The Contributors' Column--October Atlantic

Richard Burdon, Viscount Haldane of Cloan, was educated at Edinburgh and Göttingen universities, taking high honors in both. He attained great eminence at the English bar, and was one of its recognized leaders, being also widely known as a philosopher, especially by his Essays in Philosophical Criticism, and his translation of Schopenhauer’s Die Welt als Wille and Vorstelluny. On the formation of Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman’s administration after the great Liberal victory of 1905, Mr. Haldane became Secretary of State for War, and continued to hold that portfolio under Mr. Asquith, after Sir Henry’s death, until 1912. His tenure was made noteworthy by the organization of the Territorial force, for which he was directly responsible and which proved of inestimable value from the very outset of the late war. In 1911, he was raised to the peerage. From 1912 until the formation of the first Coalition ministry in 1915, he was Lord Chancellor.

On account of his partly German education and his appreciation of German philosophy and scholarship, he became a stormcentre of political discussion and recrimination, and his retirement from office was due to violent prejudice aroused against him. The Times and Daily Mail, which led the attack with virulence, made reiterated charges that he withheld from his colleagues in the ministry his report of the conversations in Germany which he here gives in detail. This accusation, which was repeated until it received wide credence, was entirely false, as readers of Lord Haldane’s papers will see.

William Beebe has for a number of months been working in his ‘Jungle Laboratory’ in Guiana. His letters encourage us to hope for a long series of papers such as this really wonderful study'of the army ant. for which the Atlantic has besought Mr. Beebe for many years, Clyde L. Davis was a member of the editorial staff of Doubleday, Page & Co. when a sudden and fatal illness cut short a career of singular promise. Henry W. Nevinson, whose name is not unfamiliar to our readers, is an English journalist of long and wide experience as a correspondent in war and peace, in all parts of the world. At the outbreak of the war he acted as correspondent of the Daily News in Belgium and Northern France; later, he was the accredited representative of the Manchester Guardian at the Dardanelles. He has published a goodly number of books, the latest being a detailed account of The Dardanelles (ampaign. He has been on the editorial staff of tiie London Nation since its foundation in 1906.

John Galsworthy, poet, essayist, and novelist, has recently returned home from his visit to the United States. Margaret Adelaide Wilson, a California story-writer, new to the Atlantic in that capacity, writes to the editor:

The origins of most of my stories lie in people I have known here in the valley. I have lived here the greater part of my life and have seen the valley grow from a remote and scattered community to its present thriving and less interesting state. I remember when motor-ears were less numerous in the valley than sabre-toothed tigers. Of the latter we have a whole mountain full, it seems, and Smithsonian enthusiasts are disturbing their peaceful bones. But in the days when we had no motor-cars and no tourists the personalities of our neighbors loomed large on our horizon, and every small act and eccentricity was analyzed and explained with minute faithfulness by all the rest of the big family we were then.

Walter Prichard Eaton, dramatic critic, essayist, and writers of stories, lives at Sheffield, Massachusetts, among the Berkshire Hills. Robert M. Gay, whose pleasant essays on familiar themes have often appeared in the Atlantic, is now Professor of English at Simmons College. Boston. Charles Bernard Nordhoff, who will be remembered for the absorbing and vivid accounts of his experience in the French and American Aviation service, which we printed last year in several installments, was in business in Vera Cruz, Mexico, for several years before the war, and until he was driven away by the revolution. Laurence Binyon, keeper of prints in the British Museum, is a poet of rapidly increasing reputation. William McFee, who, in this issue of the magazine, narrates the further adventures of his friend Ferguson, gives us hope in his last letter of other contributions to come.

Mary Lee is a young graduate of Radeliffe who, early in the war, applied for a position with the Red Cross. During the past two or three years she has led an exceedingly active life with the American forces abroad. Mazo de la Roche is a Canadian writer of magazine fiction. In August, 1915, the Atlantic printed her ‘Buried Treasure.’

Nothing pleases the editor of the Atlantic more than to be called Professor, and we have an exaggerated respect for those who treat lightly the superlative of distinctions. Burges Johnson, of the English Department of Vassar, writes: —

I am a professor, but I am inclined to avoid the constant announcement of that fact in personal address. If Miss Jones calls me Professor Johnson, surely courtesy requires that I shall call her Student Junes.

Dr. A. E. Taylor is a member of the faculty of the University of Pennsylvania, who has for several years past been employed by the United States government on foreign service in varied and highly important capacities. His exceptional opportunities for studying the situation are succinctly expressed in a letter from Paris which accompanies the article.

On coming out of Germany last February [he writes], I met a number of representatives of the press and gave them ray opinions upon the internal conditions of that country. Since then I have traveled extensively through Germany and Central Europe. My observations and convictions to date are condensed in the accompanying manuscript. I was on the American embassy in Berlin during 1916. As a member of the U.S. War Trade Board I gave particular attention to the blockade. In charge of the surveys of the American Relief Administration I have been, since December, continuously upon our side or the enemy’s side, and I believe I understand their views toward peace, their reaction to the treaty, and their internal situation.

Charles Johnston, late captain in tin1 American service, has given much patient study to conditions in Mexico. His extensive knowledge of governmental experiments in India, which has in the past been shown in many Atlantic articles, enables him to make, as the reader will observe, a number of highly suggestive comparisons. John A. Gade, a New York architect., while acting as Naval Attache to the American legation at Copenhagen, was sent on a mission to Finland and the Baltic provinces, to obtain information for the American Peace Commissioners as to the political, economic, and military situation in those countries.

There is a line somewhere, we suppose, where impudence rises to the dignity of insolence. Occasionally we meet with aspiring attempts to transgress this limit. Here is one, too naïf to admit of success. It comes to us from a Wisconsin poetess. ‘Submit at Usual Price’ is at the head of the paper, and below, a poem, entitled ‘Burial of our Soldiers,’ of which we copy a few spirited stanzas.

Peace to good Sir John Moore, lying there at Corunna!

To the mother of an American officer we are indebted for this pleasant letter from an American prisoner in Spain!

BIGARUEI.II, SPAIN, July 9.
DEAR MOTHER,
A prisoner in Spain, and I have no paper, only this blank page of a book. This is the best of all furloughs. In February, when I was in Gavarnie and saw the path leading into Spain, I knew I would have to take it sooner or later. Three days ago I had the chance. I climbed all morning long and several times was on the point of turning back. Gone in the knees and my heart beating in my throat, I thought there could be nothing in this world worth such effort. However, I finally reached the top, and viewing both France and Spain, I voted for the latter. The descent was a thousand times easier, although there was more snow. After the snow and the rocks, came fields of buttercups and forget-me-nots, and then great clumps of wild box bushes. They look just like the box in our garden, and of course, in such quantities, there is a wonderful smell. I could see a little stream in the valley and some cultivated fields, and hoped I would find someone to take me in for the night.
Everything looked very fine, and I could almost imagine getting on a train for Madrid, when I came around a rocky turn and was pinched by the Spanish army in the form of ten privates and a corporal. Not one of them spoke a word of English, and their combined efforts at French hardly made for conversation. I managed in time to make them understand that my intentions were honorable, and that I had no Bolshevist blood. They are watching especially for the Bolsheviki. We became very chatty and they arrested me in a friendly way. I am free to go back to France when I want to, but not a fool farther in Spain, so I decided to spend my furlough here. Imagine dining on pink trout, and chamois cooked in white wine. At night I am locked in, but during the day my jailers and I have greatjtimes fishing and swimming. Such an army I never saw one uniform divided among ten men; except for the sentinel on watch, no one gets up before nine o'clock,
I remembered the word mañana, meaning tomorrow, from the Mexicans in California, and it seems to mean the same thing in Spain. Each day the corporal points towards the mountains, and I say, 'Mañana. But to-morrow I really am going, as my furlough draws to a close and the charge of desertion is an ugly one.
The custom in this country is to have the fire in the middle of the room, with the whole roof sloping up into the chimney. It gets quite cool at night, and we gather around the fire for an evening of singing and guitar-playing. Great fourfoot logs for warmth, and for light a smoky pineknot on a stone shelf over our heads. Except for the bread, which is baked in pine ashes and tastes like a hard-wood floor, the food is fine.
After the 1920 celebrations, why don't, we all move to Spain?' I 'll tend the goats, you can spin, which I bet is more fun than knitting, and the rest of the family can go on picnics. There may not be so many pictures on the wall, but we could eat Sunday dinner every day, and there are no worries.
If I don't go down to the lowlands soon, the armada will begin to worry about this year’s prisoner. The Spaniards are a maligned race, I haven’t seen a cockfight since I have been here.
Love to all.
JOHN.
O mother, take in your service flag!

Whatever may be true of Mr. Irland’s famous article, it has certainly made the dry bones of classical discussion rattle. Letters in defense and attack pour in. Here is an interesting communication from one of the contrary-minded.

Augusts, 1919.
EDITOR OF THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY
SIR, —
Mr. Frederick lrland, in ‘High Schools and Classics,’ enlivens the pages of the July Atlantic with absurd definitions of a number of words by pupils in secondary schools. It is good fun, as many other amateur examiners have found, to reveal the ignorance of the young; and the conclusions that he draws and the methods by which he reaches them would be equally humorous, if it were not for the fact that careless readers, who may be influential in determining public-school policies, are led into error.
Mr. lrland argues that pupils should study the classics in order that they may know the meaning of words. It is unquestionable that etymology will help one to the meaning and to the romance of many words that are obscure or commonplace. With sympathy, eugenics, and pseudonym all perhaps get help; but how about cynical, hypocrite. and sycophant? A knowledge of the etymology, when supplemented by such books as those by Hyld. Jesperson, or Greenough and Kittredge. will help us toward the romance of this second group of words, but etymology alone will reveal the meaning, even to adult minds, hardly at all-
Mr. bland asserts that he has twenty-five thousand definitions just as bad as those that he gives, from one small class the pupils of which had no knowledge of Latin. Inasmuch as thirtytwo of the thirty-four words are of Greek origin, one may reasonably idqiure how students of Latin, because of their study of this language, should be expected to know the meaning. It is true that several of the Greek words appear in late Latin; but neither these forms nor the two words derived directly from Borne are in the Latin vocabulary of a four-year high-school course.
As there were in 1916 only 10,671 students of Greek reported to the Commissioner of Education from all public and private secondary schools in the I nited States, Mr. lrland must have tested for the most part pupils whose only classical language was Latin. It being impossible, then, that the students should know the meanings of the thirty-four words from etymology, how can we, without impeaching the author’s statement, explain their superiority over those who had studied no classics? Perhaps students who have an aptitude for verbal study are attracted to the study and persist in it. In that ease, it is incumbent on the critic to tell us how the freshmen of the two groups — classicists and non-classicists compared, and to present data showing a steady and material improvement by the former in their ability to define words. Otherwise his report is ineffective.
This article has an importance even greater than that given by its appearance in the Atlantic. in that it seems to be a part of a carefully promoted propaganda to reinstate the classics on the height from which they are slipping largely because of an unwillingness or an inability of teachers to adapt the presentation so as more fully to accomplish the ends claimed for them. Latin has a valuable contribution for that number of our student body who have an ability and an aptitude for belles-lettres, and it is much to be regretted that those who have the power should not with unanimity set themselves more seriously to the improvement of iLs teaching. It is equally obvious that many of the student population for whom public schools must provide have little interest in the classics or need for them. The problem of differentiating secondary education so as to present effectively to each pupil the subject-matter most profitable to him, and therefore to the society that must pay the expenses, is difficult enough at best. It is not made easier by extravagant claims and unsupported arguments.
THOMAS H. BRIGGS.

A letter from an American captain in active service, which begins with a compliment. to the Atlantic, ends with a singularly interesting commentary on the Chinese question, written from an angle which will be novel to most of our readers.

BORDEAUX, July 7, 1919.
. . . God bless every thoughtful person who has aided in sending the Atlantic Monthly across to Europe, or who has put a postage-stamp over ‘for the soldiers or sailors destined to proceed overseas.’. I can imagine what a sacrifice it must have meant to them, for 1 should treasure a complete set of Allantics as much as any shelf in my library, if 1 had one.
May I add just a paragraph or two? It is about the news that has been of the greatest moment to some of us since the signature at Versailles: ‘China alone did not sign.’
Just three months ago I was privileged to hear Dr. C. T. Wang of the Chinese Peace Delegation declare what he thought was China’s greatest need. It was not education, nor religion, nor business enterprise, nor army, nor mining development, though he believed in every one of these. It was something which included them all: fighting spirit. The Chinese people lacked fighting spirit. Yet us agree with him and say that they did lack it; but do they now?
Dr. Wang and his associates, by their fearless action on the morning of the twenty-eighth of June, gave the lie to his words as regards themselves. This mission had one last fighting chance to save their country from the clutches of an exterior power, and they took it. And the other Chinesc in France - the one hundred and thirty thousand-odd men who are laboring for the French and British armies how about them? I cannot answer for all, but I can answer for ten camps of them, camps which are in every case hundreds of kilometres from the front, where they might more naturally become martial in spirit. They are getting it.
Two months ago, we had a track-meet, with about eighty taking part. The men did not compete for the prizes, for there were ten prizes undistributed at the end of the afternoon. Two weeks later, we had another just as heated, with a tug-of-war which was a tie after a two-minute struggle; and a cross-country relay race in which the losing side was fifty yards ahead up to the tenth and last man to receive the pole.
I have also seen real fist fights. It used to discourage me so much as a little youngster in Peking, to hear a quarrel brewing in the distance on the road or at a fair, rush up to it, and find two men grasping each other’s queues, with the feud otherwise.resolved into nothing but a battle of epithets and reviling. Perhaps I ought not to condone the exhibition of animalism that a real Anglo-Saxon set-lo means; but 1 must say, I prefer it to the other alternative, and so would anyone if they knew what the Chinese terms of reproach signify.
And how are they taking the last bit of news? I was down at Lc Poteau Friday night, showing a few reels of films. One of the laborers the last time I was there had said to me, ‘The next time you come, bring some war films. I want to see you foreigners fight.’
I told him I would if I could. The nearest I could find to a war film was Charlie Chaplin’s ‘Shoulder Arms.’ Between the second and third reels I told in brief all the China news 1 had culled out of letters and French journals since my previous visit.
One spoke up: ‘ Is China going to fight ? ’ (K’ai chang, he said, which means open battle.)
‘ I don’t know.’
‘Well, if she is, we all want to go home right away and join the army.’
And the whole crowd shouted approval.
To-night, at Manzac, we were discussing the same things, and the fervor of their talk reminded me of nothing so much as similar discussions, which I recall as clearly as noonday, on the campus of a New England college in the spring of 1917. They were discussions which sent all but two of my class into the direct military service of the United States army or navy.
China in France is getting the fighting spirit. May America help to sec that China in the Orient gets a fair deal in Shantung. If she fails to do this, the pronouncements of our spokesmen will have been as empty as they were high-sounding, and the reasons for which we entered the army will have been partly in vain.
Very sincerely yours,
CARRINGTON GOODRICH.

‘Why did the “literary gentleman” in Miss Sedgwick’s story in the August Atlantic say, “Did you know that I write?” And why did Mrs. Baldwin answer, “Your cousin in her letter, you know, told me that you wrote ” ? ’ (So inquires a reader of rhetorical predilections.)

And the answer is that these people of Miss Sedgwick’s are real people. Conversational English is n’t the English of the textbook. If it were. Lord bless us! What would conversation be? We still have with us those who listen in silent but expressive pain to the use of ‘I’d rather’ for the stilted ‘I would rather’ of the classroom. But a certain freedom from formalism is an essential of all good talk.

Do our readers agree with us?