Contributors' Column--April Atlantic

Mrs. Annie Pike Greenwood is a native of Utah, the daughter of a physician — a Gentile — of Provo. After an education at Brigham Young University in Provo, and at the University of Utah, she had experience in teaching and in newspaper work, being employed on the Salt Lake Tribune during the investigation of Reed Smoot’s Mormonism as a disqualification for the office of United States Senator. Since her marriage she has lived in California, Colorado, and Kansas, before settling in Idaho. Her husband is a member of this year’s Idaho Legislature. The atmosphere of the story ‘Dreams and Compound Interest,’as any critic who rends it must, instinctively feel, is taken from fresh and active experience. Mr. and Mrs. Haldeman-Julius are partners in business in Kansas, as well as in literature. He is managing editor of a newspaper, she an active official of a state bank; and together they coöperate in housekeeping and in the management of a large stock farm, devoted chiefly to the raising of pure Holstein stock. It is a breezy, interesting, self-confident life, as the story shows. George W. Puryear, first lieutenant in the United States Air Service, entered the army in April, 1917. He was (so says the San Diego Union) the first American officer to escape from a German prison camp. Curiously enough, his father, who fought on the Southern side in our Civil War, was successful in making his escape from a Northern prison—an example of the transmission of acquired characteristics which we so often hear denied.

Evans Lewin, Fellow of the Royal Historical Society, has been Librar an of the British Colonial Institute since 1910. He spent many years in Australia and South Africa, and has specialized in the history of the Germans in Africa. It is not too much to say that among English-speaking people he is the first authority on German colonial methods. James Harvey Robinson, Professor of History at Columbia University since 1895, is the author of many books and essays, his most distinguished work, perhaps, being The New History (1911). At the close of this academic year, Professor Robinson will leave Columbia, to join the lecturing staff of the new School for Social Research in the City of New York. In publishing a paper of the character of ‘The Philosopher’s Stone,’ the Atlantic does not act without deliberation, while, in writing it, Professor Robinson is bearing willing witness to personal experience. We feel that the very unusual testimony concerning Mr. Alexander’s methods deserves such intimate publicity as the Atlantic can bestow. John Lavalle is a young Bostonian who was in the Air Service of the American army during our participation in the war. In view of the widespread popularity of a letter published anonymously (‘ Youth,’ in the April, 1918,Atlantic), which was written several thousand feel in the air, while the author was flying for practice, and of the fact, that it has been generally attributed to him, it is well now to admit the authorship in behalf of Mr. Lavalle.

Don D. Lescohier assumed in 1918 the duties of Professor of Americanization in the Department of Political Economy at the University of Wisconsin the first American university to establish a professorship in that subject. His paper, ‘A Clearing-House for Labor,’ in the June, 1918,Atlantic, will be remembered. Mrs. Charlotte Kellogg, wife of Vernon Kellogg, and the only member of the C.R.B. working in Belgium, describes another phase of the post-armistice period in Brussels, complementary to the ’Return of the Burgomaster’ in the February number. How few men’s lives are written when their careers are described! Mrs. Cornelia Stratton Parker’s chronicle of the years she spent with her husband stands out sharp and clear from the self-conscious literature of the time, and would be interesting even apart from the remarkable qualities of the man who is her central theme. Of the whole narrative not more than half can be published in this magazine, and we are, therefore, particularly glad to announce that the whole will appear in book form, with the imprint of the Atlantic Monthly Press, soon after the conclusion of the serial. We think that the book promises to be as important as it is attractive. Gerald Chittenden, major in the American Aviation Service, was instructor at the School of Military Aeronautics, at Austin, Texas, when hostilities ceased.

Walter Prichard Eaton, dramatic critic, essayist, and writer of stories, sends us this sympathetic study of an unhackneyed theme from his farm in the shadow of one of the loveliest mountains in the Berkshires. Grace Hazard Conkling is connected with the Department of English at Smith College. The author of ‘Our Village’ desires to remain anonymous. John Galsworthy, distiuguished alike as novelist, essayist, and playwright, is at present making his second visit to this country.

Simeon Strunsky, an editor on the staff of the New York Evening Post, and in his own right a wit and philosopher, sends from the Peace Conference this article which the Editor particularly wished him to write for the Atlantic. The Demobilized Professor kindly accedes to an editorial request for this paper, so illustrative of a state of mind which the war has scattered broadcast over civilian life in America, and which is felt with especial keenness in the habitually unruffled atmosphere of the American college. Charles Downer Hazen, for many years at the head of the Department of History at Smith College, has been since 1910 Professor of History at Columbia. He is the author of many successful historical works notably the admirable Europe since 1815, and Alsace-Lorraine under German Rule. Charles Moreau Harger, the reflective editor of the Abilene Reflector, and the guiding influence of the Department of Journalism of the University of Kansas, is an old friend of our readers.

Just as the radio-activity of modern science has restored the dream of alchemy, so the psychologist has enthroned once more the diviner of dreams. ‘Every man his own Frend,’ is the cry of the future, and the Atlantic, struggling to keep abreast of the foremost files, listens with ears wide open to this tale of somniloquacious augury.

I must [writes the professor to the Editor] take this opportunity to tell you a dream that I had the other night in which you figured. I found myself in a kind of pavilion at some country club, in the midst of an interested company who were waiting to see President Wilson go through the exercises that keep him physically fit. Before long he pranced on to the field, attired in football costume. After running up and down the field, and grunting in a somewhat peculiar fashion, he proceeded to play the part of a drill sergeant and to give imaginary commands. Vigorously marching down field in 1, 2, 3, 4 time, he suddenly called out, ‘Colony, right!’ At that I turned to you, with the sneer that premature critics of our President usually wear, and said, ' What do you suppose he thinks he is doing? Does he mean “Company, right,” or “Column, right"? He is obviously ignorant of the first principles of infantry drill.’ At that, you turned to me with a pitying smile and remarked, ‘Neither one nor the other. He is practising commands for drilling the British Empire.’ With that, I awoke. It was time, was n’t it?

The President tells us that the spirit of coöperation is loose in the world. There is certainly a good deal of it loose in America, if we may judge from the offers of help extended to the editors of the Atlantic.

By the way [writes a coöperative expert from the South], I love to write — to effect good with my pen; and if you can suggest some subjects in any department of Religion, Ethics, or Sociology — or the Railroad Question — to all of which I have given long and special attention, I will try to get time to furnish the A. Monthly some articles — unique ones.

The ‘A. Monthly’ recognizes the spirit of service, and is grateful.

To those who say that American selfsufficiency has survived the war and what went before it, we commend this letter. To us it seems not free from self-depreciation.

To THE EDITOR OF THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY

DEAR SLR. —
Miss Soulsby’s article in the February Atlantic strikes me as a fine effort to express her impressions of our national qualities, for the most part in terms of high praise. I am afraid, though, that her hints at shortcomings and her intimations that we too often form our judgments on other nations upon scanty data are made too delicately to be heeded; a little more of the ‘coarse and tactless’ British quality might be more effective.
Feeling this and, besides, having become overcharged with wrath, I claim the privilege of an American of the old New England stock, who has gained by life abroad a certain objectivity of viewpoint, of blowing off steam.
When I returned home last. August, after several years’ absence, I was promptly struck by the new and heroic mood of our people. The battle was then at its climax of intensity. Everywhere I found oneness of purpose, a generous and infections cheerfulness in sacrifice, clear perception and firm grasp of the vital points at issue, and a wonderful and very touching sentiment of fellowship with our allies.
Then came the armistice, with its repeated Orgy of thanksgiving and gladness. Our mood was now for fresh efforts for world-democracy. The fervor was gone, as was natural, but the resolute will persisted.
But now observe the change: from a sacrificial mood of far adventure in fellowship with our glorious allies, we have sunk down into the sickly marsh of self-praise. We have to all appearance forgotten the unconquerable will of France, the whole-hearted devotion of Britain, the heroism of Belgium; no, not forgotten but disallowed. We count the winning of the war as our work alone. From all sides there rises one steady hymn of praise for ourselves alone (Sinn Fein). One refrain is heard, loud, ceaseless, exultant WHAT SPLENDID FELLOWS WE ARE! And, further, it appears, not only that we are superior to all others, true supermen, but our late comrades in arms are retardataires, and we don’t deal in hint or innuendo. but let it out as a matter of fact. The sense of comradeship vanished with the cannon smoke.
Worse yet, letters have appeared in print in this town, sent by soldiers now in our army of occupation, which contrast the pleasant quarters in Germany with the discomforts and inconveniences of the battle-region in France, and even praise the Germans for their good-will. It is deliberately declared that they are far more comfortable than they were in France because the Germans are more generous. The letter-writers drink in with frank delight the tales of the Germans that they much prefer the Americans to the French; they are so glad that, the harsh and vindictive French are not in command in this town! ’
To turn from such thoughts, let us look at the general spirit of these letters from the rank and file.
What strikes me is the uniform dulness of the letters. Our American hoys are supposed to be open-minded, alert, nimble-witted, eager to learn and full of curiosity. Our educational systems have been framed so as to awaken all the powers of the mind, stimulate imagination, develop perceptive powers,, teach discrimination, and train the attention, and so on. We have no right to look for literary finish or much descriptive power, but there still remains a region in which we may fairly look for a rough and ready view upon the countries they are now seeing. Is it unfair to expect that boys in England and France should see something? Even in ravaged France there are regions of yet unravished loveliness. Our boys appear not to have seen them. They notice the ’box cars’ with their legends, ‘Hommes 40, Chevaux 8,’ and they can turn up their noses at these small cars. All such differences vex them, and they sum up their conclusions on everything in the sentence, ‘This country hasn’t got anything on America! ’
While the war was raging, we were taught to hope for a great spiritual awakening, for the knitting of the ties of brotherhood into so close a bond that an era of justice would dawn. So we hoped, and we believed that it would be worth the price. Where now is there a sign here of interest in other nations? where a sign of our wish to understand them? where a sign that we value their fine spirit? Instead, if I may judge from the scores and scores of these letters, we are wrapped up in the contemplation of our own unexampled perfections, lost in the deeps of our self-complacency.
We shall lose our lately regained soul unless we clear ourselves of the arrogance and blindness we now exhibit. They form no basis for justice. That must begin in what Pierre de Combertin finely calls ‘le respect mutuel,' if we are to live in a fellowship of free peoples.

Of the controversy over Professor Stevens’s paper on ‘Democracy in the Navy’ we have already allowed reverberations to trouble the quiet of this column; although our correspondence still shows signs of perturbation on the topic, we forbear further comment, but will close the discussion with extracts from a letter written by John Paul Jones to the Naval Committee of Congress on September 14, 1775, sent us through the courtesy of a gentleman who disagrees violently with Professor Stevens’s conclusions.

It is by no means enough that an officer of the Navy should be a capable mariner. He must be that, of course, but also a great deal more. He should be as well a gentleman of liberal education, refined manners, punctilious courtesy, and the nicest sense of personal honor.
He should not only be able to express himself clearly and with force in his own language both with tongue and pen, but he should also he versed in French and Spanish.
The Naval officer should be familiar with the principles of international law, and the general practice of Admiralty jurisprudence, because such knowledge may often, when cruising at a distance from home, be necessary to protect his flag from insult or his crew from imposition or injury in foreign ports.
He should also be convers, nt with the usages of diplomacy and capable of maintaining, if called upon, a dignified and judicious diplomatic correspondence; because it often happens that sudden emergencies in foreign waters make him the diplomatic as well as military representative of his country, and in such cases he may have to act without the opportunity of consulting his civic or ministerial superiors at home, and such action may easily involve the portentous issue
of peace or war between great powers. These are general qualifications, and the nearer the officer approaches the full possession of them, the more likely he will be to serve his country well and win fame and honor for himself.
Coming now to view the Naval officer aboard ship and in relation to those under his command, he should be the soul of tact, patience, justice, firmness and charity. No meritorious act of a subordinate should escape his attention or be left to pass without its reward, even if the reward be only one word of approval. Conversely, he should not be blind to a single fault in any subordinate, though, at the same time he should be quick and unfailing to distinguish error from malice, thoughtlessness from incompetency, and well-meant shortcomings from needless or stupid blunders. As he should be universal and impartial in his reward and approval of merit, so should he be judicial and unbending in his punishment or reproof of misconduct.
In his intercourse with subordinates he should ever maintain the attitude of the commander, but that need by no means prevent him from the amenities of cordiality or the cultivation of good cheer within proper limits. Every commanding officer should hold with his subordinates such relations as will make them constantly anxious to receive invitations to sit at his mess-table, and his bearing toward them should be such as to encourage them to express their opinions to him with freedom and to ask his views without reserve.
A Navy is essentially and necessarily aristocratic. True as may be the political principles for which we are now contending, they can never be practically applied or even admitted on board ship, out of port or off soundings. This may seem a hardship, but it is nevertheless the simplest of truths. Whilst the ships sent forth by the Congress may and must fight for the principles of human rights and republican freedom, the ships themselves must be ruled and commanded at sea under a system of absolute despotism.
I trust that I have now made fairly clear to you the tremendous responsibilities that devolve upon the Honorable Committee of which you are a member. You are called upon to found a new Navy; to lay the foundations of a new power afloat that must some time, in the course of human events, become formidable enough to dispute even with England the mastery of the ocean. Neither you nor I may live to see such growth, but we are here at the planting of the tree, and maybe some of us must, in the course of destiny, water the feeble and struggling roots with our blood. If so, let it be so! We cannot help it. We must do the best we can with what we have on hand!

But to revert for a moment to our favorite topic of ‘ foodology,’Mr Wilmot H. Wheeler, our cheerful friend of the Sunshine Library ov Resurcli once again asks help of our readers.

If any of you know [he writes] of any one who has some very serious or annoying sickness or some very unfortunate fault which they are anxious to overcome, I wish you would try to find out for me just what their five or ten favorite or else forced foods were before getting sick and about how many times a day or week each food or drink was used, then report these facts to me [at 2128 Ewing Street, Los Angeles]. Only if you wish a Thank You, you must send a stamped envelope addressed to yourself; as expenses count up very rapidly in research work.

Mr. Wheeler devotes his time, like the rest of us, to the pursuit of happiness. To gloomy folk he recommends, we are told, frequent playing with white buttons. But for glad and sad alike, he lays down the basic laws of life. For, he says, —

In addition to the extremely precious but also extremely dangerous influenza and pneumonia foods mentioned in the February Atlantic, experience shows that very serious chronic sicknesses of various sorts are often caused, years hence, by a too free use of beans, bananas, butter, candy, chocolate, coca-cola, corn, figs, lemons, lobster, muskmelon, oranges, potatoes, pork, salt, spices, sugar, tea, coffee, tobacco and tomato; and occasionally by apples, cheese, fish, honey, milk, nuts, olives and peanuts; and even by bread and water, when misused, misused, misused.
For apple drunkards, egg drunkards, rye bread drunkards, meat drunkards, story book drunkards, excitement drunkards, and all the rest come to grief just as surely as do alcoholic drunkards, only more slowly. But in a perfectly normal life, old age is the sweetest, grandest part of all.

DEAR ATLANTIC MONTHLY, —

The comments upon yourself in your Contributors’ Column tempt me to add this to your collection.
As I was leaving our modest car at the public garage, where it is kept with the limousines of our financial betters, the young woman in charge of the office noticed a copy of the Atlantic under my arm.
‘Atlantic Monthly!’ she exclaimed. ‘Well, that’s a new one on me. But there are so many new magazines nowadays, I can’t keep up with them.’
Sincerely yours,
JESSIE E. MINER.
PITTSBURGH, PA.

For the egregious mistake on the cover of the March Atlantic, we offer apologies, but no excuse. Always the obvious eludes!