another church, an attempt to destroy the cottage of the poet Burns and various other efforts.

CH

How the Pankhursts Make Lots of Money.

HAMPIONS of votes for women who oppose the militancy of the Pankhursts are thought to be responsible for some recent insinuations against the good faith of those ladies. This explains the policy of Home Secretary McKenna, too, it appears, in undertaking a crusade against those who supply the funds of the Pankhurst "union." An act may be devised, too, giving power to the executive to declare illegal any association formed for the perpetration of a crime and making all contributors to its resources responsible for the consequences of its acts. Mr. McKenna, in fact, the London Post fears, has not adequately realized the relation in which the Women's Social and Political Union stands now to its subscribers nor the objective to which its energies are directed. The Union has always been able to boast, we read, of an easily replenished exchequer and has maintained a close and careful hold of all the funds it has received. There has been no concealment in the columns of The Suffragette of the union's financial strength. It is, affirms the London Post, a bitter foe of the Pankhurst movement, "an ever increasing desire for money that is responsible for the present apparently insane policy of destruction." That is why there has been such a centralization of control in the Pankhurst hands. "A single family has in cuckoo fashion thrust all dangerous rivals out of the union nest."

A Key to the Pankhurst Eagerness to Rule Suffragets.

EVERYONE familiar with the militant movement in English feminism remembers the expulsion of Mr. and Mrs. Pethick-Lawrence from the Pankhurst ranks. Ever since, as soon as anyone showed sufficient intelligence to question a policy or challenge the disposal of funds, according to the information in the London Post -provided by "one who is particularly well qualified to speak with authority on the subject"-she was forced to go, "shouldered out without any regard for manners or even for diplomacy." Mrs. Pankhurst determined to be an autocrat and an autocrat she has since remained:

"She has herself all the great qualities which any leader might envy, and she asked nothing from her subordinates that she shrank from herself. The rewards, indeed, were very different, but so sensitive to suggestion has been her following that on so sordid an issue there has been but little trouble. The funds of the Union were transported to a place of safety, and a member of the ruling house sat down in Paris beside them. . . .

"The keeping of these subscribers interested and excited has been of late the problem with which the Family has been faced, because any flagging in the militant movement is at once recorded in a falling off of the funds. Money has become with the Family the prime objective-indeed there is good reason to believe that militancy is now being persisted in to prolong the contest for the vote, and so to prolong also the period in which the subscribers' pockets can be tapped successfully. .

"This, then, is the explanation of what has seemed an

Here's another effect of mad militancy. King George wants more salary. Cleveland Plain-Dealer.

Some of the London militants, before they go on a hunger strike, appease their appetites by biting policemen.-Toledo Blade.

Militant attacks on famous paintings may be attributed to an innate antipathy to any old master.-Washington Post.

inexplicable stupidity. It is just as clever and as calculated as every move which has preceded it. These attacks on churches, insults to the King, wild scenes in the police courts, are not directed to obtain the vote, but to defer the vote, and, incidentally, to stimulate the crowd of subscribers on whom the Union depends."

The Militancy of the Militants
Merely Military.

RITICISM of the organization of the Pankhurst union, if we are to be guided by elucidation furnished at different times by different authorities in the London Suffragette, misconceives the very nature of militancy. The campaign to win votes for women is, we read, a war. Mrs. Pankhurst herself calls attention from time to time to the militancy of the men who wish to achieve results in the political sphere. When men wanted triumph in Mexico, declares Mrs. Pankhurst, they adopted a policy of militancy. What do we see in Ireland but the application of the same principleOrangemen militant in Belfast, Home Rulers militant in Dublin? Enemies of the idea of votes for women are reminded that militancy itself refutes the notion that woman can not make war. Naturally a body at war is governed as if it were an army, which the Pankhurst society or union has become. Mrs. Annie Besant, too, places herself passionately on the side of militancy, which, she told an audience in London last month, is the result of the brutality of the police. Militancy, she added, has made woman suffrage a practical issue. The suffraget who slashed the Rokeby Venus with a hatchet, Mary Richardson, is quoted on the subject thus:

"What I did I had thought over very seriously before I undertook it. I have been a student, and perhaps care as much for art as anyone but I care more for justice than I do for art, and I firmly believe that when the nation shuts its eyes to justice and prefers to have women who are not only denied justice but who are ill-treated and tortured, then I say that this action of mine should be understandable. I don't say it is excusable, but at least it ought to be understood.

"The outrage which the Government has committed on Mrs. Pankhurst is the ultimatum of outrages. It is murder. It is slow murder. It is premeditated murder. That is how I look at it. In view of the fact that the Government permit and commit murder, I think anything that a suffraget does falls into a lesser degree of crime than murder."

The philosophy of militancy is likewise expounded by an active English militant, Margaret Martin, in these words:

"The actual 'militant' deed is insignificant to a degree compared with-I will name them, its 'complements.' Our modern life is intricate and complex; there is interdependence to such a degree that when upheavals take place in certain parts the discomfort is felt in the whole life of the people, those parts approximating more nearly to the center of disturbance naturally feeling the shock of unheaval most. In conjunction with this intricacy is a wish for peace, comfort, and smoothly running life, and a willingness to conciliate by concessions rather than have the reverse to any great extent, for an indefinite length of time. Suffrage militancy is based on knowledge of this."

Those fifty-two American institutions of art, learning and humanity, which have urged the president of China not to let the vandals destroy the country's ancient monuments, might next use their influence in England.-Springfield Republican.

King George can't understand why he should still be persecuted. He has made Mary an army officer-and yet the militants keep on throwing things.-Cleveland Plain-Dealer.

I

N or near the city of Detroit lives a slim active little man who is said to have the third largest income in actual cash in the wide, wide world. He has $15,000,000 on deposit in the banks of that fortunate city. He owns 55 per cent. of the stock in an automobile company that is reported to have cleared last year the tidy sum of $15,000,000. Two incredible things are reputed of this man. One is that he is happy and the other is that he doesn't care for any more money. His friends urge him from time to time to invest in stocks and bonds of other companies that are paying good rates of interest; but his invariable reply is to this effect: "What do I want with more money? I shall never use what I have, most likely."

A good share of the time he is wearing overalls, and overalls are cheap apparel. Until a few weeks ago he was living most of the time in an inexpensive bungalow on a farm a few miles out of Detroit and employing but two house servants. He has recently replaced this frame cottage with a stone dwelling, but his habits of life remain as inexpensive as ever. He has but one child, a son named Edsel, who is nineteen, and who is described as a hardworking lad, fully able to take care of himself and with every intention of doing so. Not long ago the father remarked to a friend that money meant little to him because he had no one to leave it to, which, as the boy is said to be the apple of his eye, seemed to imply but one thing-that he intends that the boy shall have a chance to make his way in the world without the handicap of a crushing fortune to carry. Lastly, this rich and happy man is a sort of ascetic, neither drinking nor smoking, doing no gambling or horseracing, spending but little in the way of art-collecting, and being content to ride, when he uses an automobile, in a Ford car. The last fact is not, however, so strange in view of the fact that the man is the manufacturer of that car and has spent the best part of his life in perfecting it according to his ideas.

Ever since the announcement of the profit-sharing scheme, by which the Ford Manufacturing Company will distribute among its employees about $10,000,000 a year, and pay a minimum wage of $5.00 a day to all employees,

MILLION A MONTH

including stenographers and office-boys, Henry Ford has been the subject of innumerable discussions on both sides of the sea. One of the assumptions was that he was in pursuit of political honors. One of the members of the executive committee of the Progressive party in Michigan wrote to him promptly, asking him if he would not consent to be that Party's candidate for governor this year. Ford's reply was: "I have no political aspirations of any kind whatever and absolutely decline to be directly affiliated with any party or such offices as it has to tender." In an interview afterward, he reiterated this in the following words: "I have a life's work at my plant, and there is nothing any political party could offer

that would draw me away from here. Nothing from the Presidency down would induce me to enter any field of endeavor other than that in which I am engaged at present."

Now if that doesn't sound like the voice of a happy man, then we don't know the symptoms. To have found one's life-work and to be in love with it carries one a long way on toward the Delectable Mountains. But Mr. Ford has other joys than those he gets from his little stunt of manufacturing 250,000 cars, more or less, a year. He has two fads-boys and birds. Every year he gathers up from one to two dozen street boys in Detroit, sends them to school in the winter and puts them to work on his farm in the sum

mer, employing a man especially to look after them. As for birds, he is fairly daffy over them. He has put up 2,000 bird-houses on his farm and he has an elaborate electrical arrangement for administering to their comfort. The water is kept from freezing by electricity, and all winter he has food receptacles on the trees kept filled, and, by means of a tube that leads from each receptacle, a platform near by is kept covered with a free lunch for all kinds of birds that have the hardihood to stay all winter on the place. Some of the bird-houses are very commodious, one of them housing as many as seventy-five families of the purple martin. Not content with native birds, he imported a few months ago 380 English song-birds, and turned them loose on his farm. There were chaffinches, thrushes, larks, linnets, and English blackbirds, and he has high hopes that they will thrive and multiply and come back to say howdedo every spring. Many of them have made nests on the place and some of them became so tame in a short time that one could put his hand on their beaks.

H

Ford's love for birds and animals has brought him into close intimacy with John Burroughs, the naturalist, and his passion for all kinds of machinery-he is a mechanic by trade-has brought him and Thomas A. Edison into relations of friendship. The three men go off together on camping tours and exchange views on all sorts of topics. Ford regards Edison as the "greatest inventor the world has ever known," and Burroughs as the "greatest naturalist the world has ever known." He has read every word that Burroughs has ever written, and can quote him at length, giving chapter and page. All three men are philosophers, each in his own way, and they get along swimmingly together. What Ford regards as the central fact of life is the goodwill of his fellow-men. He sees no good reason why business can not be so conducted that it will add to the world's stock of good-will. "I wouldn't let a contract," he once said, "unless I saw the contractors would make a profit. We never let a contract to a company owned by absentee capitalists and run by hired men.' This belief in

the value of good-will is probably the real reason for his profit-sharing plan. At least he gives that as his motive. He says: "If men will work better in the hope of something, how will they work with that something actually in hand? We will have the satisfaction of making 20,000 prosperous and contented rather than making a few slavedrivers in our plant millionaires."

In other words, that stock of altruism in the world of which Benjamin Kidd spoke in such a glowing way twenty years ago, is working efficiently to-day, on a large scale, through Henry Ford as one of many channels. He is one of the rich men who have gained a good large slice of the world without losing their own souls. "I like Maeterlinck's 'Immortality,'" he once said. "My idea of heaven is that the only thing you can take there is good-will. That's all that is left in the world for the hereafter the good-will of your fellow-man." A man who makes one million dollars a month and has time and inclination to read Maeterlinck on immortality must have a soul to be saved, and is in a fair way to save it.

ISTORY, and especially military history, throws some queer specimens of untamed humanity on the screen for public contemplation; but perhaps no more primitive specimen than Villa ever had a hand in deciding the fate of a nation. Signs multiply that the Constitutionalists have in him a sort of white elephant, now that they are nearing the stage where something beside fighting is required, and every other day brings the report of a new crisis in the relations between Carranza and Villa. As long as Huerta lasts, these crises may be composed, for one of the dominant motives animating Villa is evidently hatred of Huerta. It dates back to the time when Huerta, in the campaign against Orozco, grew jealous apparently of Villa, then brigadier-general serving under Huerta,

a

IN ACTION

and determined to get rid of him. One story runs that Huerta forced a quarrel upon Villa and when the latter slapped him in the face had him courtmartialled to death. Another story runs that Huerta had him courtmartialled for ignoring orders which Villa said he never received. In any event, he was condemned to death, and was saved only by the intervention of Madero, who first commuted his sentence to imprisonment and then connived at his escape. From that day to this, loyalty to Madero and a desire for vengeance upon Huerta have spurred Villa on to untiring action. He is likely to be tractable as long as that vengeance is ungratified. After that Carranza and his followers will not know how to handle him. For Villa's ideas of government are very crude even for Mexico, and he has. an Alex

andrian way of cutting Gordian knots with his sword that is embarrassing.

After setting out from El Paso, Texas, in April, 1913, with four companions, three led horses, two pounds of sugar and coffee and a pound of salt, to conquer Mexico, Villa was able, in six months, to proclaim himself governor of Chihuahua. Almost alone he determined what should be done in the way of restoring government. He had learned to read and write while in the penitentiary, but he reads even now like a small child, droning out the words syllable after syllable. Here is a picture which John Reed gives, in the Metropolitan, of Villa as governor:

"Villa himself came in about eightthirty, threw himself into a chair, and made them read aloud to him. Every minute he would interject a remark, cor

rection or suggestion. Occasionally he waved his finger back and forward and said, 'No sirve.' When they were all through he began rapidly and without a. halt to outline the policy of the state of Chihuahua, legislative, financial, judicial and even educational. When he came to a place that bothered him he said, 'How do they do that?' And, then, after it was carefully explained to him, "Why?" Most of the acts and usages of government seemed to him extraordinary, unnecessary and snarled up. For example, at first he did not understand why government bonds should have to pay interest. He said, "They have got their money all right, haven't they? And if they buy government bonds it helps the state and is safer than a bank.' He couldn't see why rich men should be granted huge tracts of land and poor men should not. The whole complex structure of civilization was new to him. You had to be a philosopher to explain anything to Villa, and his advisers were none but practical men."

The financial question was one of the first to vex Villa as governor. Silver and Mexican bank-notes were hoarded and there was no money available for trade. But Villa said: "Why, if all "Why, if all they need is money, let's print some." Then he issued a decree ordering the acceptance of this money at par on penalty of sixty days in jail. Still the silver did not come out, and he needed it for the purchase of supplies for his army. So he issued another decree to the effect that after the tenth day of February all silver and Mexican bank-notes would be considered counterfeit; but up to that time they could be exchanged at par for his own printed money. That brought out the real money and Villa got it.

Another picture which John Reed gives us is of Villa in his treatment of foreign affairs. This scene occurred only two hours after he assumed the governorship of Chihuahua. The foreign consuls came in a body to ask protection for 200 federal soldiers that had been left at their request as a police force.

"Before answering Villa said suddenly, 'Which is the Spanish consul?' Scobell, the British vice-consul, said: 'I represent the Spaniards.'

"All right!' snapped Villa. 'Tell them to begin to pack. Any Spaniard caught

within the boundaries of this state after five days will be escorted to the nearest wall by a firing squad.'

"The consuls gave a gasp of horror. Scobell began a violent protest, but Villa

cut him short.

PEN PORTRAITS OF VILLA

"Señor Consul,' answered Villa, 'we Mexicans have had three hundred years of the Spaniards. They have not changed in character since the conquistadores. They disrupted the Indian empire and enslaved the people. We did not ask them to mingle their blood with ours. Twice we drove them out of Mexico and allowed them to return with the same rights as Mexicans, and they used these rights to steal away. our land, to make the people slaves, and to take up arms against the cause of liberty. They supported Porfirio Diaz. They were perniciously active in politics. It was the Spaniards who framed the plot that put Huerta in the palace. When Madero was murdered, the Spaniards in every state in the Republic held banquets of rejoicing. They thrust on us the greatest superstition the world has ever known-the Catholic Church. They ought to be killed for that alone. I consider we are being very generous with them.'"

The only concession the consuls could get was the extension of the time given to the Spaniards to leave the state from five to ten days.

It is almost impossible, Reed tells us, to get accurate information about Villa's career as a bandit. But among the peons any number of legends and ballads have grown up celebrating his exploits, and these are repeated by them around the fires at night and handed down to their children. Says the same writer:

...

"His reckless and romantic bravery are the subject of countless poems. . . In time of famine he fed whole districts and took care of entire villages evicted by the soldiers under Porfirio Diaz's infamous land law. Everywhere he was known as 'The Friend of the Poor.' He was the Mexican Robin Hood.

"In all these years he learned to trust nobody.

"Often in his secret journeys across the country with one faithful companion he camped in some desolate spot and dismissed his guide; then, leaving a fire burning, he rode all night to get away from the faithful companion. That is how Villa learned the art of war, and in the field to-day, when the army comes into his horse to an orderly, takes a serape camp at night, Villa flings the bridle of over his shoulder, and sets out for the hills alone. He never seems to sleep. In the dead of night he will appear somewhere along the line of outposts to see if morning he returns from a totally difthe sentries are on the job, and in the ferent direction. No one, not even the most trusted officers of his staff, know the least of his plans until he is ready for

action."

Here is another picture of Villa in action, as drawn in special correspond

ence to the N. Y. World several months ago:

"A stout, heavy Mexican, with a mustache, dressed in a soiled brown suit, his shirt collar open at the throat, was kicking mules. Just outside of Chihuahua City a troop train stood on a siding, loading animals, guns and soldiers for the

97

advance on Torreon. . . . The jam, the heat, the dust were terrible. I had just come from the splendid anteroom of the Governor's Palace, where I had stood, hat in hand, with many officials, capitalists, promoters and generals, for some hours, in the vain hope of seeing Gov. Francisco Villa.

"I watched the big man as he drove the mules into the stock car. A big hat sat on the extreme rear of his head. His mouth hung open generously, and from it issued a perfect stream of mule driver's maledictions. He was covered with dirt. The sweat poured down his face. He would head a mule up the gangplankand the mule would invariably balk.

"Chingado! Vamos, hijo de la!' the big man would bellow, kicking the mule violently in the stomach. The animal would snort and gallop up the runway. Finally all the mules were loaded in that car. The driver put his shoulder to the door and crashed it shut. Then he wiped his forehead.

""Amigo!' yelled he to a passing soldier. 'Give us a little drag.' The man produced a canteen, which the other up

ended.

"Hey!' cried the soldier, 'You needn't drink it all!' The big man finished the last drop and handed it back, grinning. 'Go over to the river and say you have my permission to fill it up again.'

"His forehead and turned-up nose were that I spoke to him. so boyish and his grin so good-natured

"They're sending a good many troops,' I said. 'It looks as if Villa's going to attack Torreon right away.'

"He turned around and I was looking into a pair of hard, staring, round brown much exposure to wind and sun. eyes set in whites slightly bloodshot from

"What do you think about it?' he said. ''Well,' I answered, 'I think that there won't be much fighting after you fellows take Torreon.'

"Oja-la!" he ejaculated, suddenly serious. 'Let's hope so!'"

The big mule-driver proved, of course, a little later, much to the correspondent's surprise, to be Villa himself.

Still another newspaper man, Gerald Brandon, describes Villa as he appeared when Brandon first met him several years ago, before Villa had attained anything like his present position of command. Writing in Pearson's Magazine, Mr. Brandon says:

"Villa's personal appearance was not what I had visualized. He had none of that swagger and boisterousness that is usual among men who are outside the law. His demeanor, like that of all Mexicans, irrespective of the social class to which they belong, or the morality of their conduct, was obsequious in the extreme. Indeed, he was almost Oriental in his assumed humility.

"He affects the traditional close-fitting leather costume, which sets off his tall, powerful figure to advantage. His features, with the exception of the high cheek-bones, show no traces of the aboriginal blood that predominates in him. His head is large and round, offering a marked contrast to the elongated craniums of the Mexicans of his class. His ears

are large, and stand out from his head. His nose is small and bridgeless; his mouth large and filled with blackened, broken teeth; and his eyes are wide-set and protruding, almost devoid of lashes and perpetually blood-shot and blinking. He seldom looks directly at the person to whom he is speaking, but keeps his gaze on the ground, except for sudden sidewise glances that falter if one catches his eye. And he does not like to be stared out of countenance."

A

The fate of such men is almost always a tragic one in the end. How Villa's career will end is of course a matter of mere conjecture at this time. But it is hard to see how he can fit

into the picture after Mexico has been restored to order, unless, indeed, he

crude and passionate, his whole life spent as a bandit and a guerilla, peace and order can not bring to him much, apparently, that will not be irksome and distasteful. Yet the same might have been said at one time of Porfirio Diaz.

There is a saving strain of humility

about Villa and a wondrous common sense that may yet bring him through and keep him from tragic disaster in

IS AN editor S. S. McClure, now retired from the editorial sanctum, was a genius; but as an orator he never was able to compete with Demosthenes and Cicero. He has been telling us, in a series of interesting chapters, about his early boyhood in North Ireland, his struggles in the United States to get an education, his daring and successful efforts to launch, first, a newspaper syndicate and then a magazine on little or no capital except enthusiasm and courage and self-confidence. But there is one incident on which he touches very lightly in his autobiography. It is worthy a fuller account than he himself gives us, and this fuller account has been supplied, in the Springfield Republican, by Marion Thayer MacMillan, who tries to hide her identity under the initials "M. T. M."

About six years ago Mr. McClure was engaged to deliver a commencement address at a woman's college "in the middle West," and Miss MacMillan was one of the auditors. The speech made a great hit with the girls, but the shock-speaking hyperbolically-nearly killed Madame President, and the lady

"member of the board" who was with her on the platform, and a gentle-faced little clergyman who was also there. To begin with, McClure turned up in the academic procession clad in a decidedly informal business suit and wearing a straw hat. The procession, however, proceeded successfully, and the commencement services began. The girls sang, the clergyman prayed and Madame President announced the famous editor as speaker of the occasion. She took her seat as Mr. McClure stood before his audience. In one hand he held a large manila envelope, which he carefully placed on a ledge beneath the pulpit. With the other hand he wiped the drops of perspiration from his forehead. Miss MacMillan proceeds with her impressionistic report of his speech:

"Young ladies, it is very warm, and I-erer-I do not-I am not in the habit of making speeches, but I will do the best I can. Now Shakespeare has said"-sudden dive

TO YOUNG LADIES

Shake

for the manila bag, an anxious searching and final discovery-"Oh, yes! speare has said, 'Tho she be little, she is Now, young ladies, last year, in fierce.' Colorado, there were 792 murders; in the month of April, in New Mexico, there were 72 murders; in Montana, in April of the same year, the murders were more than ever before in that great state of our great country. Young ladies, Stevenson has said" the manila bag again in requisition, but the former attack had disturbed the arrangement, the search becomes almost frenzied, and the papers upon which the quotations were copied now make the envelope bulge like a bag of peanuts, and a few flutter to the floor. Mr. McClure gives it up. Again he wipes his brow and smiles with some difficulty:"

By this time the rather stout president and the still stouter member of the board were beginning to wear a look of consternation, and on the face of the gentle little clergyman came a look of sympathetic distress. The girls were beginning to giggle and were watching intently to see what would happen next. Mr. McClure proceeded:

"I cannot tell you in Mr. Stevenson's that our young women ought to know of own words what he said, but he believes the great and terrible, the increasing amount of crime in our country. If it were only murders now, that stalk abroad, as Shakespeare says, but there are stratagems, treasons and spoils. In the city of New York alone statistics show that arson, robbery, forgery, gang rule and corruption grow greater each year in the life of the great metropolis. But shall we be daunted by this condition? Right here is would like you to learn it. Now, just a a quotation I would like to give you. I moment"-another dive for the bag and an unsuccessful search, a second of dismay, and then-"Well, young ladies, if I could find it, it would tell you, in fine language, not to be discouraged; don't be; you mustn't be. If I had been, there would have been no McClure's Magazine

to-day.

"When I came back for my last year in college, I had but one dollar in my pocket. I met one of the students as I entered the campus. He said, 'Hello! I'm getting subscriptions for the 'varsity team. What can you give us?' I handed him the dollar. A few hours later I met the young girl whom I had loved for six years.

I

asked her to be my wife She consented. But when I went to see her the next day, her family, who objected to the match, had spirited her away. Then there was only one thing I needed to know-where she had gone. After some difficulty I learned she had bought a ticket for Boston. What was the price of a ticket to Boston? Six dollars. I borrowed the six and left the next evening." (Awful expression on the face of the president; stony horror on the brow of the "member of the board"; joyous interest in the eyes of the 150 girls.) "I arrived in Boston-but what to do next! I hadn't a copper. I didn't know a soul. I walked up and down the busy streets, wondering where to make a point of attack. Suddenly I came upon a bicycle store. Moved by some impulse, I went in and asked for a job. What can you do?' the manager questioned. 'What do you want done?' said I. 'Can you teach purchasers to ride their wheels?" 'Sure,' said I. 'Well, be here at 3 o'clock this afternoon and I will give you $10 a week.' Jocund as the day I went forth, tho I had never been on a bicycle in my life." (A-hemhem! from the shocked little minister;

gurgles from the girls.) "I went at once in search of my sweetheart. With the old vows renewed, and fresh courage in my heart, but no dinner in my stomach,

I returned to the store, practised secretly until the first pupil came and sent him away, alive, at least.

"At the end of two months I told my employer that I ought to have $15 per week. He said, 'You are doing no more work than at first.' I replied, 'No, but I have more to support, I am going to be

married to-morrow.' He laughed and yielded to my demand. Shortly after he decided to get out a small advertizing magazine and asked me if I could edit it. I said I would try, and we published the first number of the periodical later known as Outing."

By this time Mr. McClure had "found his stride." He went on in an easy and interesting fashion to give a history of the early days and hardships of McClure's Magazine. He was at home with his subject. He made no The heat was forgotten. His audience was more dives at the yellow bag.

fascinated.

But the president and the "member" suffered from the unprecedented character of his commencement address. He had just reached a thrill