lies the rub! You cannot force upon a man a gift so personal as culture, any more than you can force piety upon him. Assimilation requires a receptivity on the part of the one to be benefited that can be likened only to the natural thirst of the plants for moisture, sun, and air. There are those who, like the flowers, breathe in life-giving elements instinctively and with determination to possess― not conscious of effort; there are others who have not this instinct, but these, in the Spectator's hopeful mind, can surely acquire it by efforts of will so repeated that at last the effort ceases, because second nature has established itself. You can lead a man to education, you may teach him all the ways to the fountain, you may teach him what the fountain itself is, reduced to its lowest elements and raised to its highest power; but not ten colleges, nor twenty, can make him drink unless he wills.

Some cannot drink of the spring. We all know that, and the Spectator yields to no man in respect and admiration for those whose talents lie in quite other directions than learning and culture. And he holds no brief for the college education or the college-bred man. He has seen we have all seen-men of no education whatever drinking deep draughts from that elusive crystal spring which they have reached, Heaven only knows how, finding its source with no aid from any man or any books and lifting bowed heads to pour out to a spellbound world (in vil lainous English, it may be, but who cares!) all that the intoxicating purity of the draught has taught. But these are the rare examples given us that "none may despair." These are not quite safe to quote. They are the inspired ones of the world—and a law to themselves. The safe and narrow way to ripe and cultured education lies undoubtedly along and through the college campus.

The Spectator's present contention is that he wants the word education to stand for more than it now means. "He's a college-bred man" is a familiar word which is equivalent to saying, "He ought to know," Why ought he to know? and

what? To have simply gone through college is not a great deal, unless the graduate himself has "grasped the moment as it flies," has assimilated his food, not bolted it whole. This very question of being able to be a college-bred man and still murder the King's English is but a significant text for other and deeper failures to grasp all that the college has offered beyond the routine work. As a matter of theory, no man should teach who cannot create the love of learning and culture in his scholars, thus leading them far beyond the routine education where he wills they should go. matter of fact, if such a rule were laid down, our institutions of learning would be at once howling wastes. The inspired and inspiring teachers are of necessity the few, the routine teachers the many.

As a

How many professors have the courage of one known (through the victim) to the Spectator? This rara avis, presiding over one of the largest departments in one of the largest of our colleges, "flunked" a youth who knew very well that he had passed the set examination paper. In the class-room he had been an obviously poor student. In wrath he sought his professor, who patiently listened, calmly looked up the paper, calmly replied, "Yes, you are right. You passed with some marks to spare. I remember the whole affair. You are not passed, because you do not understand the subject. My rule is never to pass a man on his paper if I know from other evidence that he has not comprehended the course." Amazing audacity! Even now the Spectator is not sure that he thinks this was right. It was manifestly unjust. But to this day, whenever the Spectator thinks of that calm old gentleman standing there grandly, guarding his spring, respecting it, demanding imperially that at least one voluntary sip should be taken before his withered old hand would wave the graduate on-whenever the Spectator thinks of this, sore as he felt at the time, as he still can feel, he knows that deep down in his heart lives a queer, unwilling, undying gratitude, as for a gift of revelation received. Were all professors as this one-but no, the Spectator remembers his youth and is pitiful.

TH

HE anthracite coal area is 483 square miles. Upon this territory about 400,000 persons are directly dependent upon the mining industry for their subsistence; another 200,000 are indirectly dependent upon it and were necessarily affected by the recent strike. Among this group of 600,000 souls industrial war prevailed for nearly six months. The wages of 140,000 mine employees, which aggregated a monthly average of over three and a half millions of dollars, were immediately cut off. The wholesale houses heard the sound of battle from afar, and in the spring restrained the activity of their agents and watched developments. Conservative business men who saved from five to ten per cent. on their purchases by buying early in the season withheld their orders. The hotels where commercial travelers stayed lost fifty per cent. of their transient trade. The banks found a considerable falling off in the deposits. Over the hardware, clothing, jewelry, furniture, and dry-goods stores hung a depressing sense of impending calamity. Before hostilities were declared an ominous depression in business circles throughout the anthracite coal fields prevailed. May 12 proved how well these men had read the signs of the times. An army of 140,000 producers did not respond that morning to the gongs which sounded at the four hundred collieries. The struggle was on, and those men who had watched the development of affairs since 1900 felt in their hearts that it was to be a costly, stubborn, and protracted

one.

Society in the strike territory was divided into two hostile camps, and the line of cleavage was along the antagonistic interests of capital and labor. Mine superintendents, foremen, clerks, and some favorite miners-in all about five thousand strong-were on the side of the operators. The rank and file of mine employees were on the other side. The merchants, from business considerations,

men of

held their peace. Professional influence were discreet, but their conservatism and pecuniary interests inclined them to the side of the operators more than to that of the men. The clergy, cautious and timid, could not prevent the spirit of faction from entering the churches. A few were outspoken, but the rank and file of our spiritual leaders were silent and prayed for peace.

Soon after the strike was declared family and social bonds were severed. For the first month mine workers migrated in large numbers from all anthracite communities. We had over thirty thousand young Slav bachelors in our towns and villages. Hundreds of these packed their trunks, carried them to the depot, and left for either fatherland or elsewhere in quest of work. If any one imagines that the Slavs are not susceptible to the ties of sympathy and fellowship, he should have seen these people at the depots. They kissed each other farewell, the departing lingered. on the platform of the train and waved good-by, and strong men turned their faces to brush off the falling tear. Some left stealthily. They owed a bill and feared attachment. There were men at the depot watching the migrating ones. collector was there. Merchants who had information that their creditors were leaving had constables attach the goods in the depot. I saw one of these debtors brought before a justice of the peace. The man was passive, but the wife argued her case with such effect that two dollars were taken off the costs. The bill was paid, and as the woman left, the constable said, "She's a holy terror." The only persons kept busy for the first month of the strike were ticket agents, constables, and justices of the peace. One of this last class said in June, "Business is good; I've taken in over five dollars a day for the last month."

The English-speaking mine employees did not leave in troops, as did the Slavs. Many families of them, however, have

I asked

left these coal fields. In the towns of Mahanoy City and Shenandoah houses were very scarce before the strike; to-day the card "For rent" is seen in every street. Few are the English-speaking families throughout the anthracite regions which have not been broken up. Young men and women were quick to see the economic pressure which soon would fall upon the family, and, to stay it as long as possible, they took their departure to the cities of New York and Philadelphia, or to the soft-coal fields. The boys made many heroic sacrifices. Money was scarce. They would board a freight train and take a "Johnny Mitchell excursion" to some distant point. The cities of Easton, Allentown, New York, Philadelphia, etc., were soon glutted with cheap labor. The boys begged their food and tramped in quest of work. The Philadelphia and Reading Railway Company found it necessary to put a stop to illegal car-riding. The incoming trains were stopped on the bridge crossing the Susquehanna River before entering the city of Philadelphia and the transgressors arrested. a mother, whose youngest son, twenty years of age, had left home, "Have you heard from Richard ?" "No," she said; "he's gone now ten days, and I haven't heard a word." The boy and twentynine others were arrested on the bridge and sentenced to ten days' imprisonment. The boy bravely served his sentence, and saved his mother from worry by not telling her of his misfortune. These young men who dig anthracite coal show a delicacy of feeling and filial tenderness worthy of a Coriolanus. One of them left for Philadelphia and got work there. He regularly sent money to his mother; but that was not enough; she wanted to see her boy. He delayed coming until a week ago, and said, "I lost thirty pounds from July to August, I knew 'mam' would worry if she saw me. In the last month I've gained fifteen pounds." This breaking up of family ties because of the strike is a fact seldom mentioned, but privation and hunger do not rend the heart as this does. I have seen young girls from sixteen to eighteen years of age leaving home because the family's income was cut off. Can any heart tell what it means for these to go into a strange city to try to eke out a subsistence? One of these, seven

All her

teen years of age, left for mother could gather was enough money to buy a half-fare ticket. The girl didn't have another cent, and was scantily clad. She slept the first night with friends in the city, and on the following morning looked for work. She got it, and earned $3.50 a week. Before the month was up she came home, her shoes worn and torn, and her clothing in a dilapidated condition. She was a girl of strong moral courage, and she came home.

But not only does industrial conflict drive men and young women from home, it also disturbs social peace at home and sets brother against brother and family against family. Two men who left their mother country together, shared the same bed, and divided equally their earnings, are to-day enemies-they will not exchange the time of day. One of them went to work, and the other called him "scab." This opprobrious epithet sticks and stings most virulently. When uttered it means social ostracism, and for it there is no remedy. There is no sin as grievous as "scabbing" in the ethical code of these workers. Half a dozen women, members of the ladies' aid society of one of the churches, were talking of non-union workers, when one of them said, "I could look at scabs hanged," and the others echoed her sentiment. To what extent this feeling carries men was illustrated in Lansford. Sharpe, a union man, who was shot by a deputy, had a funeral such as was never witnessed in that town. All the union men from the mining villages came to pay the last tribute of respect to one whom they considered a martyr for the cause. The union leaders were in charge, and the procession was solemn and impressive. A few weeks after, a non-union Hungarian who worked was accidentally killed. On the day of the funeral the undertaker could not get a man to remove his remains from the house to the funeral car. His fellowcountrymen said, “Him die a scab, him bury a scab," and to a man they kept away from the funeral.

The families of the men who worked are subject to social ban. Some men left Lackawanna County, where they would not work, and came to Schuylkill to seek employment. They worked where they were not known, and kept closely within the stockade of the colliery. If their

neighbors at home learned that they were working elsewhere in these coal fields, the lives of their wives and children were soon made miserable. It meant social ostracism. Three wives came from Luzerne County to Schuylkill lately in quest of their husbands. They said they could not stand it longer, and resolved either to stay at the colliery with their husbands or to go home together. The children of those who worked were subjected to insults, and many fisticuffs were the result. One young man whose father worked in another section was badly beaten in a fight. His mother said, "Why didn't you let them alone to say what they would?" "No, mam," he said; "I wasn't going to let them speak dirt about pap." Little children would not play with "scab" children, and most pathetic was it to hear a child say, "I'll be Johnny Mitchell man, only let me play." Women anxious to live in peace were insulted by their neighbors if their husbands worked. Innuendoes, sneers, obloquies, are weapons which hurt, and no civil or military power can save the victim. A family moved from one part of town to another a week ago, and the mother said, "I couldn't stand it no longer; those women are terrible." The landlord said, "I'm glad they're gone. I don't want dynamite here because of scabs."

When the Eighth Regiment was called out on the night of July 30, antagonism between men residing in the same town was still further intensified. Many mine employees who were loyal union men belonged to that regiment. Each one's soul was racked by conflicting duties the State versus the union-but, to the credit of the young men be it said, not one of them failed to respond to the midnight summons. No one will ever know what was the sacrifice these boys made when they obeyed the Governor's call to arms. One hesitated and said,

his parents heard the crowd yelling. They feared violence, and both of them, barefooted and scantily clad, ran to protect the son and accompany him to the armory. As one company left the armory their companions and neighbors called them "scabs." It was too much for one of the soldiers; he stepped from the ranks and struck one of the vilifiers a blow which floored him. The soldiers who are union men may be excommunicated from the union. Many of them will leave s' inthe companies as soon as peace is res in a One of this class said, "To think o oral ing down my fellow-workmen is ter No more for me as soon as this is over. Troops from a distance are not so rent by conflicting sentiments. They can calmly speak of shooting a mine employee, and joyously exhibit the bullets which would lay low the Slavs. The troops will not tolerate the cutting epithet "scab." The troops stand no "fooling." Men grew of late more careful in loading them with reproach. In one of our towns several were prosecuted for calling men "scabs." The word was dropped, but the strikers' sentiment suffered no change, and now the offender is differentiated by saying, "There he goes! there he goes!" A soldier on horseback was on a street of one of our towns when he heard the word, "Scab! scab!" He instantly turned his horse, dismounted, and looked for the culprit. He returned crestfallen amid the laughter of spectators, for the criminal was a parrot which belonged to one of the miners.

Not for a generation will the enmities. and hatred engendered by this strike die away. Industrial peace is in sight, but it will not bring peace to the men who stood by the operators in this emergency. The families which have suffered reproach in the last few months will not be restored to favor. Social ostracism will remain when the troops are gone and coal produced. A troop of young men standing on the street corner in Shenandoah discussed the treatment of "scabs" when the collieries resumed. "Yes," said one of them, "we'll tend to them good," and any one familiar with the mines knows what that means. A young lad on the Hazleton mountains calmly outlined a scheme whereby the "scab" could be blown to pieces by powder. The lot of these men

who exercise their natural right to work will be a sad one for many days to come. No foreman will be able to protect them from the hatred of union men.

This division of sentiment, so replete with hatred and rancor, wrought havoc in many of our churches. The clergy, as above stated, were, for the greater part, silent. The Slav congregations are wholly made up of mine workers, and their clergy invariably sympathized with the men. cThe Irish Catholic and Protestant conto thetions were divided, for the managemany of the collieries is in the hands of The English-speaking, most of whom are connected with one or the other of the above churches. This accounts for the silence of the Protestant and Irish Catholic clergy. Of these two classes, more of the latter than of the former have expressed their sentiments on the question of the hour. They could not do it with out giving offense, and many instances occurred where members in the congregation rose and went out of the church as the priest denounced the one or the other of the contestants from the altar. Some Irish-Americans to-day worship either with the German or Slav Catholics because of the sentiments expressed by their priests regarding the issues involved in the strike.

The division of sentiment in Protestant churches, however, caused greater mischief than in Roman Catholic organizations. This is due partly to the greater independence of the individual member, and partly to the fact that the management of these churches rests in the hands of the laity. A prominent Sunday-school teacher and chorister was, at the inception of the strike, sworn in as a deputy. Immediately his choir vanished, and his class said to the superintendent, "Give us another teacher; we won't have a scab to teach us." Another teacher in a Sunday-school joined the Citizens' Alliance, and on the following Sabbath not one of the young men he taught was present. A deacon, trustee, and Sunday-school worker-the best man the church contained-refused to respond to the union's call to quit work, and at once his fellow-members asked for his resignation from all offices. The man has not been near the church since. In July one of the churches of Luzerne County held children's exercises. The chorister

was working every day, and many of the children who took part belonged to foremen who worked. The union faction in the organization planned to hiss every one who sang or recited whose relatives were working. The chorister absented himself, . and so did many of the children, rather than disgrace the sanctuary on the Sabbath evening. The male members of another church at the close of a prayermeeting were discussing the question of the strike, when a dispute arose and fisticuffs were averted only by the prudent departure of one of the debaters, who thought it was time to go home. A Sunday-school which numbered 350 before the strike can hardly now muster 150. The prime cause of the decrease is the division of opinion concerning the strike. One church is known as the "scab" church, and on a recent Sunday morning only three men were in the congregation.

But division of opinion in the church and congregation is not the only mischief inflicted by the strike upon our religious organizations. No class of professional men have suffered more in this struggle than the pastors. Their salaries at best are but small in these coal fields, but they were reduced to half during the months of the strike. Take a few examples: One who got $60 a month was reduced to $25. Another receiving $65 was cut to $30. Another found his income reduced from $70 to $35; another from $100 to $40. This was general throughout the coal fields, and notwithstanding this cut of fifty per cent. in the salaries of pastors, they have, with very rare exceptions, stood by their charges and in a quiet way comforted and helped their people.

So stubborn and costly a struggle also meant sacrifices in thousands of homes, and when men fear hunger and nakedness it is well-nigh impossible to get their attention to spiritual realities. When an army 140,000 strong ceases to produce, want soon invades their ranks, and the intensity of the struggle to keep the wolf from the door leaves little energy or inclination for religious activities. The strike absorbed all thought. Men's minds were concentrated on the materialistic side of life. It was the contest of giant forces, and all centered in the economic interests of man. Any society which for months in succession is absorbed in ques