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EDITORIAL NOTES

HE truth or falsity of the accusations of Italian atrocities in Tripoli will be established before these comments appear; but the evidence seems grave. It is necessary to make allowances for misunderstood conditions, for wilful and unwilful misinterpretations. War is not a drawingroom affair; it is a device in which men arrive at the truth and justice of a matter by butchering one another, and incidentally, women and children. Onlookers cannot always appreciate the actual conditions. An accusation may be made of violating the Red Cross, when it is merely a case of the retort discourteous to an impermissible stratagem. Again, fanaticism, or ignorance, or the sheer excess of bravery, may lead to what may well seem like wanton and unpardonable massacres. No responsible American, whether he condemns or tolerates Italy's attempt to secure Tripoli, will be ready to believe these accusations without convincing proof. There have been few campaigns in which such charges have not been made, by both contestants. It would seem incredible that Italy, posing as the apostle of civilization, should practise barbarities, under any provocation. If the charges are established, there will be another red blot in the stained annals of expansion. But with or without the excesses which may have been made possible by the Latin temperament, and the Arab and Turkish modes of resistance, the war has already begun to follow the usual routine. All is not over with the tumult and the shouting at the ports of embarkation. Dysentery and disease are waiting. The long monotony of entrenchments must have its place. The national debt must be duly magnified, and the national graveyard filled. And Italy may find that her little campaign of acquisition will cost her far more than she anticipated, in lives, in money, in reputation and in vanity. She has not been fortunate in her African experiments. There are ominous memories of Abyssinia and Adowa.

IT has been realized for some time that China was treading the path that Japan travelled with such astonishing speed

and adaptability; but it had not been realized that she had passed the half-way house, and the recent revolution came as a surprise to the casual observer of current events. It seems strange, perhaps, that the traditional home of impassivity should be invaded by the unrest and political principles of the foreign devils: but what Japan had done with success, Persia with hope and Turkey with reservations, China sooner or later was bound to attempt. Yet, while every movement toward freedom must be welcomed, it remains to be seen whether Western methods are entirely appropriate for Oriental countries. A parliament is not a machine that can be acquired by a single transaction, with a guarantee that it is in full working order. It requires a national habit and a national history before it becomes effective; and even then it is not necessarily the most satisfactory aid to good government that the wit of man could devise. But the art of constitution-making has languished since the passing of Sieyès; certainly it has not been carried to the highest, or even to a high, point of development, as medicine and war have been carried. The institutions of the Anglo-Saxon race have been adopted, with slight variations, as indispensable models for all constitutional Governments; and the results have sometimes been regrettable. It is the spirit more than the letter of the law which has chief value in democracies; and it would at least have been instructive if China had devised a more original and Oriental form to give expression to that spirit.

IT is curious but characteristic that Mr. Roosevelt should continue to talk mediævalism on the subject of arbitration. "It would be not merely foolish," he wrote recently, "but wicked for us as a nation to agree to arbitrate any dispute that affects our vital interest or our independence or our honor; because such an agreement would amount on our part to a covenant to abandon our duty, to an agreement to surrender the rights of the American people about unknown matters at unknown times in the future." In the first place, no question of independence can ever come up for discussion under the provisions of an arbitration treaty: the treaty in itself implies the existence and con

tinuance of the contracting parties as free and independent Powers. The term is used by Mr. Roosevelt merely to confuse the issue and to appeal to the very sentiment of unreasoning prejudice which has been responsible for so many of the world's wars. Of course, it might be argued that some minor issue-the acquisition or fortification of some strategic point, for instance -might so affect our offensive or defensive position as to be an important factor in the maintenance of independence. But every remote possibility can be distorted by the pessimist. What Mr. Roosevelt fails to see is that the world is growing. It still remains true that every treaty is as strong only as the force that guarantees it but the force of public opinion has already achieved reforms that all the horses and all the men of the ancient kings could never have carried out. The future of civilization is with an intelligent, reasoning democracy; with men and women who are moved by a desire for justice and a resolve that it shall be done, ruat Roosevelt. "Liberty, equality and fraternity" is not a mere phrase: it is the fundamental principle of the new order. No sensible citizen is particularly worried by the knowledge that there may have to be a little mutual forbearance in the settlement of "unknown matters at unknown times." And no reasonable man has any disquieting qualms at the idea of entrusting even matters affecting "the honor of the nation" to an impartial and dignified tribunal, in preference to an adjustment dictated by the excited and temporary clamor of press and public, before the mood of meditation has set in. There was a time when the suggestion that the earth was rotund rather than flat was received unkindly by the dogmatists, who imagined that the heavens would fall if science were permitted to walk without swaddling-clothes. But science has not merely learned to walk, and to walk uprightly. It has learned to fly; and Mr. Roosevelt must give wings to his imagination if he would keep pace with it. At present he is boring holes in the air, to survey the clouds of the future through opaque glasses. It is a very stupid and futile waste of energy. We may safely assume that there will be rain from time to time. But why not provide ourselves with an umbrella?

THE real danger is not in the acceptance of the principle of arbitration, however widely extended; or in any absurd quibbling about ways and means to retain for man his unamiable qualities of selfishness, suspicion, querulousness and resentment. It is

in a too early complacence and a failure to consider conditions dispassionately and in their due proportions. The most earnest believer in social progress and the reform of the burglar may well hesitate before he leaves his doors unlocked at night, especially if he has discarded his dog and his revolver. The American public has become so familiar with the idea of arbitration, and has agreed so thoroughly with the spirit of the movement, that it is a little inclined to confuse the expectation with the fact. Arbitration will not prevent wars, for some time to come: it will only minimize the possibility of wars between certain countries-in some cases to a negligible tenuity. But there have been few times when it was more important to place the defensive forces of the country on an adequate footing. This is no plea for mere militarism or for ruinous expenditure on armaments. It is a plea for common sense and reasonable care. Events march with swiftness in these hurried days, and at any moment the United States may be confronted with a situation of extreme gravity-all the more so in that she has not yet accepted those alliances of arbitration which would so enormously have strengthened her position. Has the War Department sufficiently considered how many men we have locked up in the Philippines? Has there been a reasonable accumulation of th essential munitions of war? Are we effectively equipped, no to bluster, but to meet an emergency?

MR. PULITZER, the late proprietor of the New York World, was not a great man; but his work, good and bad, will live after him. He achieved whatever degree of success he desired: yet success is not an infallible measure of men; it does not make a Lincoln or a Washington. Fortune is often ironically kind to narrow-mindedness or mediocrity: the prophet passes by unhonored, while the exploiter and the demagogue are acclaimed. Mr. Pulitzer was not a prophet, nor without honor; neither

was he mere exploiter or demagogue. He had perseverance, initiative and will-power, with that urgent desire to dominate others which is usually a sign of incomplete development. The greatest of his gifts was his faith in the ultimate common sense of the people: there were still waters beyond the froth or ripples. The worst of his faults was his belief in the mental venality of the people. He bribed the public with sensations. He pauperized intelligences.

It is true that he had strong and often just convictions; that he fought abuses and was without petty bias. But he was not a leader of men. He adopted the easiest way of the press and mistook his organizing power for creative genius. He has been widely applauded, and occasionally condemned, as the inventor of the new journalism. The new century will be old before it shakes off the effects of that unfortunate discovery.

THE young author has always been considered a peculiarly fit receptacle for advice, gratuitous or otherwise. It has been given to him with both hands, and occasionally with other instruments of conveyance. Sometimes it has been given to him with success. But too often he has transformed himself into a sieve, shaken perpetually by the "artistic" temperament, and with meshes too large to retain even the solid fragments of common sense. It is natural for the young to think that they are exceptional: they often are. It is natural for them to omit to apply to themselves the standards with which they measure other men. It is natural for them, if they fail to gain publicity, to blame incompetent editors and undiscerning publishers. But even a few platitudes, taken in time, may assist the literary digestion, disordered by a surfeit of epigrams. If you think you are a genius, don't be discouraged. There are ten thousand other men thinking the same thing, at the same moment, and at all moments. There are also several women whose intuition brings them to the same conclusion. Probably many of them are right. There is a demand for genius, and nature, instructed in economic laws, arranges for an adequate supply. Don't distrust yourself; but don't take yourself for granted. It requires