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Show 3m 311 pigs into a sty in less time than twelve men with whips, stones and clubs can drive one pig into the same sty. The farmer no longer breeds long horns in his herd for the sake of peace in the barnyard. Rather does he dehorn the herd of their superfluous appendage, necessary for the preservation of life to the primitive wild herd, but a menace to the life of the civilized cow, a constant source of waste to the keeper of the herd. Atkins," the degenerate English soldier, is equal to that kind of thing. . But the modern armament, particularly of the United States, irritates chiefly not the belligerent spirit but rather the competis tive. Our remoteness from all possible foreign enemies, the pacific nature of our history, the confidence based on the inex- haustible resources of our country, the intelligence of our people, the ease and safety with which we have preserved the longest international line on the globe, reaching from Quebec to Van- \Vhile the horns remain, survivals of an ancient regime, a menacing reminiscence of a lower, outgrown order of life, like i.ti"féi‘hilmg . 3" the vermiform appendix in the human body, the political economy of the barnyard can never be other than that of a strained "armed neutrality" at best. The best that can be achieved under such conditions is an uncertain balance of power, where comparative peace reigns until some wayward steer. on some slight provoca- tion that could not be anticipated, begins to hook; then there is hooking all along the line; terror reigns in the barnyard and not the wickedest, but the weakest receives the death blow and the innocent expiatcs with its dying breath the insolent lawlessness of the aggressive stag whose credentials to primacy lie in the strength of his horns. the arrogance of his claim and the beefiness of his bulk. The political economy of the barnyard holds true in the navy yards of the world. There is one psychology for bulls and for armies. Oh, how much longer will sensible men, representa- tives of civilized governments, and oftentimes would~be followers of the Prince of Peace, preachers of righteousness, representatives of religion. flatter themselves that in multiplying the en- ginery of war they are advancing the kingdom of God on earth? They little understand human nature who think that it is made of such craven stuff that it can be frightened out of war, scared into peace. They reckon not with history who think that prudential reasons of costliness. of expense, can hold in check the rising blood or turn aside the arrogant. Human nature is made of too plucky a stuff, it is too full of reckless adventure, thank heaven, to be browbeaten or to mistake cowardice, cravcnness and greed for brotherhood, righteousness, progress, which alone are the incentives as well as the rewards of peace. Hobson's achievement in Santiago Bay is a cheap type of heroism; "Tommy couver, without ever a fortress or a battalion to guard the same, makes any real apprehension of danger from abroad almost an absurdity. One must indeed be deeply immersed in the techni- calities of the war office and the maps of the navy department before he can take such a remote possibility very seriously. But armaments irritate our pride. Not jingo, but buncombe inflames our imaginations and makes fools of our legislators. The psychology of our naval recklessness is paralleled by the football craze of our universities, where we see shrewd trustees, stately dons and sage professors lavishing 90 per cent of their athletic funds on perhaps 9 per cent of their student body, and in periodic fits of madness abandoning their robes and their sanity and spending hours on the exposed "bleachers" in inclement weather, ren- dering themselves hoarse over not the nine brainiest or the nine noblest, but the nine beefiest representatives of that institution of learning; not because these things contribute to the sanity of the university; either of body or of mind (even college professors and trustees know too much to be caught in such foolishness), but because they want to win; they want to be first in the race; they want to beat. If they win they shout themselves hoarse over the discomfort of their rivals, and if they are beaten they go away with sullen determination to strain more points, spend more money, dive deeper into the diabolism of rivalry, in order to regain their lost honor, recover the captured banner. "Did Pete Smith accomplish that great feat you tell me of ?" "Yes, indeed; he did it gloriously !" "Then I'll be bound I'll have to overlook his English and let him pass." This is what I overheard in the confidences of a little group of professors who sat at luncheon after a great field day. WHNI Mt W V |
