nothing to do with the working of the ship, and perform no duties below decks other than those connected with the service of the guns or the fire-control system. They are, however, trained in signaling and the handling of boats under sails and oars, and are responsible for the cleanliness of that portion of the ship assigned to them as living, messing, and berthing spaces. They sleep in hammocks, and are rationed in all respects as are the sailors.

Ashore, marines live in large, commodious, and modern barracks, where they are provided with excellent sleeping-rooms, diningrooms, baths, reading and writing rooms, and amusement facilities, such as gymnasium apparatus, pool tables, and indoor games. Athletics are encouraged, and every post has its baseball and football teams, etc., in

season.

The Marine Corps has always laid great stress on excellence in marksmanship, and has of late years established many enviable records. The Marine Corps team won the National Rifle Match at Camp Perry, in competition with teams of the army, navy, and National Guard, in 1911, and the same year held the record as champion five-inch gun crew of the navy, while in 1910 and

again in 1911 the President's Match (individual) was won by a marine. In April, 1913, the Marine Corps team of the American Legation guard at Peking, China, won an international rifle match against the legation guards of Italy, Austria, Russia, Germany, Great Britain, France, and Holland; and in May, 1913, the open championship for North China was won by the marines for the third consecutive year against all comers from all branches of the service of whatever nationality.

The rank and pay of officers and men of the Marine Corps are identical with those of the army, but the uniform is quite distinctive.

Most of the field officers are graduates of the United States Naval Academy, but for several years officers have been appointed by the President after competitive examinations from civil life and from the ranks under practically the same regulations as govern the appointment of civilians, and especially meritorious non-commissioned officers, to the grade of second lieutenant, in the army. There are now seventeen officers in the Marine Corps who by their exceptional ability and educational attainments have been commissioned from the enlisted personnel.

Young men after their appointment are

sent to the Marine Officers' School for a year of theoretical and practical military training before being assigned to duty with troops. This training is later supplemented by further studies, as every line officer is required to take the course prescribed each year for the garrison schools, and a certain number every year complete advanced courses of professional study at the Army Service Schools at Fort Leavenworth, the Naval War College at Newport, Rhode Island, and the Army War College at Washington, D. C.

The rank and file of the Marine Corps are enlisted for four years, and their enlistment, rank, promotion, pay, clothing allowance, rations, retirement, etc., are, with a few minor exceptions, governed by the same laws and regulations which obtain in the army. After enlistment the men are trained in recruit depots (one on the Atlantic and one on the Pacific coast), where for three months they are given a thorough course of instruction in all the multifarious duties of a soldier. They are then "turned over for duty" as fullfledged regulars, and may be sent anywhere in the world for service, either ashore or afloat. But this does not imply that their training is complete. On the contrary, their instruction in all drills, rifle practice, the service of field and naval guns, signaling, camping, first aid, field intrenchments, outpost and guard duty, patrolling, handling boats, etc., is continuous throughout their entire service, to the end that the highest possible efficiency may be maintained. Under the thorough system of training men who have previously known no restraints or regularity of life are, in a remarkably short time, imbued with full appreciation of respect for authority and order, the necessity for military

discipline and courtesy as well as habits of punctuality, sobriety, and self-sacrifice to duty. It was this training which produced those qualities exhibited by Private William Anthony, who a few moments after the explosion of the ill-fated Maine on February 15, 1898, made his way through the darkness and smoke at the risk of his own life to Captain Sigsbee and reported that the ship was afire and sinking; this was the school which graduated Sergeant John H. Quick, who, at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, on June 14, 1898, showed his devotion to duty by signaling to the U.S.S. Dolphin, with the utmost coolness, from an open ridge, while exposed to the bullets of Spanish marksmen; this was the training which produced a Private Durham, who on October 4, 1912, in the attack and capture of the heretofore unassailable Coyotepe, fearlessly exposed himself to a galling fire that he might cut the last of the barbedwire entanglements which impeded the advance of his comrades.

The navy and the Marine Corps are interdependent-the Marine Corps on the navy for its very existence as such; and the navy on the Marine Corps for a body of soldiers who are familiar with naval life and traditions, who can drill with "the deck on a slew," and who, because of their naval training, are capable of far more effective co-operation than could be soldiers unused to the sea and life aboard ship. Each takes its hat off to the other in mutual respect and admiration, and both to the army; each member of our " "trinity-inarms has its own work cut out for it and does it.1

Acknowledgment is made of free reference to "The History of the United States Marine Corps," by the late Major Richard S. Collum, U. S. Marine Corps (L. R. Hammersly, Publisher).

C

HARLES M. COX was a companion of Edward Bellamy, the author of "Looking Backward." At seventeen he was a little man-a very earnest little man-shifting barrels in Boston's produce market, whetting his ambition to do big things in the business world. He saved precisely one-half of all he earned, and accumulated one thousand dollars. He found a man who had another thousand, and together they went into business.

Young Cox, a blue-eyed, spectacled, precocious boy-man, was not content to go pace in pace with a man going a slower pace. He borrowed and bought out his companion. He established a one-man firm. That firm was Charles M. Cox.

Charles M. Cox hired men and fired them. He signed checks, he signed receipts; he bought grain, he sold grain; he superintended the books, he superintended the stenographers. He made money. For several years he went on making money. He married and had a little boy and a little girl. He went on working, and then something snapped. Precocious Charles M. Cox paid the penalty for running a one-man business. His body broke.

He went to his bed a nervous wreck, and for weeks he lay in bed and watched the business edifice he had built crumbling and falling to pieces despite anything he could do. He lost his customers, he lost his credit, he almost lost hope, and he all but lost his life.

Charles M. Cox rose from his bed in Melrose Highlands and limped to the train that took him to Boston. He went to his office and called the workers in the office together, and took the melon called Charles M. Cox & Co. and sliced it up then and there. A score of years ago he thus organized a cooperative organization in which every man held some stock, and some men held a great deal. Charles M. Cox, the business man, became automatically Charles M. Cox, the Teacher.

This business teacher had suddenly harvested a group of revolutionary business

ideals. Perhaps Bellamy influenced him; perhaps "Looking Backward" vitalized him. But Bellamy was a dreamer, Cox was the exact antithesis of a dreamer-he was an American business man living in days of stiff American competition. Bellamy dreamed, but Cox had to figure in terms of business expediency. Expediency directed him to insist, in that first co-operative melon-cutting, that no laborer in the co-operative corporation should henceforth have less than a week of absolute rest on pay every year; no stenographer, no bookkeeper, no office boy, was to have less than a month-on pay; no one of the four men as able to run the co-operative, corporation as Charles M. Cox was to have less than two months' vacation— on pay. One of the four objected that first year, when his enthusiasm kept him at the wheel; and the Teacher handed him a steamer ticket, bustled the busy one out of the door, told him to hie abroad and rest and play.

The Charles M. Cox company began to do business; not a one-man business nor a two-man business, but a business that showed conclusively that there is one indisputable and tremendously significant generality in all business; that co-operation is efficiency.

The business grew. The Teacher went on teaching. He found time for woods and canoe and camp, and energy to jump on a motorcycle and go bounding over the hillsides like a youth. He found time to build a little cabin by the Ipswich and to paint. He has had exhibitions in Boston galleries, and Boston artists like his work.

The Chamber of Commerce, the hub of Boston's business universe, began to boom everything New England. There was a little group of undistinguished Americans behind that Chamber of Commerce who were doing things every day in the week. The Chamber of Commerce was good for a frontpage story every day; something was doing, something New England in character that took for its interests everything New England:

railway rates, differential rates, wharfage, steamboat facilities, crops-everything from apples to cotton-mills. Back of that Chamber of Commerce there was one man as active as any man. He was an alert, blueeyed little individual who never wore an overcoat and who went about the streets with a twinkle behind his spectacles and a hand surreptitiously snatching from right coat pocket to mouth a supply of raisins.

Raisins are Charles M. Cox's dissipation. He eats raisins when he is nervous; he eats raisins when he is about to make a speech; .he eats raisins before meals and after meals, for breakfast and at bedtime. He does not smoke; he does not drink. He goes blithely along his busy way with a smile on his face and his hand in his right coat pocket. One found him, and still finds him, entertaining at the City Club. One finds him in conference with Louis D. Brandeis and other members of the Public Franchise League doing big things for Boston and New England; aiding, for instance, the Consolidated Gas Company to adopt a sliding scale whereby it is allowed to increase its dividend in the measure that it decreases its price for gas. Gas isn't a dollar in Boston now-it is eighty cents, and the Company is paying a nine per cent dividend; it is getting richer; the consumers are getting gladder.

In Melrose Highlands, a little suburb at the edge of Boston, one asks the stationmaster if he knows Charles M. Cox. The station-master takes his pipe from his mouth and wags his thumb over his shoulder at a house high up on a crag.

Charles M. Cox," he says, "is the first citizen of Melrose Highlands. I guess I do know Charles M. Cox! Good Lord, he's State Senator now !"

Everybody in Melrose Highlands knows Charles M. Cox. He built a swimming-pool for the kiddies; he supplied the ground for a playfield; he's the friend of every native from Geraldine Farrar to the station-agent. He eats raisins, drives about in his automobile, makes friends. He doesn't champion raisin-eating; but he is opposed to whiskydrinking. He admits that raisins have not "made" him; he insists that, if all intoxicants were abolished, more employers would understand more employees.

"Hard work and poverty make men drink," he says, earnestly, "and I don't much blame them; but, just the same, the fact that they do drink holds them back, and it's

a great big factor-a rock in the stream of co-operation.

"Co-operation isn't charity," he goes on. "You've got to feel the joy of being friends with your employees. The employer who's with them in spirit has no trouble; but the proud employer who looks down on his men will catch it if he doesn't watch out, even if he pays the best wages in the world. Co-operation is the remedy for our industrial ills, and co-operation carries with it honest goodfellowship. It's a poor system of civilization anyway wherein a person born rich con ceives himself superior to the one who works; we've got to reverse that—we ought to reverse it—and consider the worker 'way above the unworker."

Every day into New England comes a train-load of grain consigned to the co-operative company of Charles M. Cox. But one would not think, to go bounding over the hills with him in the Co-operative Corporation touring car, that Charles M. Cox is president of three or four corporations, one of them the biggest of its kind east of the Erie. He chats about the sunsets; he suggests that he saw the day before a landscape by Tarbell with a tree larger ten feet from the base than at the base. 66 Strange," he suggests, "is it not?" He side-steps talk about Cox. He is a very modest corporation president. is a very modest Senator. He does not say anything about having taken his co-workers and helped them all he could. He would rather talk about the peculiar shade of azure beyond the pines that climb the opposite hillside; he would rather snatch at a note-book and show skillfully how to "get" the bristles of a pine bough on canvas.

He is fifty-four years old; he is as young as he feels, as young as he looks, and a good deal younger than he thinks he looks. At his Ipswich camp he wiggles a canoe paddle skillfully. He suggests that it would be good fun to shoot the flimsy canoe over the sluiceway of the dam; he strips off his clothes and hops, like a big bullfrog, into clear water. Then he goes tramping. He tramps like Rudyard Kipling up and down the dusty roads and chats all the way like David Grayson himself.

If there is an undistinguished citizen in Boston who has been a constructive social worker, who has doctored and directed and fostered all the good that there is in his corporation family, who has done his share for his community and town and State, that