land, and Colonel Schwarzkopf of New Jersey brought each his quota of fine young soldiers of the law, every man of them sharp on his mettle to uphold the pride of his own outfit.

By the morning of the 12th all had assembled in the headquarters hotel in Harrisburg. And there you saw them, each State by itself, each markedly differentiated by its uniform, standing about in separate and distinct groups, stiff, straight, and snappy, each lot looking at each other lot from afar off only, cach saying to each other, as clearly as bearing can speak: "We haven't been introduced yet. We don't know quite who you are. We're not too keen about strangers."

Then came the tournament.

They held it on "the Island," a big parade-ground just outside the city. De-spite a bitter cold wind, thousands of spectators had gathered there since early morning to secure good seats. At two o'clock arrived William C. Sproul, Governor of Pennsylvania; Colonel John C. Groome, former Superintendent of the Pennsylvania State Police; Major Lynn G. Adams, present Superintendent; and the eight visiting commanders. A dismounted parade of all the visiting contingents, headed by the Canadians and followed by Pennsylvania State Police, opened the show. Then as the visitors fell into place behind the reviewing party, leaving the Pennsylvanians paraded in line, the Governor presented to his own Force a set of colors, Federal and State, these colors henceforth to be held, each year, in the custody of whatever Troop of the Force shall reach the highest average in pistol shooting.

Next came a most moving ceremony: Ten names were read out. Then, at a word of command, ten troopers, stepping Porth from the long firm line of iron gray, advanced abreast to the point where the Chief Executive of the State, standing between the newly presented colors of State and Nation, awaited. Captain Paul B. Stout, Private Frank Hershey, Corporal Edward T. Cohee, of 'A" Troop; Corporal Metcalf, Corporal C. Trautwein, Private John A. Kline, of 'B" Troop; Corporal William A. Banks, of "C" Troop; First Sergeant Thomas Martin, Private Louis B. Goldberg, of D" Troop; Sergeant Joseph Merrifield, Af "E" Troop-those ten men, "for exSeptional bravery in the performance of luty," were now to receive citations-to eceive a word from the Chief of State, 4. bit of ribbon to wear.

In all the sixteen years of the Force's istory no such thing had ever OCurred-no public honor had ever been Ponferred by the State on these most evoted and most gallant of her servants. Now, out of a body of hundreds f men, almost every one of whom might vell be said to have won the distinction, t had been necessary to pick the few. So their commander, with great diffiulty, had chosen-chosen ten men, each ne of whom had richly won citation nany times over.

stood alone before the Governor to receive his bit of decoration and to hear the "well done," not the utmost rigor of bearing could altogether mask the emotional tension which that supreme moment produced.

"I'll bet every last man of 'em could easier face machine guns than go through this," said one understanding commander of the visiting party-and his bet was safe.

Then came the tournament itself. With all their guests comfortably seated under shelter from the wind, the Pennsylvanians began their entertainment. After an introductory mounted drill came exhibitions-motor-cycle riding and jumping, mounted wrestling, mounted baton drill, cross stirrup riding and racing, mounted gymkana racing, mounted tug-of-war, mounted rescue racing, mounted mêlée, bare-back riding, two and three horse Roman racing, mounted pyramids, and so on through the list of equestrian spectacles. The whole performance was beyond all criticism— superb. As one of the visiting officers observed, it would have been a credit not only to any police organization, but to any mounted organization in the world. And as the guests of the day looked on admiration stirred and grew, till at the end they were ripe and ready to overflow with vigorous praise of their hosts and entertainers.

That night the Commander of the Pennsylvania State Police Force gave a dinner to the Governor of Pennsylvania and to all the officers and men of the visiting Forces. All the officers of the Pennsylvania Force and all troopers who had participated in the tournament were also of the party that sat down at table.

Coming as it did just on top of the enthusiasm of the afternoon, that dinner finished the ice-breaking. By the time it was over not one chilly block, not one sharp sliver, remained. All the men of all the Forces were brothers, comrades, co-workers henceforth for all time to come. "When Captain Robinson, 'A' Troop, New York, wants to get lines out to the South," said one of the Pennsylvania captains next morning, rejoicing, "he won't just call up his sub-station at Binghamton any more. He'll call up his outposts a little farther outlying-he'll call up 'B' Troop and 'C' Troop, Pennsylvania State Police at Wyoming and at Pottsville. He'll tell us what he wants done."

"And from now on," said Captain Wilson C. Price, D.S.M., Chief of Criminal Identification and Information of the Pennsylvania Force, I'll 'phone the New York Force when we need 'em, like a part of our And own organization. when, for instance, I speak to Captain McGrath, at Oneida, I won't just be talking to a strange voice and a piece of empty air-I'll be seeing Steve's eyes beyond the receiver rim and knowing he'll tackle the job in style-because I know Steve."

"Major Chandler is the real thing," a noted Pennsylvanian.

"We're proud of him and of New York."

"Major Adams is a fine officer," said Major Chandler, "and this has been a most valuable occasion."

"Our family baby has a smart and able commander in Schwarzkopf. We expect great things of Jersey," said the seniors. "And Maryland, too, is going strong."

Then all united in praise of Canada. The quiet dignity, the unassuming bearing, the simple, ready friendliness of the Royal Canadian Mounted literally made a conquest of all the brotherhood, and the ovation that Major Duffas received when he rose to answer to his toast at the dinner was simply the fruit, already ripe, of his own good planting.

But the great ovation of the evening was for Colonel John C. Groome, founder of the Pennsylvania Force, and for so long its Commander. "It was Colonel Groome," the official calendar of the day had read, "who [in the beginning] selected the men, designed the uniform, chose the equipment, planned our organization and instructions. He is responsible for our high ideals. He piloted the Force through the most trying period that will probably ever come in its history." And now, after fourteen years of service, this brilliant officer had resigned the reins into the able hands of his senior field captain. But the Force will love and honor John C. Groome always. Always his name will live in the land, as the giver of a great gift to the Nation. And so, as he stood silent, standing in answer to the toastmaster's call, the room rang and rang again with cheers that would not be done, the cheers of men whose hearts were full to overflowing with loyal affection and gratitude.

But it remained for the West Virginia Commander, Colonel Jackson Arnold, to strike a chord of sudden sympathy. West Virginia, all the world knows, has been torn to bits with a disastrous strike situation. Now, strikes have been common enough in Pennsylvania and in New York, but in either State the State Police, single-handed, have handled matters so that order has prevailed and destruction and bloodshed been prevented. West Virginia also has a State Police. But West Virginia's strike, we are told, was a murderous riot, a bloody orgy, dragged out interminably. And Federal troops provided the only defense for law and order.

"West Virginia's State Police is a mockery," some have said, in consequence. "Too bad they were given the name, only to mar it."

Those who have made that not unnatural stricture should have heard Colonel Jackson Arnold when his turn came to speak at the dinner at Harrisburg. Alone of all the visiting commanders, Colonel Arnold had paraded with the troopers in the opening event of that afternoon's tournament, marching by himself, in his uniform, the lone representative of his organization. It was a fine thing to do. And now he so

spoke that all of those who heard him were touched with kindness.

"I know what you all have heard of my Force," he said in effect, "I am not here to excuse myself or it, nor to apologize for anything or any one. But I would like to make a statement. It is this: Almost on the day we got our uniforms we were ordered out on riot duty. We have been on riot duty ever since. Two of my men have been murdered. Twelve lie in the hospital to-day seriously wounded-most of them shot in the back. We never had the shadow of a chance at training or at learning our work in any way. Practically all of my men had to take the field the moment they signed up. If any of you here would like to come out and see for yourselves what we are up against, we will welcome you warmly. We'll mount you and take you out. I can promise some pretty scenery and some lively adventure. And after two days, if you are still alive, you will know what happened to the West Virginia State Police Force. That's all I have to say. I thank you for the chance to say it."

Well, the concrete outcome of it all was twofold. First, a cordial invitation, cordially accepted, from the Commander of the Pennsylvania Force to all the other commanders, to revisit Pennsylvania next year, again as Pennsylvania's guests for a Field Day. Only, for next year the Royal Canadians and all the State Forces are invited to enter every competition.

And right here should be interjected and underscored the assurance that no one who loves horsemanship or skill at arms can afford to miss the super-show that that beauteous rivalry must produce.

The second outcome of the dinner was this: The formation of an Association of State Police Chiefs, in which Canada alacritously joined, to hold periodic

It was a glorious day indeed, that 12th of October by the Susquehanna, in the sun and the wind. And yet, something happened that the sun did not see nor the wind bear the news of-something secret that was beautiful too.

About two weeks before, up in the hills of Juniata County, a certain village constable, Ulsh by name, had been called to make an arrest among a band of outlaws-bad men of the hills with a bad black record. The tale of what followed-a lurid tale-is too long to tell here. Reduced to a skeleton it is this: Constable Ulsh, fearing the hazard in attempting his task alone, asked aid from a State Police officer, Private Earl C. Wilson. The two traced the outlaws into their lair. In the fight that followed Wilson, after being three times shot through the body, was still continuing an effective fire when the Constable dropped

Seeing that the wounded man could not drag himself out of range, Wilson, exposing himself thereby to point-blank

fire, ran over to Ulsh, picked him up, and had carried him out of the building and some hundred yards away before he himself, having deposited his helpless comrade in shelter, fell exhausted from loss of blood. When aid arrived, it was found that Ulsh was dead; had been dead-a dead-weight-when first he lay in Wilson's arms. And that aside from his two other serious body wounds, Private Wilson's left lung was shot into shreds-had been so when he made his dash to save Ulsh's life.

Wilson was among those chosen for citation at the Field Day Parade. On the morning of the 11th, Governor Sproul, reading over the roll of the men to be decorated, saw Wilson's name.

"But surely this one can't appear," said he.

"No, poor chap," replied Major Adams. "Hard luck. No glory for him. He's lying out in the State Hospital threatened with double pneumonia in what is left of his lungs, besides the rest of his damages. We-hope he'll pull through."

"Now, that man," said the real man who governs Pennsylvania like a man, "is going to get his citation if he lives another hour. In the name of Heaven, why didn't you tell me about him be fore? Quick, there! Call my car!"

As the Governor of Pennsylvania approached the cot on which Wilson lay, the lad, half killed as he was-half-dead -opened his eyes.

For a moment he stared, slowly recollecting, slowly, incredulously making sure of that strong, fine, kindly face, now so full of some deep feeling, the face that, back there in the dim. world of men, he had-yes-he had knownknown and most loyally respected from afar off.

Then, as certainty dawned, a panic of dismay seized him. The Governor-the Governor himself-the Governor of the State-standing by his cot holding his hand-and he flat there on his back! Oh 'shun!-'shun!

But no limb would answer. He could not stir.

"I beg your pardon, sir," he stammered as his right hand tried to salute. "I-I-"

But the Governor understood. "Lie still, Private Wilson," said he, and then added such words as one brave man may speak to another who has "stepped into the valley of death to enforce our laws and protect our citizens."

"I congratulate the Commonwealth upon having such men-I think yours was one of the bravest deeds ever done" then, with a touch on that poor right hand still wavering at salute, with his broken phrase left hanging unfin ished, the Governor somehow had to turn away hastily and hurry out of the room.

Looking backward as he followed, Major Adams saw through dimmed eyes a ghost-faced boy smiling weakly while, like one in a rapturous dream, he stared and plucked at a tiny bit of ribbon lying on the sheet.

Bedford Hills, New York.

T

HE more a man knows, if he knows it usably, the better chance he has in life; but the man who knows a little and who knows how to use what he does know has a better chance than the man who knows much and does not know how to make use of it. A man has only two legs and a mule has four, but you seldom see a mule driving a man.

In the rear pages of the unabridged dictionary there is a page showing how to use proof-readers' marks. When I secured a job as assistant editor, I cut out that page and put it in my pocket, and I read printers' proofs on four magazines for eight years and no one ever knew that I had not been a proofreader from my cradle days. I was not a graduate proof-reader, but I did know where the marks were pictured in the dictionary, and I knew how to make use of that knowledge.

Nothing a man learns is valueless, unless he does not know how to use it. When I was in school, and for long thereafter, I considered the Rule of Three-proportion-the

most useless

and asinine thing a lot of fool schoolteachers ever tried to pound into a boy's head, but every working day for seven years, while editing magazines, I used the Rule of Three in cutting odd-sized photographs to make them fit unalterable columns and pages.

A member of the Chicago Press Club once told me that George Ade-then master of the brightest column of a Chicago paper-used to pick up the city directory at the club and turn the pages, saying, "Painters-what do I know about painters? Physicians what do I know about physicians?" until some fact he knew about painters or physicians or plumbers leaped from his brain to become four "sticks" of brilliancy. Ade ended one of his little gems with the leader of a street band saying, "And now we will play No. 8 in the black book"-a scrap of Ade's education in street bands; and something like half a million readers exclaimed, with gurgles of glee: "They do have black books, don't they?" Ade never forgets any. thing he has learned, and he never forgets when and how to use it. Show him just once how to use a monkeywrench, and I'll warrant he will never use it to brush his hair. If he does, he will make a good job of it, considering the quality and quantity of hair and the inflexibility of the monkey-wrench.

When I was a boy, I had a series of most lovable and interesting teachers, but, while I have a vague belief that seven times nine is fifty-four, I can be argued into a belief that it is sixty-four by any one who has a serious mien and a lead pencil. I was always the permanent foot of my class in spelling, grammar, and penmanship, a state of affairs

possibly not most desirable for one destined for a life of authorship. In the last thirty years I do not think I have misspelled "cat" more than once or twice, and I always feel fairly safe in using "mat," "rat," and "hat," but it is rather annoying when you want to say a heroine's head is a mass of fuzzy hair not to know whether the word you would like to use is spelled "aurryole" or "orryole" or "oriole." A heroine might object if I said "her hair formed an oriole around her head." So I always write "halo" instead. I know a halo is worn on the head and not on the feet.

Education is much better conducted now than when I was young, I have no doubt, and our students leave school less doubtful regarding the things they have been taught. The capitals of the States, for example. Almost any day you can hear one student saying to another, "Chicago ain't either the capital of Illinois; Springfield is," and the answer, "That's right; but Chicago would of been if Springfield hadn't of been." A little girl in Billings, Montana, came home with a "memory gem" she had learned at school.

"I learned a new memory gem at school to-day," she proudly told her mother.

"What was it?" her mother asked.

"Why, it was 'Susan Adams forgets Susan Adams,' "the dear little child replied.

"But that does not mean anything," her mother objected; "it could not be that."

"Yes, it was, mamma; 'Susan Adams forgets Susan Adams.' That was it."

So the mother asked the teacher. It was not "Susan Adams forgets Susan Adams;" it was "Enthusiasm begets enthusiasm." Still, I suppose that if a child learned "Susan Adams forgets Susan Adams" thoroughly enough, and considered it a noble and uplifting sentiment, it would indeed help her to grow up into a better and finer woman. There is a certain lesson in self-effacement in the idea of Susan Adams forgetting Susan Adams that should teach us to be meek, and the meek "inherit the earth."

In this practical world men are apt to say, "I don't give a hang what your education was; do you know what you know?" Personally I don't care whether Jane has a graduation certificate from the Elite Cooking Academy or not; I want to know if she can cook. The gold seal on the business college diploma does not help much if a stenographer cannot read her own notes.

Our modern school system is like throwing a handful of confetti in the air and hoping some of it will fall on the heads of the scholars, while a fairly strong wind of inattention, carelessness,

and young-folk interests is blowing all the while. The surprising thing is that SO much of the confetti lands and sticks. Thanks to the teachers for that.

Every man is born, matures, lives a while and dies, but so does the tadpole, and the tadpole, in its life career, changes into a frog, which is more than some men do. The tadpole gets along pretty well, too—is more efficient in the job of living than some men are. It does not know much, but it knows how to use what it does know. It knows how to make use of every bit of knowledge with which it is endowed.

Man ranks higher than the tadpole because man knows more can learn more- -but this does not do the man any good if he has not been taught how to use what he knows. I figure that there are over seven million little drawers hanging at the left sides of sewingmachines, all chock-full of tuckers and hemmers and things, most exquisitely beautiful to the eye, but never used because mother has not the know-how to use them. And about three feet above an equal number of office stools there are an equal number of rapidly balding heads chock-full of expensively acquired education that is equally useless and for the same reason.

The world is full of successful men who are successful because they have the know-how to use what they know. We all have feet, but Charlie Chaplin knew how to use the fact that one foot can be pointed east while the other points due west; and in China and Timbuctoo little Chinese and Timbuctootles are to-day picking up little crookhandled canes and waddling like little penguins while their elders hold their sides and laugh, and Charlie Chaplin's portrait is as familiar as George Washington's the world over.

I have read that Charlie Chaplin entered the motion-picture career at a Vanderbilt cup race by crossing the track in front of an oncoming racing car in a comical manner, intentionally but without having been asked to do so. Every barnyard chicken knows how to cross the road in front of an automobile in a comical manner, but it does not know how to make fame and fortune by it.

For all I am aware, Charlie Chaplin may know Latin, Greek, Sanskrit, conic sections, trigonometry, and all the things that come with a college education; but he knew something more valuable than all that-he knew how to make use of something he knew.

A college education, or any other education, is valueless unless its owner knows how to use it. We are not helped by what we know, but by what we know how to use. "Who's Who" is not filled with college graduates; it is filled with men and women who know how.

he traditions of the theater, and almost nchanged it governs the working of the ompany to-day. But it did no more an codify. The spirit of the whole ing, the comradeship and happy famy of artists, is what Molière put there; nd it is when officialdom and petty maerial ambition cause that spirit to 'be orgotten for a time that the Comédierançaise has its occasional periods of isfortune.

M. Emile Fabre, the present Adminisateur-Général, a dramatist and man of tters, like most of his predecessors, as given me some particulars of the nes which next January's festival will ke. During the whole month there ill be an exhibition of Molière relics, ocuments, and engravings. This will e held in the new rooms in the Palais Poyal, which the Government has reently allotted to the Théâtre-Français house the Rondel collection of theatriil books and curiosities, recently beueathed to it. At the same time it is Toped to hold a commemorative conferice at the Sorbonne, when the Univerty of Paris will pay its tribute, and Fiere will be addresses by famous writ

rs of other countries, among whom the ames of Kipling, Maeterlinck, Ferrero, nd d'Annunzio are mentioned-without ny promise that they will appear. The great tribute, however, will of ourse be on the stage of the theater. n the course of the month it will be ossible to see at the Théâtre-Français to less than twenty-six of Molière's

plays. Some of these plays have, it need hardly be said, for long formed part of the current repertory, and are constantly performed on those days of the week which are devoted to the classics. Twelve of them, however, have not been in the bill for a long time. "Les Fâcheux" has not been done for thirty, "L'Impromptu de Versailles" for nearly forty, and "La Princesse d'élide" for close on two hundred years.

The task of mounting and rehearsing these revivals and of revising the production of those plays already constantly acted has been intrusted to the veteran Sociétaire, M. Georges Berr, and only one play of the twenty-six-"La Princesse d'Elide-now remains to be added to the repertory. For the last two years the Comédie-Française has devoted much of its energy and most of its financial resources to the preparation of this great programme, which may account for the fact that it has recently produced few new modern plays, although the extraordinary dearth of good work by modern dramatists may have something to do with that also. It may well be imagined that the task demands a special effort, not only in acting, but in scenic and musical illustration, especially when it is remembered that not a few of the master's lighter pieces were comédie-ballets, with much of the elaborate spectacular character of the Elizabethan masque, and were designed for the princely setting and lavish decoration of the royal fêtes in the gardens of

Versailles, where they were originally produced. Fully to recreate this picture is impossible. In the first place, it was obtained by placing a proscenium in the gardens themselves and using the fairylike vistas of the real avenues as the background which the audience saw through the opening. In the second place, much of the effect, as in the English masques, depended on the gorgeously costumed audience, or part of it, actually taking part in the dances which helped to compose the entertainment. Again, the spectacular devices of stage mechanism, once more similar to the Jacobean masques, were of the most elaborate character. For example, "Les Fâcheux" began with twenty fountains of real water playing upon a shell, which opened and revealed a naïad. Even approximately to revive such an atmosphere calls upon the finest artistic taste and knowledge, and needs money also; and, although it is of course not inseparable from the genius of Molière, these spectacular plays can hardly be put upon the stage without it. M. Berr can be congratulated not only on the skill but also on the discretion with which he has met these difficulties.

The twenty-six plays which will thus be in the bill represent virtually the whole of Molière's production. Only five of his works will not be represented, and these five are unimportant. They are "Don Garcie de Navarre," a tragedy which was a failure at its original production, and scenes from which were