Earnest Elmo Calkins has found in business a life of adventure and wide experience. Its record is spread through his Atlantic papers of personal philosophy, of picturesque accounts of his youth in a prairie town, of his triumph over deafness, and more recently a series of business articles — ‘Business Has Wings,’‘Insuring Insurance,’‘Beauty the New Business Tool,’to mention a few — which, with their understanding of the human and dramatic qualities of industry, have provoked a response unusual in the experience of the editors. These latter papers, vastly augmented, are soon to appear in an important volume published by the Atlantic Monthly Press. ¶The author of ‘The Heresy of the Parochial School’ is an American Roman Catholic clergyman of more than national prominence. He has held a high and responsible position in his Church, and for over thirty years has ministered to his large flock with gentle devotion and untiring zeal. He has been widely recognized as a deep student of human problems. A man of God and a lover of the people, he is esteemed by all who know him. Elizabeth Stanley, the young daughter of an Atlantic contributor, makes, we think, an impressive début in this number. She was one of William Beebe’s associates on the Arcturus Adventure and has worked under Dr. Gregory in the American Museum of Natural History, but is now at home writing for all she is worth. Eleanor Lattimore is another young and far-traveled American. She and her husband planned a wedding trip along the ancient caravan routes to Chinese Turkestan. But—as described in the January Atlantic — they became separated and Mrs. Lattimore was compelled to travel alone for seventeen days, guided by Tatar sledge drivers, spending the nights in filthy Kazak huts that were buried in the snow, and living on frozen bread, brick tea, and bad mutton. ‘At first,’she wrote us, ‘I nearly froze to death, but ended up by driving my own sledge through a blizzard because there were n’t enough drivers/

Formerly of Oberlin College, Paul F. Laubenstein is now teaching at the Union Theological Seminary. Joseph Auslander, a frequent contributor in the near past, has returned to his muse after an interval devoted to the preparation of a history of poetry. ¶It will be seen that Lucy Furman has her cause at heart. In a postscript to her paper she reminds us that in almost all of our states there is a statute which fines and imprisons anyone who ‘tortures, torments, or cruelly kills any animal,’but that, like other prohibitions, it is seldom enforced. Miss Furman urges all who are interested to write to the Anti-Steel-Trap League, 926 Fifteenth Street, N. W., Washington. Captain B. H. Liddell Hart’s studies of the captains of the Great War—shortly to be published in book form — would not be complete without the story of General Allenby, who was, as his critic says, the Last Crusader and the commander of one of the most romantic campaigns in history, ¶It appears that in the course of his editorial career John O’Hara Cosgrave has made friends with a certain wise man whom he describes as being ‘very bitter about success salesmen, all forms of altruism, and heroes. He hates optimists, pessimists, headaches — the list could be continued indefinitely. His opinion about wines is unprintable, and when he talks about editors and journalism I blush for my hideous past.’ In his ‘past’ Mr. Cosgrave has been editor of Everybody’s and managing editor of Collier’s Weekly. The Reverend Edmund A. Walsh, S.J., vice president of Georgetown University, continues in this number his dramatic account of the fall of the Romanovs. Father Walsh originally went to Russia with Herbert Hoover; he remained there for years distributing the immense relief fund raised by American Catholics, and during this period began to gather the materials for his authoritative story. ¶We quote the last paragraph of the letter that accompanied Frances Hulbert Rarig’s manuscript: —

I still treasure a letter my brother wrote me when my first child was born, in which he said, ‘You may have a son, Ike, but I have a story in the Atlantic Monthly!' If that pleasure is to comee to me, too, perhaps I have more than my share.

Arthur C. Holden and his associates are now serving as consultant architects to the Temporary Commission to Revise the Tenement House Law of New York and have acted in a similar capacity to the New York State Board of Housing. Mr. Holden is the author of The Primer of Housing.Laurence Binyon, keeper of prints in the British Museum, is an English poet and essayist of a quality long since amply recognized. William G. Thompson has had a long and important career with the Boston bar. A conservative by nature and training, Mr. Thompson gave to this famous case a new and unique importance. It should be explained that he had withdrawn as active counsel for Sacco and Vanzetti prior to their last meeting, and therefore felt free to share with others the details of an extraordinary conversation. A line should be added concerning the reference made to one Boda. He was a radical acquaintance of Vanzetti and a traveling salesman, who lived in Bridgewater at the time of both crimes (December 24, 1919, and April 15, 1920). He was interviewed by the police on April 20, 1920, was not arrested, and has for several years been living with his family at a known address in Italy. Accusations at one time made against him of some complicity in both crimes were not substantiated at either trial.

To the knowledge of an economist, a sociologist, and a much traveled man, H. H. Powers adds a wide acquaintance with European affairs. Alden H. Clark is a graduate of Amherst and the Union Theological Seminary. For seventeen years he has worked as an educational and evangelical missionary in India. He has served on the Executive Committee of the National Church Council of India and is now chairman of the oldest mission of the American Board.

The Prize Blunder

While A. Edward Newton’s latest volume, The Greatest Book in the World, was in press, and when it was too late to make a correction, the author discovered a blunder. He promptly proposed a prize of twenty dollars for the first reader to discover the error, and the announcement was included in his Preface. In response over a hundred letters were received calling attention to a misprint on page 406 (line 5— ‘Peter’ for ‘Percy’), but only one reader, Mr. P. M. Stone of Waltham, Massachusetts, had the presence of mind to spot the prize blunder. It occurs on page 54, where the author says: ‘Climb Ludgate Hill and as you approach St. Paul’s, swing round to your left, make a turn or two, and get lost, and you will stumble upon the Dean’s Garden.’ As a matter of fact you won’t do anything of the kind unless you go up the right-hand side of the street and turn to the right just one turn, when you will stumble upon the Dean’s Garden — and it is not a particularly lovely spot.

Letters from our most distant correspondents, the Svensens, have previously been published in the Column. This one, forwarded to us by a mutual friend, is extremely touching.

This letter will no doubt be morbid, but I want you both to know exactly how we live, and the character of the people we come in contact with. About a fortnight ago there was a terrible outrage on Europeans and natives by the bush tribes in the Island of Malaita. All natives over about fourteen years (males) are taxed, also dogs. The Government District Officer who has charge of these Islands and his European assistant were on their rounds, collecting taxes, and at one bush village some four hundred natives had collected near the improvised office of the tax collector. To protect the white men there were fourteen native trained police boys, armed with rifles. Just as the D. O. was leaving, a native came forward and handed him a tax receipt. As the D. O. was examining it, the fellow struck him with an axe. This was the signal for the native rising.
The bush men swarmed about the native police, murdered twelve of them outright and mortally wounded the other four. The assistant was also murdered. Next they cut off the D. O.’s leg and the assistant’s arm, and carried away the body of one of the dead police boys and a considerable amount of money. With this booty they slipped back into the bush, evidently for a cannibal feast.
At this juncture a ship coming along the coast to recruit labor happened to call, but not a bushman was to be seen. The captain of the ship carried the dead bodies into headquarters and reported the terrible crime. The D. O. was a fine fellow, understanding perfectly these savage tribes, but this crime was evidently planned for some revenge. The latest news I hear is that two men-of-war have been sent from Australia and there is to he a raid on these savage bush tribes. The tragedy has unnerved many of us, because it is such a bad example to the other natives. They are really all savages, subdued only by fear.
When I heard the news I was here alone and shall be alone probably for three more weeks. My husband is away, earning some ready money we need for our yearly taxes. I can hardly express what a gloom it has sent over everything and everybody. About a week before I heard of this terrible crime a big whaleboat came here with about forty natives from the Malaita Island, but they do not belong to the cannibal tribes. The boys came to buy pig they wanted for a big feast. I could not let them see I was in any way disturbed and keep Tommy and Jerry, my two ^watchdogs, near at hand. But to my horror they decided to camp on the island for the night, and it was impossible to make any objection. Just at dusk I let Jerry off his chain and he ran one of the boys right into the sea. He was only playing, but I told the boys he was a most savage dog. That night I never slept, but at six the next morning, to my great relief, the boys left.
These people never murder anyone if their women and children are about. It is always a bad sign if the women are sent away. My medical work protects me to a great degree, but I do not entirely trust anybody. I am always on my guard. Fortunately I have a fairly strong will power, but occasionally my nerves are highly strung and I have to take myself well in hand.
To-day I sent a boy for our mail, a journey of about thirty miles. I am always sure of a letter, etc., from your dear selves. You will never know what joy your letters and gifts bring to us. We love everything you have sent and we know they are selected with such loving care. The toys I have put away until Christmas. They will bring lots of joy, I know. This year has gone so quickly.
We seem to have had continued attacks of influenza. My last attack was very severe. But I ain much better now. I have so many little duties, resting is almost impossible.
(My cat has been sitting on this page — please excuse marks.)
Later. — I have just heard from a native boy that my husband has gone with the Government to help in the raid on the bush natives. Naturally I feel very anxious. The bushmen have also murdered a European missionary and his wife. It is so sad, as they were good people. Once these natives start, there is not much hope, as there are hundreds of them. A native is never your friend. His nature is too changeable. He is just led by the mob. The Government will have to take very drastic measures or the Europeans cannot remain, especially the women and children.
Excepting for my two watchdogs, I am on this island alone to-night. The Government evidently called at the station where my husband is doing duties, and there was not time even to write me a note. All I know is that be has gone with the raiding party.
I hear there is a man-of-war, the Adelaide, sent from Australia. The raid will probably last many weeks, as there are fourteen villages implicated in the crimes. The Government means to get the natives, alive or dead. It is time these people were subdued.
I am so anxious over my husband’s safety, as I know be will go in any danger. He has heaps of courage. Will you both pray for him?

In the December Atlantic, M’Cready Sykes asked the question, ‘Shall we send our children to church?’ He has been answered without hesitation, and for the most part emphatically in the affirmative.

I have read the article, ‘Shall We Send Our Children to Church? ’ in your December issue and it is typical of many that have appeared there and elsewhere in recent years. There is more or less truth in what the writer says, but, thank God, it is not all of the truth. The author is stated to be a New York lawyer and his brief against the Church is that there is a lack of intellectual integrity on the part of some of the clergy. It is doubtless true that this charge against some few clergymen could be substantiated, but the vast majority of preachers are confining themselves to the broad field of non-polemical exegesis, where they speak with sincerity and authority.
There are hundreds of churches in New York City, where the author of that article lives, and he would have no difficulty in finding among their many pastors and rectors one whose mental and religious attitude met his special requirements. I am assuming that is what he desires to do.
Let us apply the same argument to medical science. It has come down to us through the necromancy, ignorance, and superstitions of the distant past until to-day it is the ministering angel of every family in the land. It has made mistakes, and tremendous ones, in the past, and there will be more made in the future, but what a proud record of victories to its credit: smallpox, typhoid fever, yellow fever, and diphtheria stamped out and general well-being increased. Shall we scrap medicine because of the errors some of its votaries have made?
How about the legal profession? There have been perversions of justice, occasional venal judges, corrupt juries, etc., but what a wonderful and noble monument our system of jurisprudence is, and how safe and comfortable we feel under its shadow! Shall we scrap this institution and substitute in its place anarchy because of its occasional failures?
My own business is a modest one, but affords a satisfactory income so that I can support my family in reasonable comfort, educate my children, and have something left for others. I have made many errors in the conduct of the business and my employees are also subject to the usual human frailties, so that there are occasional periods of rough sailing; but shall I scrap the business for these minor reasons and deprive my family and myself of a means of livelihood?
I am not always in perfect accord with my own Church. Not all the pulpit utterances are in harmony with my own views, not all the brethren are personally agreeable to me, but shall I leave the Church for these trivial reasons and deprive my soul of that spiritual food which is an absolute necessity? One is not obliged to eat all the items on a table d’hôte menu, but can select those which best meet his need and still be nourished.
When we consider the history of the Christian Church down through the ages, how it has withstood the assaults of foes within and without, the carping criticism and bitter tirades of those without, together with the chill indifference and hypocrisy of many within its gates, how the army has marched on always brave and ofttimes pathetic, how it has transformed a dark, despairing world to one of light and hope in spite of our weak human teamwork, and in spite of bitter opposition from without, we know that it must be divine. The trouble is not with our divine leadership but with our feeble and indifferent coöperation.
Very sincerely yours,

I confess to a rather vigorous reaction to Mr. M’Cready Sykes’s article in your December issue on ‘Shall We Send our Children to Church?’
First of all, Mr. Sykes might have put his question in a more profitable form if he had asked, ‘Shall we take our children to church with us?’ It was the habit in old New England, both among Puritans and others, to take their children to church rather than send them. Undoubtedly if to-day any church has become really mentally obnoxious to parents such parents should not send their children to it. Such sending lacks the prime virtue of intellectual integrity for which Mr. Sykes pleads.
Again, it may be doubted if any church service, liberal or otherwise, intelligent or not, can regularly supply a service and instruction suitable or helpful at the same time for children and adults. If Mr. Sykes is conversant with the present problem of religious education he must know that this entire matter is now being wisely studied by experts, by the Religious Education Association of America, and by such men as Coe, Artman, Holmes, and many others. The simple fact is that no religious educator thinks in terms of ‘sending children to church’ as Mr. Sykes uses the phrase.
Now about ‘the intellectual integrity’ of churches and preachers. He pictures these agents as ‘ringing the changes on formularies so utterly divorced from reality that their denunciations no longer terrify, and their promises no longer allure.’ The reply is that we should rejoice that such a charmer no longer charms! From such teaching both children and parents may well remain away. It is certain that we can’t act half-adult and half-child in our attitude; it is a case of all go or all stay away.
GEORGE LAWRENCE PARKER Minister, First Unitarian Church

Mr. Sykes’s article in your current issue makes a conscientious mother very thoughtful, it is so reasonable.
I have raised an atheist, a behaviorist, and a postscript as yet half-baked in her ideas, and all of them have gone to church with me in their youth. To be sure, they are what I hoped the church would make them — viz., searchers for truth, lovers of humanity and of righteousness. But when they began to think for themselves (and surely I wish to encourage independent thinking), their thoughts went in three different directions, away from the church and all it stands for. They reason things out and think them through until they arrive at their own conclusions, different from mine. So I am learning not to look, act, or even feel disappointed when they spend their Sundays out of doors or in study, and do not join us when we go to church. The children are independent entities. I cannot follow their lead. The church has implanted and nourished in me a joyous spirit that is standing up while the body breaks down. The whine at the beginning of a service is always followed by ‘Oh, come, let us sing,’ and ‘Oh, be joyful in the Lord,’ and ‘The Peace of God’ concludes the service.
The children don’t expect an accident of nature or an illness to break down their bodies before old age comes upon them. But supposing they should fall from an airplane without becoming quite extinct? Then will the critique of pure reason or any other philosophy uphold their spirit, or will their portion be black despair?
If I could raise another set of children, I should take them to church with me as long as they were happy there — and abide by the result.
Yours sincerely,

Misery loves company.

I have just read Mr. Lewis’s article, ‘I Have My Doubts,’ in the December issue. I know just what he means — I have also experienced that indecision. Unfortunately I am afraid he is not unique, even in America, as he thinks he is.
It seems to be a state of thought made of fear, self-condemnation, and lack of confidence. But it is a passing phase, unless one does not wish it to be so. I imagine it usually comes from taking a step toward open-mindedness and then biting off more than one can chew — if you will excuse the mixed metaphor.
The painful part of the situation is that we keep watching our reactions until they are almost obsessions, as a child, looking over his mother’s shoulder, cannot keep his fascinated gaze from the object of his terror.
If Mr. Lewis’s appeal is for a way out I can console him by saying that I was helped over the more unpleasant side of the trouble through the study of Christian Science. It seemed to give me a definite basis — a focal point for my straying opinions. If that would not appeal to him, psychology is doing wonderful things in that direction also.
On the other hand, I am sure he does not want to lose that ability to see both sides of a question entirely. How much better is that than the man who is so dead certain that neither facts nor arguments even change him. He is completely crystallized.
The ideal method seems to me to be able to fix on a definite opinion at the time, but to be ready and willing to change whenever circumstances warrant it. Was it in the Atlantic that I read recently that the way to keep young is to be an eternal question mark?

As misery loves company, I am thankful for Roger Lewis’s article in the December issue. I too am a doubter, and until I read this article I felt that there was something abnormal the matter with me. But now I feel better about my ambivalence. (That is what a psychoanalyst told me the dreadful thing is.) I begin to wonder if some of the people who act as if they had sure and unvarying opinions are at heart as vacillating as Mr. Lewis says he is and as I have always been.
Why, I am a mush of concessions and uncertainties! To-night I will be convinced that I approve of a certain idea; to-morrow I wonder why I was ever sure that I felt like that. And this habit gets me into scrapes, for I have a fatal facility for seeing both sides of a question and sympathizing with both sides. In this day of divorce I have a hectic time — for my friend will tell me of her husband’s faults and that she cannot live with him, and I can understand it entirely. Then her husband — also my friend — confides to me that while of course his wife is an excellent woman, and all that, yet certain things she does just scarify his nerves and he cannot stand her any longer — and I quite understand that, too. So I keep right on being sorry for both and sympathizing with both, and each one of them thinks I am disloyal! But I am not. Only I am never sure which one is right and which wrong. Honestly, I do not believe that either is either!
I am glad that when my time comes to die I probably shall not have to make a choice — but that it will be taken completely out of my hands. The thought that in that one journey at least I shall not have to choose the route or method of transportation robs death of some of its supposed terrors. One of the few things I am sure of in this life is that I shall never be sure that I am sure I am right.
So I thank you and Mr. Lewis for his reassuring article. I am actually sure that I like it.