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What of Anarchism in the Future?

The thoughts which have been awakened in the minds of educated, patriotic, thoughtful American citizens, by the recent assassination of President McKinley, are doubtless more numerous and varied, if possible, than have been voiced by the multitudinous expressions which have been evoked. The terrible act of the murderer in its effects penetrated so deeply the hearts and minds of men, that time will be required to determine what are to be the final utterances which will shape themselves in abiding form and settled purpose. At such a time the first out-givings are quite apt to be noisy, inflammatory, and, in a measure at least, valueless. Who that has read soberly what has been suggested by newspapers and public men in regard to the "takingoff" of the President, and the proper course to be pursued toward anarchism and anarchists, has not realized that much of it was far from being weighty? Czolgosz was an anarchist and assassin. We have never heard that he could be pictured as Shakespeare pictures an assassin:

"This is the man should do the bloody deed; He showed his warrant to a friend of mine; The image of a heinous fault

Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his Does show the mood of a much troubled breast."

He had heard Emma Goldman. Dreamy, visionary, thriftless. idle, his brain became fired. He corresponded with Emma Goldman. Emma Goldman's inflammatory, anarchistic ideas. came to be the abiding subject of his thought, the constant topic of his conversation as he went from neighborhood to neighborhood, mingling with those

who, like himself, reveled in filth. Czolgosz was a little anarchist who assassinated a great and good ruler and a noble, beloved man. He says he thought he was doing his duty. What conception a really brainy anarchistic leader can have of duty is an ethical and moral question beyond the writer's fathoming. Without law, what becomes of duty? Where does it find a place? A little, ignorant person like Czolgosz, might be an anarchist and might have very little, erroneous ideas about duty. Undoubtedly this man became, in his way, absolutely fiendish and bloodthirsty toward men in authority in all lands. The thought that so insignificant a social mote might be fanned out to do a deed so terrible, so far-reaching in its consequences, is appalling in the extreme. The social mote is wiped off the face of the earth, but the wind which blew it where it did infinite harm, leaving an ineffaceable blot upon the pages of history, is still doing its damnable, deadly work. Czolgosz had a speedy and a fair trial. Justice was done; it was not delayed by technicalities. But anarchism remains. The deed of the assassin revealed a social condition. The deadly poison had scattered its disease germs through the nation's social and political atmosphere. The deed of Czolgosz so clarified the atmosphere that thousands upon thousands whose eyes were held, and who were drifting into the current, suddenly saw, as nothing else of which we can conceive could have made them see, that we are living in the midst of danger.

Is anarchism to be gotten rid of easily and speedily? The tongue is a little riember, and boasteth great things. The tongue is a fire, a world of inquity: it is

To the casual observer he has ever remained a reticent enigma, and his conservative and perhaps class tendencies have helped to mystify a trifle the average citizen. This has helped to keep his true character hidden. For a man who has made the chief position in the Nation's gift his objective point, and who successfully reached it, it is perhaps strange to say that his personal character, his home traits and his love and devotion to his wife, were amongst his strongest characteristics, and were the chief facts that contributed to his popularity amongst his intimates. His last moments were those of sublime heroism. His utmost self-abnegation, the love of his wife that manifested itself, the sublime knowledge that he had done his duty faithfully and honorably, and the great resignation with which he quietly submitted to the inevitable and prepared to meet his Maker, have brought the American people to a realization of the great loss they have sustained.

It's a mistake to suppose that the ideal husband is the handiwork of the ideal wife. He isn't. He's a species distinct, rare, coveted, and not dependent for fundamental principle upon the woman he marries, says Lavinia Hart in the October "Cosmopolitan."

In witness whereof is the established hopelessness of marrying a man to reform him; and likewise the not inirequent instance of a thoroughly noble and unselfish husband with a most unworthy wife.

The ideal husband is the direct result, first, of his mother's training; second, of his early environment and the character and habits that environment has created; and third, of the progressive decade in which he has developed, a decade of higher standards, greater requirement and magnificent fulfilment.

The ideal husband is essentially a twentieth-century innovation. The virtues which make him ideal were not virtues in the past. His liberality would have shocked his ancestors; his attitude of equality toward the sex of his mother would have wounded their vanity, and his wholesome unselfishness, resulting from these virtues and acting like leaven. in the loaf of marital happiness, would have taught them lessons filled with greater spiritual truth and beauty than orthodox creeds and Puritan customs.

The ideal wife does not make the ideal husband. When man reaches a marriageable age, his habits have taken firm root, and his tendencies are so closely knit they admit of little stretching. But the ideal wife has a great deal to do with the ideal husbands of the future; for mothers are the women who make men. To them comes the responsibility of laying the corner-stone for future homes or the mockeries of homes. To them comes the opportunity to bend the twig

while it is tender, and start it firm and straight on its upward growth. The ideal mother gives to her sons a heritage of mental, physical and spiritual health, and devotes her energies, during their childhood, to developing that heritage to the full extent. First she teaches them the value of physical health, for this very practical branch of an ethical training is the rock on which the ideal rests. No chronic dyspeptic ever made an ideal husband; and no sufferer from gout ever maintained the moderate temperament essential to the father who would be an example to his sons. Fhysical health is the soil from which spring flowers of mental and spiritual loveliness. From it grow, with a luxuriant naturalness which cultivation cannot bring, cheerfulness, self-control, truth, faith, generous impulse, and poise in the judgment of human nature and human motives.

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The mistake made by most mothers is in beginning too late. When their idolized offspring have remained out several evenings until ten or eleven, and answer the solicitous "Where have you been?" with an indefinite "Out," a sense of responsibility falls like a blow, and the fond mamas sit them down to think. These reflections usually result in a determinaion to have a talk with Johnny. He's getting to be a big boy now, and serious problems must soon take the place of play. There are things about himself and about the world and his relative position toward it, which he ought to know. Whereupon counsel is taken with Johnny in a good motherly talk, or he is advised of the "things he ought to know" by innuendo, or vague sugges tions, or by well-meant references dropped, now and again, to the examples of other boys' lives. But the motherly intention hits wide of the desired mark. It comes too late. Johnny has already

formed impressions about the "things he ought to know" and booked opinions about a few things more. There is only one thing worse than planting in the desert, and that is planting on overworked ground.

A kindly Providence, however, shields a mother's eyes from the glare of her own errors. She never knows that she stifled the boy's best instincts before he was able to protect himself. She never suspects that the time to prepare him for those "things he ought to know" was when he began to creep over the carpet and cry for something his chubby fists could reach. Nor is she apt to believe that her influence was on the wane when the little leg's got strong enough to play ball and run away from the home-plate. It was then that Johnny found new bases and was governed almost entirely by influences outside his home. His mother is outnumbered. But the amount of pitch that will cling to Johnny when he wades through it, and the amount of good that will sink into his soul when he contacts with it, will be regulated by the discipline of his creeping, toddling years, when his mother drew upon his soul and mind the out-line map of what the future man would be. And Johnny, in the years that follow, will fill in that outline, with a better or worse material, as the case may be, within the limitations of the boundary line his mother set down.

When he begins to think of matrimony, Johnny will have ideais. At least he should have, if he be a normal, wellpoised, progressive young man. His earlier ideals will be transitory. They will hover about a face from which glean eyes of Johnny's favorite color, a tiptilted nose, dimples, curly hair; and perhaps she must have an accomplishment or two--French and German fluently, a gift for music, enough of a voice to sing for his amusement only. And if she possess the crowning glory of knowing how to make apple-duff as mother made it, she will surely be his affinity, and they will be happy ever after.

If the Fates are kind to Johnny, he'll live down his first ideal before anything happens. If they are not, he will probably join the vast multitude that go

down beneath the yoke and count marriage a failure.

For the men who would make ideal husbands must exercise great care in the choosing of their wives. Though wives can not make ideal husbands, they can mar them. One bad woman can ruin more men than twenty good women can redeem; and one mismated, quarrelsome couple can do more hurt to the institution of marriage than can be undone by ten who are quiet and content.

The girl with the curly hair and the dimples and the genius for apple-duff may make a very good wife; but these points will not be a vital factor in her success. Neither will a great fortune or superior social position of itself make life with her for fifty years ideal.

The prospective husband who really is seeking to realize an ideal life must look for inward rather than outward beauty in the girl he marries. Not that outward beauty is worthless. All beauty counts, for beauty, of one kind or another, is the point toward which the ideal is striving. But no woman whose intellect is awakened, whose soul is pure, whose motives are good, whose ambitions are lofty, can possibly be ugly to look at. Beauty is like love, it can not be hidden. When every thought of the mind makes an instant impression on the face, when every good impulse softens the expression and every bad one hardens it, when every smile and every scowl, every tenderness and every harshness, leave their several imprints, can the beauties of the mind and heart be separated from the beauty. of feature? Not only is the woman of ideal type spiritually beautiful, but, inheriting the most graceless and irregular features they must surely acquire a beauty of finesse and expression which will outwear the beauty of feature and increase as the love for good increases in her soul.

Regarding the material conditions that influence matrimony, they are not to be lightly handled. While the marriage can not be ideal without love, which should be its prime incentive, neither can any marriage whose only bond of sympathy is sentimental love, attain perfection. An equal plane, and preferably a high plane, of intellectual understanding is essential.