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lovely work was finished. These unpublished verses are sent us by her husband. 'Home' to Mary Lucia Bierce Fuller is India, for there she was born and brought up, eventually becoming a missionary. For the sake of exactitude she tells us that 'Pathan' is pronounced 'putt-hahn'; that 'Wilayat,' often pronounced 'Bilayat,' is the mother of 'Blighty,' whose father, of course, is Tommy Atkins (it means 'capital' or 'governing country'); that ‘ghi' is unsalted butter with all the water and buttermilk boiled out of it; and that Mohammedans have not as a whole any color prejudice. Mrs. George Ticknor was the wife of the American Ambassador to Spain and sister-in-law of the first publisher of the Atlantic. Her stately idea of 'how things should be' will startle many a modern traveler. A former Congregationalist minister of Boston, Albert Rhys Williams now makes his residence in Moscow. Having known personally and well both Lenin and Trotsky, and having witnessed the Revolution with his own eyes, Mr. Williams has been invited by the Soviet Government to assist in the making of the spectacular motion picture of the 1917 revolt. Fannie Stearns Gifford sends us her rhymes from a stimulating seclusion in the Massachusetts hill country. Justin Wroe Nixon is minister of the Brick Presbyterian Church of Rochester. Captain B. H. Liddell Hart is an English military critic of the first rank, the able successor of Colonel Repington of the London Telegraph. The perspective of the postwar years and the publication of innumerable documents and memoirs have afforded Captain Hart the materials for a series of considered judgments on the Great Reputations of the World War.

Well schooled in his subject, the writer of 'Our Mexican Mistake' has held official positions at Washington, and has come to be a recognized authority on various aspects of our Latin American relations. J. O. P. Bland, a realistic political philosopher, is a veteran student and writer of Oriental affairs. For years he was Secretary to the Municipality for the Foreign Settlements in Shanghai and representative in China of the

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In Miami, Florida, the writer purchased seven railway tickets, also Pullman accommodations, consisting of one drawing-room and four berths in Car #220 leaving Miami Saturday morning, May 14, at 9.30 A.M. for Cleveland, Ohio, the car being one of several for various destinations and in charge of Pullman conductor W. Walsh.

My party consisted of five elderly people, with a nurse and a family colored servant.

The Pullman conductor collected the tickets as usual and a half hour later notified me that our 'nigger' would have to ride in the Jim Crow car, meaning a day coach set aside for colored people. I did not comply with this request, but respectfully asked the colored servant to occupy a seat in our private drawing-room, which was done, and was satisfied in my own mind that I was clearly within my legal rights in doing so. At Palm Beach a telegram was dispatched to the sheriff at Fort Pierce. At Fort Pierce the sheriff boarded the train, leaving a deputy outside. The sheriff came directly to drawing-room A, and after pounding on the door, which I readily opened, in a sonorous Southern dialect demanded a nigger that was riding with white people; without removing his big wool hat, he said that we of the North could associate with niggers, but it was against the laws of the Commonwealth of Florida to do so.

His presence and language struck terror to the hearts of the ladies, and our mother, who is eighty-six years old, was made quite ill. Not wanting any further disturbance, I put the servant in the toilet of the drawing-room; the sheriff satisfied himself that the nigger had escaped, and left the car. The train pulled out, and we arrived at our destination without further molestation. Now this is what hurts:

If the carrying of a colored servant with you

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I have just read with almost complete approval 'The Revolt of a Middle-Aged Father' in your May issue. I am a high-school teacher approaching middle age.

I wish to say a word about the present tendency, in California at any rate, to give four years of secondary-school instruction, mostly academic, to substantially all children. The law, the desire of pupils to avoid work, the desire of parents to do for their children what is expected of them, and especially the herd instinct, combine to fill our classes in language, literature, history, science, and mathematics with young people who derive a negligible benefit from academic training. I have no complaint against these boys and girls. They are usually as good and sometimes as clever, and are likely to be as successful in life, as those other young people who have taste for study. Nevertheless, the former pupils and they are the great majority-constitute a serious problem. For cultural values cannot be forced. The resulting economic waste school equipment, teachers' salaries, the idleness of so many grown boys, and the sacrifices of parentsis the least of the evils. More important are the habits of idleness acquired in this formative period. Most important is the detriment to our culture, which we must pass on through association to future generations. That any considerable intellectual interest can survive under conditions which prevail in Western high schools is beyond my comprehension.


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'embraces some understanding of the ego's relationship to the universe . . . that this general education is obtained in our colleges by only an infinitesimal proportion of students; that the effort to obtain it is not even encouraged either by the college or the student body; and that no one who possesses this much-desired culture - I am thinking of something much more substantial than the mere polish of a gentleman - has obtained it during the specified four years of college' is a formidable indictment. Can it be refuted?

I have been in colleges as student and teacher for more than twenty years and I cannot seriously question what Dr. Rubinow says here, and the whole of his analysis seems to me proof against successful attack. The part I have quoted is crucial. Touching this we must in fairness ask: Granting that no one who possesses culture obtained it during the college course, were not many given effective aids to culture in college? Would they all or nearly all have done equally well without the college? Is it possible to find a technique of selection and competent selectors to dismiss from college not only those who fail to make the rather easily made passing grades but also those who are obviously only taking vacation in college? Or is the conclusion inevitable that organized, formal, general educational curricula are by nature impossible or needless?

Dr. Rubinow suggests one thing: abolish the A.B., S.B., and the Ph.B. degrees. Could n't that at least be tried? Sound the call from coast to coast. Might the removal of a promise of a label that 'stands for nothing of definite intellectual or cultural value' constitute a good instrument for the separation of the vacationists from the vocationists and the inquirers after the way of life? W. P. CLARK Professor of Greek and Latin

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Each in his degree.

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DEAR ATLANTIC, Dr. Rubinow in his article in the May Atlantic would abolish the A.B. degree. Why abolish a thing that gives pleasure and does no harm? Why not reorganize and reform these academic honors? My plan would be as follows. At birth the doctor would confer on the infant the degree of A.B. (a boy) or A.G. (a girl) as the case required, in this way democratizing education at once. Intermediate degrees I would leave to the school authorities, such as C.E. (craps expert), B.S. (balmy smoker), F.R.S. (fancy roller skater). The important degrees would be awarded by the college entrance examination board on taking the examinations and would be M.A. (made all), M.S. (made some), and the


new and attractive T.O. (tried one). These degrees would entitle the holders to wear decorated slickers, compete in sports, edit college papers, join fraternities, and, after a reasonable interval, any reputable university club. The degrees to be conferred by the colleges and universities themselves would be based on the text, 'Give and it shall be given unto you,' and for this purpose Latin numerals would be used, not as the Romans used them, that might be difficult for some executives, but in any order that pleased the recipient. Thus L.L.D. would represent a contribution of $50+$50+$500 to the endowment fund, D.C.L. $500+$100+$50; the combinations are practically inexhaustible and most impressive, as D.D.C.C.M.M.= $3200. Ph.D. is troublesome, but, as that degree is sought almost exclusively by teachers with light purses, it might be freely rendered 'phew dollars' and conferred for very small contributions indeed. Thus, everybody having a degree, those who cared to study could do so in peace. WM. H. LLOYD

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The origin of foreign settlements.


DEAR ATLANTIC, On my return from a winter spent in China after four years of absence, I have read with quickened interest the remarkable article in your April number by H. H. Powers, 'Amenities and Responsibilities.'

No analysis of the Chinese situation which I happen to have seen is one half so clear or so well-balanced. I would commend it to the deep attention of the reading public not only in America and Europe but in China; and especially would I commend it to the careful perusal of young men and women in China.

There are, however, several important points which Mr. Powers has failed to emphasize. He says: "The trader had no rights and found no body of law or custom to regulate his dealings with the people. More fundamental still, he found the physical conditions of life such as he could not accept. Mr. Powers does not explain that, firstly, foreign traders were forced, by the Chinese authorities, to live a segregated life in groups under direct control of their managers or chiefs, who were entirely responsible for the good behavior of the individuals, a responsibility which later devolved upon the Consul; secondly, that the foreigners were not allowed to leave their compounds except under guard; and thirdly, that the 'settlements' system was largely the outcome of this arrangement which, to repeat myself, was enforced by China.


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Our English teacher has asked us to write our opinion of the series of letters written by Hilda Rose.

I cannot believe that this story is true, for if the author were the educated person she claims to be and had associated for eleven years with only the old man whom she described as an aristocrat and who enjoyed reading 'Bobbie Burns' she would not have made such a grammatical error as 'I and the school-teacher' in her letter. I can see how her vocabulary might become limited, but when she was the boy's teacher she would not have allowed herself to get in the habit of making such flagrant mistakes.

If the account is true I consider Hilda Rose a very impractical person, for if she had once been the good teacher, she claims to be, she could have secured a position teaching a rural school; Daddy and Boy could still have had the advantages of a farm, and she could have made a better living for them without performing the manual toil she claims to be performing. I feel sorry and do all I can to help anyone who is unfortunate and who is trying to the best of his ability but I have no sympathy for such poverty as this.

Again, Hilda Rose has failed in my mind, in another respect. She does not realize her responsibility to her child. She owes Boy something as well as Daddy. When she moved to Canada to please her husband she deprived her son of a chance to go to school. She admits that if the only other white settlers' girl were her daughter she would not allow her to marry the half-breed, yet she is raising her son in the same environment. A Dubious Reader,



I have found "The Stump Farm' By Hilda Rose very interesting for several different reasons, the chief one being because I am sure my own mother is having the same, or very nearly the same struggle for bread and butter that Mrs. Rose is having.

Our home consists of six hundred and nine acres situated on the bank of the Snake River. The largest part of this land is composed of a golden sand loam, very rich and fertile provided the supply of water is plentiful, but without water, it refuses to grow vegitation to any great extent on account of the hot July and August sun which raises the mercury to about one hundred and four in the shade, burning the tender green plants to a crisp brown.

Seventeen years ago, my father and mother moved into the little tumbled down shack on the bank of the river. The roof was moss covered and made a good sieve when it rained. We are still living in the same old shack to-day-only we are renters now, and then we were owners.

Father hoping to improve the place into a paying proposition put a heavy mortgage on the land in order to get a good water wheel installed for irrigation. The water wheel system was a failure and so we lost the place.

Father is now in his seventies and getting quite feeble while mother is only in the fourties, in good health and trying to make a living on that heap of sand.

After we lost the place, mother refused to give it up; instead she rented it. That was two or three years ago, now she is planning on buying it back. How she ever expects to pay for it with no money to start on is more than I can figure out; or how anyone could have the vitality to ever hope to buy it back after working and struggling as she has is beyond my comprehension. She works in the field with a plow, doing as much work there as a man; then besides this she does all of the house work and manages somehow to keep me in school.

She says, 'It's a home, and if we leave this one there may never be another to cover your Father in his old age.'

As the saying goes: 'Every clowd has its silver lining' so maybe Mrs. Rose and Mother will have their streak of good luck and find a gold mine or an oil well on their respective farms this spring. I sincerely hope that something turns up in their favor, for two people with the determined and never weakening spirit which they have should never die of poverty.


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'A World of Dreams,' by M. M. W., in the May Atlantic, almost made me long for another attack of typhoid.

About fifteen years ago I was hustled to the Presbyterian Hospital in New York and promptly after arrival went into unconsciousness, remaining in that happy state for three weeks. In sounding out my nurse while convalescent, she told me there were a few days when if I had opened my eyes I might have seen the angels in the distance. This decision of hers on the general direction of my flight quite won me.

My dreams were not varied as were those of M. M. W. In fact they all centred on one

subject-money. I was a moderate-salaried, unmarried lawyer for a corporation, with no other income. My dreams brought me $2,000,000. My generous benefactor was a friend of father's (not actually worth that sum himself), but his appreciation of what father had done for him when he was a struggling young man induced him to bestow that amount on me. The daily details in the process of transferring the fortune to me were tremendously vivid and real. For three or four weeks during my conscious convalescent period I had no doubts of the truth of it all.

The Night and Day Bank was a new institution in those days. A deposit of $5000 in the bank intrigued me. The deposit book I arranged to have left at the hospital office. I sent my nurse to the office one day during my convalescent period to get the bank book. She returned, reporting that it was not there, adding, 'Perhaps your mother took it.' My family lived some distance from New York, and mother had been in to see me the day before. That explanation I accepted without doubt.

A classmate and friend of mine came to see me. He was the chairman of the house committee of the club I lived in and had a larger and more expensive room than mine. During the chat I asked him if there were any rooms available like his, telling him merely that I wanted a larger and more comfortable room when I went back. He did not know, but would inquire, and subsequently sent up word that there was one which he was holding for me. That almost proved embarrassing later.

On one of mother's trips I told her of my good fortune and how I was going to live a little more comfortably, but otherwise go on as before. I begged her not to tell the rest of the family, wanting the pleasure of telling them myself after I went home from the hospital. Mother humored me and no disturbing doubts arose. And so my happy state continued. Though physically weak, I was perfectly conscious and able to receive my family and friends, chatting normally with them. It was the missing bank book that finally dissipated the dream. When that could not be traced I gradually came to realize that my fortune was a dream one.

An investment banker who lived on the same floor with me at the club had been carefully selected to handle my investments and advise with me concerning them. He was an extremely conscientious, serious-minded individual. I was greatly amused, in telling him afterward of my dream and his part in it, to see the expression come over his face which, translated into words, said, 'I wonder if he still thinks I have his securities.'

W. L. B.

AUGUST, 1927



SOME years ago Thomas A. Edison went to Europe. In the course of his wanderings he came to that exquisite Gothic jewel, the Chapel of Saint Hubert, which hangs so entrancingly on the castle wall of Amboise, and which everyone knows is the tomb of Leonardo da Vinci. Here Mr. Edison gave out an interview to the gaping newspaper correspondents to the effect that Leonardo was the outstanding mechanical genius of his time, inventing many useful devices and anticipating others. He did not mention that Leonardo was also an artist on the side, either because he did not know or because he did not consider it important. The newspapers commented on the omission, and Collier's Weekly sent Julian Street to interview Mr. Edison's chum, Henry Ford, because what these two men say on any subject makes newspaper copy. The substance of Henry Ford's remarks was that he would not give five cents for all the art the world had produced. And the New Republic capped this naïve observation with the comment that one needed but a glance at the Ford car to believe it.

Henry Ford is cited here merely as an illustration. His frank and blunt statement expressed the opinion held

VOL. 140-NO. 2



by most manufacturers at the beginning of the era of mass production and industrial efficiency, though few were so honest. Art was something for museums. They endowed museums out of the money they made, and some of them even accumulated private collections. Those with a weakness for beauty were tempted to conceal it, lest they be suspected of unfitness to have a place in the practical, hard-headed, efficient world.

Back in the mauve decade, or the gay nineties, new inventions and discoveries were transforming our industrial system, but when a manufacturer produced a machine that worked he stopped. It never occurred to him to go on and make his device pleasant to look at as well as efficient. It must have been the persistent influence of the Puritan tradition that made manufacturers so suspicious of beauty and gave them such pathetic faith in mere ugliness. Beauty somehow seemed antagonistic to integrity. They managed in those days to reverse William Morris's dictum. They seldom found it necessary to make a thing beautiful in order to make it useful.

It was in those days that Henry Ford began making his famous car. It was

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