Obrázky na stránke
PDF
ePub

Costa Rica, Guatemala, Haiti, Honduras, Peru, or Santo Domingo. The delegates from Haiti and Santo Domingo came later.

There were some striking changes from last year. When Albania's name was called, Mgr. Fan Noli's familiar beard, masking his smile, was no longer in evidence; another and younger delegate nimbly mounted the stairs to the tribune and deposited his ballot for President in the box. The governmental overthrows in both Albania and Greece had resulted in new delegations from those countries. The far more important Cabinet change in England replaced as first delegate the flamboyant Lord Parmoor by the taller, lither, austerer, and more determined looking Austen Chamberlain, British Foreign Minister, easily the most dominating and most powerful, but certainly not the most popular figure here. In the Jugoslav delegation the first delegate was appropriately the dignified Foreign Minister Nintchitch, a Serb, but at his side now sat the Croat Stepan Raditch, just out of prison! The delegate making the most sensation, however, was an East Indian, his Highness of Patiala. He wore European dress, but his head was enveloped in a huge light-blue turban and he had curious diamond rings in his ears. Last year, when the Abyssinians were admitted to membership, they created a sensation by their native costumes-tight white trousers, black satin cloaks lined with green silk and a magenta velvet collar atop; but on the opening day this year the Abyssinian, Negradas Zelleka, now in "store clothes," stepping lightly up to the ballot-box, passed almost unnoticed in contrast with the Indian prince.

As President of the Assembly, Raoul Dandurand, the Canadian statesman, was elected. He speaks French as his native tongue, but English almost as well. His is a harsh, metallic voice, like a terrier's, very different from the sonorous quality of his predecessor as President, Giuseppe Motta, the only Italian-Swiss ever to become President of Switzerland. Mr. Dandurand has presided ably and seems universally popular. I was specially interested in his election. (alike gratifying to the English and the French), as I had been having some correspondence with him relative to the friendly and persistent Canadian effort to sterilize Article 10 of the Covenant.

Then, according to custom, the different subjects on the agenda were divided. among six commissions. The first commission had to do with constitutional and juridical matters; the second, with technical organizations; the third, with armament reduction; the fourth, with budgetary and financial questions; the fifth,

with social problems; and the sixth, with political affairs.

But before all this occurred it was the turn of France to open the Assembly. Paul Painlevé, French Prime Minister, appeared in the presidential seat. Abandoning the long black coat, customary on such occasions, M. Painlevé wore a gray business suit. It seemed appropriate to the terse text of his address, a text revealing the savant as well as the statesman. Every phrase showed sureness and finesse. Gray was also appropriate for the Premier's matter-of-fact, steady matter-of-fact, steady tone; his voice was as even and clear at the end of forty minutes as at the be

Austen Chamberlain

ginning. But his delivery lacked the magnetism and vibratory quality of Edouard Herriot, his predecessor as Premier. In contrast, M. Painlevé is colder, but he seemed to me more precise, exacter, subtler.

Also in this place a year ago spoke Ramsay MacDonald, then British Labor Prime Minister and always a pacifist. Apparently he grasped at armament reduction as the sole universal panacea. He rose right into the empyrean by the animation vivifying his sentimental considerations. But the cleverer fellowSocialist, Herriot, went him two better. Also emphasizing the disarmament ideal, he proclaimed anew the absolute interdependence of arbitration, security, and armament reduction that tryptich of which the inseparable parts form one whole. The Assembly ultimately and unanimously adopted this receipt for preventing war and recommended a Protocol, or draft treaty, to their respective governments for ratification.

That was a great event. The end of war seemed in sight. A wave of generous emotion and enthusiasm swept all the men and women up into the blue until they seemed made of heads and wings only.

Months passed. The requisite number of governments did not ratify the Protocol. Moreover, the British Labor Cabinet fell, and its Conservative successor repudiated its predecessor's delegates' signatures at Geneva. signatures at Geneva. The Dominion

Governments were similarly minded. In his address M. Painlevé pointed out the fundamental reason why the French, generally realists, had espoused the Protocol and why the British opposed it. There are two ways of securing justice and peace. That of last year's Assembly is the Latin, idealist method. It proceeds from a generalization to particular examples. The other, the Anglo-Saxon, really realist method, proceeds from particular cases to a generalization. It accommodates an idea to special circumstances and conditions. The ultimate result of either method may well be the

[graphic]

same.

"But ours is the more practical," declared Mr. Chamberlain here. The British Empire's complexity and geographical position does not permit the British Government to promise to apply everywhere the Protocol's principles. But it can apply any pact, such as the one the Foreign Ministers of France, Germany, Belgium, and England are now drafting. According to both M. Painlevé and Mr. Chamberlain, the Protocol may yet be realized by the natural and beneficent play of regional pacts. There is thus a new Anglo-French Entente, and, for the present, England seems the predominant partner.

The proximate reason why Austen Chamberlain defied the League and refused Britain's consent to the Protocol was because of obligatory arbitration. No country, he said, had submitted so many disputes as had England to arbitral settlement; the British Governments had thus shown their sympathy with the general principle of arbitration. As regards disputes likely to lead to a rupture, the British Government is already bound by the League Covenant to submit all such disputes either to arbitration or to the League Council. Also under the Covenant, the British Government has already recognized that disputes of a legal nature, not affecting the vital interests, independence, or honor of the contracting states, are generally suitable for submission to arbitration. But there are, he claimed, classes and categories of differences not to be so submitted, and, as the British Empire Constitution is not uni

[blocks in formation]

T

By GREGORY MASON

Who finds out why Tammany does not like voting machines

HE Legislature of New York
State in 1921 passed a law re-

quiring the use of voting machines in cities of the first class. New York was the only city of this class which had not already installed them, and the enactment was obviously aimed at the city at the mouth of the Hudson. The law provided that if within thirty days of its passage the Board of Elections had not agreed upon the type of machine to be installed that duty should devolve upon the Secretary of State. In short, here was the old, old situation, the up-State Republicans taking a fling at Tammany Hall.

The Board of Elections went into a deadlock, the two Republican members favoring a certain machine and the two Democratic members opposing it. Whereupon the Secretary of State decided that the United States Standard Voting Machine should be installed. But labor organizations objected that employees of this company worked more than eight hours a day and were not paid the prevailing rate of wages, and the Acting Corporation Counsel took the view that for this reason these machines should not be installed by the Board of Elections. An attempt to force the Board to install them by mandamus proceedings failed, and the situation remained a deadlock until 1925.

Early in this year Deputy AttorneyGeneral Abraham S. Gilbert began a new legal fight to compel the introduction of the machines, and eventually won it before the Appellate Court, the highest tribunal in the State. That Court held that Section 246 of the Election Law placed upon the Secretary of State the affirmative duty of buying these machines and sending the bill to the city, whose Controller should, if necessary, issue bonds to pay for them.

It was not possible to get a machine for each of the three thousand election districts of the metropolis, and, moreover, it seems to be the part of tact to introduce them gradually. Seventy-five

Mlue World Photos

NEW

JEW YORK'S ninety-sixyear-old Commissioner of Elections, John R. Voorhis, said to Gregory Mason:

"The voting machine is in line with the whole unpleasant tendency of the age. With the oldfashioned ballot the voter takes pride in making his choice, in lingering over the thought that he is really expressing himself by his visible crosses on the paper. When he pulls the levers of a voting machine, he feels he is a mere statistic or part of a statistic, he is just one of a number of men who have pulled those levers. On the old paper ballot a man can write in his own name or a friend's name, and thus make the ballot his own permanently, to be recognized after the count, if necessary. The voter keeps his identity, his political individuality is preserved."

have been purchased, of which number fifty-five are to be used in the forthcoming election that is, one in each election district of the Fifteenth Assembly District.

First and last, the battle of the voting machines has produced much sound and fury on Manhattan Island. "It is my opinion," says Commissioner Voorhis, who has opposed the introduction of the machines during the past thirty of his ninety-six years, "it is my opinion that the strongest advocacy of these mechanical contrivances comes from persons who are financially interested in them. I cannot prove this, but I am convinced that it is so."

When I reported this to a prominent officer of the State who is a Republican, he merely laughed and said: "I might ask if Tammany Hall has any interest in the printing concern which will be out of pocket about three hundred thousand dollars a year if the old printed ballots are abandoned. I cannot prove this, but I am convinced that it is so."

The most serious objection to the machines seems to be that undoubtedly some voters are confused by them at first. This is merely to say that there is a type of human being to whom most mechanical devices are mysteries to some degree. I shall not make caustic remarks about this kind of mind, for I have one myself, the simplest automobile engine being to me a miracle never to be understood.

It does not seem likely that the expense of caring for the machines will equal the expense saved by the reduction in the number of election inspectors, election clerks, and polling places which their use makes possible. Although machines. of the type used in New York cost $940 apiece, it seems that in the long run their use will mean a saving of municipal dollars.

Experience in other cities tends to prove that one voting machine will do the work of half a dozen polling booths. And no one denies that much earlier elec

[graphic]

tion returns are possible with the machines than without them.

Finally, the voting machine makes it easy for the voter to split his ticket, guards against the sort of mistakes which lead paper ballots to be thrown out of the count, and quite obviously makes fraudulent counting of votes very difficult.

To say this is not to imply that the opposition to the n.achines is largely from politicians addicted to questionable election tactics. Undoubtedly there is a large sentimental prejudice in favor of

T

retaining the old ballot, and Commissioner Voorhis contends that if the matter were submitted to a referendum the people would declare emphatically against the voting machine.

It is very likely true, however, that the Democratic organization in the city feels that it is more at home with the paper ballot than its opponents. Perhaps there is sormething in the following statement, made to me by a prominent Republican. Said he:

"I am not charging any organized fraud on the part of Tammany. But I

am convinced that Tammany Hall gets

an advantage running into a large number of votes by the use of the paper ballot. I am sure that the widespread opposition of Tammany politicians to the voting machine is due to a deep feeling among them that they have a big advantage over the Republicans through their facility and familiarity with the handling of paper ballots."

But alas for these romanticists who are so facile in old-fashioned methods! The voting machine has probably come to New York to stay.

The Shining Shore

Staff Correspondence by DIXON MERRITT

OMPS SHORT used to rub tobacco in his eyes-"Because," he said, "it feels so good when it stops hurting."

The particular practice is not, perhaps, laudable. But the philosophy back of it is. I have lived by it, sparingly. I should not have gone to the length of making myself ill in order to have the fun of getting well. But, since I had to undergo the unease of illness, I know that there is compensation, measure for measure, in the languor of convalescence and the final glow of health returned.

packed in ice and brought back to Washington in a Pullman berth, of being maneuvered through the station, of bumping home in a cab.

But over against that was the joy of purring along over perfect roads through a fruitful country to a rainbow's end, and -but why go on with these contrasts? What I started out to do is to recommend the Eastern Shore as a place for convalescent vacationing. I do so hereby, with reasons for the same to follow in due course of composition.

Measure for measure! Tit for tat! A FIRST, let it be said that in order to

A

quiet joy for every racking pain. sweet forgetfulness for every bitter mem

ory.

There were those nights of horror, when the time of my illness was new, in a hotel room in New York. The pain would not depart and slumber would not approach my pillow, though the doctor conjured mightily with medicines and the woman whom some providence gave to be with me wrought more cunningly still with the arts of love. The worst was when the dawn peeped, gray and grim, through the window and she dozed for a little at the bedside.

But over against those nights I set certain other nights in an old farmhouse of the Eastern Shore of Maryland-long, lazy nights when the first yawn came at 7:30 by the clock, in front of an open wood fire; nights with ten hours of sleep in them, and only enough odd moments of half wakefulness to emphasize the sweetness of the sleep. The balance is on the right side of the ledger. And the best was when the sun, already tree-top high, flooded through the room and the woman who used to doze for a moment at dawn slumbered on toward the noon. There had been the agony of being

take a convalescent vacation properly one must have a good boss-two, for choice, and they conspirators. A sick man has not sense enough to get well unbossed. I had not, at any rate. When I was barely half able to walk, I slipped off downtown and sent a telegram to the editor of The Outlook saying that I was ready to go back to work. Just what happened I do not know. I suspect that woman of having "got wise" to what I had done and of having followed my telegram with another saying that I was no such thing. At any rate, there came from the editor an apparently angry letter commanding me not to mention work again until the doctor discharged me and until, after that, I had taken a vacation of at least two weeks. I was really getting well enough to have a little sense by that time, and replied with the simple sentence, "I am a good enough soldier to obey orders."

So when the doctor finally did discharge me only with a string tied to the discharge-we loaded W. K., which is an automobile, with bedding and food and automobile, with bedding and food and cooking tools and emergency medicine kit, and started-nowhere. It is the only way to travel. If you are not going any

where, you are never on the wrong road. If you arrive nowhere, with bedding and all, you can stay there comfortably. Somehow, W. K. headed to Annapolis, rolled on to the ferry, rolled off again at Claiborne. Through all of one day we purred leisurely along over roads that, if we had had a destination, would have been wrong roads. But they ran through the most magnificent farming country that I had ever seen-and I had previously seen practically all of the farming country in the United States except the Eastern Shore and some of the valleys of the Pacific coast. They ran, also, through quaint old villages. And these villages, despite their age, are up to date and comfortable. That is the beauty, after all, of the Eastern Shore. Every inch of it is comfortable. Elsewhere there is a streak of prosperity between two streaks of poverty.

At sundown we were four miles from Salisbury—and those with whom we had chance to talk said that Salisbury is a city. Now cities always have irked me at twilight. I can bear them in the working hours and in the sleeping hours, but not in that holy time when day meets night, when bustle and noise are soothed to sleep in the infinity of darkness, and when, for some brief moment in the dimness, the groping hands of man may come near to touching the hand of God.

To escape a city twilight I proposed it as a duty that we visit some of the families in the comfortable farmhouses that we were passing. At the first we had a drink of water and some homely chatif it cleared and the wind lay, there would probably be frost; and the tomatoes were not nearly all picked; and the drought was plumb ruining the young clover. I insinuated the sentence that

we were so in love with those farms that we wanted to stay at one of them. They were sorry, but they were not very well, and, of course, could not make us as comfortable as we ought to be if we stayed. And they did not know of anybody in the neighborhood who could take us. But wait a minute! What about Mrs. Lowe? Her husband died last spring, you know, and she is all alone except that the Episcopal minister boards there when he is not out on his rounds among the parishioners of five country churches, and sometimes her son comes out from the city to stay the night with her. She likes to have people come in. It will do no harm to ask. She lives in the first house down the road on the lefthand side; but she is deaf, and may not understand what you say.

But she did understand, at the first asking. "Why, yes," she said. "Come right in—I am just about to start a fire." The minister was coming down the oldfashioned stairs, bag in hand, off to a guild meeting at an outlying mission. But he thought better of it when we had shaken hands. "I guess," he meditated, "that I can drive twenty-six miles after supper without mishap." So he made the fire, telling us local history at the same time. "We are country folk," he explained between whiles, "and we like to have people come to see us who have new things to talk about."

TH

HE receiver of the party-line telephone clicked, as it always does when one wants to see if there is some one else on the line. Evidently there was not, for the crank was twisted and a number called. And the voice of our hostess came to us by the fireside, not quite even because of her difficulty of hearing. "Son," she said, "if there is anything you want to do in town you need not come out to stay with me tonight. . . . Yes, the minister is going away, but I have company. A man and his wife from Washington. . . . Nice people. . . . Good-night, son."

[ocr errors]

We were strangers, and she took us in --and put her trust in us as her protecWe had a home on the road that tors. had started without destination. And there we stayed every night through the whole vacation, running out by day for a hundred miles or so and seeing all of that marvelous country-its level fields of tall corn, and young clover coming on in the wheat stubble; its endless acres of tomatoes, rolling now in great wagons to the canneries; its squash fields with all the semblance of gold mines aboveground; its quaint villages and old, old churches; its rivers and bay inlets, broad and placid, with sailing sloops upon

them; its sea-food marts with fleets of
oyster boats going out and coming in
and the armies of "shuckers" at work
ashore.

But every night we went eagerly home
-home on the road that we had fool-
ishly thought led to no definite place. It
was a goodly home. There was Mrs.
Lowe, motherly always. There were the
big old comfortable house and the open
wood fire. There were the avenue of
great mossy maples winding down to the
road, and the harvest moon at its full

days Greenhill church house has fallen to pieces more than once, and more than twice, but it has been as often restored, retaining, however, its original brick flooring and box pews. The British used it as a stable during the Revolution and the Yankees as a hospital in the sixties. These distinctions it has in common with many churches, but, since there is no tradition that George Washington ever worshiped there, it really is a unique old church.

Ο

coming up over a field all filled with OV
shocks of ripened corn. There were
country ham and country eggs and milk
and butter, and turnip greens at the
height of their autumn glory. And a
feather bed!

There were other abiding joys, not all
of them things of beauty, quite. The
little Collie dog was such a thing, to be
sure. I wondered why they called her
"Dick" until I found that her real
name is Dixie. There were three little
Negro boys, full of chores of the autumn,
the main one being to haul corn tops to
the barn. Their equipment was a little
old black mule and a home-built sled,
and they consumed endless time putting
the bundled corn tops into the barn. One
twilight, when they were late with their
last load, I undertook to organize them
-and did. Whereas each of them had
taken a bundle of tops from the sled and
carried it all the way into the barn, now
we passed the bundles on through four
hands, and quickly. The work was done
in a fourth of the time. I had my re-
ward, more than I deserved, when one of
the little Negroes said, confidentially, to
the other two, "Now dat's what I calls
unloadin' tops."

Withal, there was the comfortable and comforting talk of the minister, such times as he was home, of his little old country churches and of their communicants, few and far-sundered over those level farms. There was no bound to his zeal for his charges, who before he came zeal for his charges, who before he came were long neglected. He knew nothing of the cities and towns, though city-bred. The little country churches he had made his own.

One day we went with him to the oldest of all his old churches-Greenhill, far in the woods on the banks of the Wicomico River. Nearly two hundred years ago it was the largest and most prosperous church in all those parts. For then the people came to church from all those low-lying farms in sailing vessels, and the broad bosom of the Wicomico was dotted all over with boats on Sunday, as a country churchyard used to be in my boyhood with buggies and is now with automobiles. Since those prosperous

VER a camp-fire of cedar roots pulled from the river-bank we cooked dinner in the churchyard. Before the process was over I came to doubt the wisdom of telling women new things. Some one had told this woman of mine that the way to heat baked beans over a campfire is to put the can, unopened, in the coals. She did and it developed that she had not made even a small hole in it. It is not necessary to say that the thing exploded. Perhaps it is necessary to say that the contents smeared themselves all over the front of the minister, from clerical hat to trouser cuffs.

And we learned as we came back through Easton that the country parson we had thus besmeared is shortly to be made Dean of the Cathedral! His zeal for the little country churches has made the town inevitable for him.

At mid-morning of a gorgeous day we left the home that had adopted us and came at nightfall to the home we made for ourselves in Washington. Here, too, was the joy of recovery. Things utterly wearisome when I was sick were beautiful now that I was strong. And I wired the editor that, the woman consenting, I was ready to go back to work.

Yes, the fun of getting well outweighs the pain of being ill.

Come now the Job's comforters that pester the spirit of every man---Eliphaz the Temanite and Bildad the Shuhite and Zophar the Naamathite-and ask what, after all, is the use? From this illness you may recover and be glad of your strength to work again. Another illness may come, and from that, too, you may recover and be glad. But the end is inevitable. There comes an illness from which there is no getting well, and therefore no pleasure to balance against the pain.

But what do they know, these pessimists, of the roads into the unknown or of the homes that may be opening their doors there to the earth-weary? They never would have believed that on nameless road of the Eastern Shore a home would open and a haven be made where a sick man might grow joyfully well.

a

[blocks in formation]
« PredošláPokračovať »