short, hard-handed woman, with the sea toil written all over her face and features. Her hair was trimmed down short, like the hair on an Airedale dog. Her hair was dull gray, and her eyes were like the eyes of a shark's shark wife. She came out upon the poop deck and she took a long look at the towering London clipper five miles to windward.

She took a short, disdainful look at the skipper. Said she:

"G-r-r-r-r, why the call me, heh?"

didn't you

The old wife of the old shark-eye skipper took two jumps back to the door of the chart-house; and down the accommodation ladder to her cabin she went, nimble as a Madagascar cat reaching for ripe bananas.

In less than three shakes of a young lamb's tail she was back upon the poop.

She held in her hands the swell hatthe swellest hat-that she had bought up at the White House, on Kearney Street, before sailing, meaning to put one over on the wives of the Liverpool skippers when the old bark pulled into the Mersey. She went to the weather quarter of the taffrail and there she strung it up, with its inside turned to the wind.

There were violets, and blue chrysanthemums, and a daffodil or two, and a couple of ferns, on that hat, and every last mermaid that lives under the pretty weeds of the green Sargasso Sea turned green and pink and liver color with plain envy at the very sight of it.

Ah, then it was-then it was that the fly-away bark with four tall masts and a dainty pink fore foot lifted her long nose up to scent the weeds of the Sargasso Sea, as a wild mare of the lost uplands scenting a hungry wolf might do. Then it was that the shark tail spiked for luck upon the boom end of the old Silberhorn crept slowly, slowly

forward of the shark tail upon the boom end of the London clipper.

The afternoon watches wore away with the long four-master galloping down the salt furrows like a mare that runs to her master when the wolves whine on a moonlight night. The dogwatch came and the dog-watch went. The second dog-watch came. The shark tail on the Muskoka was level with the main braces of the Silberhorn now.

Old skipper Shark Eyes and his Shark Eye wife stood side by side watching that Kearney Street hat with the daffodils, and the blue chrysanthemums, and the ferns, and the violets, gather up the little capfuls of stray wind, and the two of them smiled. Egg Martin stood upon the bridge staring at the full-rigger, wondering how it happened that old red-whiskered Pete, Pete Llewellyn, the hairy mate of the Muskoka, came to be such a hairy-chested old cuss as he was. The hands stood about the decks hiding as well as they could from the driving salt sprays.

Pat O'Brien and Pat Cassidy, two heaven-forgotten sea apprentices, two unloved and sinful young first-voyage sea apprentices, came out of the halfdeck, the one chasing the other; fooling with each other, making a horse-play, acting like a couple of good-for-nothing young larrikins.

Sunset had faded over the weedy sea, and the stars were beginning to blink. The clippers were driving with their lee rails deep under the salt sea.

Pat Cassidy came on the run around the weather after corner of the midship house. Pat O'Brien behind him, with one hand up and a Liverpool Pantile held tight in it. He took a quick aim at the head of Pat Cassidy. From the lee of his lee eye Cassidy saw that aim, and down went his heaven-forgotten young head.

Now if that piece of hardtack had hit young Cassidy upon the head nothing would have been the worse. The hardtack would have splintered up to a lot of little chips and have dropped upon the sea-swept decks, and gone overside to feed the hungry little fishes.

But that hardtack missed the head of Cassidy. It flew past his ducked pate and struck endways upon the main moonsail halyard block-just over the top of the sheave pin. The halyard blocks, and the sheet blocks, and the tack blocks, and all other blocks upon that bark were made of the finest Java teak, and were naturally good solid hardwood.

But just above the sheave pin that teakwood halyard block split and cracked up, and gave.

Far aloft there was a soft flap heard as the main moonsail dropped to the skysail yard. The damage was done.

Then it was that that Londoner with her sidelights beginning to twinkle across the cold weedy Sargasso Sea, and with all her hands crowding in her lee shrouds cheering, started to crawl up upon the long, low-in-the-water clipper from 'Frisco.

Night fell. The moonsail was set again in quick time. The race continued. The stars blinked. The mermaids whispered under that hat with the daffodils, and violets, and blue chrysanthemums, and ferns, upon it.

There is no need to tell of the race, nor of who won it, or how she won.

But I have explained to you why I do not throw hardtack, even playfully, at fellow-mariners.

And that is what I started out to do. Adios, señor.

BILL ADAMS.

P.S.-Some landsmen think sailors are all liars. Why?

F

EW people yet grasp the fact that the central tragedy of the Bolshevist régime in Russia is an organized effort to subvert and corrupt the minds of the children. With official channels of information monopolized by the Communist Government, most surprising rumors are afloat as to the Bolshevist attitude towards the growing children, while the difficulty of comprehending the situation is complicated by the literal accuracy of the bald statement that "the Bolsheviks are doing all they can for children."

The question which so few proceed to investigate is, however, this: What is it the Bolsheviks are trying so hard to do for Russian children?

It was after the Communists had been in the saddle for about a year that their fears that this generation would not see Communism established led them to

BY SIR PAUL DUKES

turn their minds to the conversion of the children. (As is well known, it has always been a Bolshevist principle to fight the institution of the family. Madame Kolontai's writings can leave no doubt on that score even in the minds of the skeptical. The idea is to remove children at an early age from parental care and bring them up in colonies where they will be free from the evil influence of all non-Bolshevist currents of thought.)

Hopes for the future are founded on an institution known as the Union of Youthful Communists, which all schoolchildren join. The juvenile members are denied access to any but Bolshevist literature, are exempt from all moral training, allowed unbridled license, and so encouraged in a spirit of rebellion against parental authority and the influence of former preceptors that they

are becoming completely demoralized. Moral training was ever one of the weakest sides of Russian life, and the elimination of whatever moral instruction there was is bound to have disastrous effects. This pernicious system is combated by the Church and by parents as far as they can and dare, but open protest is impossible.

The Bolsheviks realize as keenly as do their manifold but disrupted opponents that the secret of the future of Russia lies in education. It is said that not long before the revolution a foreign visítor indignantly told the Czar that a system of universal compulsory education ought to be established in Russia, to which he replied: "That is what I have been telling my Ministers for twenty years, but they won't listen to me." Small wonder that one of the first concerns of the Provisional Government

was to introduce compulsory free education, and small wonder also that the Bolsheviks exerted themselves to the utmost to exploit to their own advantage the wave of thirst for knowledge that spread over Russia at the outbreak of the Great War, receiving an additional impetus from the Revolution.

To communize the teaching profession the Soviet Government resorted to abolition of all standards of education for teachers. The first qualification for appointment, especially to posts in elementary schools, became not an adequate education nor any moral qualifications, but the possession of a ticket of membership of the Communist Party. The teachers of course protested, but were denounced as "counter-revolutionary." Pronounced opposition also was shown by them to the abolition of examinations and rewards for diligence, a measure which enabled the idlest to leave school on the same footing as the most assiduous. The evils resulting from the system of compulsory mixed living in boarding-schools suddenly introduced in a land of weak morals brought education in some cases completely to a standstill. The desirability or undesirability of the suppression of religion in Russian schools may be open to discussion, but there is nothing now to replace it, for the teachers are deliberately hampered in any attempt to exert moral influence over their pupils, lest their admonitions should have a "counter-revolutionary" tendency. The figure of Lunacharsky, People's Commissar for Education and Art, is one of the least unsympathetic (perhaps one should say, one of the most pathetic) of the Revolution, but such measures as the above have completely nullified whatever good intentions he ever had.

The primary object, therefore, of the Bolshevist educational system, while conferring the benefits of elementary literacy, is so to benumb the juvenile mind as to render it impervious in its later stages of development to every influence that leads to spontaneous initiative, independence of thought, or (above all) moral uplift. The attitude of the Communist Party towards the Russian Church is that of a snarling dog. As a Moscow workman whom I met in White Russia last November observed to me: "There is only one man in all Russia whom Bolsheviks fear from the bottom of their hearts, and that is the Patriarch, Tihon." Every variety of persecution having failed, the Communists have retreated to their present attitude of malicious tolerance, contenting themselves with employing the monopolized press to defame, abuse, and vilify Christianity on every conceivable occasion, but seeking especially to protect children from what they call "demoralizing religious influence."

This is what the Bolsheviks are trying so hard to do for Russian children, and this is the method of procedure. But there is a preliminary-an essential preliminary. Astute propagandists as they are, they realize clearly that effective

propaganda begins not in the head, but in the stomach. You cannot convince even ignorant and credulous Russian children of the benefits of a system that keeps their "tummies" empty or makes them go barefoot and in rags in wintertime. So the children of those bourgeois parents who can be persuaded to part with their little ones and such proletarian children as promise to make good Communists are gathered together in homes and colonies where they are fed on preferential rations at the expense of the general populace and are clothed mainly with clothing seized from children whose parents refuse to part with them. Some of these homes and colonies, despite endeavors, are in a deplorable condition and fail hopelessly in their object, but a desperate effort has been made to bring a few as nearly as possible up to Western standards, in order that there may be at least something to exhibit to distinguished foreign visitors. In pursuance of the theory that all independent philanthropy is a blemish to the state, the numerous successful children's welfare institutions that grew up in the last years prior to the Revolution were subjected to gross molestation. The well-known League for the Protection of Children, a society which included several philanthropic institutions, became the object of particular persecution. Even now, when at the eleventh hour the bourgeoisie are being invited to serve the Soviet Government, the existence of this League is but grudgingly tolerated.

At the close of 1920 the League for the Protection of Children prepared a report on the conditions of children in Russian cities, portions of which, with other frank admissions, were published in the official Bolshevist press early this year. The statistics presented form a tragic contrast to the propagandist concoctions designed for consumption abroad.

"We are powerless," says the District Pedagogic Report for Petrograd, December, 1920, quoted in "Volia Rosii," "in face of a condition of things formerly unnoticeable in Russia, namely, the increase of juvenile immorality and prostitution. The former is the result of universal demoralization and experiments of the Soviet Government (such as combining boys' and girls' boardingschools); the latter is consequent upon the privations of present economic conditions. Immorality has become SO prevalent in our schools that drastic measures will be needed to combat it. Yet we do not see how this is possible in view of the suppression of public philanthropy in matters concerning the care of children."

"It is essential once again," says "Izvestia," March 3, 1921, "to point out the ever-increasing lack of care of children, with consequent infantile trading, theft, deceit, and more serious vices.

There have been cases when in a brothel on the Hitrov market-place as many as fifty children have been seized in a single day. . . . The number of children now leading street life is colossal."

"Children in the big cities," says "Trud," February, 1921, "dragged into the maelstrom of street speculation, are becoming a social calamity. In the majority of cases they are the children of workers. They support themselves and earn for the family an additional income."

"Beginning with the year 1918," says the report of the League for the Protection of Children, “juvenile destitution began to assume catastrophic proportions. The percentage of uncared-for children in Moscow, which in 1917 amounted to no more than one or two per cent, in the summer of 1920 reached twenty-five to thirty per cent. In reality, however, the number of uncaredfor children is much higher even than this, for the Soviet departments dealing with children's welfare possess no adequate apparatus for registration."

Sail

A Special Conference on Children held in 1920 revealed the fact that juvenile prostitution has increased tenfold, or one thousand per cent, since 1917. The interpellation of 5,300 girls of or about fifteen years of age showed that no fewer than 4,100-that is, eighty-eight per cent indulge in prostitution. ors, Red soldiers, and a vast class of profiteering speculators to which the Communist régime has given birth provide the custom for these girls' earnings. The Bolshevist Commissariat of Public Health admits that, while in 1917 in hospitals for venereal diseases there were twelve per cent of children to eighty-eight per cent adults, there are now sixty per cent children to forty per cent adults.

Such are the appalling results of the system of children's upbringing established under Bolshevist Communism. Fortunately, there are those who recognize the supreme gravity of this problem and have taken it into their hands to save as many as possible of those Russian children whose good fortune it has been to be thrown, even destitute and orphaned, outside the pale of all vitiating Bolshevist influence. The Russian Relief and Reconstruction Society of London is devoting its entire energy and resources to this end and is establishing schools and homes in those centers on the outskirts of Russia where refugees are most congested. The children of these schools are destined to form a leaven wherewith to purify juvenile Russia the moment the present system in Russia comes to an end. The call for funds should appeal to all, wherever they may be, who fear the world revolution or the canker of Bolshevism, and I cannot but think that my many friends on this side of the water will be willing to assist this association. Those who will aid may send checks to J. P. Morgan & Co., Wall Street, New York, payable to the Russian Relief and Reconstruction Fund. What the need is may be seen from the fact that it is stated that the sum of $150 will keep a boy or girl for a year and mean one more child to help restore the world to sanity and one less for world revolution.

Preparatory to its exhibition at a Pageant of Progress in Chicago, from July 30 to August 14, the locomotive of our grandfathers, itself the grandfather of our locomotives, drew a train of cars at the speed of eight miles an hour along the tracks of the New York Central in New York City the other

day. The train consisted of three passenger coaches modeled after the ancient ones that ran on the Mohawk and Hudson Railroad ninety years ago. Aboard these toylike coaches were men and women in the costumes of the period. The original coaches, a correspondent writes us, were made by James Goold of Albany, a prominent carriage maker in that locality. The concern is still doing business and is owned and managed by a grandson and greatgrandson of the founder

THE DE WITT CLINTON, THE FIRST ENGINE THAT EVER HAULED A PASSENGER TRAIN IN NEW YORK STATE

AS RAILWAY TRAVELERS APPEARED IN 1831, WHEN THE FIRST TRAIN TO RUN IN

NEW YORK STATE MADE ITS TRIP FROM ALBANY TO SCHENECTADY

W

ASHINGTON undoubtedly has an eye-full. What with a new President, a new First Lady, a clean sweep in the Cabinet, and "Laddie," assimilation has necessarily been confined, just at first, to the ranking members of the new Administration. Presently, however, the capital will go exploring. When it does, it will discover in its midst a veritable wealth of new and interesting figures. It is then that the capital, and the country at large, will discover a young man of thirty-three years who has before him two extremely difficult tasks. One of these is the efficient administration of all of the land establishments of the American Navy-the navy yards, aviation and torpedo stations, submarine bases and training stations. The other is that of giving to a famed and cherished American name a new, but consistent, significance. This young man is Colonel Theodore Roosevelt, Jr., Assistant Secretary of the Navy, and son and namesake of one of the country's most beloved Presidents.

"Is he like his father?"

That is the question which is invariably asked. Unconsciously, those making the inquiry are usually prepared to place this thirty-three-year-old Theodore Roosevelt in strict comparison with the highly matured Theodore Roosevelt whom they knew and loved of old. So when they ask, "Is he like his father?" those who know the new T. R. can best reply: "He is probably more like his father than his father was like himself at a similar age."

They mean, of course, that the new T. R. is appreciably more Rooseveltian than was his father at thirty-three. The new T. R. had constantly before him the example and guidance of the matured T. R., and is now as much like him as an elder son could possibly be. Every one is aware of the inspiring companionship that existed between the elder Roosevelt and his children, and it becomes increasingly apparent in talking with the new T. R. He speaks constantly of his late father. Scarcely an incident occurs that does not remind him of something that his father said or did, and which at the time was shared with his family.

"That reminds me of something father once said," the young T. R. will constantly observe, and he will then relate an incident which, despite the countless volumes of Roosevelt anecdotes, is probably new. In quoting his father he uses not only his words but his mannerisms and his sharp, staccato tone, and it is then that it is difficult to distinguish one T. R. from the other.

"He imitates his father too much," some one will say after his first encounter with the new T. R. They mean that his greeting possesses much of the warmth and enthusiasm and much of

BY MERCER VERNON

(C) Underwood THEODORE ROOSEVELT, SON OF PRESIDENT

ROOSEVELT

"He is probably more like his father than his father was like himself at a similar age"

the eccentricity of the elder T. R. They mean that he slaps you on the back in the old beloved way and tells you that he is "very, very, v-E-R-Y glad to see you." He does all of these truly Rooseveltian things. But it is not imitation. It is his natural heritage from a companionship that was constant and close.

Let me tell you of a little incident in Indiana which has never before been in print.

You may then judge whether this thirty-three-year-old Roosevelt is a Roosevelt indeed. It happened at his hotel, directly following an evening meeting in the recent Presidential campaign. The local committee had remained with him to discuss the political situation.

"Who was the dark-haired chap who came up and shook my hands," the Colonel inquired, "and said he had served with me overseas?"

"That was Johnny H-," the chairman replied. "He's a great disappointment to the town."

"Why?" the Colonel asked.

"Well," said the chairman, "Johnny was something of a hero over there-a

real hero, I guess. When he came back, the whole town met him at the station. We named a park in his honor, elected him to life membership in the Board of Trade, and gave him a place in one of our largest banks. That was a year ago. To-day he is back at his old job, in a lumber yard, and has dropped completely out of sight."

The young T. R. leaned forward. His face was drawn and his lower jaw shot out at a familiar angle.

"And the man is ab-so-lute-ly right!" he roared, shaking his fist in the faces of the astonished local committee.

"I have seen that happen too many times," he continued, sharply. "The home town of a returned hero usually makes a perfect monkey of him. It dresses him up in fine clothes, sticks him in a place which has no earthly relation to anything else he has ever done in his life, and then expects him to be a success. Nine times out of ten the man fails, the town loses interest in him, and he slips back into his old rut, and very naturally becomes a malcontent. You are the ones at fault. Instead of placing this man in a bank, why didn't you put him in his proper environment-set him up in the right way in the right place? Johnny H perfectly right in his attitude."

is

That was like his father-but it was not imitation. It came spontaneously, straight from the heart and shoulder, and without fear or favor for his uncomfortable hosts. It was the old spirit of fair play, the square deal, and the inherent Roosevelt sympathy for the under dog.

"He likes folks," said Governor Edwin P. Morrow, of Kentucky, after a few days spent with the new T. R. in the campaign. Governor Morrow had seen the new T. R. address three large audiences in a single day. He had seen him consent to speak to every way-station group of Kentuckians that gathered at the rear of his car. He had seen him embrace the spare, bewhiskered elders of the "moonshine" districts, who still cherished the memory of another T. R. He had seen him urge upon the mountain women the importance of voting. And he had seen him strip off his clothes and swim across a river with a group of mountain boys for the sheer delight of joining with others in adventure.

"He likes folks," the Governor repeated on many occasions, and in these few words he had summed up the outstanding trait of the new T. R. He does like folks. He likes old folks, he likes young folks, and he particularly likes "just plain folks." I had the pleasure of accompanying the new T. R. throughout a campaign tour covering twenty-one States last fall. The most interesting period was always the hand-shaking that followed the formal programme. It was seldom announced that he would