To sum up, then, our position is, after all, simple. We believe that the government should concern itself chiefly with the matters that are of most importance to the average man and average woman, and that it should be its special province to aid in making the conditions of life easier for these ordinary men and ordinary women, who compose the great bulk of our people. To this end we believe that the people should have direct control over their own governmental agencies; and that when this control has been secured, it should be used with resolution, but with sanity and self-restraint, in the effort to make conditions of life and labor a little easier, a little fairer and better for the men and women of the nation. [1] Copyright, 1913, by The Century Co. All rights reserved. The republication of this article, either in whole or in part, is expressly prohibited, except through special arrangement with The Century Co. [Illustration: Half-tone plate engraved by C. W. Chadwick ALPHONSE DAUDET A PORTRAIT SKETCH, DRAWN FROM THE LIFE, BY JOHN ALEXANDER] “DEY AIN’T NO GHOSTS” BY ELLIS PARKER BUTLER Author of “Pigs is Pigs,” “Long Sam ’Takes Out,’” etc. WITH PICTURES BY CHARLES SARKA Once ’pon a time dey was a li’l’ black boy whut he name was Mose. An’ whin he come erlong to be ’bout knee-high to a mewel, he ’gin to git powerful ’fraid ob ghosts, ’ca’se dat am sure a mighty ghostly location whut he lib’ in, ’ca’se dey’s a grabeyard in de hollow, an’ a buryin’-ground on de hill, an’ a cemuntary in betwixt an’ between, an’ dey ain’t nuffin’ but trees nowhar excipt in de clearin’ by de shanty an’ down de hollow whar de pumpkin-patch am. An’ whin de night come’ erlong, dey ain’t no sounds _at_ all whut kin be heard in dat locality but de rain-doves, whut mourn out, “Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!” jes dat trembulous _an’_ scary, an’ de owls, whut mourn out, “Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!” more trembulous an’ scary dan dat, an’ de wind, whut mourn out, “You-_you_-o-o-o!” mos’ scandalous’ trembulous an’ scary ob all. Dat a powerful onpleasant locality for a li’l’ black boy whut he name was Mose. ’Ca’se dat li’l’ black boy he so specially black he can’t be seen in de dark _at_ all ’cept by de whites ob he eyes. So whin he go’ outen de house _at_ night, he ain’t dast shut he eyes, ’ca’se den ain’t nobody can see him in de least. He jes as invidsible as nuffin’. An’ who know’ but whut a great, big ghost bump right into him ’ca’se it can’t see him? An’ dat shore w’u’d scare dat li’l’ black boy powerful’ bad, ’ca’se yever’body knows whut a cold, damp pussonality a ghost is.