heard before-" Rev. Josephus Mason, of the class of 1850;" and there came forward, in response to the call, a bent little old man, his eyes shining almost as brightly as the seams on his tight-buttoned black coat.

Rev. Josephus Mason," read the president, for forty years minister to the First Congregational Church in Scarsfield; the father of seven useful sons, the seventh of whom has this day graduated with honor from this institution, upon you, in recognition of your service to God and your country in the rearing of such a family, I bestow the degree of Doctor of Divinity."

The assemblage broke into vociferous applause as the old man, his eyes glistening now with tears, stepped down from the white platform, clasping the coveted parchment in both hands, and found his way back to the radiant old lady waiting for him. The seven sons were there together, some of them with their wives and families, and I thought again of the bowed old millionaire staring out of unseeing eyes at the floor of the hotel lobby.

But nobody in the audience took the old man's degree really seriously; that was the trouble. The president's eyes twinkled as he awarded it; the students regarded it as a novel and harmless little pleasantry. Even the old man himself, deep down in his heart, suspected that the honor had really come to him because of his "History of the First Congregational Church of Scarsfield," published the year before, and his frequent contributions to the organ of his denomination. Doubtless copies of these had come to the attention of the trustees, so he thought, and were the real explanation. The idea that fatherhood is really a profession, that success in it is a notable thing, worthy of distinction, never seriously occurred to any one. For the raising of a family in these successful days is one of the things that every man does, but, like playing golf or being handy around the house, it lies outside the serious domain of business, and is therefore a matter of little importance.

When the Great Man died, for instance, all of the newspapers expressed deep regret that he had been so unfortunate in his family affairs. That was the word they used; it was nothing, apparently, that he could be blamed for. He was a very successful and worthy citizen, but in his family affairs he had been unfortunate. If his estate had been found bankrupt by the executors, the papers would have called him a fool or a knave or a fail

ure; but the bankruptcy of his domestic affairs was considered a mere matter for condolence. With the picture of him sitting, bent and withered, in that European hotel, one might be easily induced to agree with the verdict. And yet as he sat there that day he knew who was to blame for the misfortune of his family affairs.

From the day of his first beginnings at business there had been only one fixed idea in his mind. He had determined to succeed; the atmosphere in which he moved was altogether one of eagerness for money; his business had grown so rapidly as to absorb his energy as fast as he could create it. had been easier to buy off his son with free indulgence and plenty of money than to sacrifice upon him any of the precious minutes which, with him, were literally golden. So he had built his great success, and his son was a fool.

It

This is one of the strange things in the world, it seems to me that the raising of sons and daughters should be considered so purely a personal affair, in which society has no voice or interest, a matter for which a man incurs no blame if he is recreant nor receives any reward for success. The world, as every one supposes, is growing better, and, of course, can grow so only by the cumulative gains of succeeding generations. Yet when a man who has contracted with society to produce one or more members of the succeeding generation presents as his finished product a couple of failures or fools, he is unfortunate.

And if it had been a bridge he had contracted to produce, and the bridge had proved weak or fraudulent, society would have arrested him and put him in jail.

I was visiting the other night in a fashionable suburb, at the home of a man who will receive very extended notices in the newspapers at his death. That morning he had shown me through the offices from which he directs the operation of more than thirty thousand men in a score of different factories. And while we talked that evening in his home his boy, five years old, burst in upon us repeatedly, jumped up and down on the chairs, and finally made further conversation impossible. Apologetically, the father, at whose command an army starts or halts, suggested that we move up to his den, where we would be somewhat more quiet. And so we retreated before the boy.

"I tell you a youngster's a big problem,"

he said to me, as we fled. "I don't want any more; one's all I can handle."

He meant it was more than he could handle; he, who in the daytime handles thirty-five thousand men. On the other hand, the father of John Stuart Mill, who had not one per cent of this man's executive ability, successfully handled nine children. Of course he was only a poor subordinate in the office of a great corporation, who wrote a "History of India" that hardly any one reads; but he contributed to society John Stuart Mill.

"What he was himself willing to undergo for the sake of my instruction," says John Stuart, "may be judged from the fact that I went through the whole process of preparing my Greek lessons in the same room and at the same table at which he was writing; and as in those days Greek and Latin lexicons were not, and I could make no more use of a Greek and Latin lexicon than could be made without having yet begun to learn Latin, I was forced to have recourse to him for the meaning of every word which I did not know. This incessant interruption he, one of the most impatient of men, submitted to, and wrote under that interruption several volumes of his History, and all else that he had to write during those years."

It is possible, of course, that had he not been interrupted he might have written two Histories of India, or become President of the British East India Company; but either achievement would have been little recompense to the world for the loss of John Stuart Mill.

It is time, it seems to me, for a little shifting of emphasis in this question of what constitutes success; time to recognize seriously that there is no service to the world like the rearing in it of sons and daughters competent to carry righteousness a step forward; no treason to the moral order like contributing to the next generation men and women who are a burden to its progress instead of a help.

And time, also, to stop using the word "unfortunate" in obituary notices of successful men whose sons are fools. I should like to see obituaries written, for instance, something like this:

Died, at his home on Riverside Drive, John Dives, President of the International Hose Supporter Co. Mr. Dives leaves a fortune of several million dollars. He has two sons, who are members of the following clubs: Idlers, Drivers and Riders, Tango, and the Monte Carlo.

Alfred Edwards, father of one of the largest and most useful families in the city, passed away at his home on West 329th Street yesterday afternoon at four o'clock. At his bedside were his wife, his six sons, and his daughter, and members of their families. In his death the city loses one of its representative and most useful citizens.

Mr. Edwards was born in the city some seventy-eight years ago, and, with the exception of a trip to Chautauqua in 1897 and one winter spent with his son Frederick, who is Superintendent of Schools in Tampa, Florida, has lived here all his life. He was married at the age of twenty-three to Miss Minnie Sanford, of this city. They have seven children: John, who is editor of a newspaper in Illinois; James, a practicing lawyer at 45 Pine Street; Frederick, a noted Southern educator; Helen, the wife of Dr. Henry Edgren, of this city; Matthew, Mark, and Luke, who are well known in the business affairs of the city. Mr. Edwards's life was remarkably successful; he lived to see all his children married, and to rejoice in the birth of nine grandchildren, all of whom give promise of clean, useful lives.

The Mayor, commenting on the city's loss, said: "Mr. Edwards's life is a proof of the oft-repeated axiom that success can be attained only by hard work and constant application. Mr. Edwards's success was no accident. For over forty years he has given unremitting care and thought to the training and education of his family. Finding, in his later years, that he could not accept positions of larger responsibility in his office without seriously impairing his domestic efficiency, he gladly made the sacrifice for the sake of his life-work. I have known personally that he devoted his Sundays, his evenings, and many of his days wholly to his boys and girls. The value of such a life to the community cannot be overestimated. As the official head of the city, I extend its heartfelt condolences to the bereaved wife who so splendidly co-operated with him in achieving his notable success."

The funeral will be held this afternoon from the Cathedral, and will be attended by the Mayor and Council.

that the officers and Mr. Edwards's associates might be present at the services.

It is a far cry from our present standards of success to the standard indicated in obituaries like this. But which standard is more nearly correct, judged by the test of time? It would be interesting to trace the influence of the International Hose Supporter Company (which is Mr. Dives's achievement) and the success of the six sons and a daughter (who are Mr. Edwards's) through, say, ten generations, and answer the question then.

In the same suburb with my friend who commands thirty-five thousand men, and does not command his son, there lives another friend of mine, who has deliberately made up his mind that he will probably not rise any higher in the great organization in which he is employed. He has made a comfortable success; he has a good income, and sufficient life insurance to care for his family when he is gone. His acquaintances are not a little perplexed to understand the seeming decline of his ambition. He might have been president of the company, they assert, if he would; yet they see him, in middle life, at the height of his power, stopping work at four o'clock in the afternoon, and spending the remaining hours of the days, and nearly all of his evenings, at home.

But to me his case is no mystery, because

one day, in a burst of confidence, he explained it:

My boy is growing up," he said; "he will be twelve years old this spring. He's right at the most critical time of his life, when he is forming the ideals and habits that are going to determine his future. I talked it all over with my wife, and we have decided that it's time for me to take up seriously the business of being a companion to the boy. Every afternoon last summer I went to the ball game with him; I've even bought a ball glove for myself so that we can play, and I've joined the athletic club and taken out a membership for him. I'm brushing up on my old college studies, too. I mean to be closer to him in the next ten years than any other companion-to be a bigger influence in his life than any of the influences that are outside our control. He's going to be a better man than I am, if I can make him so." It's very mysterious to the business acquaintances of my friend. They can't understand why he should be content to remain as secretary of his company when he might easily aspire to the presidency. But their comment does not disturb him at all. He may not leave a great fortune when he dies, but at least he knows that they cannot say of him, "He was very unfortunate in his family affairs; his son is a fool."

T

HE Mexican Situation, in its political aspect, is dealt with in the editorial pages of The Outlook.

It remains for me to discuss its commercial and financial aspect.

Of course war is to be deplored from the standpoint of both the humanitarian and the economist, but it is undeniable that two recent wars have given tremendous impulse to the world's commercial development.

The unexampled expansion of English trade in the twentieth century was largely due to the success of the British in the Boer War, and the issue of our own war with Spain was a potent factor in stimulating the extraordinary revival of American business that

commenced with the victory of Manila Bay.

In both cases the forces of commercial civilization were arrayed against those of archaic and inert governments, and the triumph of the former resulted in awakening a large and somnolent population to new needs and new opportunities, the satisfaction and development of which meant the extension of commerce and industry.

The profits of this intensified commercial activity were more than sufficient to offset the military expenditure involved, and, except for the loss of life and human suffering, the world is materially benefited by the fact that energizing and orderly methods of govern

ment have replaced those which oppressed the people and throttled their progress.

In our own case, the war with Spain undoubtedly increased the National solidarity, and for a time at least arrested the ingrowing tendency of our political mind by concentrating its attention upon questions which were international in their scope. Perhaps something of the same kind is needed just now to distract our politicians from the intensely subjective view of our domestic affairs that seems to be leading them to conclude that "whatever is, is wrong."

At all events, it is reasonably certain that active and aggressive intervention in Mexico would not increase the prevailing depression in the United States. The probability is that it would stimulate activity. A considerable amount of Government money would be put in circulation. Mexican property would improve in value under the ægis of our protection. Trade would be greatly extended, and excitement, which not infrequently cures hypochondria, might prove to be the very remedy that we need for the mental depression by which American business men are now obsessed.

This may seem a somewhat cold-blooded view to take of a contingency which may involve the sacrifice of human life, but the advance of sanitation and medicine has made war a comparatively safe and bloodless affair.

The casualties in the coal mines of the United States each year exceed those of the war with Spain,' and the probability is that our entry into Mexico would be welcomed rather than opposed by a large majority of the population.

The late William James wrote an essay in which he raised a question as to whether a "moral equivalent of war" could ever be found. He said that the capacity for heroic self-sacrifice developed by war was essential to strength and integrity of character in the individual and the nation, and suggested that the decay of physical and moral virility would follow the advent of universal peace.

Perhaps he was right.

The Sale of New York City Bonds again draws attention to the fact that the debt of Greater New York, with its five mill

In the Spanish-American War the United States had 241 men killed and 1300 wounded in the Santiago campaign. Aside from the Santiago engagements the losses to the United States were small.

In the fiscal year 1908-9 there were 2,450 persons killed and 6,772 injured in the coal mines of the United States. In the fiscal year 1909-10 there were 2,412 killed and 7,979 injured.

ion people, is now substantially in excess of the Nation's debt, to which the good faith of nearly one hundred million people is pledged.

At the price obtained for the bonds the city secures the money at the rate of 4.18 per cent, which is not high in view of the enormous amount of bonds outstanding.

It is suggested that the demand for the city bonds and for the State bonds bought not long since by the same banking firms comes largely from great capitalists who prefer securities the principal and income of which are non-taxable and the ownership of which is not subject to verification by the inquisitorial collectors of the Government's revenue.

The rapid increase in the indebtedness of American cities, and the fact that the obligations issued for this indebtedness are exempt from taxation, may ultimately lead to a rather inequitable enforcement of the Income Tax Law. When this law is redrawn, as it almost certainly will be, this is a feature that will probably receive the attention of Congress.

Meantime, since the municipal indebtedness of this country is constantly increasing, and but rarely retired except through the issuance of new bonds, it may shortly become expedient to adopt the European practice of issuing a perpetual obligation.

The English public debt, which is represented by the obligation called "Consols (so called because they are a consolidation of previous issues), is redeemable only by act of Parliament. It is therefore an obligation in perpetuity, payable at the option of the borrower.

As a matter of fact, the outstanding total of the English debt varies considerably from year to year. It is sometimes reduced by the Government's purchase of its own obligations in the open market for account of the sinking fund, and through the resale of the obligations so purchased it may be again increased. The application of this principle to public debts in the United States would doubtless result in a considerable saving of interest to the community.

Not infrequently our cities, counties, and States borrow money in advance of their requirements, and then allow this money to lie idle in banks at a lower rate of interest than has been paid for it. Indeterminate obligations purchasable and resalable by the community that issues them would save much of this waste.

Declining Prices and the Distribution of Securities. Mr. Howard Elliott's