William Orton, one-time member of the British Ministry of Labor, is a Professor of Economies at Smith College. Johnson O’Connor is an electrical engineer with a widely varied career in the sciences. He is a student of metallography and for five years was engaged in astronomical research with Pereival Lowell, the discoverer of the new planet Pluto. Mr. O’Connor is now in charge of the Human Engineering Laboratories of the General Electric Company, and lectures at Stevens Institute of Technology. Two years ago he published a book on human aptitudes, Born That Way. Francis Vivian Drake will he remembered as the ’flying banker’ of the March issue, ‘Thirty' might be any young man who pauses to take stock of himself as he crosses the divide between youth and maturity. Doremy Olland is a young English poetess. Oswald Couldrey is a veteran of the Indian Educational Service. He was at one time Principal of Rajahmundry College. Ella H. Fishberg is a physician on the staff of the Beth Israel Hospital in New York City. While pursuing her studies in Germany she wrote the article here published. ▵ An ardent horsewoman. Alice Day Pratt has every opportunity to indulge her love of the sport upon her ranch in Oregon.

Claude M. Fuess is a historian and author with many books to his credit. His latest is a biography of Webster; he is now at work upon a definitive life of Henry Cabot Lodge. ▵ It may be that Edwa Robert’s nostalgia for her childhood home was stimulated in some measure by her adventurous motherhood, of which she writes; ’Anne turned the baby out into a snowstorm without coat or hat, and before I recovered from that John built a bonfire in the play room which Kevin put out — but not before the fire engine had been summoned. Big-game hunting in Africa would be a tame affair compared to a day at home for me.’ George F. Whicher is a Professor of English at Amherst. ▵ Graduating from Harvard in 1916, Lieutenant Melvin F. Talbot joined the Navy at the beginning of the war. ‘I stayed in,’ he says, ’frankly because I liked it. It has always seemed to me that those who go to sea long for the skill of Masefield’s Dauber to paint “the great ships carrying on, and men. their minds . . .”and the ability to make the naval profession, both in its larger phases where if touches national policy and the issues of peace and war. and in its smaller and more personal details, something which our country can appreciate and understand.’ Susanne K. Lunger is a tutor in philosophy at Radcliffe College, Stuart Chase, engineering economist. was educated at Massachusetts Institute of Technology and Harvard. James Harvey Williams is a New York manufacturer.

Mazo de la Roche is the distinguished author of Jalna and Whiteoaks of Jalna, the ancestors in a double sense of Finch. A synopsis of the two preceding installments follows: —

The time of the story is the present; the scone, Jalna — a large country house in Ontario, built in 1850 by Captain Philip Whiteoak. Here live Captain Whiteonk’s two surviving sons, Nicholas and Ernest, now old men, with their nephews, who are the sons of their dead brother Philip. Of these the oldest, Renny, is head of the clan — a passionate horseman and farmer about forty years of age. He has recently married Alayne Archer, a somewhat prim and intellectual New Yorker, the divorced wife of his half brother Eden, a poet, who ran away with his sister’s nursemaid, Minny Ware, and is now in Europe. A third brother, Piers, husband of Pheasant and father ot young Mooey, is Renny’s right-hand man in the management of the estate - a difficult job, owing to the family’s rather extravagant way of living and to the fact that old Mrs. Whiteoak, instead of leaving her fortune to one of her sons, or to Penny, for the upkeep of the family as a whole, willed it to her grandson Finch, a sensitive musician, somewhat appalled at the riches he has inherited. Wakefield, a delicate and precocious boy of fourteen, is the last of the brothers. The only sister, Meg, older than Renny, is married to a neighboring farmer, Maurice Vaughan, and has one little girl.

As soon as he reaches the age of twenty-one Finch sets about spending his money generously on the rest of the family. (Renny alone refuses to take anything from him.) He invites his uncles Nicholas and Ernest to accompany him to England, where they all visit his aunt Augusta, a widow living in Devonshire. Arriving at her house, they meet Mrs. Court, a distant relative, who is staying there with her niece, Sarah, a strange, shy, musical girl of twenty-five. Finch also discovers that Eden and Minny Ware, hard up as usual, have taken possession of the vacant lodge on Augusta’s place, much to his aunt’s dismay.

While ‘Thirty’ philosophizes soberly in this issue upon his vanishing youth, E. F. W.. who is twice thirty and then a third more, writes these jaunty lines De Seuectute:—

It’s lots of fun to be seventy-one
With work undone and zest still keen!
Plus-three-score-ten has no terrors when
One’s working: then
Life flows serene.
More work, more fruit, with joys to boot!
Full years transmute alloy to gold.
New fruit, new friends kind Heaven sends,
Till life here ends.
Thus grow we old!

A prize contest.

A short time ago a group of us were discussing Edison’s ‘intelligence test’ questions. There were brains in the group and discussion was lively. Someone (it happened to be myself) said: ‘I’ll give a question that would be an intelligence test. The answers would he provocative and some of them might he exceedingly serviceable. Here it is: Suppose all book publishers agreed not to publish anything new for a year except SIX books to be issued according to some prearranged plan. They would have to look around pretty carefully to find the six ideal subjects and the six authors best qualified to write about each. What should those six books be?'
Did that make a hit? Man! Everybody forgot Edison and plunged at once into speculation upon the nature of those six as-yet-unwritten books. I’ll let you in on this — the six books would have to be tremendous contributions to civilization and progress.
After a time I said, ‘Why would n’t that question be a fine one for one of the quality magazines to pursue — the Atlantic Monthly, for instance? A roar of approval went up. I said, ‘It could he handled as a series of contributed articles representing several points of view, or as a prize contest. ‘ A prize contest!' everybody shouted. Then, waxing expansive, I added, ‘And why should n’t the six books actually he published?’ ‘Why not!’ they flung back.
So, there you are — a prize contest for the Atlantic, and eventually, perhaps, some books for the Atlantic Monthly Press and the Little, Brown combination.

Following Mr. Colby’s suggestion, the Atlantic announces a prize contest based upon his idea. Cash prizes of $25, $15, and $10 will be awarded for the throe best lists of six future books. The following simple rules must be observed: 1. The contest will be open to everybody everywhere. 2. Each paper submitted must contain not more than 300 words. 3. Each contestant must list six new, unpublished books which he would like to see published. 4. Each suggestion must bo concrete, with suggested title, author, and a brief description of the book’s contents. 5. Not more than one novel may be included in the list; all six books may be non-fiction if the contestant prefers, 6. The contest will close on Monday, August 24, 1931; papers which reach the Atlantic office after that date will be automatically ruled out. 7. The three prize-winning papers will be published in the October issue of the Atlantic. 8. The Editor of the Atlantic will be the sole judge of the contest. 9. Address all contributions to the Contest Editor, Atlantic Monthly, 8 Arlington St., Boston.

Just to give an example, the Editor of the Atlantic Bookshelf has been invited to submit his own list of the six books which he might have been clever enough to suggest in answer to such a challenge if it had come to him a year ago. Here is his list: —

Soviet Russia, by William Henry Chamberlin A history of the ten years of the Communistic experiment

A Roving Commission, by Winston Spencer Churchill The autobiography of a young Englishman — his education and his military exploits at the close of the Victorian Age

The Mysterious Universe, by Sir James Jeans A great scientist’s outlook on the universe and his estimate of the significance of human life

Memories of the World War, by General Pershing The World War as seen through the eyes of the Commander of the A.E.F.

Angel Pavement, by J. B. Priestley A picturesque novel of contemporary London

Business Adrift, by Dean Wallace B. Denham A man of business and learning surveys the current depression and suggests a means of recovery

Of course these six books have now been published and therefore would not quality for the contest. To satisfy the conditions the books suggested must be unpublished books which are not on the list of any publisher; in other words, they must be the six unwritten books which the contestant would like to see written.

’I come not to send peace, but a sword.’

Is n’t it strange that, according to the article in the April issue on ‘The Faith of a Commander,’the religion of Jesus, who was beyond a doubt a pacifist (the Prince of Peace), should be a moving factor in the career of a great general?

From the First Assistant Postmaster General.

As a member of the group of administrators which is at present concerned with disbursing the huge and mounting appropriations for conducting the Federal Government, I have been much interested in Mr. Lawrence Sullivan’s articles dealing with the cost of our bureaucratic régime. It is quite natural that in a protest of this kind some errors and overstatements were bound to creep in which detract somewhat from its impressiveness, but there is enough of accuracy to engage the serious consideration of those who are reluctant to contribute a larger percentage of their earnings for governmental paternalism.
My own responsibilities having to do solely with postal affairs, I was of course interested in Mr. Sullivan’s reference in the April issue to Congressman Kendall’s published statement that a still larger postal deficit was desirable. In this connection, I believe your readers might well consider the following facts as containing the answers to Mr. Sullivan’s disturbing picture. During the past year, the volume of mail has fallen off approximately 10 per cent, resulting in decreased revenues to the extent of some thirty millions of dollars. Postmaster General Brown, confronted with a permanent Civil Service force whose wages, hours, and working conditions are fixed by Congress, directed that waste and unnecessary expense be ruthlessly eliminated. No employees were discharged. Post offices became overmanned because of this shrinking of mail volume, and as employees retired, resigned, or were removed for cause, the vacancies were left unfilled. This policy will continue until business returns, and as a result, on July 1 next, Mr. Brown will return to Ihe Treasury about $15,000,000 of the current appropriation for Post Office Service. Now this, of course, is fine public service, but what does the public, as represented by press editorial comment, think of it?
The Post Office Department is accused of contributing to unemployment, condemned for not, as it were, padding its pay rolls and still further increasing the excess of expenditures over postal receipts. The deficit this current year will be over $130,000,000, and next year may reach $150,000,000, and Mr. Mellon will be called upon to pay it out of general revenues. The benevolence of Uncle Sam will never be curbed until the man in the street realizes that he is paying a portion of the taxes every time he makes a purchase of any kind. Until organized taxpayers overcome organized raids on the Treasury, public money will continue to flow freely.

The demon of speculation.

’Whirlwinds of Speculation,’by Samuel Spring, in your April number, was a most excellent article — excellent in many ways, but still wide of the mark. Mr. Spring ascribes the recent panic and the resulting depression to the creation of masses of ‘units of speculation.’ One week after the great collapse there were as many ‘units of speculation’ as there were one week before, and there are just as many right now. But the point is that they are not being widely bought and sold, they are not being speculated in.
It was not the excessive number of the units of speculation that caused the trouble, but the wild speculation in those units. When the market broke, the public forthwith lost faith and confidence and values tumbled. So the causes lie, first, in the ‘whirlwinds of speculation,’ and second, in the snap of credit and confidence which resulted therefrom when an awakened public saw clearly to what boundless excesses in speculation it had been improvidently led.

At last — the doctor gets his due!

I wish to commend you heartily for the article in the March number entitled ‘Medicine and the Middle Class,’by Dr. Wingate M. Johnson. The subject is treated in the finest and most rational manner of anything I have read on this question. In fact, it is good common sense applied to medicine and its problems. Whilethe Committee on the Costs of Medical Care will no doubt be able to gather a great deal of valuable and interesting data, I believe they will reach no safer conclusions than are expressed by this article. Both you and the medical profession are to be congratulated on such a clear and concise presentation, without prejudice and in all fairness both to doctors and to the public.

An advertising man defends radio.

It is my business as an advertising man to keep posted on all classes of advertising media, I have to be fair to the claims of each. So when I read Professor William Orton’s article in your January issue, ‘The Level of Thirteen-Year-Olds,’I naturally thought that it would carry within itself its own condemnation. But I note in your March issue that a number of your subscribers endorse Professor Orton’s utterances and this impels me to say a word in defense of radio.
Professor Orton inveighs against what he calls ‘the mass appeal’ of the radio, and he goes on further to say that ‘the broadcasting systems do not accept lectures and educational talks between the hours of six and midnight.’ I am writing this on March 9, so I turn to to-day’s New York Times and select this programme from any number of others of a similar nature: —

WEAF 7.15 ‘Hitlerites Challenge Reichstag,’ James G. McDonald
7.45 ‘The United States—A Limited Sovereignty,’Leslie M. Shaw, former Secretary of the Treasury
8.00 ‘The Rich Don’t Have the Taxes,’Merle Thorpe

Here are three educational talks all within the space of one hour, and broadcast at a time when, according to Professor Orton, the ‘thirteen-yearold’ mind is supposed to dominate. If space permitted, I could extend the list of lectures between six and midnight almost indefinitely. This onehour programme given by a typical station will be enough, however, to show how little real substance there is in Professor Orton’s complaints.
It does seem to me that Professor Orton’s reference to Mr. Owen D. Young is unsound and unfair. I am firmly of the belief that his connection with radio is a guarantee that the public, the advertiser, and the government itself will be fairly treated, and I have the same feeling about the other men mentioned in his article—General J. G. Harbord. Chairman of the Board of the Radio Corporation of America, and Mr. David Sarnoff, its President, and Mr. M. H. Aylesworth, President of the National Broadcasting Company.
I believe also that Professor Orton is unfair when he takes the stand that advertising per se is a nuisance, an impertinent intruder into the private lives of people. This idea of the ’cloistered existence, this ‘keeping ourselves unspotted from the world, surely has no place in this modern system of living of ours, the motive power of whose forward movement. toward higher standards has been furnished by the persuasive and educational qualities of advertising. If you will agree with me that advertising has been largely responsible for the better health of our people in the anti-tuberculosis campaigns and in campaigns urging the people to healthful exercises; to proper sanitary care, such as teeth brushing, bathing, and soap using; if you will agree that advertising has taught people to use better, cleaner, more healthful foods; to wear more attractive clothes; to furnish their homes more sanely and beautifully; to read more books and better ones; to listen to and appreciate better music — these and a hundred other things that make this world a more colorful and happier place in which to live; then, and in that case, it passes my comprehension why this new form — radio advertising, which carries the gospel of efficiency into the very home — should come in for such denunciation as that of Mr. William Orton.
The professor is particularly annoyed by what he calls ‘the unctuous bleatings of the high priests of salesmanship.’ Let us pause for a moment to see what cause he has for this petulant outburst. If you will analyze almost any programme on either the National or the Columbia chain, you will find that less than 15 per cent of the time which the advertiser pays for is devoted to advertising. The remaining 85 per cent is given over to either music or entertainment. When you realize that the accepted standard for newspapers is 50 per cent advertising and 50 per cent reading matter, you will see how considerate the sponsors of commercial programmes now are of the public’s interest. In spite of this, Professor Orton writes, ' I ask protection against the present forms of radio advertising.’ if the advertiser’s selfeffacement as revealed by these figures is not enough to satisfy him, even a professor of economics ought to know that all he has to do to protect himself completely is to turn the dial.
Commercial broadcasting in this country is a monument to those public-spirited advertisers who first used radio programmes as builders of goodwill or as general publicity for their nationally advertised products. In prosperous times they did not hesitate to spend from $250,000 to $500,000 for such institutional publicity. But, since the depression set in, many have thought it their duty to make every investment in advertising bring direct results in increased sales. During 1930, and again this year, commercial broadcasting has stood this test; this is why nearly every commercial programme now has from one minute to ten minutes of direct selling talk. When the public understands how important this is to business recovery, people will gladly listen to the advertising talks in the same way that they read advertisements in newspapers and magazines.
Sincerely yours,

‘I’oway, my I’owa-a-ay.'

In regard to Mr. Vizetelly’s statement in the February Atlantic as to the correct pronunciation of Iowa, may i testify that in the northeastern counties of that state, at least, common usage makes it i’oway. The state song follows the metre of ‘Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum,’ and I can still hear the pupils of the country school which I taught singing with gusto, ‘I’oway, my I’owa-a-ay.’ Just try it with the other pronunciation and notice the staccato!
Sincerely yours,

Living versus knowing.

’At last!' This was my comment when I had finished reading Julian Huxley’s article, ’Religion Meets Science,’in the March issue. Here is a perfectly sane and thorough discussion of a much manhandled subject. Religion is concerned with living, science with knowing. Science does not resolve the mystery of life — it reveals it. Religion is concerned with mystery only as life is mysterious. The ancient notion that man is set to put righteousness into the creative order remains, and science suggests that human nature itself can be ‘evolved’ to this end — not by idle dreaming, but by conscious striving.

A bishop dissents.

Professor Huxley’s article, ‘Religion Meets Science,’ attracts the eye, and the distinguished scientist’s introduction meets all the requirements laid down by the rhetoricians regarding the appeal to the sympathies of his readers. But the distinguished professor does not long adhere to the humble rôle. In point of fact, he quickly develops a professorial attitude of infallibility that is as painful as it is illogical.
The professor states that all religions have three common factors, viz,: ‘A sense of sacredness, a sense of dependence, a desire for explanation and comprehension.’ Basing his arguments on the science of comparative religion, he offers these three subjectives as the basis of all religion and goes farther, in as much as he makes no distinction at all between the lowest form of paganism and Christianity. The rest of the article is devoted to building up his argument proposed under the three heads already mentioned. It is therefore difficult to reply to him within the confined space that can be allotted a communication. But in passing it should be observed that for a scientist to undertake any thesis with his entire argument based on subjective and intimately personal facts is as curious as it is unusual. In a word, to attempt to meet any fact of life from a purely subjective point of view is simply nonsensical. This is what the professor attempts. Neither could there be found a more savage opponent of this mental attitude than Professor Huxley if the same arguments were presented in his own field.
But what is most objectionable is his insistence on his own infallibility while professing that science has so far achieved fragments of the truth. Admitting that man, of his own powers, has been able to uncover only fragmentary facts, he absolutely rules out of consideration all question of revealed truth. To him the only facts of life are those that can be demonstrated mathematically or in the laboratory, and these he insists are but fragments of facts. The rest is mystery. Even truth itself he regards as in a transitional stage, subject to daily change and modification. Science he asserts has had a great influence on religion. Religion has been forced to change its attitude through science’s advance. Such a statement is entirely gratuitous, for no fact of revealed truth has been modified yet, nor has the moral law undergone an iota of change through any scientific research.
Professor Huxley makes the same old error that all his predecessors have made from Kant on, viz.: to make truth relative and confine it then to human knowledge. They eventually collide with the fact of man’s moral responsibility and either attempt to ignore it or offer a clumsy explanation therefor. If truth be relative, changeable, it naturally follows that the moral law which is supposed to be the inviolable truth of man’s relation with God and his fellows is likewise subject to modification. In fine, Professor Huxley would infallibly outlaw all religion, destroy all truth, and have a mere sentimental religious feeling as the bond servant of science. He infers that it is unfair for anyone to take offense at his pronouncements. In this he is again not very logical, for the ‘sense of sacredness’ he refers to does not permit its objects of reverence to be idly dallied with to make a scholar’s holiday.
Yours very truly,

L’improvisateur malgré lui.

‘Pipe-Organ Caprice,’ in the February Contributors’ Club, brings back memories of incidents in recitals played by concert organists. The writer says, ‘A great organist can do nothing so absolutely lovable as to make a mistake.’
Some years ago the eminent Clarence Eddy, playing at a console where the draw stops were at the sides of the manuals, reached left hand over right to change a combination and caught a vigorously spoken upper key with his stiff cuff. (The stiff cuff readily discloses the period of the concert.)
In the early part of a Heinroth programme the tremolo was used in a solo passage. The organ stood in the rear gallery and the performer played from the opposite chancel. Perhaps the effect to the player was unnoticed, for the ‘tremolant’ was left working overtime during the remainder of the programme. Its presence was literally felt by the listeners in the rear of the church, who were treated to the modern theatrical style of tremolo ad infinitum.
At times the organist is weary. If he enjoys a secluded seat during the ‘long sermon,’ he may unwittingly take forty (or more) winks. But he must have an ear trained to hear even though the brain may be woolgathering. Nothing will more quickly make him ‘snap into it’ than just to catch the closing admonition: ’We will close with the singing of hymn number 612, “Christian, seek not yet repose."'