The author of the Familiar Letters of William James requires no words of identification. The editor of the Letters is the eldest of his three sons. Two further installments of this correspondence in the Atlantic will precede the publication of the two volumes of the Letters of William James, announced on another page of this issue. The author of the Modern View of the Devil desires to remain unknown. This second episode in Jean Kenyon Mackenzie’s ‘Biography of an Elderly Gentleman’ will be followed in early numbers by others no less entertaining. H. C. Kittredge, a son of Professor George L. Kittredge of Harvard, is one of the masters at St. Paul’s School, Concord, New Hampshire. His distinguished father, we recall, was once a master at Phillips Exeter.

Samuel Scoville, Jr., is already known to Atlantic readers as a Philadelphia lawyer with a special gift of communicating his enjoyment of outdoors; he will soon be known to many others through his forthcoming volume of nature studies, Everyday Adventures, bearing the imprint of the Atlantic Monthly Press. Of the ‘Spring Poem,’ by the long-ago Japanese Emperor, Gŏsenjō, the translator, L. Adams Beck, writes: —

These things are not continuous poems so much as ‘short swallow-flights of song.’ Much has been made of Chinese poetry, but the best Japanese poems are known only to Japanese scholars. This is very literal. You can depend on that.

S. H. Kemper is a Pennsylvanian writer of stories; her earlier contribution to the Atlantic, ‘Woman’s Sphere’ (April, 1915), has been reprinted in the Second Series of Atlantic Narratives.S. E. Morison, whose home is in Concord, Massachusetts, is the author of a Life of Harrison Gray Otis, prominent Federalist, Mayor of Boston, and one of the leading spirits in the Hartford Convention. Robert Nathan is the author of the recently published novel of Harvard and New York life, Peter Kindred.

The concluding installment of Opal Whiteley’s ‘Journal of an Understanding Heart’ will be printed in the August Atlantic. Readers will wish to know that the Journal will be published early in September in two forms: the regular edition, illustrated, at $2.00, and a special numbered edition, consisting of only 650 copies, at $6.50. In the limited edition, printed on large paper and specially bound, each copy will be autographed, and will contain a colored facsimile of a page of the Journal, giving some idea of the infinite pains of which it has been born. Hearty Earl Brown (now Mrs. C. F. Nelson), formerly Assistant Professor of English in the University of Kansas at Lawrence, has heretofore contributed several Green Valley stories to the Atlantic, the last, ‘The Vacation of Charlie French,’ in July, 1919. Edwin Bonta, an architect of Syracuse, was engaged in relief work in Russia during the war. His familiarity with the Russian language was of the greatest advantage to him in his work, and gives, besides, peculiar charm and intimacy to his unique Sketches of Peasant Russia. Arthur Waltham Howlett is a captain in the R.A.M.C. and has seen long service in the Indian Army. He writes: —

It should be said that in India all jails are governed by members of the Medical Service, the larger (Central) by officers of the Indian Medical Service (to which the author belonged until he exchanged into the British Army, just before the war), with an approved length of service in the Indian armies; the smaller by assistant surgeons belonging to the Indian Subordinate Medical Department. The larger district jails are held as collateral charges along with the Civil Surgeoncies of districts by officers of the I.M.S. The Central jails are held (along with the District jail) by officers of the I.M.S. as whole-time charges.
A Central jail is situated in some large city, the capital of a Division or Province, e.g., Lucknow, Agra, Calcutta, Rangoon, and in it are trained and distributed the warders and staff of the District jails comprised in its circle. A large jail like that at Agra usually holds some 2000 prisoners, and the castes vary very much according to the part of India. At Agra, which is about the centre of India, many ethnical groups and castes were well represented. There were Brahmins, Pathans (Mohammedans), Bunnias, Rajputs, and even occasional wandering Chinese, Burmans, Malays, etc. There were members of the so-called ‘criminal tribes’ (hereditary thieves and nomads). There were members of the lowest caste, the ’Sweepers.’

William T. Foster, President of Reed College, Portland, Oregon, since its foundation in 1910, has recently resigned. Percival White is a consulting engineer of Cleveland, Ohio. John Burroughs, the veteran naturalist and essayist, sends us this interesting footnote to a much-discussed passage in his paper, ‘A Critical Glance into Thoreau,’ printed in the issue of June, 1919. George A. Gordon has been for many years the eloquent pastor of the New Old South Church of Boston.

Bernhard Knollenberg is a practising lawyer of Boston. Anstruther Mackay, a Scotsman, some time in the service of the Agricultural Bank in Egypt, was during the war Military Governor of Ramleigh and Ludd in Palestine. He is now stationed at Ghizeh, in the shadow of the Pyramids. L. P. Edwards, Professor of Sociology at St. Stephen’s College, Annandale, New York, was formerly engaged in settlement work in Chicago and New York. Frederick Starr, since 1895 Assistant Professor of Anthropology at the University of Chicago, and Curator of the Anthropological Section of the Walker Museum there, has traveled extensively, doing field-work in ethnology and physical anthropology, especially in Mexico. His book, In Indian Mexico (1908), is of very great value and can safely be recommended to all Americans who may wish to obtain an accurate knowledge of Mexican affairs.

It is interesting to note that ten of the authors represented in this number of the Atlantic, including all whose names appear under the rubric ‘The New World,’ are new to its pages; whereas, on the other hand, Mr. Burroughs’s first contribution appeared almost exactly sixty years ago.

We like to go to headquarters for news, and are glad to give publicity to the following letter, which gives in succinct fashion the sequel to Mrs. Ratliff’s striking account of the things she witnessed in the Delta. It is, moreover, a satisfaction to record an instance proving that orderly justice can take its course south of Mason and Dixon’s line.

INDIANOLA, MISS., April 20, 1920.
DEAR SIR, —
My attention was called to a story which was run in your April issue, entitled, — ‘ In the Delta; a Story of a Man Hunt.’ I consider it a very clever story indeed; but I take issue with the writer in the facts. The Commercial Appeal, a Memphis, Tenn., daily paper, called my attention to the piece, and also commented on it in an editorial. I made reply through the same channel. I want to know if you will be fair enough to us to run both my letter in reference to this matter, as well as the editorial which I refer to, in your paper? If so, whether you will run it free, or what charges you will make. If you care for the facts, I am sure you will be willing to have them read by your readers, who read the letter of Beulah Amidon Ratliff. This same party who was the subject of this story is in my custody, and after his case had been referred to the highest Court in this state, I will hang him on the 28th day of May, according to their decision. Please let me know under what terms you will run this matter in your magazine — in the next number.
A. C. Cox.
Sheriff of Sunflower County.

Among the multitude of letters which Opal’s diary has brought us, we select one that seems peculiarly understanding of a journal which is in simple truth unique in literature. The writer is the entomologist of the State of Maine.

DEAR ATLANTIC, —
Nothing written has ever gone quite so straight to my heart as the Story of Opal. It is the revealed spirit of the true child of nature, perfectly tuned.
Not even her own mother (with all her rich gift of mother-love and wisdom) could have given her just that. She had to find it for herself, hungry of heart.
It has brought back to me the feeling with which I knelt in solitary worship before the first ‘ghost flower’ I ever found. Nothing would have tempted me to break the stem and pick it. I can still remember the intimate love and wonder the child of five felt for this woodland flower.
No country-loving child could imagine Opal’s story being other than the spirit of childhood ‘left wild’ as nature itself, which, in the phases a child loves, is very tender and ‘ understanding.’ No one but a very young child can get this. To a grownUp it is forever impossible — except as it lives from child-experience, not quite forgotten.
I have unbounded delight in the remarkable story of the wonderful child. I am hoping that in this delight which all must feel, its educational value will not be lost. It is the best demonstration we shall ever have (for there can never be another Opal in the world), the best example of the natural response of the natural child to nature. I cannot say it well; but the story gives proof of my deepest belief that all children who respond at all to the outdoor creation should be given as much chance as possible to run wild from three to six, in meadow, wood, and beside brooks. Constant human companionship can never give what this can (no kindergarten can). Of course, ‘ the man who is kind to mice ’ should be a frequent comrade, if possible.
The story is as dear and as real as it is remarkable; and each bit that I read makes me grateful that the torn fragments were not lost.
Cordially yours,
EDITH M. PATCH.

‘It is the scientific approach that does it.’ How often do we hear the exultant cry of the Realist! Well, occasionally the argument from exact knowledge does have its innings, and the author of Miss Gauss’s admirable story is, we imagine, quite as ready as we are to listen to this diverting bit of scientific criticism.

DEAR MR. EDITOR, —
The opthalmological article in your May issue, entitled ‘Justice,’ interests me greatly, I had heretofore supposed that Justice is blind, but in this fouror five-page article the eyes of the various characters are mentioned no less than twenty five times! As a color-scheme they run fairly well through the spectrum, being described as black, blue-gray, blue, ‘cold-brown,’ red, and either green or yellow, the latter being the usual color of the eyes of the eat and the puma used for comparison.
Of especial interest, however, are the eyes of the hero. On the first page he is described, at the age of twenty, as having brown eyes; turning over a page, we find that at the age of seven he had black eyes; just how they were acquired is not mentioned, but as twice again they are described as black, one is led to wonder whether he fell downstairs, or what happened! It is somewhat reassuring to find later on that his eyes were red, or at least had a ‘ red gleam’; again they are described as resembling cat’s eyes in the dark, which are proverbially of a greenish hue of phosphorescent paint; and four paragraphs later his eyes resemble a ‘wet, black snake.’
The heroine, however, is more constant, and we find that twice in succession her eyes are of the color of the wet, blue spider-wort (Tradescantia Virginica). Fortunately for the reader, the blue variety is specified, as the cultivated species are quite variable in color.
The judge, as befits the majesty of the law, we are told, is ‘grave of eyes,’ and other characters in the plot make good use of their visual organs, which are frequently ‘meeting,’ or are ‘wistful,’ ‘bright,’ ‘narrow,’ ‘gleaming,’ etc.
Besides the zoölogical value given by the eyes of the cat, the snake, and the puma, even the flowers are wide-awake, and we are told that the eyes of the ‘innocent-eyed moon-flower shone in the dark.’
I have, for some time, noticed this interesting tendency of modem fiction writers towards optical eyedealism, and have in mind an article on the subject. The authoress of ‘Justice’ is to be congratulated upon a most interesting and valuable contribution to opthalmology.
Very truly yours,
W. GILMAN THOMPSON.

A recent discussion in the Club of the Best Butter draws forth the following from a connoisseuse.

DEAR ATLANTIC, —
How tiresome for a member of the Contributor’s Club to use the wrong word. And especially since she knows the right one. Who does not, upon these mornings of margarine for the muffins, and pale blue liquid in the cream pitcher, rejoice to read of golden butter and clotted cream? But to name Kobold, the raper of dairies, when she knows he is Puck, Lob, The Old Thing! It’s dreadful!
Kobold conjures up visions of affright from Undine’s dark forest, with its unholy peopling of white-garmented, streaming-haired spooks. When I read it, I hear the rushing chords of the ErlKing and Alberich’s eerie staccatos.
If Puck is to be Kobold, now may we say, indeed, ‘Farewell, rewards and fairies.’
FRANCES C. L. ROBBINS.

There is always a rich flavor to Oriental English, and our readers’ ears may perhaps be tickled by the following specimen.

Some time ago [writes a correspondent] an English friend gave me a copy of a letter which had been written to her brother by an Egyptian. This native was seeking employment with the Englishman, who was a resident of Egypt, and had a minor government position.
‘ RESPECTFULLY HEREWITH
‘That your honored servant is a poor man in agricultural behavior which depends the season for the staff of life thereupon. He proposes that you will be pitiful upon and take into your sacred service that he may have some permanent labor for the support of his soul and family. Whereupon he falls upon his family’s bended knees, and implores you on your merciful consideration to a damnable, miserable, honorable servant, was too much poorly during the last years and was resuscitated by such medicine which made magnificent excavations in coffers of your honorable servant whose means are circumscribed by his large family of five female women and three masculines that last of which are still making milk from mother’s chest, and are damnable miserable through pulmonary catastrophe in their interior abdomens. Besides the named an additional virile is through the grace of God shortly coming to the beloved of bosom. That your honorable damnable servant was officiating in several passages during all his generations becoming too much old from absorbing hard labor in his time of faded life, but was not underhand, nor thief, nor swindler nor any of this kind, but was pious, affectionate to his numerous family consisting of the aforesaid five female women and three males, the last of which are still milking the paternal mother. That your honorable lordship’s servant was entreating to the magistrate for employment in the municipality to remove filth, etc., but was not granted the petition. Therefore your generous lordship will give some easy work in the Dept. a something of this sort upon which act of kindness your lordship’s servant will as in duty bound pray for your longevity.

LUCUS A NON LUCENDO

If the Atlantic were at all given to repining over the absence of illustrations the following would go far to assuage its sorrow: —

BALTIMORE, May 3, 1920.
DEAR ATLANTIC, —
I think you will enjoy with me this involuntary tribute to the pen of William Beebe.
I was describing to a young woman of my acquaintance a lecture by Beebe, that it had been my unexpected good fortune to attend on a brief business trip to Wilmington on the day before. I was telling her of my pleasure in recognizing, in the pictures he threw on the screen, scenes and animals made familiar through numerous Atlantic articles.
‘Were n’t they the same illustrations that appeared in his articles?’ she asked.
‘Illustrations in his articles?’ I echoed, puzzled. ‘Why, yes,’ she insisted. ‘I remember the one of the nest of army ants. The nest hung here, and the chair he stood on — it was insulated you remember — stood there.’
‘ But,’I protested, ’the Atlantic never is illustrated, is it?’
Her face registered complete bewilderment for a moment, and then dawning comprehension.
‘Do you mean to tell me,’ she demanded, ‘that a man can write so vividly that one honestly believes afterwards that his article is illustrated?’
He surely can if that man is William Beebe. Then is not the young woman correct, after all, in classifying the Atlantic among the illustrated monthlies? Yours very truly,
HELEN T. PARSONS.

Resourcefulness and the bookstore do not often meet, and recorded instances of coöperation are interestingly creditable.

DEAR ATLANTIC, —
Let me tell you a story, a true story, recalled to mind by reading ‘The Bookstore and the Customer’ in the Contributors’ Club in the April Atlantic. The title of my story is ‘A Bookstore and a Customer.’ This happened some few years ago in Boston.
A friend of mine had read in the Transcript a review of a book which told of the author’s boyhood days in an old New England town. When in the city, some days later, he happened to think of the book as he was passing a bookstore, and stepped in to look at a copy.
Face to face with the clerk, he suddenly realized that the title of the book had slipped his mind. He told the clerk what he could remember of the book, but was unable to recall the name of the town, the scene of the story. The clerk suggested that the name of the author would be of assistance, but my friend had forgotten this also. By this time he began to feel a little uncomfortable; he appeared to be in the ridiculous situation of a man who, although hunting for something, does not know what he is looking for. He was about to back out of the store, abashed, when the clerk, still attentive and respectful, said that the key to the problem might lie in the name of the publisher. When my friend realized that he must again admit ignorance, he started for the door — he would put an end to this humiliating adventure. But suddenly a thought came to him, — the name of the publisher was also the name of some animal. The clerk bounded away and consulted a big volume. A moment later the desired book was in my friend’s hand.
Yours sincerely,
WINSOR M. TYLER.

Readers of this Column will know that to the subtle flattery of the ‘ movies ’ we are delicately sensitive. Hence the publicity given to the following.

NEW ROCHELLE, N.Y., May 1, 1920.
DEAR ATLANTIC, —
Have you not noticed, and been flattered by, the use made of the Atlantic Monthly in the movies of late, when it is desired to express the concept of intelligence?
That the quality of the damsel’s mind transcends even the promise of its outward seeming is the instant impression given by a close-up of a beauty absorbed in the Atlantic.
And how can true worth and manliness be ‘registered’ in less ‘footage’ than to show the Atlantic prominently with the hero?
Worthy of note, also, is the frequent use of the Atlantic, conjointly with owlish spectacles and, possibly, a bit of side-whisker, to indicate the contemptible ‘highbrow.’
Thus the Atlantic expresses both the sublime and the ridiculous — in a flash; so that he who runs may read.
Yours very truly,
M. R. WELLER.