"But hasn't literature of social reform been helpful in the past?" "YE as now. 'ES, indeed," he acknowledged. "However, conditions were not always the same For example, consider the time when Thomas Hood wrote his 'Song of the Shirt,' which I regard as one of the greatest things of its kind ever produced. In those days, the causes of abuse were evident to all. The capitalist then was usually the unenlightened small merchant or manufacturer who could look with equanimity on any conditions of labor that brought him a greater profit. To trace the abuses to his door was accordingly comparatively easy; an indictment brought in by any particular writer could much more readily be turned to a sentence of guilty by the public; the problems could be solved with a facility proportionate to their lack of seriousness. among other things, is responsible for much the aimless adventuring of the present-day no of reform. In Prussia, State socialism was tually put into effect-or, at least, was put effect sufficiently for us to judge rather defini of the result. And that has not been to our lik It has not been consistent with theory. In f it has slashed the most gorgeous theories holes that have deflated them like punct balloons. Moreover, in demolishing the theo it has stolen the stock in trade of many novel Naturally, however, these novelists could no expected to give up business even though stock in trade was gone. And so they have tinued placidly writing, as if ignorant of the that their object in doing so has disappea Perhaps sometime they will find another ob But that possibility, unfortunately, does FAITH is the greatest magnetic power for the attraction of the things that belong to us. But subsequent events have complicated matters. It has come to be generally understood that the blame for current evils can no longer be justly. ascribed to any particular capitalist; and likewise, it has come to be recognized that industrialism is a mistake, and that some way out is necessary. The trouble, thus far, has been that proposed remedies have tended to be worse than no remedy at all. Perhaps one of the greatest defects of the present system has been the reformers. They have sometimes been more harmful than the evils they have tried to cure; they. constitute one of the gravest indictments of the present system." By this time we were both laughing so heartily that a halt in the discussion was necessary. I had completely forgotten that this was an interview; it seemed more like a talk with some old friend. And without remembering that I had any ulterior journalistic motives, I inquired: "But did not writers that urged reform in the past know definitely where they were gaing?” smile that never seemed to leave him can only say that the novel, at present, presses me as a sort of sack which p use as an indiscriminate dumping place ideas, whether they concern the trainin genius or the moral regeneration of the They seem to think that there is nothin flexible as the novel; it is a cloth that will everything, from the philosophic theories Spinoza to the maunderings of a soa politician. Once it was imagined that the was the proper vehicle for ideas; at present seem to act as if their theories, hopes, compl and prejudices can be given expression or the novel." "But don't you believe that some novel of reform may yet actually have a powerful influe ERHAPS," said Mr. Chesterton, wi "PERHAP ironic smile. "But, if so, it will novel of a new type. It will not show us terrible present conditions are; it will not the grayness of factories, the filth of slum viciousness of low wages, or the gauntne poverty. An acquaintance with all these t has already been drilled into our consciou we are all agreed that they are evils, though of us are certain how to remedy them. story that brings to light the black core of pi AN INTERVIEW WITH GILBERT K. CHESTERTON know that the core is black, even though we 't ordinarily acknowledge it. The truly pful novel will have to be more constructive. d, by that, I do not mean that it must advocate y particular creed of social reconstruction. It ed only portray conditions in some region not fected by modern industrialism. For example, should say that the beneficial sociological novel ould be that which showed the life of some mple people living far from what we term vilization. It would not matter whether these eople be the village dwellers of England or merica, the peasants of Iceland, or -" he added ith a broad smile "the natives of the Fiji slands." "But what would be the advantage of such a -ovel?" I burst forth. TH 51 "If you do not think industrialism will last, what do you believe is to replace it?" "M "Y own theory," he said, a little more gravely than before, "is that there should be a system in which there is equality of private property. Each man should possess a share of the country's wealth, and that share should be approximately the same as his neighbor owns. I do not believe in a community of property; the theory that one man should own another's boots never appealed to me; I should not favor it, even though I were to own a share in the boots of the President of the United States. But I do maintain that property should be distributed equally; one man should not possess a mountain, while his neighbor must be content with a molehill; and the owner of the molehill must not be made to pay tribute HAT'S just what I was about to explain. We can hope to wean people away from present conditions only by showing them how much more attractive other conditions are; and a novel demonstrating that more real happiness is to be make an enemy, is not worthy to be a friend. gained from the simplicity of village life in Samoa or Hindustan, Hampshire or New Hampshire, than from the metropolitan complexity of New York or London, might do much toward relieving existing evils. In a word, to let it be generally seen that industrialism is a mistake-do not show the sore spots of the present order, but display the shining points of other systems." "But do you think that will ever be done? Do you think that the people as a whole can be made so to appreciate the brilliance of other conditions that they will want a change?" TH HAT'S impossible to answer," he replied. "But this much I can say: Industrialism is not a necessary evil. There are many who, while recognizing it as an evil, seem to regard it as designed inevitably and indissolubly by the eternal scheme of things. No attitude could be more falacious. Industrialism is now little more than a century old, yet already we can see signs of the end. The very fact that we regard it as a mistake is one of the signs of the end. I do not believe that the great city of the present will endure. It seems to me At this point I could not refrain from interrupting. Mr. Chesterton was approaching so near the most vital topic of the age that I felt forced to ask: only to be more stable to the proprietor of the mountain. Such a system can result only in discontent and misery, dissension and waste. An economic order based upon an equality of small property-holders would be likely not than the present, but to be productive of a far higher scale of general happiness; and i look forward to such an order as a possible solution of the widespread social and industrial unrest at present afflicting the world." SUCCESS NUGGETS Opportunity brings out the great man, but he alone is great who is ready to embrace it If the first rule is to obey your native bias, to accept the work for which you were inwardly formed, the second rule is concentration, which doubles its force.-Emerson. Smiles attract dollars, as they attract everything that is good and wholesome. If people would only smile more, if children were trained to smile habitually what a wonderful world this would be! We do not know anything about our own resources until we have taught ourselves to stand alone. Not until we can think for ourselves, decide for ourselves, and act for ourselves do we become more than infants in the moral universe.—Angela Morgan. Thoughts never die, they are immortal dreams that outlive their dreamers. DR "ALMOST A SUCCESS” O you know any of the people who are "almost successful""almost a stenographer," "almost a lawyer," "almost a physician," "almost" something, but never quite anything? I know a great many of them, and they always remind me of the boy whose father sent him to find some sheep that had strayed from the pasture. On his return from the search, when his father asked him if he had found the sheep, the boy answered, "No, father; but I almost found them." Some of these "almost successfuls" hang out their shingles as lawyers or physicians, do a little law or medical work, dabble a little in real estate, in insurance and other things, and are not much of anything. I know one of this sort who has a physician's diploma, makes up a few pills, does a little work in his profession, writes articles for various publications, speculates, dabbles in a dozen things, but does not throw himself wholeheartedly into any one. NOTHER is a newspaperman, or at least he calls himself little squibs in a sort of reporter, a sort of correspondent, a sort of writer, but nothing in particular. Yet he wonders why he is not a great success. He thinks he has the ability to be; but if he has, he doesn't focus it on any one thing so as to make a dent in it. I know an "almost" stenographer who can hardly read her notes and cannot get a word of more than two syllables right, who can't spell or punctuate and uses only a single finger of each hand in typing; yet she calls herself a stenographer and feels injured because she doesn't get on. She secures a position now and then, only to lose it because of her inefficiency. She makes all sorts of mistakes in taking the simplest dictation, and no employer will bother with her any length of time. "OW, my friend, unless you are a king in your line, you are in the "almost-a-success" class and come mighty near being a complete failure. "Almost a success" describes multitudes of mediocrities in every occupation and profession, men and women who never half prepared for their jobs, never had the ambition to become experts, and never really become proficient in any one line. "If you make a good pin you will earn more than if you make a bad steam-engine," said a successful manufacturer. In other words, if you become an expert in the humblest calling, you will earn more, be of more service to the world, and will be more of a man or a woman than if you had a smattering of a dozen things. The "almost a success" is not wanted anywhere. Unless you become efficient in your line, the world has little use for you. Grandma Goes to College nd Finds That There Are More Things on Earth Than Were M Dreamed of in the Curriculum By DOROTHY GOODFELLOW EN and things are plastic; they part to right and left when ne comes among them movng in a straight line to one -nd." ILLUSTRATED BY ROBERT A. GRAEF This story was awarded Now, I do not know who wrote that, but I do know that Grandma Higgins proved that it is truth. The appellation, "Grandma," was not rightfully hers. She had neither child nor grandchild to call her by it. It was merely a courtesy accorded to her as the wife of "Grandpa" Higgins whose long white hair and patriarchal beard had gained for him the name. It was in looks alone that the title fitted the old man. There was in his make-up nothing whatever of the indulgent tolerance befitting a grandparent. He was dour and narrow and unbending, and, for all the thirty-and-odd years of their married life, his harsh obstinacy was the yoke beneath which his wife, in duty bent. During all those years her own personality was submerged beneath her husband's opinions and intolerances, and no preference of her own was left to her unchallenged. But there was a certain resilient fiber in her nature that kept it from being utterly crushed by the overweight of that other dominant character; and when the death of the old man removed that weight of repression, her own personality sprang into buoyant being once more. During the first days after the funeral, she was, perhaps, a little shocked at her own surprising sense of cheerfulness, and dutifully tried to subdue her mind to a melancholy more becoming in one so recently bereaved. But artificialities of feeling were not for her, and she soon winced away from the discordancy of them and allowed her feeling its natural way. It was one evening towards the end of the first month of her bereavement that the great idea came to her. She had drawn her supper table to the open window, where she sat alternately eating and gazing at the sunset of ambers and golds flaming across the dim sapphire of the evening sky. Always her soul had been wrought to ecstasy by such tumults of color, but her dreamings over them had always called forth the irritable protests of her husband. Such was the rigidity of habit that she half expected to hear a testy voice reminding her that there was no time to be "mooning" there. The light faded but she still sat on, luxuriating in the liberty of action that was now hers. It was with an ardor almost youthful that she planned the changes in her surroundings she would make, now that the freedom to gratify some of her long-denied preferences was at length hers. "A flower garden!" suggested her mind, stanchly thrusting away memory of her husband's dictum that a flower garden meant a waste of time and of ground that might be devoted to more profitable growths. "Yes! First of all, a flower graden," agreed her happy lips. "A flower garden!" smiled her eager eyes visioning a fluttering, dancing shining expanse of hollyhocks and marigolds, roses and lilacs, pansies and primroses. "New paint for the house, new paperings, gay chintz!" advised her mental monitor. "Yes! Color and brightness-no dreary drabness again!" answered her rejoicing lips. "And clothes, now!" broke in her lifelong ungratified love of feminine daintinesses. "Yes! House dresses of delicate lavender and lilac instead of ugly serviceable browns and grays!" sighed her blissful fancy. "And books! Books and books and books!" exulted mind and lips together. making them believe they were on the wrong track, and that somewhere else, in some other field, they would have a better chance. So he has kept people moving about all over the world, shifting, changing, never finding the satisfaction and happiness they crave because they are round pegs in square holes. D ISCOURAGEMENT is a disease that is universal in some form. Everybody in greater or less degree is the victim of its poison. I frequently get letters from young men and women on the threshold of their active careers, with fine possibilities ahead of them, telling me how discouraged they are. A recent one from a young woman, after detailing a pitiful list of her troubles and discouragements, the things which she says are keeping her down and making her prematurely old, closes with, "Yours from the depths of the blues." Now, people who live in "the depths of the blues" are sure marks for the devil's wedge. Our habitual moods have everything to do with our success, and the man or woman who encourages the "blues" instead of driving them away is bidding for failure. Encouraging the "blues" usually ends in chronic discouragement, and when any one allows himself to fall into this state, no one outside of himself can do anything for him. Unless he turns about face, shuts out the devil and his wedge, and finds the God in himself there is no hope for him. S long as life remains, no matter what your age or sex or condition, you can regain your lost hope and courage. You can drive out fear, worry, the "blues," all forms of discouragement, all the enemies of your success and happiness, by claiming your divine inheritance and asserting your kinship with God. The Creator never made any one to be a coward, to run away from difficulties. It is only the devil's wedge that does that. We were made to hold up our heads, to look the world in the face without flinching, to conquer every difficulty that opposes us in our efforts to do the thing we were sent here to do. We were made to succeed in our work, to be happy in it, and if we fail, it is because we turn coward in the battle of life; for it is cowardice, lack of faith in the Creator, that drives people to despair and suicide. No matter how depressing your present condi tion, or what your troubles, if you take your higher self, the man or woman God made you to be for your guide, you can recover your footing you can be the brave, successful, happy being the Creator planned. T DON'T PUT OFF HE hard problem, the tough job. Tackle it first. Writing to your mother or father, or brother or sister, and in other ways showing your affection for them. The putting on of new clothes. Don't put off putting up a good front, making a good appearance that will tally with the thing you are after in life. Keeping fit, looking after your physical and mental welfare. The daily bath and the perfect grooming of yourself. Self-improvement. While it is never too late to learn, it is better to begin early. Attending to your friendships. Friends will leave us if we give them no attention, and one of the greatest regrets of multitudes of men, as they near the end of life, is that they have put off their friendships-put off cultivating them while they were making money. Getting acquainted with your family, giving OFF and having fun with them. Be their pal and yo will not regret it later. Being kind to others; saying and doing the help ful, considerate thing to-day. Trying to control your unbridled temper or cru tongue. Giving time and attention to your home life, an contributing toward a beautiful home atmospher Registering your vow for better things. Being honest and square in your dealings. The higher impulses until they cease to ple with you. The beginning of the thing your heart longs f and that you feel able to accomplish. Making a decision until it is useless or you lo your power to decide. Getting out of a rut. The present is a good ti to make the effort. Turning over a new leaf and reforming your b |