forth before the fire after a good dinner to a more select groupand he also speaks. This Bolshevik rampant, parlant—not to say parlous-may have an efficient press-agent, and occasionally dresses for his part; he often has an independent fortune, else he lives off those who have-and it is interesting to speculate on what would become of the fortune, and of him, if his theories found general acceptance; for, in a general way, he knows less about work than a “piazza yachtsman" knows about a boat. He sometimes has "education," and a college degree; and it grieves him that his preachments about "the evils of Capitalism" (which he always spells with a Capital Letter) are not taken seriously by more people. The Thoughtful Worker, whose Apostle he has chosen to be, is as likely to regard him with awenot to mention affection and respect—as a seaman would a millionaire who should advance to instruct him in tying a reef at the moment when the tempest was at its height.

If Bolshevism has three elements, Karl Marx, German marks, and easy marks, our friend is of the third. A little honest work and serious thought—not to insist on reponsibility—would knock the nonsense out of him.

66

Then there is the "labor leader," who uses his position as a peak, and harangues his fellow-workmen about the evils of the 'system" and the "octopus grip" of Capital, without bothering to explain how any given industry could start unless someone furnished the money. Again it is interesting to speculate what would become of him and his fellow-workman if his ideas found general credence. To Edward Hallin, property meant "selfrealization"; and the abuse of property was no more just ground for a crusade which logically aimed at doing away with it "than the abuse of other human powers or instincts would make it reasonable to try and do away with-say love, or religion." Since Mrs. Humphry Ward wrote Marcella, the abuse of human powers has become reason enough for doing away with them.

But the fact remains that all talk of a "capitalistic system" is nonsense. There is no system about it. Rich men have, it is true, treated their less independent brethren with injustice; and they deserve scant pity for the way in which the victimized

workingman seeks retaliation. There have been abuses in the past; but there have been men who were both rich and just. There is a tendency in some quarters to-day to regard poverty as the sine qua non of right thinking: the king can do no wrong— and Labor is king. The "syndicalist" forgets the etymology of his name he should be one who works with (syn, ovv) justice (díkē, dikn)—and one of the evils of trade-unionism, as we have it, is that it seeks ever to receive and never the more blessed state of giving. Past injustice, however it may explain, does not excuse present unfairness on either side; and tyranny is the same, whether wielded by a medieval emperor or a modern walking delegate.

The motive power of human action, economically, is a desire for independence; we want money, primarily, so that we need not choose between taking orders from another, and starving. We seek wealth so that we may have a reserve strength to fall back on, and that we may leave our children in ease and independence; we do not want to be dictated to—either by a Rockefeller or by a Trotzky. But to get wealth, we must work and save; and we can make our saving earn for us if we lend what we have saved to those who need money for developing industry. Dividends represent thrift-either our own, or that of those who have gone before us. As soon as we have money in a savings-bank, we become "capitalists," though we may not throw up our jobs at the mill or in the office; we are lending money to others, and our independence has begun. Remove the chance of earning independence, and you remove all motive for saving; if a man cannot benefit by his abnegation, he will earn only enough for his immediate wants; he will not make hay while the sun shines, because somebody will later remove the hay from his barn, and he will have nothing for his labor after it has been done.

As Dr. Johnson says, men need not so much to be informed as to be reminded.

The pygmies on the mountain-tops assure us that a maternal government (vastly to be preferred to the late paternal government of the Teutons) will take care of our rainy days. But they do not explain just how this will be done. It is much like promising that the tides will cease to rise and fall; but some of us have got

into the habit of listening to these demagogues without question. We would believe them if they said there would be no rainy days! We see class-legislation going on before our eyes; we hear (and apparently believe) that individual independence does not can not—exist, and that the Government can succeed where private enterprise fails-with a suggestion that it is above economic laws. We look upon life as Californians or New Englanders, as farmers, or railwaymen, or cotton manufacturers, or even as Socialists; rarely as Americans, more rarely still as humans. The Socialist, like the Prohibitionist, sees only what he wants to see; he looks at the future through the pink lenses of his desires. For him, as for the Prohibitionist, the loss of liberty and independence is a small price to pay for the ultimate benefits he sees in his mind's eye. In this, both resemble the Pacifist, who would willingly sacrifice honor to save human life. "To the wise," says Montaigne and surely these people fall into that category-"it is no novelty to preach things as they serve, not as they are."

Suppose the "Plumb Plan" were to go into operation; the taxpayers would, through the Government, guarantee wages to all union railwaymen-then someone else would want his wages guaranteed, and the railwaymen, with all other citizens, would be taxed for that. It is easy to see that we should not be better off-even if we were railwaymen were everyone to pay everyone else's wages. If we were to stop with the railwaymen, we should be carrying a class upon our shoulders, even as France was saddled with her nobility before the Revolution.

Sometimes people forget that real wealth is the difference between income and outgo-wages and expenses. A man who earns $15 a week, and spends $14, is richer than one who earns $100,000 a year, and spends $100,001. For the first man is $52 to the good at the end of the year, while the second is in debt.

One of the reasons why the worker who lives from hand to mouth, so to speak, cannot see the "rights of capital" is that he does not understand the risks involved. Explain to him in terms of gambling that the less likelihood there is of a certain number turning up, the greater return there must be when it does, and he may grasp your meaning; but he does not understand why some business has to pay high rates of interest to attract capital. He

may readily see that a risky or disagreeable job commands more wages than an easy or pleasant one; but he seems to think that even a three per cent return on capital is a gift. There were citizens who, during the war, prided themselves on their patriotism because they subscribed to Liberty Bonds carrying a small rate of interest, when the really patriotic thing to do would have been to give the money outright to the Government-at the least, getting it back without any interest at all. That would have been better than paying an indemnity to a victorious Germany; but the patriotism of our people was not put to that test.

Capital is as necessary to industry as is labor; the two are not antithetical, but complementary. This is a lesson that both must learn. It has been repeated often enough, but it has not yet been grasped.

Russia has, apparently, receded from her position at the outbreak of the "revolution," and seems to be trying to induce foreign capital to come to the help of her industries. She has discovered that the tides will not obey her politicians. Let the "parlor Bolsheviks" take notice: delete the phrase "capitalistic system" from their vocabularies, and remember that a soviet of workmen is only a synonym for board of directors-of an inferior quality. The present ones may not be pyramids; the new would pretty certainly be pygmies of even shorter stature. The Czar who has succeeded the late Nicholas is as dictatorial (but less noble) than the Románoff he replaced; and Russia seems to have gained little by the exchange. The play is the same, though the cast of characters is different. It is always the same play. What property has not been destroyed has gone into other hands: the victims of the theft have, many of them, died in extreme misery, or been put to death with a cruelty which beggars description; but the "system" has not been altered-it is inherent in humanity.

If you call a dog's tail a leg, how many legs has a dog? Five? No, four. Because calling his tail a leg does not make it one. If you put a demagogue on a peak, does he become pyramidic? You would think so, to hear some people talk.

ROBERT WITHINGTON,

COUNTRY GODS

BY STARK YOUNG

THE festa of San Pancrazio lasted through two days because of the saint's hospitality. Saint Peter was his guest for the festival; coming from his own home down the hill where the road turns off into the country, just as San Pancrazio himself had come from his home under the mountain looking down over the water. The crowd for the parade on the second night was innumerable, for the whole town was out and all the countryside for miles. The Taormina band was present by order of the Sindaco, in three-cornered hats and feathers; and the Syracuse band with cockades had come. San Pancrazio and San Pietro had to travel from the Church of the Virgin far down at the west end of the town, to make a visit to the Duomo; though, like the sly pieties they were, they had really been there up to that moment already, the whole two days in fact, getting presents and offerings and having their pictures sold. From the Virgin's church they were to go the entire length of the Corso to their homes outside the walls. Everyone made his best showing that night, the gentlemen in their Palermo tailoring, the ladies with all their jewels on; the workmen in brighter jackets and sashes; the contadini, some of the men in old knee breeches or boots and caps three centuries back in style, and the women in shawls with long ear-rings reaching to their shoulders and full skirts like hoops.

Booths and barrows lined the streets, selling fireworks and drinks, torrone made of new almonds and honey, knives, and ribbons; and alternating with the merchandise and drinks were the gambling stands. There were a dozen roulette tables, silver horses whirling around over the numbered courses where you put your soldo, and bright arrows with painted feathers that stopped whirling sooner or later and left a light tip resting on the lucky number. Crowds of people were putting their