has been rendered, to say: In my opinion, it encroaches on States' rights. It is a fearful doctrine which has been preached to us, this doctrine of disregarding the Constitution under the claim of States' rights. It feeds lawlessness as the poison of the swamp feeds the germs of disease. It is a libel on the whole theory of the American Union. It is an indictment of the whole superb scheme of 1789.

2

There is a well-organized movement in this country against a class of people who, it is said, are unfriendly to our form of Government and our Constitution, a class of people who are designated as Reds and Radicals. Those who are uneasy about the rights of property as guaranteed by the Constitution, are greatly interested in this work. They have a thorough organization dealing with the subjects of anarchy, Communism and Bolshevism, and those things which they feel undermine our Government and destroy the stability of our institutions. I thoroughly sympathize with their desires to inculcate respect for and loyalty to our institutions. I think you cannot spend too much time in educating the American people in the worth of the institutions under which we live and of the value of our form of government. A man who comes to our shores and openly defies our Constitution, is a most unworthy creature. But he is not so reprehensible, so much to be criticized, it seems to me, as the man who has been reared in this country, who has had an opportunity to know the beneficent worth of our institutions, who has witnessed the value through all these years of the law under which our

Government lives, and who still disregards or defies some particular provision or amendment because it runs counter to his personal interests or personal views or personal vices. Let me say here not all of them, of course, but many of those people of property, many of those who are much agitated over the question of foreign propaganda and its undermining effect on our Constitution, are the most pronounced, insistent, and persistent violators of the Eighteenth Amendment to the Constitution. The hotbed, the scouting, noisy rendezvous of lawlessness, of cynical defiance to the Eighteenth Amendment, is among those of social standing, of large property interests, and in the wealthier homes. Without their patronage, their protection, and their example, the bootlegger could easily be brought within the control of the law. I repeat again, I am thoroughly in sympathy with their anxiety over foreign influence on the Constitution, but I must say in all sincerity that just to the extent that they undermine respect for the Constitution, respect for law, by the lives which they lead and the examples which they set and by the influence which they exert against the Eighteenth Amendment, just in that proportion, to that extent, they are also undermining those provisions of the Constitution which protect property. The Eighteenth Amendment is in the Constitution by the same authority as the Fifth Amendment, which throws its protection around life around life and property. The undermining of one undermines the other. The Eighteenth Amendment is in the Constitution by the same authority and with the

same sanctity as the Fourteenth Amendment, which stands between the State and the property-holder against all assaults by the State. That which undermines the Eighteenth Amendment undermines the Fourteenth Amendment. The Red sits in his darkly lighted room, around his poorly laden table, and denounces the provisions of the Constitution placed there to protect property. The "white" sits in his brilliantly lighted room about his richly laden table and defies or denounces the provisions of the Constitution placed there in the belief they would protect the home. I leave it to all good citizens whether it is not true that both are traveling the road of lawlessness, both sowing the seeds of destruction, both undermining the whole fabric of law and order.

Let these people of influence who insist on satisfying their appetites against the expressed will of the American people, understand that they cannot have their property secure, that they cannot have their homes safe, that they cannot protect their wealth and those things which they deeply cherish, if they continue by their examples and by their precepts to sow the seeds of lawlessness throughout the United States.

We all know from a review of history that lawlessness is the insidious disease of republics. It is the one great malady against which every true patriot will ever be on guard. It is but a short step from the lawlessness of the man of means who scouts some part of the fundamental law because forsooth it runs counter to his wishes, to the soldier who may be called into the street to protect property, but who, taking counsel of his

sympathies, fraternizes with the mob. The great question, therefore, before the American people now is, not that of prohibition, because that as a policy, has been settled. The supreme question is: after we have determined as a people on prohibition, whether we have the moral courage, the high determination, and the unwavering purpose to enforce that which we have written into the Constitution.

In these anxious days, almost every one has a plan or a scheme for the betterment of conditions-for the adjustment, or readjustment, of things which seem so strangely, so persistently, out of joint. But if I were going to inscribe a banner under which to arouse the dispirited and discouraged millions of brave and loyal citizens, I should precede all other inscriptions, plans, and pledges with that of obedience to law because it is law. There are hundreds and thousands of people, with the number daily increasing, who would like to feel safe in their persons, safe in their work-shops and homes, who would like to feel that justice can be administered and laws enforced, and that the provisions of our Constitution which protect property are no more sacred than the provisions which protect human rights and moral values. What shall it profit that leaders have planned and patriots have striven and sacrificed through all these years if we have come at last to the fearful, accursed creed that constitutions are to be disregarded, laws to be evaded or defied, and, finally, that we are to accept and put in practise the vicious and destructive and savage rule that every man is a law unto himself?

The bed-rock, the granite formation, upon which great civilizations and powerful governments are built, is obedience to the law. That is the beginning and the end of all good government. Without it we cannot hope for happiness and prosperity at home nor for prestige and power abroad. We have arrived at the time when we can afford to, when indeed we must, invoke the old virtues, appeal again to the simple precepts of government, and make obedience to law a cardinal tenet of our political faith. We do not need a new faith. We need the simplicity, the directness, and the self-surrender of the old.

Throughout the land we need to preach the creed of Washington, Jefferson, Jackson and Lincoln with a tongue of fire. We need to have constitutional morality declared as was the Gospel of old to the high and to the low, for against this neither "things present nor things to come shall prevail." You can no more leave behind the fundamental principles of right and justice, of respect for and obedience to law, without paying the frightful penalty, than can a people, however high and strong in their material power, abandon the simple pronouncements of Sinai without sinking into utter degradation.

W

ARMTH of the summer afternoon lay upon him like soft silk coverings, and small dancing winds brought fragrances, pouring them about for his delight; the faint smell of salt from the south marshes, and cut grass from the lawn and roses from the moon-bowl on the terrace table. He was lulled by the hum and buzz of summer insects, and he swung the hammock drowsily as he read. Odysseus was in the hall of Circe, and her four handmaidens, they that were "born of the wells and of the woods and of the holy rivers that flow forward into the salt sea,' were serving them. "Of these one cast upon the chairs goodly coverlets of purple above, and spread a linen cloth thereunder. And, lo, another drew up silver tables to the chairs, and thereon set for them golden baskets. And a third mixed honeyhearted wine in a silver bowl and set out cups of gold."

He was there himself in the halls of Circe, in that place with the "wide prospect"; and the walls of his mother's house of stucco and timber were gone, and there instead were walls of polished stone. And the wicker chairs of the terrace were silver, and the magazines on the table, with the wind idly flapping their pages as though trying to see if they held anything worth reading, were no longer magazines, but, miraculously, bas

kets and goblets of gold. And the warm and somewhat melted "choc'late ammon' bar" he himself was eating was sweet honey-hearted wine and wheaten bread.

A cold nose poked itself into his hand, and for a second it was the snout of one of his enchanted companions; then, with a bark, it became the small black muzzle of Jock the terrier, Scot to the tip of his plumy tail. Shouts and tumult rent the spell of silence, and a whirl of lithe blue bodies and brown arms and legs burst from the house, slammed the screen door, leaped upon Derek's back, and resolved itself into Sonia and Charley, his young brother and sister just released from French.

"C'm on and be a brigand with us, Derek," Charley panted. "We're going to hide in the syringa-bush and shoot up some of the guys who come for tea and lift their jewels."

"No, no, not for tea, Charley, you poor cheese," Sonia objected. "Later on we said, don't you know, at night. It'll be more exciting. C'mon Derek, be a sport."

She draped herself over an end of the hammock, and her black bobbed hair swept the pages of Derek's book. The edge of the hammock must have severed her nearly in two, but she betrayed no inconvenience. And Charley bounced up and down on Derek's back shouting vehemently:

peace by licking any face that came within tongue's reach. Then Derek,

"Cheer for Princeton, Cheer for Yale,

"Why don't you cut out that rough line of talk," Derek growled; "cat's pajamas isn't girls' talk." At sixteen one may be an idealist about girls.

"Don't be an old grandpa," she retorted. "The syringa-bush'll make a swell brigands' cave."

"Forget it. Brigands are rotten things, and you kids have no business reading the papers and getting fool ideas in your beans. Charley, that's my back, old son. I'm no springboard. Cut it out, will you?" They struggled, grunting and panting, Derek playing the unwilling rôle of bronco, Charley digging knees and knuckles into his back. Amid the plungings the remains of the "choc'late ammon' bar" were ground into a lemon-colored cushion, and Sonia aided the fray by swinging the hammock high and wildly, and taking up Charley's refrain:

"Cheer for Princeton,
Cheer for Yale."

While Jock, his literal soul always worried by signs of strife and tumult, barked shrilly and strove to establish

over upon the floor, and a thud and siren yells ensued, amid Sonia's protesting, in loud vituperation against Derek's brutality.

For a second Derek lay on his back in the hammock panting, strangely exhausted, wondering why he had so little wind this summer, why he was as tired as if he'd run the half-mile, and only after a rough-house with a kid. But Charley, at nine years old, had no business to yell like that.

"Shut up," Derek ordered gruffly. "Gosh, can't you stand anything?”

And then, of course, somebody had to come out and spoil everything— the worst possible person, too, their stepfather, nervous and annoyed.

"What's the matter here? What's the matter here? Is Charley hurt?"

"He threw me on the floor and nearly broke my wrist," Charley bellowed.

"What a gyp!" Derek growled, disgusted at such perfidy of tale-bearing. "It was only a rough-house."

But his stepfather's eyes stared at him as understandingly as brown glass globules. "I suppose sometime you will develop out of the Neolithic period, Derek. For the present, Charley, we must all suffer from your brother's barbaric urges." And the man gave an involuntary glance around as if looking for an audience to applaud his brilliant remark. He always did it, Derek had noticed, after he'd said something unusually clever and ironic. "What is that disgusting brown stain on the cushion?"

Foolish to feel so frightened about a simple question; nor did Derek see how a brown stain could be his fault,