The brilliant eyes will blaze no more. The merry smile faded long ago.
The great head, that was fit to bear a crown, lies low for all the years
to come.
He left no lasting memorial of his genius. Only, as through a glass
darkly, you may see him, in a book called “Bethany,” written by one in
whom he, the unambitious, kindled the spark of an ambition which will
never die.
* * * * *
There being no smokers in the “smoker,” I went in there to stretch out.
The Florida East Coastline train was working its way down the peninsula,
and was doing it very leisurely.
Into the “smoker” came a young fellow with whom I opened conversation. It
turned out that he had been pretty much all over Europe. He had toured
Germany several times. On the Sir Walter Scott principle, I sought
knowledge from him, and he told me several interesting things.
One evening he had been at Heidelberg when the soldiers mounted guard.
This being a regular function many civilians had assembled to see it.
An officer was putting the men through some of their exercises, when, at
the order to “ground arms,” one of the privates let his gun down too slow.
The officer flew into a rage, rushed up to the soldier, slapped his jaws,
kicked him repeatedly on the shins, struck him with the flat of his
sword, and _spat time and again in the man’s face_!
Of course the officer was cursing the private for every vile thing he
could lay his tongue to, all the while.
Said my informant, “He not only spat in the man’s face once, but he did
it four or five times.”
* * * * *
I asked, “Was there no murmur of disgust or indignation in the crowd of
citizens who were looking on?”
“None whatever,” he said. “The people took the occurrence as a matter of
course. It happens so often.”
Then the young man rose up in the smoker, and showed me how the private
had stood in his place, rigid, staring straight ahead, not daring to
change his position or expression while enduring the kicks and spits of
the officer. Not a word of protest or complaint did he venture to utter.
_That’s Militarism, gone crazy._
Not long ago one of our high-priced city preachers declared publicly that
we Americans needed an Emperor to head our army.
* * * * *
Do you recall a story which went the rounds of the newspapers a few
years ago? In substance it hinted that William Hohenzollern, Emperor of
Germany, had compelled one of his young officers to kill himself.
My traveller related to me the particulars as he had learned them in
Germany.
The Emperor was holding a banquet, a revel, on board his yacht, the
_Hohenzollern_: wine had been drunk freely; loose talk was going on. The
Emperor made some insulting reference to the mother of a lieutenant who
was seated near him.
Upon the impulse of the moment, the brave boy did a most natural thing—he
slapped the brutal defamer of his mother in the mouth.
Consternation paralyzed the Emperor and all his guests.
The lieutenant left the yacht; no one tried to stop him. Going ashore,
he made ready to quit the world; and next morning he rode his bicycle
deliberately off a precipice and fell headlong to his voluntary death.
And the high-priced, city preacher declared that _we_ needed an Emperor!
* * * * *
Frederick the Great was really a great man.
Riding along the streets of Berlin one day, he saw a crowd looking up at
a placard on a wall, Reining his horse, the old King inquired, “What is
it?”
He was told that the placard contained a lot of violent abuse of himself.
“Hang it lower, so that the people can read it better,” ordered the King,
and he rode on.
The pompous despot who now sits upon the throne of Frederick the Great
puts girls and old women, as well as boys and men, in jail if they dare
to say, or to write, anything disrespectful of _him_.
* * * * *
Is democracy gaining ground anywhere? Are not those historic allies,
the Church and the State, encroaching steadily upon the masses? Are not
the High Priest and the War Lord constantly putting a greater distance
between themselves and the Common People?
Does not _the individual citizen_ have less power and recognition now
than at any other time since the founding of our Government?
* * * * *
Poor General Wheeler! After all his efforts to please Northern sentiment,
they would not permit him to be buried with the Confederate flag in his
coffin!
* * * * *
_The Nation_ is a mighty good paper, but it ought not to class General N.
B. Forrest as “a scout” and “guerrilla.”
General Forrest was named by General Lee, during the last year of the
war, as the best soldier that the Civil War had developed.
Forrest was greater than his commanding general at Fort Donelson, at
Murfreesborough, and at Chickamauga. He finally swore that he would not
obey any more fool orders from blundering superiors, and he struck out
for himself. During the short time that he held independent command his
achievements, considering his resources, rivalled those of Stonewall
Jackson in the Valley Campaign.
* * * * *
Nor should _The Nation_ be too hard upon the West Point officers who
followed their native states out of the Union. Justice to those officers
requires one to remember that they were taught at West Point that the
States had the right to secede from the Union.
If _The Nation_ will consult the text-book from which Generals Lee,
Johnston, Beauregard and Wheeler were instructed in Constitutional Law,
it will discover that these young officers simply put in practice that
which their teachers had taught them to be their right.
The book to which I refer is Rawle’s work upon Constitutional Law.
* * * * *
After General Wheeler had tried so hard to win the heart of the North,
_don’t_ you think they might have allowed the Confederate flag to rest
upon his folded hands?
_That_ was the flag which he had followed in the storm of actual war.
The Cuban business was nothing. It was child’s play, and pitiful child’s
play at that. But the Civil War was real, was colossal, rent a continent
asunder, and shook the world. It was the Confederate flag which had led
Wheeler to his fame. His youth, his first and best, had been given to
_that_; of all the banners on earth none could have been dearer, holier
to him than _that_.
To look upon it was to bring back the years and the deeds which had
brought him glory. It associated itself with the heroes who had listened
to his battle-cry, and who had sanctified their sacrifice to duty with
their blood. It spoke to him of the hopes and the griefs and the despair
of his home, the South; it recalled the enthusiasm and the heartbreak;
the splendid devotion of noble women, and the resignation of conquered
men.
Surely, surely the Confederate flag must have been the dearest emblem of
Duty and Sacrifice to General Joe Wheeler.
_Don’t_ you think that Charity might have softened the heart of the North
to the old warrior who was dead, and that they might have let him rest
under the “Conquered Banner?”
[Illustration: _The House: I give you warning, old man; it’s loaded!_
_Bart, in Minneapolis Journal_]
[Illustration: _If George Washington Came to the Capital Today_
_Morris, in Spokane Spokesman-Review_]
[Illustration: _The Stirring War Drama Entitled: “Chased By the Enemy;
or, Curfew Shall Not Ring This Evening”_
_Opper, in N. Y. American_]
_Machine Rule and its Termination_