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months on account of the strike. As regards the extent to which hours had been lengthened and Sunday work increased, I gradually reached the conclusion that the officials had underestimated it much less than the partisans of the union had overestimated it. Even here, however, while the old unionists exaggerated their losses, they were quite right in thinking that the death of unionism would mean the death of all hope of a future shortening of hours. Legislation might accomplish the reduction, but legislation of value to workingmen is rarely secured except when powerful organizations of workingmen demand its enactment and compel its enforcement. Acting as individuals without organization, the workmen are helpless. Every man among them may be convinced that shorter hours and a free Sunday are for the good of their class, but no man among them will cut

his own wages and risk his own job unless assured that his fellows will co-operate. You might almost as well attempt to run the Government by permitting each citizen to contribute what he pleases, as attempt to advance the general interests of labor by permitting each workman to contribute what he pleases. The bulk of men are willing to do their share, but require assurance that others will do theirs. This assurance of co-operation can come only through organization. So long as the organization of iron-workers is prohibited, the exhausting and demoralizing twelve-hour day and Sunday labor are bound to remain. Trade-unions have their features of danger, as I was shortly to see in studying the labor movement in Chicago, but the prohibition of tradeunions, as exemplified at Homestead, leaves the working classes without the hope of a better future.

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FOR THE LITTLE PEOPLE

The Queen and the Twelve Caskets

By Mary Allaire

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HERE was a wood-cutter's hut in the deep woods-a very tiny house, and about it there were only the wild flowers growing, and the moss on the roof and about the door-stones. A very poor house, you would say, but it held a priceless jewel, a darling little baby girl, who was so beautiful that the people who lived in the woods said she was touched by fairies because her mother died when she was a baby. Not only was baby Olga the most beautiful of children, but she was one of the best of children. She was happy and kind. When a tiny baby she would lie in her rough cradle with its bed of pine needles covered by a shawl, and sing and listen until her father said, "She is spoken to by some one." He did not know that all the songs that the birds had sung in the pine-trees were sung to her over and over in the pine bed, that he wished he could change to down. You see the fairies had not touched the father's ears.

The baby grew, and the father had to build a gate, lest the baby should wander away in the woods while he was working and be lost. He did not know of the dwarf in the far woods who passed his home every day, and looked at the baby. The dwarf was very ugly, and most children ran when they saw him, because they never looked in his eyes. Olga, when first she saw him through the little wooden gate, looked right in his eyes, and then held out her arms to go to him. His face glowed with a soft light, and for a moment was beautiful. "One black spot," he murmured, as he looked in Olga's eyes; "it must never be two;" and a shadow fell on him as he walked hurriedly into the woods.

Olga grew stronger and more beautiful every day. One day the wood-chopper

went into the woods in his new green suit, and without his ax. When he came back at sunset there was a beautiful woman with him. He smiled as she looked in his face. As they came nearer, the woman stopped and looked at the beautiful child at the gate. Olga shivered and gave a little cry, at which her father ran forward and caught her up in his arms. "Thy beautiful mother; to love thee," he whispered. But Olga hurried into the house.

The mirror which the new mother loved told her every day that the little girl was the more beautiful, and she hated the child more and more, and grew uglier and uglier to her. One day, as the little girl came in from the woods crowned with flowers, the mother drove her out of the house and into the deep woods. In the woods the little girl saw a bear, and began to run. She ran and ran, until she saw an open door. Through this she went, shutting it quickly after her. In the corner was a pile of skins. On this she sat down, and soon, tired out, dropped to sleep. The dwarf who owned the house and the woods came home. There on the pile of skins was the beautiful child he loved so much. Now he would have something to love and care for. He became happier, and sang gayly at his work, and forgot that he was deformed and ugly. The little girl loved him, and her joy and happiness made her even more beautiful than she had been. One command only he gave her-she must never open the door when he was away.

One day, when she was alone, the little girl heard a voice asking her to open the door. Olga hesitated a moment, and then went forward toward the door. 66 'How the wind blows!" she thought, as she heard the branches beating against each other. "Please open the door. The pearls will get wet," said the sweet voice. "I

brought them for you." Olga opened the door at once. There was her stepmother scowling. She quickly threw the stout. string she held around Olga's neck twice, gave a twitch, and Olga fell, gasping for breath. The wind blew furiously; the dwarf suddenly appeared running toward the hut, an open knife in his hand. He cut the string on Olga's throat, and carried her to her couch of pine needles, saying, sorrowfully," The one black spot." Little Olga put her arms around his neck and showed him how sorry she was because she had not obeyed him. He told her that she must never again open the door when he was away; that he loved her, and because he loved her, he wished to keep her from harm.

The next week the dwarf was away again. She heard a voice, winning and sweet, asking her to open the door. The wind began to blow at once, and Olga listened. "Open the door, little girl," pleaded the voice.

"I cannot," answered Olga. The wind sang softly.

"I have a beautiful pony to take you through the woods. I brought it to you," pleaded the voice. Olga got up quickly. At once the wind began to blow, the branches of the trees to beat the house, but Olga would not listen. She dropped the bar and opened the door. There was her stepmother holding a bear, big and brown, by the ears, a stout rope in her other hand. In a moment the little girl found herself tied on the bear's back, and he was tearing through the woods. The bushes scratched the little girl, but not her face for her fairy godmother had decreed that her face should always be beautiful.

On and on went the bear, bounding in terror because of the burden he could not throw off.

Coming through the woods from another direction was a gay party of hunters. Suddenly the bear tumbled over. The little girl did not move or cry out. The party rode up, and the most beautiful of all the hunters, the one in the most splendid suit, knelt on one knee before the little girl, saying, "I have found my Queen."

Tenderly the little girl was lifted from the ground, and on to the back of the King's horse, for he would have it so. He walked beside her, and his escort far behind.

They reached the palace, where the King's stepmother greeted them, and knelt before "her future Queen," she said; for the King's stepmother had fairy powers, and knew the future.

"You are beautiful, my dear, the most beautiful woman in the world, sweet and good; but there is one black spot." The little girl knew what she meant, and blushed.

Now she lived like a princess; she studied all the difficult things princesses have to learn to make good queens.

At last the day came when she was to marry the King. There were great preparations, and when everything was ready the King's stepmother came to her and said, "Remember the black spot; do not make it two black spots." Olga hung her head.

The next day the King and the Queen were walking in the garden, when the King, kissing the Queen's hand, said," My love, we will reign as one. Here are the twelve caskets in which are the secrets of the kingdom. Eleven thou mayst read and know, as I do. The twelfth must not be known to any in the kingdom, for great sorrow will come when the casket is opened."

The caskets were carried by twelve pages to the Queen's room. The days were so filled with pleasure that the Queen did not have time to open the caskets; she did not even remember them.

One day the King was busy with the treasurer, and the rain kept the Queen indoors. She saw the caskets, and went up to the table on which they stood; each held a paper, which the Queen unfolded. They were most uninteresting. "Aforesaid parties of the first part," read the Queen. "How stupid! Oh, how stupid!" yawned the Queen. She stood before the twelfth. "I'll just peep," she said.

She raised the cover, and out flew a beautiful bubble. It floated out of the window, and the Queen laughed, showing her pretty dimples, saying, "The first secret that was interesting! It looked like a bubble." The Queen that night saw that the King looked worried. She was more loving and tender than ever. "I did not mean to trouble you, my love, but a great waterspout has swept over many miles of coast line, and the people are suffering."

The months went past. A darling baby came to make the King and Queen happier, if that were possible.

The Queen grew more beautiful and more tender with the King, and he loved her more than ever. She kept close to him always, and was the happiest of women. It was her wish that the baby should be in her sight always. The people loved her more and more, for she was a mother Queen, not merely a Queen.

One day the King, the Queen, and the Prince were in the royal carriage. There was a shadow on the King's brow. The sun had been shining brightly, but now it had disappeared. Every few minutes Every few minutes the King glanced at the Queen. "My love, did you open the twelfth casket?"

"No, no!" laughed the Queen. The laugh was turned to a shriek: the little Prince was gone. The King and Queen sat alone in the royal carriage. In wrath the King stood up. 'You are wicked! The casket was opened. Leave the kingdom!"

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The Queen was driven out of the city, and into the deep woods, where the King had found her.

Now the people sorrowed more than ever. The Queen, the beautiful Queen, was gone; the King was shut in the palace, and there was no Prince for the people to love.

The dwarf sat in the woods watching the palace. "One black spot," he muttered, "but now two." The King's good stepmother leaned from her casement window, looking toward the coast. "One black spot, and now two, and yet so beautiful and loving! Oh, the moans of the people!"

The King's stepmother determined to find the Queen. Day after day the stepmother hunted for her lost daughter, as she called her. Through the woods she

called, and the wind carried her voice far. You would have thought it was the wind, but it was really the millions of fairies who love to help the good and kind and forgiving, who repeated the call over and over again like echoes through the woods.

One day she persuaded the King to go hunting. He went into a cave, out of a storm. There he saw, far in the darkness,

a white figure. He went nearer and nearer. The light at last enabled him to see that it was a woman. As he bent over her she whispered, "I did open the twelfth casket. I opened it. since!"

Sorrow, sorrow ever

The King took her in his arms and kissed her. kissed her." My love, I was cruel," he murmured.

"Never. Always kind, but I brought sorrow and sadness and loss to the kingdom." The King bent his head, and the Queen sought forgiveness with her eyes. There was a low, faint murmur in the cave, and the whir of wings. "The winds of peace and truth, obedience and love," whispered the Queen, and a soft breeze moved through the cave. The hunters' horns called for the King. He raised the Queen to her feet, and, leading her to the mouth of the cave, he called to his nobles, "The joy of life has returned," and they all knelt before the Queen, who rode again on the King's horse to the city, the people shouting with gladness and pointing to the palace.

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The King hurried his horse. As they entered the palace gates, there stood the royal Prince holding the hands of the dwarf and the King's stepmother. "Pure, spotless, true, and strong. A queen mother," they said, as they put the Prince in the arms of the Queen.

When the Queen turned with the young Prince in her arms, the dwarf, the stepmother of the King, and the King saw that she stood straighter and taller and was more beautiful than ever.

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Books and Authors

An Appeal to the Fathers' Mr. Gamaliel Bradford, of Boston, has Mr. Gamaliel Bradford, of Boston, has given us the fruit of many years' study in a critique upon the working of our political institutions which is worthy of the attentive consideration of every thoughtful patriot. It is conceived in the spirit of Lord Bacon's aphorism: "Since things change for the worse spontaneously, if they be not altered for the better designedly, what end will there be of the evil?" That our institutions were admirably designed, and that they have on the whole worked beneficially, Mr. Bradford has no doubt. As little doubt has he that, like all human constructions, they need repair and readjustment, and show signs of weakness under the increased strain of a changed time. The readjustment that he urges, and in which he is supported by an array of expert testimony, is not in any change of the Constitution. The difficulty of changing it he regards as one of its chief merits. His proposition is that we should "learn to work the Constitution as it is." The leading principle on which our government is based may be said to be the separation of executive and legislative power; the leading cause of failure, that we have never carried the principle into effect, "except in the town governments peculiar to New England." What we have in practice, as distinguished from what we have on paper, is government by the legislature, which in the States has reduced the executive to insignificance, and in the Nation has greatly encroached upon the theoretical independence of the executive, as Professor Woodrow Wilson showed ten years ago in his book on "Congressional Government."

The incapacity of the legislature, whether State or National, for governmental functions seems to be generally suspected, to say the least. Mr. Bradford enlarges upon this. Its members are not elected for special fitness; they represent at most only local interests; personal responsibility for the general welfare is correspondingly minimized; general inter

The Lesson of Popular Government. By Gamaliel Bradford. In Two Volumes, $4. The Macmillan Company, New York,

ests are constantly sacrificed to local and private interests by log-rolling and lobbying; there is an increasing tendency to profligate expenditures, and the anarchy already existing in its conduct of financial matters is characteristic of the anarchical character and tendency of the present working of government by a legislature. So far has this gone that in our largest States there are practically two executives, the official one and the non-official,

so that the Governor finds either his rival or his director in the Boss, who, by the aid of adherents in the legislature, is

often able to dictate or to neutralize his action.

In this fact, so odious to all but placehunters and spoilsmen, Mr. Bradford justly recognizes a distorted reflection of the idea of the framers of our National Con

stitution, of which our State Constitutions are more or less padded copies. Their theory of the executive contemplated a leader of that public opinion which is the working and the conservative force in a republic. They certainly did not expect that leadership to be exercised by a legislature in which public opinion is at best represented only in incoherent fractions. Nor did they expect his prerogatives to be shorn as they have been in the matter of appointments by the legislative usurpation styled "the courtesy of the Senate," or that his sphere of control would be also narrowed by the operation of a Civil Service Reform promoted mainly by his own abdication of power to avert worse evil through legislative interference. As the alternative to the growth of personal government by an irresponsible bossism, with political ruin in the sequel, Mr. Bradford deems it urgent to reinstate in practice the constitutional theory of personal government in place of the impersonal and irresponsible government by legislature that has largely supplanted it. In other words, he would restore to the executive, both State and Federal, its proper initiative and leadership, for safeguarding the exercise of which the legis lature in the rôle of a vigilant critic can

doubtless be relied on.

To accomplish this no new measure is

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