« 上一頁繼續 »
Michigan producer. Buying clubs and small retailers in Eastern cities took the greater part of his output. He had no transportation charges to pay, no sales overhead expense, and, besides, he got fifteen per cent higher prices than ever before. Similar cases of profit to the farmer by this “ cutting across lots” to market his produce could be cited in regard to the sale of eggs, maple syrup, vegetables, and cheese. For some time the large creameries of Ohio and Indiana have been receiving orders direct from consumers' clubs and small retailers at the rate of forty thousand pounds per month-not an enormous figure, considering the immense quantities of butter eaten, but none of this business existed heretofore. It is a direct trade and has sprung up and increased quickly, due to the buying club movement. The city of
Paterson, New Jersey, with forty-odd buying clubs, “ imports ” butter at the rate of nine thousand pounds per month direct from the creamery. A little over two years ago no such direct market was available for the butter manufacturers.
It is of significance that the producer has found a way to market his stuff direct to consumers in the city, even if it be only a small portion of his crop. For it tends to break him away from the unfortunate notion that he is wholly dependent on the chain of middlemen which looms up between him and what he considers a fair profit. If he chooses to be a business farmer, a manufacturer of country produce with sales relations direct with consumers' clubs or retailers, he has a fair chance to “ do it now” under the buying club patronage.
THE NATIONS AT WAR A TOWN “SHOT DEAD” ON THE AUSTRO
BY GINO C. SPERANZA
SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT OF THE OUTLOOK IN ITALY
AVE you ever seen a man who had been shot dead? Or, rather, have
you ever entered a house in which a man had been murdered and the body of the victim was still warm ? It is an unpleasant picture to call up, but it is the only way to give some idea of how it feels when you stealthily enter the town of X.
It used to be a fourishing little Austrian city before the war. alive and gay with a civic life and a civic pride of its own.
Then came the audacious dash of the Italians for the lower Isonzo, and the Austrian soldiers were driven across the river. There they turned around under cover of their mountain fortresses and shot the little city dead. They might have stopped then, because it is just like a corpse and cannot fight back even if it would : but they have riddled its body time and again, uselessly, cruelly, wickedly.
I say this because I saw it done when I went to “ view the body” as a sort of neutral coroner, and these are my findings upon an actual inspection.
We had driven from Army Headquarters
past the rear lines and encampments through that zone I have heretofore described as being within reach of the long-range guns of the enemy, and where civilians still prefer to take the chance of an occasional bombardment to the severance of the old home ties.
Now we were leaving all that behind us for more exposed highways. Where there was no shelter of wall or cover of trees on the highroad the military chauffeur would put on full power and the machine covered the open stretch on racing time. It is really wonderful how fast an automobile can be made to go when it is a question of dodging shells ; it is a speed test which our automobile selling agents might consider.
As we drove into the square of the murdered city a strange sensation seized one ; it was very, very still, with houses which were more impressive because of their look of having been absolutely and hastily untenanted than on account of their dismantled appearance.
In all this solitude a lone sentinel presented arms to our colonel as we got out of the car. He was the only fighting man visible, and
THE NATIONS AT WAR
of no military value, but he was guarding the example of how the Austrians make a civic corpse. You looked down deserted streets, center of no military value uninhabitable with roses blooming on shattered walls ; noble when they have to give it up, merely through horse-chestnut trees with their white spring wantonness and the lust of destruction. I blossoms stood majestically still near roofless cannot pass on the justice of this complaint, houses ; you saw the well-laid-out little parks but apparently there was only a handful of of the town, cool and refreshing, but with the soldiers there, doing police duty, and absograss of the lawns grown high and ragged. lutely no artillery or defenses of any kind. A desperate loneliness was all around the The place lies on an open plain by a broad place.
river's edge where nothing can be masked. Over all this stillness there gripped at your We walked carefully about the town, with heart a strange, unexplainable feeling that the feeling that some terrible pest had ravyou were not alone in this solitude ; that aged its citizens and eaten like a gangrene at somewhere, perhaps under your feet or in its very walls. The havoc made by the mere the shelter of those trees, some one air suction of the Austrian three-hundredwatching
and-fives is amazing, while some of the You could see nothing of human life except enemy's hits have caused the most bizarre the shell of its social expression ; there were wounds in certain buildings. Half a house churches with their carved doors nailed up, would be down, while the household effects there were public buildings with broken panes of the other half, although it was close to the and awnings in shreds, schools and asylums edge of the “smash,” were perfectly all right, with doors ajar and shutters thrown open, even the glass articles uninjured. Most of like corpses of dead men with their glassy, the house doors were ajar, and through them staring eyes turned towards the light. You one could see the furniture thrown about in missed the children at play, you missed the confusion; or a wall would be left standing women at the thresholds of houses, you missed with carefully starched curtains at the windows every kind of human life in that deserted place as a frame for the vista of blue sky through the which was meant to be lived in. You missed roofless home. Alas for the loving hands the horses and the oxen, the rumble of carts, which had labored to make that home bright! the tread of feet. Had a dog jumped out From one of the houses came a few bars at you, it would have been like meeting a of music, a few cracked notes of a piano dear, beloved friend.
which had weathered the storm so far, The cannonading was a welcome break in touched by a passing soldier; the notes the silence, because it made you feel that, sounded like a mocking, derisive voice. after all, something was going on, and that Where bombs or shells bad not struck, the that something was war, and not some secret, walls bore signs of rifle shots ; and you could impenetrable, sinister action behind your gather handfuls of Austrian bullets along the back. That furtive sense which gripped us highways. We were ordered to keep close on our arrival had been awful ; it seemed so to the left of the streets and hug the walls, wretched to force this sort of a fate upon a so as not to be seen by the enemy on the trim, living town like this, a town which had near-by mountains ; a few days before the comfortably housed so many peaceful people Austrians had caught sight of a group of war and had obviously given her citizens so many correspondents and had poured shrapnel for legitimate pleasures and social advantages. two hours along their road of retreat, forcing
As you walked stealthily by its schools and the representatives of the mighty press to lie theaters, past its once busy shops and stores, flat on their stomachs till the fire had ceased. and gazed at its pleasantly gardened inns, all As we drew closer to the end of the town, snugly within its stout mediaeval walls, the nearer to the enemy's lines, the houses were wretchedness of the fate visited upon
it battered into all sorts of strange, dead attiseemed a great injustice. A new feeling tudes, like men you see on a battlefield after came upon me, a new realization of the truth: an assault on a wired intrenchment. The the little town, after all, had not been shot silence, when unpunctuated by the cannondead; it had been wounded and then buried ading, added to the awful brooding feeling alive. It had, I now perceived, some signs which seemed to hang stealthily and furtively of life, however weak, but it couldn't move; over everything. The scene was so oppressit did not have a chance to fight back.
ive that in the end any sociable thing, even The Italians complain that this town is an if smashed and in ruins, had a sort of wild
charm and mad attraction. The awkwardly painted signs on the Osterie yielded the pleasurableness of works of art; a bureau or a pitcher and basin in a dismantled house made you breathe more easily. When I climbed through the débris of the Teatro Sociale and entered one of the few boxes left standing, I felt like clapping my hands; the stage was down, but you could see the dressing-rooms at the back and the sylvan scenery in a heap in the pit. Duse had played here and the Commedia dell'Arte had found a hospitable home. The theater-goers of this Austrian town had evidently been loyal Venetians ; they had raised a marble tablet to Gallina and a bust to Goldoni, masking their allegiance to Italy under a permissible admiration for Italian comedy. Somehow, after the tenseness outside, you felt strangely joyous here ; thousands had laughed and enjoyed themselves right where you stood, and not so very long ago. The sense of their pleasure was still about the place, despite the havoc. I could see the throng of fathers and mothers, of children and youths, gathered here, enjoying the simple, imperishable art of Carlo Goldoni. The wickedness of the Teutonic military castes in disturbing a peaceful Europe never struck me as so criminal, so unnecessary, as here in this homely playhouse as I looked over the ravaged theater of this little town whose deserted streets bore every index of a laborious, peace-loving community.
I walked back in a melancholy mood towards our starting-point, where our machine was waiting. Yet as I walked the cloud lifted very quickly. Though all was desolation about us and only immovable ghosts seemed to have been left of a past busy life, yet the spell of Italian geniality was somehow making itself felt. Even a corporal's guard on the place sufficed for the miracle. I saw the “geniality ” walking down a ravaged street in the shape of a young peasant soldier with a flask of rubyred wine in one hand and a bright rose in the other. Then I became aware that there were many, many birds singing in this desolation of man, and that flowers were blooming in profusion and in fragrant loveliness all about us.
The tenseness seemed over, and my heart exulted with every crash of the guns on the bloody mountain slopes beyond. I felt certain that, though this poor stricken town had been · buried alive," the good wine of the country, the humble wholesome bread, and the kindly care of that handful of good guardsmen would keep its poor heart going until the glad day when its hurt body would be lifted gently out of its living tomb and the Italian tricolor run up over those ancient walls which were its historic pride and which the Venetians built against the barbarians centuries ago.
From the Italian Front, May, 1916.
HOW TO MAKE PLAY OUT OF WORK'
BY ELLEN CHATTLE
T the period when the tides of lite not the danger nor the touch of brutality that rise most rapidly and the social constitutes the fascination of football. It is
nature of the youth unfolds, team the rhythmic soul-beat that the players feel play, at once the most exhilarating and the as they fight all together as a single man ; it most developing form of play, makes its most is the absolute soul-satisfaction of a sacrifice powerful appeal. Now the personal interest play. It is the soul coming into its own, sinks to its proper level, and with passionate rising to what should be the normal plane of abandon the player throws his fine young adult life, the plane of co-operation. This powers into the struggle, not for his own spirit of play, culminating as it does during sake, but for the glory of the team. It is the college period, should pass without a
change into the work of life. When it does, I The first article in this series appeared in The Outlook the spirit continues to expand and the buoyof August 23, and the second in the issue of August 30, Another article will follow.-THE EDITORS.
ancy of youth lingers. But too often the
HOW TO MAKE PLAY OUT OF WORK
youth organizes his life-work about himself as itself and will not notice many trivial things the center and leaves behind that fine feeling except where they affect the success of the of comradeship which was the best fruit of day's work. Many of the rest may be pretty his school life. When his country is threat- poor team players, but that need not spoil ened, it awakens again in his tumultuous your sport. In fact, if you win against odds, blood, and we call it patriotism ; indeed, it is it will be only the more stimulating. It is never quite dead, but is, for the most part, true that this attitude is likely to win appreavailable only for great emergencies. Yet ciation and recognition from employers. But this feeling, of all others, is the one that was if you do these things with your mind on the meant to sweeten toil the world over. Down promotion, you may get the promotion just in the dark under the earth, in the thronging the same, but you will have spoiled the game. places of trade, wherever men work shoulder It is absolutely forgetting yourself in these to shoulder, should be the spirit of the team, larger ideas and interests that exhilarates and the spirit of the sacrifice play.
refreshes the spirit. Every one, in a measure, realizes this prin- Every new study of the life of the Apostle ciple The workingman bemoans the fact Paul leaves us with fresh wonder at the that the capitalist does not practice it; the buoyancy of his spirit. He had tasted toil capitalist laments its absence among the under trying and discouraging conditions, he workingmen. All of us in our relations with bore heavy burdens in loneliness, but nothing society decry the selfishness of other folks. aged his soul. Within him something always What we ought to perceive is that, while no sang. And when we read his declaration, one alone can revolutionize institutions, each We are God's fellow-workers,” we believe one can infuse this spirit into his own daily we have an echo of the song that never failed work. Suppose your desk is next to that of him. Nor do we think he was less conscious of a curmudgeon ; he cares for no one, and, working with God when he wove at his loom naturally, no one cares for him. His crusty than when he preached on Mars Hill. Paul manner costs the firm something occasionally, loved to use the great games of his time as as crusty ways always do. He makes a mis- illustrations of spiritual things, because he take now and then, besides.
Now, if you felt their spiritual meaning. He would undesire to try the co-operative plan, you will, derstand the view-point that identifies the when possible, unobtrusively prevent the great passion that fired his soul with the simconsequences to the firm of his mistakes and ple, self-forgetful joy of the child doing his his disposition. If necessary, make a sacri- best that his side may win. It was Jesus who fice play of a few extra minutes at your desk set a little child in the midst that the grownand a little time and thought to keep him ups might learn from him. Every honest smoothed down, for the sake of the work. worker has a right to the same conviction There will be other opportunities, many of that glorified life for Paul. God is doing his them, for you quietly to further the interests utmost for the well-being of this world. of the firm, if you study the people about Whatever contributes to that end helps him you and try to work with them. You will to carry out his great plans, and is therefore not be so sensitive about being imposed upon, full of interest and importance for that reason, since you will get your mind upon the work if all other reasons should fail.
Neither Bethmann Hollweg, German Chan. cellor, nor Lloyd George, English Secretary of War, is to be classed as a "hyphenate, though many newspapers insist on printing their names Bethmann-Hollweg, Lloyd-George. A recent conspicuous offender as to the German Chancellor's name is the “Century Magazine," which heads an article “ Bethmann-Hollweg and German Policy,” though it also prints a facsimile signature by the Chancellor without the offending connective.
On August 22 the price of the New York “ Herald " was reduced from three cents to one cent. The “Herald ” thus returns to its original price in 1835, when for a few months it was a "penny
paper. From August, 1835, till 1862 its price was two cents. The war carried it up to four cents. Since 1887 its price has been three cents, though most of its newspaper rivals have sold for only one cent.
A recent book about Central Africa gives this remarkable incident as illustrating the native's absorption in present prosperity. The author was traveling on the Congo River, among cannibal tribes; with the natives who came down to see him when he stopped at a Fan village was a man who had formerly been his steersman; he said he was a captive in the village and was destined for the pot. The captain urged him to jump aboard and save himself. To bis intense surprise, the native refused! The Fans, it seems, give their intended victims “the time of their lives " preliminary to the feast, and in the midst of his enjoyment the future knife had no terrors for the unimaginative captive !
To avoid that exasperating jolt one gets when going down into the cellar and trying to step down another step when none is there, or the equally disconcerting mistake of stepping off two steps instead of one, an exchange suggests that the bottom step of the cellar stairs be painted white. Then one will always know just when he has reached the bottom.
Dr. Foster, President of Reed College, PortJand, Oregon, tells in " Harper's Magazine" of his old master in Boston public school, whose motto in scholarship for his boys was One hundred per cent, or zero.” The same motto, says Dr. Reed, but with a difference, was apparently held to by a boy who came home from school the other day and said to his father, " I got one hundred per cent in school to-day." "Did you ?" exclaimed the proud father; "in what subject ?” “ Oh," was the reply, “ I got fifty per cent in arithmetic and filly per cent in geography."
The old stories about swordtish ramming boats, either by mistake or in malice, are matched by a newspaper account of the experience of the fishing schooner Reita. Twice
within a few weeks, it is stated, her hull has been pierced by the weapon of a swordfish. The last time the sword not only penetrated the planking but transfixed a suit-case. belonging to a member of the crew.
He had to go ashore in his sea togs while the boat was sent to the marine railway for repairs.
Bird lovers will be glad to read the report that a treaty for the protection of insect-destroying birds on both sides of the Canadian boundary has been entered into between the United States and Great Britain. Its administration will be left to local authorities. It is said that this is the first treaty of its kind.
A despatch from London says that a new invention, called a piano typewriter, reproduces in ordinary musical notation whatever the performer plays. A pianist can make a copy of any piece of music by merely playing it through. The inventor is an Italian.
“The three best American stories ever written by one author," in the estimation of a writer in the “Christian Register,” are " In His Name," " The Man Without a Country,” and “My Double." The author, it need scarcely be said, was the Rev. Edward Everett Hale.
Among islands named after animais, says the London “Chronicle,' there are the Isle of Dogs and Whale Isiand, Pewit Island in Essex, and Crane and Gull Islands off the coast of Cornwall. Near Lundy Island are Rat Island and the Hen and Chickens. Transatlantic travelers, it may be added, are familiar with the Bull, Cow, and Calf Islands, near the English coast. Elephant Island has lately been associated with Shackleton's exploring party : Cat Island, in the West Indies, has been regarded as Columbus's original landing-place.
A page advertisement in a New York paper gives one a good idea of the relative rents asked for New York City apartments. It begins with a palace on Fifth Avenue overlooking Central Park; apartments here range from 15 rooms and 4 baths at $15,000 a year to 24 rooms and 9 baths for $28,000 a year! From this one can descend at the bottom of the page to an apartment on Eighty first Street near Lexington Avenue, consisting of 4 rooms and bath, for $660. Most of the apartments advertised rent for $2,000 and over.
A subscriber calls attention to an amusingly uninformative headline in his local paper, apropos of the paralysis epidemic. The Associated Press despatch read: “The disease is beginning to assume serious proportions in the eyes of medical authorities," etc. The headline in:erpreted this as follows:
BY THE PLAGUE OF INFANTIL PIRALYSIS
AND DOCTORS GROW INLAY