The Chairman—I had been tempted to introduce the next speaker as a charter member of the organization of the Daughters of the American Revolution, but I was told by her that this would be considered antediluvian, so that I have not any right whatever to use the knowledge I possess. I have also been told by her friends, for I am sorry to say that until this meeting we had not known each other, that she is the personification of patriotism.
It gives me great pleasure to present to this audience the Honorary Vice-President-General of the Daughters of the American Revolution, Mrs. John R. Walker, of Kansas City, Mo.
Address, Mrs. John R. Walker
Mrs. Walker—Madam Chairman, and Ladies and Gentlemen: The term Conversation has become so all embracing, from the viewpoint of a Daughter of the American Revolution, it is as much a work of patriotism as that of our own great organization—the one dealing with the present and the future, the other with the past, the present and the future. The motto of the Daughters of the American Revolution is “Home and Country,” and so lofty is its ideal, so practical its work, it will be felt throughout all time, as will this broad, wise work of Conservation. The spirit of commercialism, of money worship, about in the land, is fast sapping the resources of our great country and begetting a selfishness that makes a willing sacrifice of the rightful heritage of future generations. It would seem in the order of things in this work of Conservation, that the men of our land should give special concern to its material needs, its lands, its waters, its mineral resources, and that the conservation of life should appeal as nothing else to woman, the transmitter of life—Life, a priceless boon. We protest against child labor—implore with all the tenderness, developed through mother love, to spare the child in the greed of money getting. Refuse the work of little hands, and little feet, in factories, mills, and mines, and out of your abundance make it possible for them, during the few short years of childhood, to enjoy the freedom of the bird and the butterfly, give them a memory of Nature’s blessed joys—God’s pure, sweet air; the wayside flower plucked at will, the willow-shaded stream, and all that the sweet breast of Nature offers so freely, without money and without price—to the child of poverty. The Daughters of the American Revolution are awakened to the realization that we, the home-makers, descendants of the woman of the spinning wheel, hold the destiny of a nation in our hands, that we must not only accept but consecrate ourselves to woman’s highest mission, the crowning glory of womanhood—guiding the young feet into right paths.
To give patriots to our country, we must rear patriots, train Americans for America. In our great work of patriotic education our aim is to train the youth of our land in good citizenship; teach them to battle for good laws and social conditions, and to be courageous in the fight, daring to do right in both the political and business world—thus honoring his birthright. The Daughters of the American Revolution have gathered the alien into the fold of the children of the republic, to make of them true Americans, do for them the best we know how; and many a lesson we can learn from them of thrift, industry and patience under discouragement. In my own State opportunity came to such men as Carl Schurz and Joseph Pulitzer, poor emigrants, who became pre-eminent in our country’s history. The privileges of the American woman go hand in hand with her responsibilities, in her zeal for home and country; she is pointing the way, realizing that our children have a great work before them, a great problem to solve.
The Jewish dramatist, Zangwill, says: “To think that the same great torch of liberty, which threw its light across all the broad seas and lands into my little garret in Russia, is shining also for all those other weeping millions of Europe, shining wherever men hunger, or are oppressed, shining over the starving villages of Italy and Ireland; over the swarming cities of Poland; over the ruined farms of Roumania; over the shambles of Russia. What is the glory of Rome and Jerusalem, where all races come to worship and look back, compared to the glory of America, where all races and nations came to labor and look forward.” America! great charity of God to the human race.
Conservation of life! As I stand before the shafts erected at Arlington and Richmond and read to the memory of sixteen thousand who fell in battle, to the memory of eight hundred unknown dead, my very soul cries out against war. Eight hundred unknown dead! Can you not see the long procession of anguished, broken-hearted mothers, waiting and watching—watching and waiting, and hoping? Our law makers oppose legislative measures advocating universal peace. How can they with our Civil War yet fresh in memory, the nations of the earth yet shuddering over the horrors of the war between Russia and Japan? The heart sickens at the memory of the undying hatred of the human heart; the blood thirst for blood in its brutal frenzy, sacrificing her young men—the hope of a nation—and all for what? One more island, perhaps, or insignificant kingdom. A war involving principle, as our Revolutionary War, hundreds of years afterward excites the most passionate interest and feeling; but wars for power, and possession, the world cries out against. The time has come to sheathe the sword and spare mankind. The vast expenditure of money for more destructive engines of warfare, for the slaughter of men, would go so far in our work for humanity, the helpless, the unfortunate, the struggling. War affects not only those who bear arms, but those who stay at home; the entire country is affected. War retards progress, paralyzes effort; ambition cannot feed a sorrow, hands are listless and lax when the heart is heavy. Mrs. Browning’s Italian mother wails: “Both boys dead, one of them shot by the sea in the East, and one of them shot in the West by the sea. Dead! both my boys. If your flag takes all heaven, with its white, green and red, for what end is it done, if we have not a son?”
On one occasion, a distinguished Confederate general was a guest at our table; he had fought from the beginning to the close of the Civil War. The little boy of the family gazed upon him with awe and admiration. To know and be close to a great soldier, one who had commanded armies and fought many battles, was indeed glory for a small boy. After gazing upon him long and steadily, he startled the assembled company by saying: “General, how many men have you killed?” We gasped in horror, wondering what the reply would be. Quickly the General responded, “I don’t know that I have killed any.”
We read “The Charge of the Light Brigade”; “Scots Who Ha’e Wi’ Wallace Bled,” and other stirring poems of war, and see only the glory of it. Death by shot and shell and sabre stroke is heroic; but the question of a little child startles us with the question of our individual responsibility; we are brought face to face with the words engraven on the tablets of stone, “Thou shalt not kill.”
Universal peace is no longer a dream. The peace court at The Hague is established, and marks an epoch in international law. Let us not cease in our efforts until the pressure of strong public sentiment becomes so compelling, legislation will be favorable. Our country is the beacon light; she stands for justice, for freedom, for God; she is the messenger of the Prince of Peace, is elected to proclaim with trumpet call, peace to all the nations of the earth and the islands of the sea.