fashioned" way of expressing himself, his remarks were often of a nature to amuse her, but she never laughed at him, and so was able to keep his confidence.

One morning Chester appeared with his weekly book, and as the librarian was alone, he sat down for a little talk. His face was long, and as he dropped into his chair, he sighed heavily.

"What is the matter, Chester?" she asked kindly.

"My mother is sick," he replied dejectedly. "She is sick in bed. My father got the breakfast, but he isn't much good,—and we children helped, but we ain't much good either. Not anything goes right when my mother is sick."

"But she will soon be well. Probably she has been working too hard."

"Yes, that's it," agreed Chester wearily. "My father says so. He tells her to let things go more, and she says she tries, but she wants the house to look so nice,—and see how well she mends my stockings,"—rolling up one of his knickerbockers, "and it is work, work, work for my mother from morning to night. Oh, Miss Smith," concluded Chester in a tone of anguish, "the lot of woman is very hard."

Miss Smith had never had such difficulty to control herself as when she heard this monumental sentiment from the lips of this diminutive urchin, but she managed to utter steadily, "Still, it must be a comfort to your mother to have so many good children to help her," to which Chester gravely assented.

There are not many children who so fully appreciate their mother's responsibilities; but it is well that, without complaint or whining, the mother should, in such circumstances as those which have been described, make her family understand that her "lot" needs all of the amelioration that they can supply; and they will love and value their home all the more, the more they do for it.

The same thing is true of the affairs of your town or city. If you do nothing for it, you are likely to care nothing for it.

In Miss McCracken's interesting book, "Teaching Through Stories," she tells of a little girl, who, from reading the story, "The Microbe Which Comes Into Milk," became convinced of the importance of pure milk. In this tale, emphasis is laid upon the rapidity with which milk deteriorates, if it is left standing in the sun, and the harm which often comes to babies in consequence.

A little later, a neighbor, who had a small baby, reported that this child rang her bell early one morning, about ten minutes after the milk-man had brought the baby's milk, and said anxiously, "Your milk-bottle is standing out on the piazza in the sun. Aren't you afraid it will spoil if you don't put it in the ice-chest?"

It is but a little way from an interest in the pure milk of an individual baby to an interest in pure milk for all babies. This little girl will probably grow up to see that laws are enforced for pure milk, and for the cleanliness of cows and stables. Even though she may never develop an enthusiasm for any other branch of politics, it is a good thing to have one woman working hard for pure milk.

All children can be taught to see that good laws for such matters are a part of patriotism; and that a man who does not try to help to get such laws, even though he may shout for political candidates and hang out flags in front of his house, is not a true patriot.

It is not often that one person can work in many different directions; but if each one will choose some reform in which he is particularly interested, and hammer at that until it is accomplished, he will have done something fine for his country. He may meet with all kinds of discouragements, but let him hold on. Again, he must be reminded that patriotism is seldom easy.

Even after you have succeeded in getting your ordinance passed, you may have trouble in having it enforced. Worst of all, the clever rascals on the other side may manage to get your hard-won law repealed,—and there is your long task all to do over again.

Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty just as much now as ever. Look across the ocean, and you see what it is costing the nations of to-day. You think that our fathers gained it for us in the Revolution, and that, however others may have to fight for it, it is secure for us; and all that we have to do is to sit back and enjoy it. On the contrary, some form of tyranny is always just around the corner, waiting to devour us. It is not impossible that a wrong issue of this war may force us to fight on our own soil again for it.

In any case, there are plenty of social and commercial tyrants only waiting to lay hands on us. Sometimes it is a rich corporation, stretching out shrewd tentacles to entrap us. Its managers may be philanthropic and courteous, even religious, tyrants,—but despots none the less. It may be a company of racetrack gamblers, defeated for a while by a fearless governor, but stealing back to power as soon as his back is turned. Different states may have different tyrants,—or an arrogant party of socialists may "tie up" the whole country. There is almost every minute some movement going on, calculated, if it succeeds, to hamper or destroy our liberty. Mr. D. L. Moody once said, when he was commenting upon this phase of our national life: "Anything that is going to hurt this nation we ought to fight. Anything that is going to undermine this grand republic or tear out its foundation, you and I ought to guard against with our tears and our prayers and our efforts."

Explain this often to your children. It will strengthen their determination to defend their country.

One of our young reformers in a public address lately pleaded for a wider recognition among the people of the good work of honest officials.

"There are enough among us to find fault when things are not done right," he said, "but there are few who will take the trouble to commend the man who does well. He keeps on with his efforts, whether he gets any praise for it or not, but he is often immensely cheered and refreshed by an appreciative word. If his morality is not of the heroic kind, he may fall away and cease to put forth any special effort to do his work well, just for lack of encouragement."

He illustrated his point with the story of the small boy who was sweeping the sidewalk when some ladies appeared to call upon his mother. One of them asked pleasantly, "Is your mother at home?"

His rather rude reply was laden with significance.

"Do you suppose," he growled, while a slight twinkle broke through his scowling eye, "that I would be sweeping here if she wasn't at home?"

In spite of the fact that a well-fed, well-clothed and well-educated people, like the Germans, for instance, will bear an autocratic government, which kindly does everything for them, but gives little opportunity for individual initiative; it cannot be compared, in its salutary effect upon its citizens, with one which calls forth the powers of judgment and decision in every one, and feeds self-respect, discouraging toadyism and caste, like a republic. An autocracy, if wisely administered, undoubtedly means greater order and efficiency, until the democracy has mastered its new problems and its people have become thoroughly educated. Rough working of new machinery is almost inevitable; and the modern democratic idea has not, even in our own country, in the absence of the votes of half the people, been allowed proper space for expansion, though England, France and Switzerland are hewing at it also. A hundred years longer will show what it can do, if demagogues do not overturn it. If our republic fails, another will arise upon its ashes, for the noble principles upon which it was founded are the highest yet conceived by man, and are immortal.

This truth cannot be too early or too strongly impressed upon our children. There are enough men, like our distinguished capitalist, who do not believe in it. Their plausible arguments may undermine the convictions of our young people, unless we furnish them with solid reasons for our higher belief.

As Mr. Benjamin C. R. Low has recently written in a fine poem, "America is so new!"

We are new. We realize that we are an experiment. Whether this experiment, the greatest the world has ever seen, is to succeed, depends upon the kind of patriotism that is instilled into our children. They must be thoroughly inoculated with the truth that both peace and war make incessant, expensive and personally sacrificial demands upon every citizen, and that these demands must be met by them, or else America is lost.

There must be no "slackers" in this everlasting conflict.

CHAPTER VI

PATRIOTISM AND HEALTH

Entire abstinence from intoxicating drinks as a beverage, would, with all its attendant blessings, in the course of a single generation, carry comfort, competence and respectability, with but few exceptions, into all the dwellings in the land. This is not a matter of probability and conjecture. It depends upon principles as fixed and certain in their operation as the rising of the sun.—Horace Mann.

WE are accused by our foreign visitors of being a sickly nation, and the numerous exemptions from military service among our young men for physical defects, have reinforced their contention. Our ice-water, our ice-cream soda-water, our custom of bolting our food, and our over-heated houses, make it impossible, they say, that we should ever be a strong and healthy people. And so, of course, we can never hope to be a "world-power!"

Many other indictments are brought against us in this line, most of which, if the ardent accusers would only think of it, might be brought with equal justice against every other civilized nation.

Thus, excessive alcoholism, in which we have been said to be second only to Great Britain, evidently applies somewhat to other countries, in which the new prohibitory laws are declared to have worked a social and industrial revolution. Drunkenness must have prevailed there to a considerable degree, since the condition of the people has been so much improved by a prohibitory law.

We are all ready to concede, even though prohibition has won to its support so many of our states, that there is still room for improvement in the public opinion of a large part of the country, regarding the merits of "wet and dry."

It is stoutly maintained in certain social circles that the daily presence of wine upon the family table is more likely than its absence to promote temperance there. This theory does not commend itself to most of us, and our position is strengthened by the facts recently proclaimed by science, which go to prove that not only do drunkards abound among the families which serve wine upon their tables, but that the use of any alcoholic beverage lowers efficiency and is distinctly injurious to health, in spite of exceptions. We always hear of these shining exceptions, while of the vast army of those who have succumbed, no records are available.

Dr. Eugene Lyman Fisk, in one of his interesting articles, states that recent scientific researches have proven that "alcohol has been found to be a depressant and a narcotic, often exerting, even in small daily doses, an unfavorable effect on the brain and nervous functions, and on heart and circulation, and lowering the resistance of the body to infection."

The testimony of the Life Insurance Companies and of the managers of athletic "teams," is also conclusive as to the deteriorating effects of alcohol; and the motive of patriotism will be found of great assistance in impressing the desirableness of total abstinence upon the young.

We should all like to have our country called the healthiest in the world. To that end we drain our marshes, protect our water-supply, make innumerable laws for tenement-reform, street-cleaning, pure food and so on. But all these measures are bound to be more or less ineffective so long as we cram our systems with chemical poisons.

Make this plain to your boy and your girl; and that, as the famous story has it, as every deed was done by the early fathers, "In the name of the King"; so, in what might seem to be irrelevant, though really germane and vital, we should all do the right thing in the name of America.

We all know well the absolute slavery of men to fashion. The average man would rather be racked on the wheel of the Inquisition than to "appear out" in a coat or a hat different from those that "the other men" are wearing. Boys, large and small, are quite as sensitive. Mothers encounter angriest protests and even floods of tears if they strive to impose on their young sons any detail of costume different from that worn by "the other fellows." Women have long borne the imputation of being the chief sinners in this regard, but they are not. Their brothers are even more tightly bound in the meshes of the merciless despot, Fashion.

This fact must be taken into consideration in all efforts at social reform among men, as a class. The independence which can defy a hurtful social custom is very rare among them. Many a man who would "go over the top" without quailing, lacks the courage to oppose a popular social movement, though he may know that it is of dubious benefit to the race.

But true patriotism, to say nothing of other motives, bids us discard every habit and stamp out every malady which lowers the morale or impairs the efficiency of the people.

One of the most subtle foes of our national health, and only lately dragged out of its secret lair for the open contumely and united attack of all good men and women, is the most terrible of sex-diseases, which is said to be frightfully prevalent.

Mr. Cleveland Moffett, in McClure's Magazine, pleads for specific sex-instruction in our educational institutions. He says: "The youth of America are taught everything, with the exception of the most essential of all, the great secret of life. One result of this inexcusable neglect is seen in alarming high school conditions reported in various cities."

He advises home instruction in these important and delicate matters, but admits, what we all know, that few parents are qualified to give it. Those few should do so; but if the most terrible disease known to civilization, and probably, in a more or less virulent form, the most common, is to be successfully combated, such instruction should be imparted. Under the circumstances, it must be done, apparently, by regular teachers, who should be high-minded, tactful and thoroughly trained.

This instruction should be given to each pupil separately and when alone with his teacher. Two or three interviews, of perhaps twenty minutes each, ought to be sufficient each year. It should be possible to arrange that number in every school in the land.

There is another great curse which operates especially against the health of our girls.

A well-known woman is in the habit of saying, "I have scarcely a woman-friend who either has not just had an operation, or is not having one now, or is not going to have one soon."

This statement always raises a laugh, but is no joke; it is a solemn, awful fact.

Now why are so many of our splendid women, well-fed, living largely in the open air, busy, educated, passionately devoted to the study of hygiene and sanitation, inevitably destined to be cut up on the operating-tables of our hospitals?

Why,—it is so commonly expected, that we hear of these operations now without a quiver, even though we know they are likely to be fatal. We accept them as though they were decreed by an inescapable Fate, and there was no remedy.

Is it reasonable that the Creator should have made woman to be a natural invalid,—to have powers and faculties which she could never fully employ and enjoy? Of what use are our hard-won educational advantages, if they are going simply to a band of sickly, half-dead girls and women? It is a monstrous and blasphemous thought that our Maker designed women for such a destiny.

Huxley says that nine-tenths of the impediments to women's health are not inherent, but are due to her mode of life.

She was made to be strong and helpful. Her body is wonderfully wrought and fashioned for motherhood, and for the accomplishment of the high spiritual mission to which the woman-soul aspires. One is driven to the conclusion that at the root of her physical enfeeblement is the costume which has been imposed upon her by the false ideals and hyper-refined standards of past centuries, and of nations which have admired most the class of women who do not prepare themselves for motherhood.

The costume which women wear is intended chiefly to give an impression of slenderness. It is not suited to the hard work of the busy housewife, nor to that of the cramped and confined office- or shop-worker, nor to the life of the schoolgirl. A hard-working man, dressed in the modern corset and in the usually closely-belted blouse of the girl and woman of to-day, would fail physically and resort to the operating-table as universally as do his wife and sisters. That so many of them survive the ordeal and are able to perform some useful work in the world is, says one prominent physician, "one of the wonders of our time." "Pauline Furlong," in a recent issue of a widely circulated journal, begs that the corset and the closely fitting costume of the present be discarded, and replaced by something light, loose and hung entirely from the shoulders.

The recent remarks of Mr. Edison upon this subject are sound. He says, "There should be no pressure upon any part of the body, if the organs within, which require perfect freedom in order to do their work efficiently, are to perform their functions."

We shall never have a strong and healthy nation, though we may make volumes of sanitary laws, until there is a radical change in the dress of women. That, just as a girl is approaching the age when she is likely to marry and bear children, the organs of motherhood should be subjected to strong pressure and largely deprived of activity, so that the delicate milk-ducts are often atrophied, and the muscles most needed to support the child are weakened; while the chief organ of all is frequently displaced, leading to painful and sometimes fatal complications;—all this is so discreditable to the intelligence of our people, that future ages will doubtless look back upon our period as one of densest ignorance regarding eugenics.

You may ask, "What do you advise to take the place of the present mode of dress?"

Only the experts in such matters can answer this question. It seems likely that some combination of the best points of the oriental costumes offers the best solution. The new dress should be perfectly loose; light in weight; should depend entirely from the shoulders, like a man's, thus bringing no pressure to bear upon the important but loosely hung organs of the abdomen; and the legs should be allowed the utmost freedom.

Women who have long depended upon a corset for support will doubtless find it uncomfortable, or even dangerous, to lay upon their enfeebled muscles alone the task of upholding their bodies. Girls who do not wear corsets will not "look well" (according to our modern distorted ideas) in any but the prevailing costume. The dancers say that if a truly hygienic mode of dress is introduced, the modern dance will have to be reformed,—which may not be the least of the benefits of such a mode!

These are some of the objections raised to radical changes in women's attire. But the health of our girls, and especially of our mothers, is a vital matter, and must be made paramount. There will always be causes enough for illness; but it must be emphasized that we shall never have a strong and healthy nation, in which but a small percentage, instead of the enormous one of the present draft, is rejected for physical defects, until the motherhood of the nation is properly equipped for motherhood. Neither will our girls be ready to fulfill nobly their new political duties.