Chapter XVIII: The Blunders of Shiloh (2)

His faculty for remembering faces and names was marvelous. In 1832, returning from Washington to Nashville, he was tendered a reception at Cincinnati. A rough-looking fellow was seen trying to make his way past the reception committee. The General’s keen eye spied him and at once he darted forward. “Hello, Ned!” was his hearty greeting, and, turning to his bewildered committee, he explained: “One of my old boys in the Fourth Infantry, gentlemen—had to release him from the guard-house once or twice for fighting or stealing chickens, but he was a good soldier, gentlemen.” “How long since you have seen him, General?” asked one of the committee. “Oh,” was the matter-of-course answer, “it’s about twelve years. I saw him on guard at the Governor’s house the day I left Pensacola.”

Early in the spring of 1845, after his arduous campaign in Polk’s behalf, General Jackson’s health began to fail. He met the idea of death with that same fortitude which nerved him when a lad of thirteen to suffer a sabre cut rather than black a British officer’s boots.

His career, which had been like the blaze of the sun in the fierceness of its glory, melted into a passing away as tranquil as a summer evening. The majestic energy of an indomitable will gave way to the gentleness of a heart rich in the tenderest affections. No man in private life more completely possessed the hearts of all around him; no man ever retired from public life with more complete mastery of the affections of the people. No man was more truly and typically American in his ideas; no man expressed them more boldly or more sincerely. He was always, under all circumstances, wholly sincere and true. I cannot do better, in closing, than to quote from George Bancroft, the historian.

“Up to the last,” he says, “he dared do anything that it was right to do. He united personal and moral courage beyond any man of whom history keeps the record.

“Before the nation, before the world, before coming ages, he stands forth the representative, for his generation, of the American mind. And the secret of his greatness is this; by intuitive conception he shared and possessed all the creative ideas of his country and his time; he expressed them with dauntless intrepidity; he enforced them with an immovable will; he executed them with an electric power that attracted and swayed the American people. The nation, in his time, had not one thought of which he was not the boldest and clearest expositor.

“Not danger, not an army in battle array, not wounds, not widespread clamor, not age, not the anguish of disease, could impair in the least degree the vigor of his steadfast mind. The heroes of antiquity would have contemplated with awe the unmatched hardihood of his character; and Napoleon, had he possessed his disinterested will, could never have been vanquished. He conquered the wilderness; he conquered the savage; he conquered the bravest veterans trained on the battlefields of Europe; he conquered everywhere in statesmanship; and when death came to get the mastery over him, he turned the last enemy aside as tranquilly as he had done the feeblest of his adversaries, and passed from earth in the triumphant consciousness of immortality.”

Notwithstanding the fact of his incomparable successes at the bar, on the bench, in Congress and on the field of battle, which demonstrate his sense and genius, and although his state papers compare well with those of any President, there are yet those living who believe him to have been illiterate. If Colonel Colyar’s masterly “Life and Times of Andrew Jackson” had naught else to commend it, it would deserve the commendation of the American people in its complete refutation of the charge of illiteracy, all-sufficient and incontestable.[2]

His faithful old body-servant remained at the Hermitage and kept his grave green through all the years, and to all visitors who came he talked about “de Gin’ral” as though he were still in the flesh. The story is told that soon after the death of Old Hickory a visitor asked old Alfred if he thought General Jackson went to heaven.

“I don’t know, boss,” promptly replied the old man, “whether de Gin’ral went to heben or not, but dar’s one thing I does know—he did if he wanted to!”

[2] Life and Times of Andrew Jackson. By A. S. Colyar, Nashville: Marshall and Bruce.

DALE’S HIGHLANDERS

By Captain H. W. Carpenter

United States Marine Corps

One of the finest examples of what discipline can do in affecting the conduct of soldiers and others whose lives are passed amid dangerous surroundings, is furnished by the charge of Dale’s Highlanders at the battle of New Orleans, January 8, 1815, just ninety-two years ago.

In order to understand just what this charge meant to the brave Scots, it is necessary to summarize briefly the events which preceded the memorable battle, a fight which, as one of General Andrew Jackson’s cannoneers expressed it, “was lost before the fighting began,” for a peace was signed while the preliminary movements were going on.

A powerful British fleet with a large military force under Sir Edward Pakenham, brother-in-law of the Duke of Wellington, sailed from the West Indies to attack New Orleans and arrived in Lake Borgne about December twentieth, 1814. The small American flotilla which opposed their landing was destroyed, and the troops disembarked on Pine Island.

Finding themselves in a swamp, the British floundered through the mud until about nightfall of the first day of the advance, ground suitable for a bivouac was discovered near the Mississippi River, and not far from the position along the Rodriguez Canal, which had been selected by General Jackson for the defense of the city. Here, behind hastily constructed works of mud and cotton bales, were drawn up the defenders, composed of a few United States regular artillery, volunteers from New Orleans and Kentucky, many of the latter unarmed; a force of pirates and smugglers from Baratara Bay, under their captains, Dominique and Beluche; and last, but not least, about twenty-five hundred backwoods riflemen from the Cumberland Valley, in all not above thirty-two hundred men.

Hardly were the invaders established in their bivouac before they were rudely disturbed by a night attack from the Americans, during which they, for the first time, discovered the prowess of the backwoodsman and his long rifle, and during the short fight which followed lost two hundred and thirteen killed and wounded, and seventy captured.

Reinforcements, which increased their number to thrice that of the Americans, having arrived from the fleet, the invaders remained in or near their bivouac until the morning of December thirtieth, 1814, but never for a moment were they permitted to be at peace; for by day their hiding places were sought out by the guns of the gunboat _Carolina_, at anchor in the river, and as soon as night enfolded them the backwoodsmen took up the bloody work. Sentries were shot down as they walked their posts, and to enjoy the warmth or light of the camp fire was but to court almost certain death from the unerring rifles. Knife and tomahawk also played their parts, until the harassed British were not only panic-stricken at the swift death which overtook so many of them, but bitterly complained of the uncivilized methods of their adversaries.

The situation became so serious that Sir Edward himself came up from the ships to take over the command from General Keane, and plans were at once perfected to relieve matters by attacking the troublesome enemy. The commander in chief could not be made to believe that there was anything to be feared from backwoodsmen and untried militia when they were confronted by the pride of the British army in battle formation.

The Americans had been very busy with their works in the meantime, and had also mounted thereon five small field pieces, so that when, on the morning of the fourth day after Sir Edward’s arrival, a force of about two thousand men advanced to storm their position they were ready and met the adversaries with such a storm of well directed lead and iron that they were repulsed, and being unable to withdraw from the field sought shelter in the ditches and drains until, under cover of darkness, they were able to retreat, leaving over one hundred dead upon the field.

Sir Edward had become convinced that these men behind the mud walls were something different from the militia he had been accustomed to denounce, and therefore called a council of war and erected a battery composed of sugar hogsheads, mounting thirty-five guns within a third of a mile from General Jackson’s works. The attack was then renewed, but it was a repetition of the first one, so far as results were concerned, for the infantry were repulsed and the battery with its thirty-five guns completely dismantled. The British loss in this attack was eighty-odd killed and wounded, beside the thirty-five guns.

Reinforcements again arriving from the fleet. Sir Edward, furious and chagrined, determined, for his honor as well as for his safety, to renew the assault with such a force as would overwhelm the militia by mere weight of numbers, if nothing else, and therefore remained inactive for eight days in order to allow his men to get over the ill-effects of the two former failures, and to bring up every available man for the final effort.

On the morning of January 8th the British were early astir, and it was soon discovered from the American lines that the enemy was about to deliver his assault in three columns. General Keane’s Foot and Colonel Rennie’s Rifles formed the left of the British line; General Gibbs, with three thousand Peninsular Veterans, the right; Dale’s Highlanders, nine hundred and fifty strong, the center, and a force of about two thousand foot, under General Lambert, as a reserve—in all, about eighty-five hundred men.

Over them all hung a silence as of the grave, for none knew better than these men that they were about to march to almost certain death at the hands of the backwoodsmen and their long rifles. At break of day, by rocket signal, the columns moved into position; but some plantation buildings which concealed the advance of the Rifles having been set on fire by the American guns and the attack unmasked, Colonel Rennie promptly ordered a charge, for he had already been discovered by Commodore Patterson in the _Louisiana_, whose guns were decimating his ranks. The riflemen were immediately met by such a hail of bullets and grape from the breastwork guns and the backwoods rifles that they hesitated, halted, and the few that remained erect finally sought safety in flight, leaving General Keane, Colonel Rennie, and two-thirds of their number killed or wounded on the field.

Owing to some misunderstanding, the attack of General Gibbs’ column was delayed, but, after some hesitation, advanced to within one hundred yards of the works, where they were met by such a storm of American lead as to kill General Gibbs and to cause his men to melt away like snow before the summer sun.

Word of all this came to Sir Edward, who was with the Highlanders, and Colonel Dale was at once ordered to advance ahead of the wreck of General Gibbs’ force, which command was at once obeyed by the Scots, who started forward steadily and with bagpipes playing, only to be engulfed in the rout of the comrades in retreat. Colonel Dale was killed, Sir Edward Pakenham fell pierced by three balls, and, as all that remained of the other columns were in retreat, the fight was lost beyond repair.

The brave and thoroughly disciplined Highlanders alone remained. They could not advance, they would not retreat, so they remained where they were, under the galling fire of the long rifles, until out of the original nine hundred and fifty scarce four hundred remained alive and erect. Lieutenant Lavack achieved the distinction of being the only Englishman over the walls that day. The remaining Highlanders surrendered and no hostile British soldier remained upon the field. The fight was short, sharp and decisive, lasting but thirty minutes.

General Lambert, with the reserves, did not come within range, but of the six thousand British actually engaged, two thousand one hundred had fallen—more than one in every three. Of the fourteen hundred wounded, six hundred died within the week. Seven hundred and thirty dead were buried where they fell.

The American loss was only eight killed and thirteen wounded by artillery fire. The British retreated to their ships and sailed away, and New Orleans was saved, but discipline only could have caused that magnificent charge of Dale’s Highlanders at a time when they very well knew the battle was lost and the way in which they were to go was strewn with the bodies of those who had gone before.

THE FALSE FRANCISCO

By William A. Branan

Jones felt bad about it. Demurely distant, she sat in the patio of her father’s _casa_, black of eye and red of lip, the most interesting sight he had seen south of the Rio Grande; and not a decent word could he say to her in her own language.

For Jones had never been in Mexico before—nor did his course at Columbia embrace the study of Spanish. Had his knowledge of baseball, football and highballs been a source of honor, no doubt he would have graduated at the head of his class; but to his everlasting shame be it said, he was sadly deficient in the languages. So he gave vent to a few remarks of some warmth—in English, of course, confident that the little _señorita_ would not detect the quality of his foreign expressions.

Now, Jones was not in Chihuahua for his health, either in the strict or common usage of the word; in fact, his shoulders were rather broad for his height, and the healthy color of his cheek carried no sign of affliction. And as for the other use of the word, Jones had departed from his home in the States with ease and without undue haste—nor had a description of his person been wired to the Mexican officials on his departure.

But Jones was a tourist in the truest sense. He had nowhere in particular to go, and he took his time to get there. In less than three days after his arrival in Chihuahua he was worse than a _peon_ about the sunny side of the house; in less than a week he had caught the spirit of _mañana_ and could lie like a native when the occasion required; in truth, he was an idler in an idle land.

After a few days in Chihuahua Jones had secured apartments at a Mexican hotel of the smaller sort, the better to get in touch with the language and customs of the people as soon as possible. His landlord was one of the wiry, working class of Mexicans, with a genial smile that never called for less than _un peso_; but it was the landlord’s dark-eyed daughter who caught the eye of Jones.

Now, she was seated on one of the long, low benches in the patio of her father’s hotel, her head slightly shaded by the flowers and foliage behind her, while the sun streamed in spots and showed the clear color of her face and hands. Jones thought he had never seen anything quite so charming as the play of sunshine and shadow—and the pretty head with its black lace mantilla. But how was he to express emotion? or admiration? or anything? Certainly not in Spanish—if so, it must of necessity be a brief and painful expression.

Still, Jones was of a sturdy New England stock that had despised difficulties as far back as the Mayflower, and was not to be deterred by the lack of a common medium. He cleared his throat, shuffled his feet so as to attract attention to his maneuver and crossed the patio to where she was seated.

“Do you _habla_ English, _señorita_?” he began, bravely enough.

“_No, señor_,” she said, with a demure droop of the eyes and a little smile.

“The deuce you don’t!” he started to ejaculate, but wisely refrained, aware that its appropriate application would hardly appeal to her. Instead, he began again: “Ahem!—perhaps—er—I might _hablo_ Spanish, then: _no sabe mucho_ myself,” he added, as if with a sudden inspiration.

But the maid merely tapped the stone floor with a small slipper to the distant music of a band in the plaza around the corner, and made no effort to help him in his dilemma, though she sent him a smile of reassurance when he flushed and made a move to withdraw.

And then a glorious idea occurred to Jones. There was Francisco, the remarkably radiant Francisco, all smiles because of his connection with the _casa_! Francisco was not only chief cook, but enjoyed the distinction of serving his own dishes in the dining room—and washing them afterwards.

Jones remembered with satisfaction the smattering of choice English, with a French flavor, that Francisco was wont to perpetrate on the guests of the house. Francisco’s English was bad enough, thought Jones, but not quite as bad as it might have been—especially in those lucid intervals when he was anxious to see if the _Americano’s_ purse-string pulled _con mucho gusto_. Certainly Francisco should be given a chance; he should act as interpreter; he should tell the _señorita_ what he (Jones) thought of her, and perchance he (Jones) might find out what she thought of him.

“Eet ees that the _señor_ weeshes that I make the speech for heem?” Francisco inquired, with a polite shrug of the shoulders, when Jones explained to him the emergency of the situation.

“That’s just it,” Jones answered; “you see, neither of us understands the other, and—well, I rather like her looks, you know, Francisco. _Sabe?_”

“_Si, señor_,” and Francisco cleared away the remainder of a highly seasoned supper—then the two left the dining-room together. There were no longer any sunbeams to bring out the beauty of the flowers in the patio; but the landlord’s daughter was still sitting there in the twilight.

“_Señorita_—” Francisco paused with eloquent eyes, then turned to Jones for further instructions.

“Tell her,” said Jones, in a hoarse whisper, “tell her that she’s the most exquisite—no, no, don’t tell her that—tell her that she will catch cold out here in the patio,” he stammered.

“_Señor_, the _señorita_ will run far eef you espeak like that,” Francisco remarked, with a deprecatory gesture of his brown hands.

“Well, tell her that I am delighted to see her looking so well,” was the next effort of the persistent Jones.

“But yes—that ees more well.” Then Francisco turned to the daughter of the house, indicated Jones with a curve of his thumb and spoke rapidly in Spanish. It might as well have been Dutch for all the good Jones got out of Francisco’s enthusiastic expressions. But the _señorita_ smiled sweetly enough, and gave a glance from under her long lashes that was worth a world of trouble to Jones.

“A-ha!—we’re coming on, eh—Francisco? Now, tell the young lady that I—that she looks like a lovely little—er—rosebud.”

Again Francisco jabbered eloquently, eyes, hands and tongue making his meaning clear, apparently, for the _señorita_ shyly drooped her head and replied coyly.

“Tell her,” prompted Jones, devouring the star-like face, set in its frame of jetty ringlets, “tell her I am going to walk around the plaza. Ask her if she is going.”

“She says she cannot to go this night,” was the translation he received. “She ees painful.”

“Well—er—tell her—er—”

“That you go to dream of her, you theenk of her alone only?” suggested the accommodating Francisco.

“Yes, and—er—tell her that I—that we—will talk again. Tell her that—will you, Francisco?”

After Francisco had conveyed this expression in its proper form, with all the courtesy of the occasion, the two retired—Francisco to the _cocina_, where the dishes were waiting to be washed, Jones to promenade in the plaza and swing his cane to the music of La Paloma. Visions of further conversations with the distracting beauty flitted before him as he strolled under the orange trees—visions wherein the useful Francisco figured not at all; wherein he saw himself holding a little rose-leaf hand and uttering sweet nothings which needed neither bad Spanish nor broken English for their interpretation.

Jones was shocked, to say the least; and for a moment he could hardly catch his breath, much less command the attention of the lovers. There they were, two of them—in fact, it usually takes two to complete such a scene. The young Romeo was leaning against the bars of her casement window, his face upturned to hers; their hands were clasped through the grating, their heads were close together, and every now and then Jones thought he saw—

It was an ideal scene—to the participants—re-acted there in the moonlight from some Shakespearean play, till Jones rang down the curtain with a laugh of ominous portent. For one of the lovers was Francisco and the other—well, the other was the landlord’s daughter.

“Hello, there, Francisco, you rascal—what are you doing there?” Jones demanded. It was eleven o’clock and Jones had just returned from the plaza.

Francisco turned quickly, dropped the little hand held in his own, said something of sinister sound in Spanish which could hardly be translated into English, then—“Eet ees you, ees eet, _señor_?—so surpreesed am I! I—I was—how the Engleesh?—hold hands weeth the _señorita_, ees eet not?”

“It is,” commented Jones, rather emphatically: “but I would like to know what right you—you—”

“You see,” interrupted Francisco, cheerfully conscious that explanations were in order, “the _señorita_ have made the promeese to marry weeth me. We have eengaged—ees eet not?—to marree us if the _papa_ of the _señorita_ wills.”

“Ah, I see!” and Jones gave a low whistle of dawning discernment. Then a sarcastic smile spread over his face.

“But may I be so bold as to inquire, Francisco,” he resumed, “what part you played in that interesting conversation of ours this evening? Why didn’t you tell me you were engaged to her?”

“Eet was thees way, _señor_. Eet was the leetle trick of mine to see the _señorita_ and say the speech for myself. When you say to me to tell the _señorita_ that you are delighted to see her look so well, I say the Americano ees deelighted to see you look so well, _señorita_—and Francisco lofe you!”

“Well, I’ll be hanged! You infernal—” but Jones checked himself.

“And when the _señor_ say to tell the _señorita_ that he will be glad to say the speech some other time, I tell the _señorita_ that Francisco will be glad to meet her to-night at her weendow on the Calle Aldama. For I love the _señorita_—ees eet not so, _queridita_?”

For answer a small hand found its way through the bars of the window to the false Francisco, and Jones heard a low laugh of love and music.

THE STATE HOUSE OF MARYLAND

By George W. McCreary

The most historic building in Maryland is the State House at Annapolis, the present one having been preceded by two others. The first was built in 1696, and a curious account of its condition is to be found in Volume 20, of the Maryland Archives. This building had a short but somewhat tragic history.

In the Journal of the House of Delegates for 1699, it is recorded: “Memorandum that on thursday, July 13, about four or five of the clock in the afternoone a violent flash of Lightning broke into the State House at Annapolis, the house of Delegates being there sitting, which Instantly Killed Mr. James Crauford one of the members for Calvert County & hurt & wounded Severall other members and Shattered & broke most part of the Dores and window Cases belonging to the said house & sett the said State house on fier in one of the upper Chambers & Severall other Damages but the fire was presently Quenched by the Diligence & Industry of his Excy. Nathaniel Blakistone his Majtyes. Govr.”

In the Journal of 1702 it is referred to as a “Stadt House.”

In 1704 the State House burned down, but how the fire originated neither the records nor tradition show.

The second State House was finished in 1706, and stood where the present one now stands. It was in the form of an oblong built of brick, and entered by a hall, opposite to the door of which were the judges’ seats, for this building seems to have been used as a courthouse as well as a State House. Over the judges’ seats was a full length portrait of Good Queen Anne.

A cupola or dome surmounted the building, and was surrounded with a balustrade and furnished with seats for those who wished to view the scenery.

On the north of this State House an armory was built, in which the arms of the Province were arranged, and when the room was lighted up by the wooden chandelier, the effect must have been brilliant.

Portraits of Queen Anne and Lord Baltimore hung in this room, which was often used as a ballroom.

On the west stood the famous King William School, established under an act of 1696, and afterwards succeeded by the well-known St. John’s College.

In 1769 £7,000 sterling was appropriated to erect the present State House, the corner stone of which was laid by Governor Robert Eden on March 28, 1772.

David Ridgely, the annalist of Annapolis, tells us that “there is a tradition that on Governor Eden’s striking the stone with a mallet, which was customary on such occasions, there was a severe clap of thunder, although not a cloud was to be seen, the day being clear and beautifully serene.”

In 1773 a copper roof was put on, but was blown off in 1775 during a violent gale.

The dome was not added till after the Revolution, and is built of wood.

The height internally to the top of the dome is 113 feet, externally to the tip of the spire is 200 feet. The length of the building is 120 feet, the depth 82 feet. The architect was Joseph Clark.

An excellent view of the State House with grounds, plans, etc., with surrounding buildings as they then stood, is given in the _Columbian Magazine_ for February, 1789.

Its magnificent site, fifty-eight feet above sea-level, with its simple architecture, has at all times excited the admiration of strangers and citizens alike.

From time to time various additions have been made, the latest being the addition ordered by the Legislature of 1902, in order to accommodate the General Assembly.

Through the efforts of Governor Warfield, an ardent lover of all that is patriotic, the old Senate Chamber in which Washington resigned his Commission in 1783, has been restored to its original condition. The scene of this act is depicted in the well-known picture by Trumbull.

The treaty of peace with Great Britain, and the convention of 1786 were both held in this building, which is especially sacred to all Marylanders, on account of the associations which cluster around it.

Of the younger classical scholars in America, one of the best known is Professor Mitchell Carroll, of the George Washington University, Washington, D. C. Mr. Carroll was born in North Carolina and reared in Virginia. His father was Rev. John L. Carroll, D.D., a prominent Baptist minister. He received the degree of Master of Arts from Richmond College at the age of eighteen, being the youngest student of the college ever to attain this distinction. After some experience in teaching, he entered the Johns Hopkins University for the pursuit of graduate studies in Greek and Latin, where he was successively scholar and fellow, and in 1893 received the degree of Doctor of Philosophy. He has since passed some years in study abroad, one at the Universities of Leipsic and Berlin, the others in the American schools at Athens and in Rome. He was for two years Professor of Greek in Richmond College, and since 1899 has been head of the classical department in the George Washington University. He has taken a prominent part in the recent development of the University, especially in the promotion of scientific publications, of which he is Director.

Professor Carroll is also one of the national secretaries of the Archaeological Institute of America, and has traveled extensively in its interests, founding affiliated societies of the Institute in St. Louis, Cincinnati, Salt Lake City, San Francisco and in the Northwest. He holds membership in the American Philological Association and in many other learned societies.

Mr. Carroll is an official in the Calvary Baptist Church, of Washington, and is the teacher of the celebrated Vaughan class for young men, which is one of the largest and best organized young men’s classes in the world.

He is also a lecturer and an author. In addition to his contributions to the literature of classical philology, he has published two volumes on the history of Greek women, and was one of the editors of the “World’s Orators.”

In September, 1897, Mr. Carroll married Miss Caroline Moncure Benedict, daughter of Major E. D. Benedict, of Brooklyn. Their home, “Belair,” is in Cleveland Park, one of Washington’s loveliest suburbs.

* * * * *

Mr. Buffington is an excellent example of the generation that was born after industrial conditions in the South had been altered by the Civil War. He was born in 1863, in Huntingdon, West Virginia, his father belonging to a prominent family there, and his mother being a member of the Nicholas family, of Culpeper County, Virginia. After the close of the war, Mr. Buffington’s father moved his family to Covington, Kentucky, and he spent his youth in that city, studying in the public schools and at Chickering Institute, Cincinnati. In the year 1881 he entered Vanderbilt University, where he remained for two years, returning to Covington to engage in the manufacture of wire and nails. Close application to business, earnestness and an unlimited capacity for pushing his work along, built up the business, and in 1890 his company moved to larger quarters in Anderson, Indiana. After eight years of telling work in this new and enlarged field, Mr. Buffington was called to assume the directorship of the American Steel and Wire Company in Chicago, and a year later was made President of the Illinois Steel Company, the largest concern of its kind west of Pittsburg.

Mrs. Buffington was Miss Drucilla Moore, daughter of Judge Laban T. Moore, of Catlettsburg, Kentucky. Their handsome home is in Evanston, where may be found quite a colony of Kentuckians.

* * * * *

It was eminently fitting that the most intimate friend of the late Sam Jones should succeed him as mayor of Toledo. Mr. Whitlock, while understanding better than any other man in Toledo the political beliefs of “Golden Rule Jones,” is, like him, a man of marked individuality, and will not be bound by the traditions of any man or party. Like Mr. Jones, he owes his nomination and election directly to the people and pays no allegiance to any political machine, boss or party. Like Jones, his only ambition is to make Toledo a city where the Golden Rule is really the governing principle and not merely an empty phrase; and to make the men of the city realize and live up to the liberty and independence of their manhood. At the death of Jones, the corruptionists flocked to the city hall and endeavored to resume their old-time control of municipal affairs, but the common people, whom Jones had taught to recognize the rights and duties of citizenship, went unorganized, but solidly, to the polls and elected Brand Whitlock.

We know Mr. Whitlock by his literary work. He has been a newspaper man for years, and has published three successful novels—“The Thirteenth District,” a novel of politics; “Her Infinite Variety,” and “The Happy Average,” the last said to be autobiographical. He is also a lawyer and is a close student of current affairs. He is an idealist who believes in the present fulfillment of his dreams, and believes that all the problems of life, whether social or political, depend for their solution on the intelligence of the individual. To him the people are the foundation of public power and public officials but their hired servants. He maintains that the people can and should conduct their own government without the aid of political machines, and that representative government is possible in the present day. His only message to the people is that the power is theirs and that they should never allow any man or set of men to take it away from them. He makes no promises, simply pledging himself to represent the whole people.

There is one thing of which Mr. Whitlock allows himself to be proud. It is the Juvenile Court Bill, of Ohio, which he drew and was greatly instrumental in having passed by the legislature. It provides for a separate court for the hearing of children under sixteen, and it is Mr. Whitlock’s earnest hope that a state “junior republic” may be the final outcome of the work.

* * * * *

Dr. W. M. L. Coplin is another Southerner who has attained distinction in the city of Brotherly Love. He was born in Bridgeport, West Virginia, in 1864. He was educated at Lindsay Military Academy, Fairmont State Normal School, Mt. Union College, and later at Jefferson Medical College, Philadelphia, from which institution he graduated in 1886. After practicing his profession for nine years, he accepted the position of Professor of Pathology and Bacteriology in the Vanderbilt University, Nashville, Tennessee, where he remained one year. He then returned to Philadelphia to assume the duties of a similar chair in the Jefferson Medical College and to become Director of the Laboratories of the Jefferson Medical College Hospital, positions which he still occupies. He has held professorships in three medical colleges and a number of national, state and municipal positions. For the last ten years he has devoted his entire time to teaching and departmental organization, in which he has shown peculiarly successful capabilities.

Dr. Coplin is an ardent research worker, and has conducted numerous investigations along scientific lines; his experiments have rendered the medical world invaluable aid in solving some of its most difficult problems. He is a voluminous writer on subjects connected with Pathology, Bacteriology and Sanitation, and is widely known by his contributions to magazines. The fourth edition of his Manual of Pathology has just been issued, and the Manual of Practical Hygiene is in process of revision.

In November, 1905, the mayor of Philadelphia bestowed upon Dr. Coplin the highest honors which his adopted city could tender a physician—the appointment of Director of the Department of Public Health and Charities, a position for which he is peculiarly fitted, on account of his rare administrative qualifications.

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Probably the most uplifting tendency of the times is that looking towards the nationalization of instruction in the universities of the chief countries of the world, shown by the Rhodes scholarships at Oxford; the Roosevelt Chair of American Institutions at the University of Berlin, endowed by an American banker; Mr. Stillman’s million-dollar gift to the Beaux Arts in Paris and the American Academy of Art at Rome; the Hyde foundation for Harvard professors at the Sorbonne; the Baron de Coubertin’s prizes at Princeton, Leland Stanford and Tulane Universities; the Duc de Loubat’s foundation for the study of American Antiquities at the National College of France; and the opening, in the University of Paris, of a department for the study of the History and Outlines of American Law.

The Paris Law School has five thousand students—about seven times as many as our largest law schools—and they are drawn from every country in Europe. The effect of such instruction on such a large and influential body of opinion can scarcely be estimated. The lecturer chosen for this course by the University was Mr. Charles Fisk Beach, Jr., who had already discharged similar duties in an American law school and whose writings on American economic topics have been widely quoted. Mr. Beach was born in Kentucky, fifty-two years ago, and is a graduate of Centre College. After completing a law course at Columbia University he went abroad and studied at the University of Paris. He then returned to his native country and began the practice of law, paying especial attention to railway and corporation law, and acting as counsel for various corporations and lecturing on Civil Law and Equity Jurisprudence.

In 1896 he established himself as consultation lawyer counsel in London and Paris, this experience further adding to his fitness for the post to which he was chosen by the French university. Mr. Beach’s first year’s work proved so successful that the university extended its scope to include American institutions as well as the history and general outline of our legal system. His field of efforts has been extended also to include alternate lectures at Paris and Lille the first half of the term and at Bordeaux and Toulouse the latter half.

At the time of the great expansion of American commercial, financial and political influence in Europe, and especially just now, when efforts are being made to induce trading in American securities on the Paris Bourse and to influence French investment in America, this phase of educational reciprocity, conducing to a better understanding of our institutions, promotes the welfare of the world, and particularly our own special interests abroad.

INDUSTRIAL EDUCATION IN THE SOUTH

II

COLLEGE OF INDUSTRIAL ARTS, DENTON, TEXAS

By Lillian Kendrick Byrn

The history of a nation is determined by the home life of its people. Just as the prosperity of the individual home depends upon the efficiency and care of the partners in its making, so does the welfare of a nation hang on the ability and earnestness of the individual citizens. The rise of our own nation is due to the determination of our forefathers to found a government which, from the national down through the state, county and city forms, should be based upon the simple principles of upright family life. Our ideas of social life and social equality could not have been conceived under the influence of European institutions. Here, where those in the humblest walks of life may be the nobility, and where honor is conferred for merit alone, we have developed social customs to correspond with our American spirit, and, proceeding on independent and original lines, we have made our industrial and commercial system to control the busiest marts, to break the records of history, to fairly alarm the world.

The chief element of the American spirit is the appreciation of high ideals, not only in the national life, but in the education, the culture and the industrial life of the individual. When we see new openings on already established lines, it is characteristic of us as a people to pursue these openings, even though they lead in directions directly opposed to those which we have hitherto followed. Thoroughness and earnestness are the keynotes of American progress, and these are the characteristics which to-day give us our commanding position among the nations.

Is it not fitting and necessary that a nation of such religious, social, political and commercial originality and progress should develop co-ordinate with these a system of education? The free public school system is among the purest and most effectual of our democratic institutions. It has fostered the American spirit, it has laid the foundation for an American culture; it has, in large part, made possible the present success in American industrial life.

Although it is many years since the doctrine of learning through doing was first promulgated, it has remained for the present generation to make the general application. Educators have been slowly, but surely, arriving at the conclusion that the university ideals of Europe, which naturally dominated our higher educational institution during the first century of our history, and which still hold sway in certain of our colleges, are not sufficient for our needs. Present-day conditions demand an education which will afford culture and practical preparation for the common duties at the same time. There is a loud and emphatic call for our schools to cultivate the executive quality in our young men and women and to prepare them for immediate, well-directed action in the affairs of life. Many of our states have answered nobly the call for schools where boys can be trained along practical lines which make for success and usefulness. Nearly every state has its Agricultural and Mechanical College. This is all very well for the boys, but how about the girls?

In past years institutions which were organized primarily to meet the needs of men for their professional or business training have, largely from a spirit of chivalry and esteem, been opened to women. Also, largely from a spirit of social concern, some of the best friends of womankind have, in a degree, popularized the typical woman’s college. In both cases much good has been accomplished, but in neither case have the needs of the education of women been fully met. Men’s colleges that have been opened to women have given them the same training as is provided for men, and the majority of the women’s colleges have patterned their curricula after the same assumption. This theory leads women to contemplate man’s occupations and professions as their only field of action, and, while it may be the best in many individual cases, it does not provide for the mass of women the kind of higher education mostly needed. From a social standpoint, I believe in the co-education of the sexes, for education is but a preparation for life, and it seems the plain plan of creation for men and women to mingle, but from a practical standpoint co-education is not always advantageous, resulting too frequently, as stated, in making woman the competitor of man, instead of fitting her to work on her own peculiar lines.

The young woman whose education has been based upon efficient scholarship, together with domestic and industrial training of a practical type, brings into the marriage relation a comradeship which grows out of her ability to sustain her part of the partnership. It is a womanly instinct to want to enter her legitimate realm—the home. Equipped with the training which gives her a righteous sovereignty, the integrity of that home is assured. Is it not worth our while to promote as many such homes as possible?

What is a rational education for the home-maker? If the ideal mother must have, in addition to a literary education, a knowledge of kindergarten, general needlework, including dressmaking, art in at least its elementary forms, bookkeeping, the chemistry of foods and practical cooking, house cleaning, first aid to the injured and nursing, and yet have the time and strength to be a comfort and companion to her husband and a teacher to her children, is it not asking too much of women?

The answer is plain. While many of our household industries must necessarily be placed in outside hands, the power controlling these industries must remain in the hands of the home-makers. These demands are not more than a woman can meet, for the same training that enables her to know all this teaches her the laws governing her physical self, how to control and conserve her energies so that they may be expended to the best advantage. It prepares her for making and maintaining a good home, the highest and best profession that a woman can enter; and the mother in the home, teaching, as she does, by precept as well as by example, during the greater part of the twenty-four hours, has need of a scientific training for her lifelong occupation.

There are many women who do not surround themselves with the security of home, there to peacefully work out life’s problems. Many find it necessary to enter the industrial and commercial fields, and a preparation which commands for these a living salary is imperative.

Texas, one of the youngest states, but already outstripping many of her elders in the spirit of progressiveness, has taken up the question of the industrial training of her girls with characteristic vigor. With a system of state public schools provided for by the allotment of public lands, whose revenues furnish a magnificent school fund, with a State University in the first rank among its kind, with State Normal Schools in every district whose population warrants it, with an Agricultural and Mechanical College second to none, and with manual training in practice in city schools all over the state, she established, by an act of the Legislature in 1901, the school known as the College of Industrial Arts. Denton, situated about midway between Dallas and Fort Worth and somewhat north of them, was selected as the site of the school. The idea met with hearty support all over the state, and it opened in September, 1903, with one hundred and eighty-six students, representing eighty-eight out of the two hundred and thirty-four counties of the state.

These girls come from the country, town and city; from the homes of bankers, lawyers, real estate men, mechanics, contractors, stockmen, teachers, druggists, farmers, ministers, merchants and physicians. Some are the daughters of widows and some are orphan girls. Some have earned, in whole or in part, the means by which they maintain themselves, while some are contributing to their own support by working while in school. Some of them entered on teachers’ certificates, some on high school diplomas, but the great majority entered on examination.

The student body is not only thoroughly democratic, but it is composed of earnest, conscientious, hard-working students, who appreciate their opportunity of obtaining a thorough, practical education.

The college is situated on the outskirts of Denton, in a campus of seventy acres of rising ground overlooking the city and surrounding country. It is well supplied with large, shady trees, and is covered with Bermuda grass. In the rear is a fine grove of oaks, where it is proposed to erect additional dormitories and class-rooms when the financial growth of the school admits of it. At present only the main building has been finished.

In the basement of this is found the creamery, equipped with churns, separators, cream ripeners, butter workers, cream testers, bottling apparatus and scales. All is deliciously clean and dainty, and visitors are allowed to enjoy the products as they are finished. Here the girls are given a scientific, practical knowledge of butter and cheese-making and the care and handling of dairy products for the market, including pasteurization and sterilization; the use of hand and power separators and testers, acid testing and churning, beside instruction in dairy bacteriology and the composition and good value of milk, butter and cream.

In another well-lighted apartment, with cement floor, is the laundry, with complete outfits for hand and machine work. Here again the practice is supplemented with lectures showing reasons for washing—sanitary and aesthetic; study of fibres and how to cleanse each, illustrated by practical work in cotton, linen and silk; the effect of soft and hard water and how to treat them; the preparation and use of different cleansing agents.

The basement also contains the manual training rooms, where wood carving, wrought-iron work and modeling are taught. In a broad sense, all of the manual and laboratory work in the curriculum is in the nature of manual training, but especial attention is given to the branches mentioned and to weaving and basketry and other work which prepares students for positions as manual training teachers in the public schools.

On the first floor are the President’s, Secretary’s and other offices, and the art room. This department provides technical courses in drawing, applied design and painting. The work is designed to develop the imaginative and creative faculty from the first, and to give thorough training along industrial lines. Lecture rooms and the library occupy the rest of the first floor, while the second is devoted to the chemical and photographic laboratories and the commercial school.

This department is always well attended, and the course is exceptionally interesting, including, as it does, a study of the routes and growth of commerce, the production centers and markets of the world, the relative value and importance of staple articles and where they are obtained; bookkeeping, including household accounts; business correspondence; penmanship; filing and other clerical work; reporting; stenography. It is intended to meet the demand for more broadly intelligent and more accurate office workers in commercial lines.

On the third floor are the cooking and sewing schools. An electric program clock in the main office automatically calls off the time for changes of classes in the corridors on all the floors.

One of the most thorough departments, and one which opens up new avenues for woman’s work, is that of the Rural Arts. The spring term of the first year is devoted to a study of the principles of fruit, flower and vegetable growing. Each student has a garden for practice, and the care of the products until maturity and their packing for shipment are shown. Bee culture is another branch of this department. The students set up hives, examine bees, select queens and learn how to manipulate swarms and take the honey. Poultry keeping belongs to the list of popular studies. Nearly every woman has a natural interest in the care of chickens. The class has incubators and brooders, and looks after the houses and runs, feeding and improvement of stock and preparation for cooking or market.

In all of the courses literary work has a prominent place. Industrial training is most valuable, but, taken by itself, it is not sufficient. The work at the College of Industrial Arts is arranged in proper proportions for the best, all-round, practical training for life’s work. In the early part of the course the literary feature naturally receives emphasis, connecting with school work previously done by the students, and preparing them for the deeper appreciation of the scientific features of the industrial courses.

Nor are the lighter arts neglected. Vocal music, physical culture, expression and modern languages—all find a place in the curriculum.

The health of the girls is a first consideration. The college physician teaches physiology and hygiene, and renders his services to the sick. With pure water from a deep artesian well and the delicious home products of the school, however, combined with the exercise and regular life of the students, there is a minimum of sickness.

Tennis and basketball seem to be the most popular games. A student Glee Club furnishes a social feature, while there are several literary societies and a flourishing Young Women’s Christian Association.

Who may attend the college? All white girls of good morals who have attained the age of sixteen years, who have a fair knowledge of the common school subjects, who wish to continue their education, including a thorough, practical training, and who come to the college with the clear and earnest purpose of doing their best work.

The living expenses are small, there being a number of co-operative clubs in the town, and all expenses being reasonable. The college has no appropriation for paying the way of pupils without means, but there are a number of ways by which the cost of living may be reduced or made by extra work.

President Work thus summarizes the mission of this institution: “We want to meet the need of our times in training women who will be competent, intelligent and refined; well fitted for self-support, if this should be necessary; thoroughly prepared for woman’s work in the industrial and commercial world, if they so choose to labor; well trained for companionship with worthy manhood and for motherhood.”

THE MEASURE OF A MAN

By John Trotwood Moore