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havo boon quoted over and over again in this
country by tho advocates of tho system:
Wo no longer consider it desirable to drivo
tho mother (widowed or deserted and needy)
out to her charing work if wo possibly can avoid
it, nor do wo consider her degraded by receiving
public money. Wo cease, in fact, to regard the
public money as a dolo; wo treat it as a payment
for a civic service; and tho condition we are in
clined to exact is precisely that she should not
endeavor to add to it by earning wages, but
rather that she should keep her homo rcspect
ublo and bring up her children in health and
happiness. Hitherto she has been
regardod as an object of charity. It has been a
mattor for tho benevolent to help her retain
her home, while it has been regarded as her
duty to keep "off the rates" at no matter what
expenditure of labor away from home.
If wo take In earnest all that we say of the du
ties and responsibilities of motherhood, we shall
recognize that the mother of young children is
doing bettor service to the community and one
more worthy of pecuniary remuneration when
sho stayB at home and minds her children than
when sho goes out charing and leaves them to
tho chances of the street or tho care of a
neighbor.
On the financial side it is claimed by the advo
cates of mothers' or children's pensions that,
considering all tho factors of tho problem, the
system will cost, no more in the long run than
doos tho present method of institutional caro
and aid from private charitable organizations.
Judge Plckncy, of the Chicago juvenile court,
who was one of those who urged the passage of
tho Illinois law, lately said in regard to its prac
tical working:
The act is economical. Tho economy of its
present practice in Illinois has been clearly
demonstrated. Take a widowed mother and
her group of six little ones throe girls and
throe boys. Even aftor you eliminate the
mother and her future welfare from your con
sideration you will find that the amount of
money demanded by institutions for their caro
and custody is nearly double that required to
rear these children in their own homes. Tho
expense of maintaining this family group of six
in institutions is $75 per month. It must be
conceded that these children, including the
mother, can be supported at home at a much
smaller monthly expenditure.
In Missouri, which now comes forward to
"show," after having for so long demanded to
be "shown" in other matters, a "widows' allow
ance" has been in operation for tho last two
years. Tho state had previously been spending
moro than $1,000,000 for tho institutional care
of children. So far, under tho new law, figures
show the cost to be not more than half that
amount.
In Now York city, under tho present method,
tho city pays $2.25 per week for each child cared
for by an institution and $2.75 a week when it
is cared for on tho cottage plan. In addition,
35 cents a week is allowed for education, and it
is now proposed to add as much more for in
dustrial training. This brings tho total of the
sum paid by the state per child to moro than tho
amount allowed by the pension system. If a
needy widow, In New York city, for instance,
has five children which must bo sent to an in
stitution because sho can no longer keep her
homo together for their support or education, tho
city will pay $58 per month. Under the new
law in Ohio, which makes more generous pro
vision than do some other states, their support
at homo with their mother will cost the public
but $43.
When tho Levy bill was under consideration
much opposition was oxpressed to it by some of
tho charitable organizations, on tho ground that
it was not needed, that tho private organiza
tions already In tho field were amply able to take
caro of all such cases. Somo social workers de
clared, also, that nearly all such measures would
hamper their efforts to "give all women a more
dignified, better organized, better safeguarded
industrial status." In fact, opposition to tho
plan of state funds for needy widowed mothers
has been voiced strongly, by privato charity or
ganizations in several largo cities; they declare
that the resources of private charity are so largo
that they aro adequate to meet all needs, and
that for tho stato to interfere will result merely
in tho muddling up of the whole matter and
tho duplication of effort and expense. To these
Mr. Hard made answer that they "would improve
tho situation by whipping up tho business man
in his capacity as philanthropist. I would whip
up that same man in his capacity of taxpayer
From his own standpoint, incidentally, and for
The Commoner.
the good of his own soul, since he has to pay
the bill anyway, and ought to pay it, I wo ,uld
have him do so in the manner least calculated
to tempt him toward thinking that he is per
forming an act of moral grandeur when he s
really performing an act of elementary civic
routine." . . .. ,.
Robert W. Hebberd, secretary of the state
board of charities, endeavored to placate the
private organizations by showing how they could
co-operate with the state by furnishing that su
pervision and that teaching in better ways of
living that many such aided families would
need. In Chicago it has been found that a regu
lar income coming, as it were, like manna from
the sky, is apt to lead the pensioned ones into
habits of extravagance. The general knowledge
that they are sure of this income makes it easy
for thorn to get credit, and the greater portion
of them run behind in tlieir expenditures any
where from $2 to $24 per month. Mr. Heb
berd thinks that if a pension law should be
passed in this state, both tho public funds
and the private efforts of the existing organiza
tions would have plenty of opportunity, the one
by affording the necessary financial help and the
other by furnishing instruction and advice.
HOW STONEWALL JACKSON DIED
Stonewall Jackson, who, next to Lee, was
perhaps the most distinguished general of the
confederacy, died fifty years ago, May 10, as
tho result of wounds received at the Battle of
Chancellorsville, May 2, 1863. In tho con
fusion of the battle and falling dusk he was
shot down by southern troops. The story is
graphically told by Mary Johnston in her novel,
"The Long Roll."
The moon was coming up. She silvered the
wilderness about Dowdall's tavern. She made
a pallor around the group of staff and field
officers gathered beside the road. Her light
glinted on Stonewall Jackson's saber and on the
worn braid of the old forage cap.
The clamor about Chancellorsville, where, in
hot haste, Hooker, made dispositions, streamed
east and west, meeting and blending with, west
ward, a like distraction of forming commands,
of battle lines made in the darkness among
thickets. The moon was high, but not observed.
Behind him Captain Wilbourne of the signal
corps, two aides and several couriers, Jackson
rode along tho plank road.
There was a regiment drawn across this way
through the wilderness, on the road and in the
woods, on either hand. In places in the wilder
ness the scrub that fearfully burned the next
day and the next was even now afire; and gave,
though uncertainly and dimly a certain illumi
nation. By it the regiment was perceived. It
seemed composed of tall and shadowy men.
"What troops are these?" asked the general.
"Lane's North Carolinians, sir, the Eigh
teenth." As he passed the regiment started to cheer,
lie shook his head.
"Don't men. We want quiet now."
A few hundred yards from Chancellors
ville he checked Little Sorrel. The horse stood,
fore feet planted. Horse and rider, they stood
and listened. Hooker's reserves were up.
About the Chancellor house, on the Chancellors
ville ridge, they were throwing up intrench
ments. They were digging the earth with
bayonets, they were heaping it up with their
hands.
Turning Little Sorrel, he rode back along the
plank road toward his own lines. The light of
the burning brush had sunken. The cannon
smoko floating in the air, the very thick woods,
made all things obscure.
Stonewall Jackson came toward the Caro
linians. He rode quickly past the dark shell of
a house sunken among the pines. There were
with him seven or eight persons. The horses'
hoofs made a trampling on the plank road. The
woods were deep, the obscurity great. Sud
denly out of tho brush rang a shot, an accident
ally discharged rifle. Some gray soldiers among
Lanes tensely awaiting ranks spoke from the
CO??r.of,S feflxl dream; "Yankee cavalry!"
NorS'caroJtal!4 M f the D1"""tli
The volley, striking diagonally across tho
road, emptied several saddles. Stonewall Jack
son, the aids and Wilbourne wheeled to the
left, dug spur and would have plunged int6 Jim
road. "Fire!" said the CaroliniansT dressed to
the left of the road, and fired. ?
Little Sorrel, maddened, dashed 'into the
wood. An oak bough struck his rider aim nit
bearing him from the saddle. TOh his Hght
hand, from which tho blood was streaming, in
VOLUME 13, NUMBER 23
which a bullet was imbedded, he cauht n,
bridle, managed to turn the agonized Ur
into the road again. There seemed a 2
sound, a confusion of voices. Sonieono Z
stopped the firing. "My God, men! Yon aS
firing into us!" In the road were the aid
They caught the rein, stopped the horse vn
bourne put up his arms. "General! General!
you- are not hurt? Hold there! Morrison
Leigh!" "
They laid him on the ground beneath the
pines and they fired the brushwood for a light
One rode off for Doctor McGuire and another
with a penknife cut away the sleeve from the
left arm, through which had gone two bullets
A mounted man came at a gallop and threw
himself from his horse. It was A, P. Hill.
"General, General! You are not much hurt'"
"Yes, I think I am," said Stonewall Jackson.
"And my wounds are from my own men."
The aides lifted the wounded general. "No
one," said HilL "must tell the troops who ?as
wounded. rne other opened his eyes. "Tell
them simply that you have a wounded officer.
General Hill, you aro in command now. Press
right on."
A litter was found and brought and Stone
wall Jackson was laid upon it. The little pro
cession moved toward Dowdaiys tavern. A shot
pierced the arm of one of the bearers, loosen
ing his hold of the litter. It tilted. Tho general
fell heavily to the ground, injuring afresh the
wounded limb, striking and bruising his side.
They raised him, pale now and silent, and at
last they struggled through the wood to a little
clearing.
On May 5 Stonewall Jackson was carefully
moved from tho wilderness to Guiney's station.
Here was a large old residence the Chandler
house within a sweep of grass and trees;
about it one or two small buildings. The great
house was filled, crowded to its doors with
wounded soldiers, so they laid Stonewall Jack
son in a rude cabin among the trees. Tho
left arm had been amputated in the field hos
pital. He was thought to be doing well. At
daylight on Thursday he had his physician
called. "I am suffering great pain," he said.
"See what is the matter with me." And pres
ently, "Is it pneumonia?"
That afternoon his wife came. He was
aroused to speak to her, greet her with love,
then sank into something like stupor. There
were times when he was slightly delirious. He
gave orders in a shadow of the old voice. "You
must hold out a little longer, men; you must
hold out a little longer! Press forward press
forward press forward! Give them canister,
Major Pelham!"
Sunday, the 10th, dawned. It was sunny
weather, fair and sweet, with all the bloom ol
May, the bright trees waving, the long grass
rippling, waters flowing, the sky azure, bees
about the flowers, the birds singing piercingly
sweet, Mother Earth so beautiful, the sky down
bending, the light of the sun so gracious, warm
and vital f . ..
A little before noon, kneeling beside him, nis
wife told Stonewall Jackson that he would die.
He smiled and laid hiB hand upon her howeu
head.
"You are frightened, my child. Death is not
so near. I may get well." . ,,,
The doctor came to him. "Doctor, Anna tens
me that I am to die today. Is it so?"
"Oh, general, general! It is so."
He lay. silent a moment, then he said: f
"Very good, very good! It is all right.
Throughout the day his mind was now
clouded, now clear. The alternate ole,aF,,"
ments and the lapses into stupor or del iriui
were like the sinking or rising of a firouB
swimmer, exhausted at last, the prey at iasi
a shoreless sea. At times he came beau uu
shoulders out of tho sea, opened his grey
eyes upon his staff. The sea drew him uuu
again. ,T iay
The day drew on to afternoon. ? J'
straight upon the bed, silent for the most . in j
but now and then wandering a little. fte
bowed herself beside him; in a corner wepi .
old man, Jim. Outside the windows w
seemed a hush as of death. nr(iprel
"Pass the infantry to the .front! oru
Stonewall Jackson. "Tell A. P. Hill toPjeP
for action!" the voice sank; there cBme cry,
silence; there was only heard tho ia 7,me in
ing in the corner. Then for the last u big
this phase of being the great soldier open e .
eyes. In a moment he spoke, in a vei
and calm voice. "Lot us cross over io
and rest under the shade of the trees.
- Houston (Texas) Post.
iromr
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