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bers of this aristocracy who have fled to the United States for protection from the "rabble."

Before Alvarado came to Yucatan the trend of the henequen market was largely determined by the International Harvester Company and the Plymouth Cordage Company, which bought about eighty per cent of the sisal output between them. Their agents and brokers in Yucatan seemed to have a working understanding; they quite naturally bought in accordance with the ordinary laws of supply and demand, and as these agents and brokers bought so went the market. In those days the price paid to the planters for their sisal was two and a half to six cents a pound -that is, from four and a half to one cent a pound less than they are getting now. But many of these planters were able to make a greater profit then than now, because then they were not forced to pay their labor so much as at present, then they were not forced to support schools for their employees, then they had less taxes than at present. In fact, in general, then there were fewer obligations demanded by the State of the henequenero.

It is just as plain why the average workingman supports Alvarado as it is why the average planter prays or plans for his downfall.

But whether he belongs to the larger class which has benefited by the Governor's administration, or to the smaller class which has suffered by it, every Yucatecan will tell you that the principle of the Reguladora is right.

The principle on which the Reguladora stands is simply the principle of organized production. It is the principle beneath the farmers' granges of our West, it is the principle back of the butter artels of Siberia, it is the principle on which, recently, in many large American cities markets have been organized where the farmers sell their products directly to the consumers to the advantage of both producers and consumers, to the discomfort only of middlemen.

and

Every school-boy who has finished elementary economics knows that when the buyers organize the sellers must organize too.

The founders of the Reguladora had two things in mind: first to eliminate some middlemen and to sell their hemp as directly as possible to the twine manufacturers; and, second (and this they considered much more important), to organize the sellers of henequen so that they might get a good price from the organized buyers.

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Before Alvarado reorganized the Reguladora the buyers of henequen were well organized, backed with much capital, and able to fight; the sellers of henequen were badly organized, without much capital, and unable to fight. Inevitably, therefore, the buyers had the better of the sellers in fixing the price of the green gold.

To a layman the present price of henequen seems justified by business conditions and the laws of trade. In February and March, 1902, when the henequen buyers were not so well organized as they later became, the price of sisal in New York was ten cents a pound, or only three-eighths of a cent less than it is to-day. Moreover, in determining the justice of the price of a product, usually a fair criterion is the price of the articles in competition with that product. The competitors of sisal hemp are New Zealand hemp and Manila hemp. In the opinion of experts, a fair price for sisal is a figure slightly less than the price of Manila, and about the same as the price for New Zealand. From early in 1908, part way into 1912, the price of sisal hemp in New York was never more than a cent below the price of "current" Manila, and in the early months of 1910 it was actually higher than "current" Manila, although in these years the sisal producers were unorganized.

To-day, with sisal hemp bringing 103% cents a pound in New York, "current "Manila is bringing from 105% to 114 cents a pound, while a pound of New Zealand fiber sells at from 11 to 124 cents.

Government ownership and Government regulation are terms that frighten few intelligent people to-day. Such people recognize that this is an age of organization, and that a monopoly is not condemned by calling it a monopoly, but only by further describing it as a bad monopoly.

It is not a sufficient condemnation of Carranza and Alvarado to assert that they have established a henequen monopoly in Yucatan. It is no condemnation at all. The fact is that in putting the henequen output under State control Carranza and Alvarado have done only what England and Germany have done with their resources in the crisis of war. And Mexico, it must be remembered, is still under military government. It is palpably illogical to criticise Carranza in one breath for not restoring order in Mexico, and to criticise him in the next breath for raising henequen to a price which even some Ameri

can experts have called reasonably fair in order to get money with which to restore order.

The question is not whether Government ownership and regulation is right or wrong, but whether the Government that is doing the owning and regulating is a good Government, and whether it is a Government which lends itself to the expression of the will of the people behind it.

The controversy over the merits of the Yucatan henequen monopoly really simmers down to the old question of good or bad government for Mexico.

Alvarado may or may not be a good Governor. It is the opinion of the writer, as stated in a former article, that, as Mexican rulers go, Alvarado is a good one, and that he is giving Yucatan the only form of government which can come to Mexicans from within while the country is in its present condition, namely, a benevolent despotism. But of course, from the point of view of Americans, an effective democracy is preferable to

So the

any despotism, however benevolent. controversy over the merits of Alvarado's administration is, after all, a side issue. The main issue, one in which all Americans ought to be interested, is the struggle so to raise the standard of intelligence and public integrity in Mexico that real representative government, as we understand the term in its essentials, may come to be established with a minimum of delay.

In the meantime, so long as there is not such a further increase in the price of henequen as seriously to interfere with our harvests—that is, so long as a fair price is charged for the sisal, and so long as our legal machinery is well oiled to prevent an infringement of our anti-trust laws by the selling activities of the Reguladora in this countrythere seems no reason why the American public should become alarmed by the course of the henequen controversy. For, after all, it is not our henequen. It is the green gold of Yucatan.

G

ERMANY, through the insurance legislation inaugurated by Bismarck, early laid the foundation for an Empire of organized prosperity that should. never know the dire want of the London slums or the poverty-stricken East Sides of American cities. Previous to the war, statisticians from Continental Europe, England, and America frequently visited the Fatherland to study the German insurance system-to-day a proved boon-and to gain a comprehension of Germany's life-value, old age, accident, health, Mutterschutz (motherhood insurance), workman's compensation, and general welfare legislation. These for

eign observers have often expressed the conviction that Germany might rightfully feel that absolute want had been organized out of existence within her boundaries.

The war, however, has created new problems. The established systems contribute greatly toward the internal economic strength of the Fatherland and mitigate its burdens.

But what of the cripples, the maimed, and the blind? This misery affects Germany, as it does the other belligerents, and taxes statesmanship anew.

How does Germany prevent the crippled soldier, who in ages gone has been an almsgatherer, from becoming a burden to the state and himself? How can the Fatherland open up life to him again? How can it give limbs to the cripple, ears to the deaf, eyes to the blind, so that they can again rejoice in their manhood and take up successfully the fight for an existence? What the scientific world here and in Europe has produced the German Government utilizes, and again its genius for system makes smooth the way.

Broken of body and spirit, the badly damaged soldier is a double problem. The Government sets out to reclaim him, first, by restoring through care and nursing his general well-being, and then by instilling new hope. Definite steps are recognized in the reclamation programme: recuperation of

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health, kindling new ambitions, energizing the will, employment during convalescence, counseling the patient on his future occupation, reviewing the elementary educational factors, training him in the vocation selected, and guaranteeing him employment.

The nurses may feel sympathy, but may not show it. The early stages of nursing past, even while in bed the soldiers are employed with papers of various colors and cardboards, and are led to make ornamental or useful things, games and toys for children; to carve wooden kitchen utensils or little objects of art; to braid twine; and to make bags, mats, and nets. Thus they are taught to combat the ever-recurring question, "What is to become of me?" All the encouragement of competition is afforded by exhibitions and sales of their products. Materials and tools are given to them, and the fruit of their work is, of course, also their

own.

While the soldier is thus occupied advisers come to him and, with infinite tact and kindness, suggest to him, if he cannot possibly take up his old occupation, to consider what new work he would like best to undertake. As soon as he is up and walks about, training in his former occupation begins or the rudiments of his new vocation are taught him. All soldiers, no matter what their future work will be, receive lessons in the general branches of education, German composition, simple bookkeeping-their boyhood schooling being thus reviewed with the aim of making the knowledge serviceable anew. Readings are given in courses adapted to each group of beginners and for each trade or profession. Those who wish it can study foreign languages or attend lectures on special topics.

Of course the idea is to enable the badly damaged soldier to follow his old vocation. When that is impossible, he receives gratuitously special training in his new work. For instance, I was present when a clerk, his sight having been seriously impaired, was advised to become a farmer and a course of studies was planned for him. He was to learn farm accounting, planting of grains and truck, fruit culture, plant diseases and pest preventions, the science of soil culture, stockraising, dairying, the fattening of goats, sheep, fowl, and pigs, marketing the produce, and the essentials of farm machinery and its use. The course was to be made interesting by practical illustrations or films and by actual

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A position or an

experience on the land. opportunity was guaranteed him upon the completion of the course.

Each soldier is carefully prepared to take up his new work, and any manual training school, school of mechanic arts, university, or other educational institution is open to him. Many a man who had to earn his living before the war by manual labor to-day realizes his dream of a university education. This is the general scheme. The deaf, the blind, and the crippled are, as each case permits, subjected to this régime. During all this time the soldiers' families are provided for by the Government, Frauenvereine, and relief clubs.

The deaf are made to "hear" by their eyes, by lip-reading. "Hearing" is thus restored to them by a three months' course. I visited the three grades that compose the curriculum, and was surprised to see how readily the ability to converse is regained by the soldiers. They are taught by pictures and blackboard drawings, in easy stages, how the sounds of the letters, of words, and eventually of sentences are formed by the lips, tongue, palate, and larynx. I was able to converse with the members of the graduating class, who could lip-read so well that it was hard to believe that they had lost their hearing.

Perhaps the most humanly interesting experience in the two lower grades was to note the frank delight of the soldiers when they found that they could convey the sounds they could not hear. With what patience did they watch a slow comrade; how complete their satisfaction when he too was able to repeat the exercises, or, in the second class, to convey the contents of the short stories that were systematically built up to keep nimble the soldier's brains!

The members of the senior class were very much interested when I told them that I was an American at home on a short visit. I asked them about themselves. Not one would vouchsafe why he had received the Iron Cross. What splendid men they were! What thoroughly good faces! What sturdy characters! What a pilgrimage this was to me! The atmosphere of the school, its struggle, its perseverance, and its human conquest took me off my feet.

The blind are made to "see" by their hands, and, "seeing," to take their part in the world's work. This was shown me in a home for the blind in Frankfort. A wealthy lady had given her house. It was a large mansion, situated in an expansive garden at

one end of which a spacious garden-house was turned into workshops. The director of this home was himself blind. He told me that America surpassed Germany in her treatment of the blind. America had even progressed so far that she taught different sports to them; Germany had not yet attempted that.

The soldiers were taught to read and write again; then to pursue their newly chosen calling. Carpentry, cabinetwork, weaving mats, tuning pianos-these, the usual occupations of the blind, were being practiced. Many of the blind soldiers were, however, being employed in the munition factories. A number were studying at the universities. The case of an officer who was studying law at Leipzig, his wife accompanying him to his lectures, especially interested me as a brave struggle against great odds.

I shall never forget a blind young sculptor. In a somewhat larger and airier room, where I found several remarkable portrait busts and bas-reliefs, some completed and some unfinished, the director explained that one of his pupils had been an engraver before the war, and that, to amuse him, they had sent him to a well-known sculptor, who was willing to have him work in clay. He soon had shown such skill in handling the material and copying any model put before him that he had aroused his professor's enthusiasm. The sculptor had instantly, upon his discovery, assumed the responsibility of guaranteeing him a good living in this most exacting

art.

During the recital the door opened and the hero of the story himself entered with a laughing face. He had just returned from the studio. He shook hands and poured out to me all his exuberant joy at the realization of his heart's desire, which the war and the loss of his sight had brought him. Though he did not show his affliction, he was not handsome; but, in spite of loss of sight and beauty, he radiated the sunniest expression and the joy of a spiritual triumph.

My friends could understand that I might want to visit the deaf or the blind, for at least the loss of one of the senses, they thought, left these unfortunates less able to react to a stranger's betrayal of pity-the pity that fills your eyes or puts a lump in your throat, whether you will it or not. But visit the maimed, whose every sense is as keen as your own! How can you do it? Though you try to fight off sympathy in their presence," they

said, how your heart will be wrung when you see the badly crippled-maimed men ! How will or can you bear it?" And I thought my friends were right. But how mistaken were we !

It is to the genius of Professor Dr. Biesalski, her foremost orthopedist, that Germany owes many of her successes in her reclamation of damaged manhood. Under his supervision schools have been placed by the Government throughout the country for the crippled. His remarkable personality dominates them, and their principals look to him for inspiration and guidance. I doubt whether any other man is so revered by his profession. He is one of the greatest idealists I have ever met, a man of few words, tremendous energy, and enormous capacity for work. His watchwords are "will,"

perseverance," and "no sympathy." Professor Dr. Biesalski made it possible for me to see his special institution, the Oscar Helenen Heim, near Berlin, where in times of peace he prepared for the sublime work of redeeming and remaking men after they have been pitifully wounded.

He is aided by the unusually brilliant Director Hans Wuertz, a pedagogical genius who is able to invent for each new problem a new way of teaching. The impossible is made possible by the co-operation of these two men, and the seed of their achievements is bearing fruit in institutions elsewhere.

Professor Dr. Biesalski's theory is to develop and train the stump. The cripple is first taught to use it, and it is wonderful how the stump can be made to do almost anything. If the patient perseveres, the stump develops the same sense of feeling that exists in the fingers. I saw a teacher who had one arm taken off above, the other below, the elbow. Consequently he had one long and one short stump. He seemed to do everything that a teacher usually does with his hands. I saw him pick up a small piece of chalk, go to the blackboard with it, and write on it the arithmetic examples for his class.

The soldiers who perhaps do not have the time to develop their stump are provided with special apparatus. Dr. Biesalski straps or screws on the tools of the particular trade in which the soldier is to be employed. These are called Prothesen. With the help of these a man without an artificial limb or a man without hands can be trained to do a great deal of manual labor. All the tools of

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a carpenter, locksmith, or gardener are made available for the disabled soldier.

In one of the other homes for the crippled there was a soldier who had lost one arm. He had been promised an artificial hand. He was a big, strapping fellow, a carpenter by trade. He had been depressed, brooding over the long, useless life that lay before him. They came to him with half a dozen of these Prothesen. One at a time they were screwed to his stump and he was shown how to use the tools of his trade. The radiant

expression of the face of that young giant when he saw and was convinced that he could continue in his life's work was overwhelming. Sad! How could one be sad? Does not such experience, one such glimpse of heaven, encourage even the most tried soul?

How often when I was on the road, rushing from one city to another, trying to find the place where the people were starving or going to bed hungry, did I think of the Copenhagen lady who said that I could not travel in the Fatherland. How easily did I travel and how punctual were the trains! Only once was my train late at its destination, and then only ten minutes. How crowded the trains were! Half of the coaches were always reserved for the soldiers, and often there were so many soldiers that some had to be accommodated in the sections reserved for civilians.

Life in the cities appeared to be as usual, with the exception of the many soldiers whom one encountered at every step in the streets, in the cafés and restaurants, in the theaters, at the concerts, in the art museums, picture galleries, and churches. Soldiers, soldiers everywhere!

Involuntarily I asked myself a hundred times, "How is it possible to have this terrible fighting on such immense fronts with all these soldiers at home?" A boy of eighteen, six feet tall, broad-shouldered and strong, probably saw in my face the question why he was not at the front. He told me that he was ordered by the Government to help bring in the harvest. He had twice volunteered and had been refused, because the Government would no longer permit the men of his age to enlist as volunteers. His cousin, nineteen, had tried to enlist in over thirty-seven regiments; had traveled from one end of Germany to the other, all in vain ; they must wait, he said, until the Govern

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ment should call out the nineteen and eighteen-year-old classes. Thousands upon thousands of soldiers were called from the front, out of the trenches, to go home and help with the harvest.

At every railway station soldiers were coming and going. Such strong, sunburned faces ! I felt like thanking each one of them singly for fighting for the Fatherland; for keeping the enemy away from the fields rich with an abundant harvest; for defending the land of German Kultur, the home of music and the kindergarten, of universal old-age insurance and the Mutterschutz, of the municipal theaters and operas that offer to the poorest the richest gems and compositions of all nations, the land of the "cities beautiful," the state of the Greek ideal of "one for all."

Once, when the question that is in every one's heart was asked, "When will there be peace?" a soldier proudly raised his head and, firmly grounding his gun, replied with that strange, distant look, "Just as soon as we can obtain honorable conditions."

Again, as I sat in a forest inn built on a height that overlooked groves, meadows, and fields, a band of fourteen slightly wounded soldiers arrived. I sent word to mine host to treat them to anything they might desire, and, after a while, sat down among them, and we questioned each other. They had all been wounded in the Battle of the Somme. There were three barbers, a butcher, several day laborers, several factory hands, a locksmith, two sailors, and a chimney-sweep among them. They were quartered in the magnificent sanitarium at Nauheim, Germany's most celebrated watering-place, and were being fêted, as all the soldiers are. I asked them if they liked to be there. "Oh, yes," said one; "it is all right, but it is better at the front; we wish to return." They were of the same company. One of them had been buried three times by mine explosions. Another had been taken prisoner with twenty others and had been placed in the conduct of two black savages. It was late in the afternoon, and as darkness came on they had all managed to escape, hiding in woods and crawling for two days and nights on all fours, until at last they were back within the German lines.

It was interesting to hear them speak of their different enemies. They praised the Canadians and the French as brave and worthy foemen. They laughed at the idea that the English. could break through at the