The Contributors' Column

John Maynard Keynes (‘ The World’s Economic Outlook’) is recognized on both sides of the Atlantic as an economist of undisputed first rank. He was the principal representative of the British Treasury at the Paris Peace Conference. He is editor of the Economic Journal, and is a Fellow and Bursar of king’s College, Cambridge. A. Edward Newton appears here (’West ward) in a new rôle as Balboa discovering the Pacific from a Pullman car window. Other episodes of his Western Odyssey are promised hereafter. ∆ A provision of Youngstown’s city charter makes a mayor ineligible for reëlection at the end of his term. Joseph L. Heffernan (‘ The Hungry City ’) completed his four years in the City Hall of Youngstown in 1931, and is now touring the country to obtain first-hand information about social and economic conditions. Robert A. Murdoch (‘Young Wan in Love’) was born in Pennsylvania in 1825 and died a bachelor at the age of fifty. The last ertry in his journal, which he abandoned after two decades of faithful jotting, gives this picture of himself: ‘March 11, 1860. Sunday. — On this day I attain the age of 35 years; the halfway house on the journey of human life! Shall I travel as faton the other side? I am in good health; sound constitution, I believe; unmarried & unengaged; weigh about 170 lbs.; rather bald across the top of the head and towards the summit, but otherwise have a good coat of hair & whiskers, and none gray.’ A Head of the Modern Language Department at University College, Nottingham, Ernest Weekley (‘English As She Will Be Spoke’) has published various philological works, including The Romance of Words and A Concise Etymological Dictionary.James Norman Hull (‘A Starry Night at Arué ’) is still loafing and inviting his soul at Papeete, Tahiti. (See his letter printed elsewhere in these columns.)

Lake many another author, John T. Flynn (‘Edward E. Bernays: The Science of Ballyhoo ’) won his spurs in Newspaper Row. His books have been chiefly concerned with the moral and social aspects of business, his latest being a life of John D. Rockefeller. Louis Reed (‘Episode at the Pawpaws’) practises law in the mountains of West Virginia. ∆ Professor of English at Simmons College, Boston, Robert M. Gay writes of ‘Peace, Good TickleBrain ’; ‘I have always been fond of Nell Quickly, and have amused myself making up a life of her.’ Douglas Malloch (‘Prayer for Weariness’) has published numerous books. A Member ol the British Ministry of Labor from 1919 to 1922, William Orton (’But Is It Art ? ’) is now Professor of Economics at Smith College. ∆ When not lighting candles for Saint Boniface, Edgar J. Goodspeed may be found lecturing on the New Testament at the University of Chicago. ∆ ‘Od’s fish’ is spun out of observation and experience; Charles D. Stewart has lived his life among the Wisconsin lakes. Mary Ellen Chase (‘Mrs. Gowan Gives Notice ’) is Professor of English Literature at Smith College. Abraham Flexner (‘The University in American Life1) is now Director of the Institute for Advanced Study. John Coleman, Jr. (‘Holden Days’) voluntarily retired from his brokerage business last summer and has not yet shown any signs of wanting to return toil. ∆ Few diplomats know China as well as Nora Wain Under Fire’); she has made her home there for many years.

Yesterday, to-day, to-morrow.

The other day we chanced upon an announcement issued by Ticknor and Fields on behalf of the Atlantic Monthly in May 1860, outlining a policy to which the magazine still adheres: —

‘The Atlantic has never been, and will never be, a sectional journal. Its publishers acknowledge no parallels of latitude in the Republic of Letters; and, while they will judge of any article offered them, not by the source whence it comes, but by its own intrinsic worth, they will at the same time endeavor to maintain its character as a periodical in which earnest thinkers may find expression, unhampered by fear of that narrow censorship which what is loudest, but not deepest, in Public Opinion would lain establish.’

This statement of a policy which has guided Ihe Atlantic through its seventy-live fruitful years calls to mind a passage from Norman Hapgood’s recent book. The Changing Years — a passage which may be taken as a commentary upon the old announcement, since the fad which strikes Mr. Hapgood as singularly remarkable about the Atlantic is nothing less than one result of its having faithfully pursued the sound principles laid down at its conception. Reflecting upon his long career as a journalist. Mr. Hapgood notes that most magazines, as well as most newspapers, have undergone strange metamorphoses of character and purpose. He writes: —

‘Newspapers and magazines in the United Slates are flashes of a moment. Kven if the name persists, the art utility dies. Few are the publications which, like the Springfield Republican and the Atlantic Monthly, maintain their character for generations.1

We may confidently affirm I hat the character of the present Atlantic, which runs in unbroken continuity back to 1857, will continue vigorous, mature, unaffected by whims of the passing moment — in the Atlantic of to-morrow.

THE EDITORS

A South Sea philosophy.

Dear Atlantic, —
Although I am far away front all the mess at home, I keep in touch with what is taking place there and in the world at large. I subscribe to the Weekly Manchester Guardian and the Weekly Springfield Republican, and I spend one evening each month in reading them. The following is a recent relied ion as a result of my reading: —

How are we ever to find it in our day when every country is reverting to the old, blind, selfish, nationalistic spirit — at a time all the world is a unit ? The United States is the guiltiest of till nations, it seems to me. I wish that the District of Columbia could be moved to the middle of the Atlantic Ocean and submerged for ten minutes. There, are a few individuals that should be saved, but they could all find room on a raft ten feet square, and this should be provided for them before the submerging is done. There never has been a time, in my opinion, when the leaders of countries were so far behind the people they are supposed to lead. Except in England. God bless that old country ! As Mr. Santayana said, in one of his essays, it will be a black day for mankind when England goes under. But she won’t go under. I’m sure of that.
I don’t feel as gloomy, looking into the future, as I should, perhaps. Fifty years from now men will realize that the period we are now going through had to be gone through in order to bring mankind to a proper sense of what life is for. It is n’t to produce to consume to produce to consume - I’m sure of that. What a commentary upon a nation that allows itself to be led by Henry Ford and his kind! Well, we are beginning to realize now how much such leadership is worth. Such men have their place in the scheme of things, but it is n’t among the social philosophers. And Heaven knows il should not be among the leaders.
If things go to pot, just you move down here. We will start, a new world on a small scale. We have n’t a factory of any sort except for an old Chinaman who makes soap, by hand, to sell to the native washerwomen. We have n’t a stockbroker, or any real estate and loan agents, highpressure salesmen, ’morticians,’ industrial magnates - all such vicious characters are barred from entering our island. As for myself, I have one acre of ground around my house at Arué. It produces coconuts, breadfruit, mangoes, bananas, alligator pears, and various other fruits whose names would be unfamiliar to you — and, best of all, much contentmerit and peace of mind. But the best of my garden is the roof at night : the fronds of the coconut palms hanging motionless against the starry sky. I could better do without its material than its spiritual blessings.
Remember, the invitation is always open to come. But be sure not to miss the last steamer to sail before the debacle!
JAMES NORMAN HALL
Papeete,Tahiti

A new book by Mrs. Risley.

Dear Atlantic. —
We who have enjoyed the Tumblings of Eleanor Risley have hungered in vain for more and more. Is n’t it possible to satisfy our hungerings with further gems from her pen?
ZOE PALMER
Cedar City, Utah

[To all those who share a similar appetite it may be explained that Mrs. Risley has had a fairly cumbersome winter. First she come down with an attack of pneumonia. Then, like John Buchan, who says he can only find time to write books when he is sick, she began a novel. Now with pneumonia and the novel—out of her system, Mrs. Risley says she hopes in time to be able to submit further articles for the magazine. Meanwhile, those who have not done so should most certainly read her new book. The Abandoned Orchard, only a small portion of which appeared in the Atlantic. - EDITORS]

Episcopal unity in the Civil War.

Dear Atlantic, —
I enjoyed ‘Sherman in Georgia, by the Right Reverend Henry C. Lay. but may I make a correct ion of your note in the Contributors’ Column?
I have believed, in fact I have been taught, that there were not two branches of the Protestant Episcopal Church during the Civil War. In 1862, when a General Convention was held, — in New York, I believe, - the War was on, and yet each day of the Convention the roll call included all bishops of all dioceses and missionary districts. North and South. The Convention took the attitude that the delegates were not willfully or voluntarily absent. In the next General Convention of 1865, in Philadelphia, the same roll call of dioceses and bishops was followed. At this Convention there were present, three bishops from the South Bishop Atkinson of North Carolina, Bishop Lay of Arkansas, and a third bishop whose name I can’t remember. I write you this not unmindful of the fact that Bishop Wilmer of Alabama had been consecrated during the Civil War and Bishop Pope of Louisiana had been a general in the Confederate Army. Bishop Lay himself never lost his status of Bishop ol the Southwest, even though Bishop ol Arkansas under the Confederacy.
We Episcopalians are rather proud of the fact that we were one with the Federal Government in maintaining that there was no secession from the central group. My objection, you see, is against what your phrase ’two branches of the church’ implies.
HENRY OHLHOFF, D.D.
San Francisco, California

Making friends of the great.

Dear Atlantic, -
If was with a smile of pleasure that I saw in the February Atlantic William Rothenstein’s article about my real intimates. Conrad, Hudson, and the others. For are not live great men of the earth often the only ones we know well and intimately? My own husband and child are away from me all day, and what they do, think, and say, except in merest outline, is forever a closed book to me. But - to lake Hudson as an example of the great I know his parents and the place where he was born. I know the inside of his home and his daily life as a child. I know the fields and trees outside the house and the very men who come and pass an hour there. And I have ridden the pampas by his side, and seen—not with my own slower sight, but with his magic gaze the life and heart of that wonderful land. I can read his letters to his friends, sit by him as he talks to them, and then, when the hour strikes, arise with him and walk slowly through his English lanes, sharing with him every sight he sees, every interesting person with whom he pauses to talk, and, best of all, his thoughts.
Is it any wonder that one says about such a man; ’Here is my real, my intimate friend
EMMA G. M. ESTEY
West Lafayette, Indiana

A misogynist speaks.

Dear Atlantic, —
May a quiet if cynical voice from the nineteenth century interrupt for a moment the twentiethcentury babel about the dreadfulness of the times? The subject is matrimony in England, its conditions and circumstances: the commentator a Frenchman. The voice speaks in the National Register for May 30, 1818, Washington. D. C.
French account of the Stale of Matrimony, in 1816, in England : —

Humpty Dumpty in India.

Dear Atlantic,
May I call your attention to an interesting parallel which I noted in your April issue? On page 470, the article by Hurry Hibschman, occurs this passage:
When I use a word,” said Humpty Dumpty, “it means just what I choose it to mean — neither more nor less.”
‘But Alice objected, “The question is whether you can make words mean so many different things.”
‘ And Humpty Dumpty airily replied, " The question is which is to be master, that ’s all.
On page 454, the article by Miss Sorabji, Mr. Gandhi says: —
“‘I use those words in a sense that I myselt understand. I know what I mean.
‘I said: “Yes, Mr. Gandhi, that is just what you seem to do. You use words which have an accepted meaning, but you appear to use them in a sense all your own,’ with reservations which you do not disclose.” ’
All of which would lead one to believe that Humpty Dumpty has had a reincarnation in India.
ELEANOR S. BIGGSIowa City, Iowa

Sequence capped.

Who from his fellows runs away, Deserves to hear the asses bray.

AGNES CADY CHITWOOD Morgantown, West Virginia

Greater asses bray at home Than those that Ritter’s island roam.

R. W. NYGREN Louisville, Kentucky

We need a new word ’twixt bored and bitter: If you leave your kind, we’ll call you ’ritter.'

CLARA E. RANDALL Chicago, Illinois

Tricks of a tanager.

Dear Atlantic, —
Bill Adams’s flicker story recalls to my mind a family of scarlet tanagers observed last, summer in the Ozarks. We watched the pair building a nest in my friend’s maple tree, quite unafraid of the neighbor’s cat or any of the interested human beings. In time there were tiny birds, to judge by the constant commotion, and several of us often watched them being fed. Unfortunately a terrific storrn destroyed the nest before the youngsters passed the fledgling stage, and the family disappeared.
A day or two later, on bringing in the morning paper, my friend discovered a tiny nondescript, bird chirping on her doorstep. If seemed unafraid, and to her amazement, as she held the door open, in it hopped. She put some bread crumbs on the kitchen floor and they were eagerly devoured. The bird seemed delighted to be indoors, safe and fed, and in a little while, hopped to a corner and went fast asleep. For days it refused to go outdoors unless my friend went first, and it wanted to go inside again almost immediately. It was a long time before it seemed really happy alone outdoors, and it always came back at dark chirping for admittance.
It became a source of annttsement among us for our friend to have to go borne at intervals to feed her pet bird. She even dug worms for it (a task she abhorred). Soon the little fellow learned to fly, and then when we visited there, whether indoors or out, it perched on our chairs and even on our shoulders. Strangers did not allect its peace of mind, and the only time it left our company was when the neighbor’s cat appeared.
Near the end of the summer, when it, had developed a full set of feathers, it became evident that the nondescript bird of the early spring was a female tanager, and we spent much time wondering if it was the sole survivor of the wrecked nest. By this time it had learned to fly so well it sometimes spent half a day or more away from its adopted home, sleeping outdoors at night and coming to the front door with a friendly chirp faithfully each morning at six-thirty.
One cool morning in September my friend was alarmed because the bird had not appeared. At first she thought the neighbor’s cat had been successful at last. About noon, to her relief, she heard it chirping, and concluded that it, had grown independent enough to seek its own water and food. Shortly it disappeared never to return, and though we wondered if it would choose this community to mate and nest in this year, we looked for its return in vain.
The neighbor’s cat is welcome again.
MILDRED E. DUNEGAN
Fayetteville, Arkansas

A troublesome word.
Dear Atlantic, —
The word ‘only’ is a lawless and unruly word. It plays tricks upon well-known writers and beclouds scholarly conversation to such an extent that I am beginning to wonder whether its misuse is not becoming good usage. My learned friend declares, ‘I only saw him for a few minutes,’ when he is trying to inform me that he saw him ‘for only a few minutes.’ Thus that little word constantly cuts in at the wrong place.
Mr. Nock, in Ins interesting article, ‘What Every Woman Ought to Know,’ handles many ‘onlys’ with exact propriety until he approaches the end, when he loses control and says, ‘that can only give a fleeting sense of satisfaction.’ Presumably he meant ‘that can give only a fleeting sense.’
On page 390 of the same issue, in the third paragraph of the second column, Mr. Mumford says, ‘You are only going to be there until after the inquest anyway.’
Do these two instances (there may be others) in a single number of the Atlantic make a misplaced ‘only’ good usage?
JAMES L. BARTON
Brookline. Massachusetts

[If an ‘only’ is so placed that it gives rise to ambiguity, it is the Atlantic’s custom to change its position. But if no ambiguity arises the author is allowed the latitude which good usage permits. Fowler’s Modern English Usage, page 406, lays down the rule which applies here: ‘There is an orthodox position for the adverb, easily determined in case of need; to choose another position that may spoil or obscure the meaning is bad; but a change of posit ion that has no such effect except, technically is both justified by historical and colloquial usage and often demanded by rhetorical needs.’ — EDITORS]