To any daughter of Bryn Mawr, to any remote connection, the name Carey spells the beginning of wisdom. Margaret Carey Madeira never attended the college presided over by her father’s cousin, M. Carey Thomas, but her education has been as distinguished in the pragmatic genre secretly envied by many college women as Miss Thomas’s has been academically. Her activities range from the first presidency of Baltimore’s Junior League, in her débutante days, to constructive work with the Public Charities Association and the State Welfare Commission of Pennsylvania after her marriage to Percy C. Madeira, Jr., of Philadelphia. Her paper, ‘Our Burden of Choice,’ reveals the flexibility and integrity of her mind. Max Ascoli (‘Notes on Roosevelt’s America’), whose article on Fascism in our November issue analyzed the political processes alienating him from his native Italy, is now associated with eminent refugees from Germany as Professor of Political Philosophy at the recently established University in Exile in New York. ∆ The education of Pringle Barret has been of a still different kind. A graduate of Wellesley, she claims title lo knowledge of masculine ‘superiority ’ chiefly as a daughter of the South and as the wife of a doctor in a Northern city whose patients constitute a cross section of society. She pleads for ‘The emancipation of Men.’

In the last year or two, Philip Curtiss has become a familiar friend of Alantic readers. ‘Lost: The Gentle Reader’ is his latest essay, but we are hoping that some, at least, of the lost he will find. Charles Adam Jones knew life on a robuster plane as a notable representative of the vanishing American Pioneer ‘On the Last Frontier.’ His memories reach back to Sherman’s troops inarching through Georgia, cover cattle ranching and silver mining in Colorado, cover business adventures with the Armour Packing Company in Kansas City and with the Swensons in Texas, with whom he rose to become vice president and general manager of the Freeport Sulphur Company, a position from which he retired in 1927. ∆ It is always a pleasure to introduce new writers, and, if they are young as well, it is also a point of pride. Gladys L. Schmitt ‘was born of a middle-class German family in the city of Pittsburgh twenty-live years ago.’ She has published once or twice in the small magazines, but ‘Saturday’ is her first appearance before a larger public. ∆ Last month we published the extraordinary interview which the German Emperor granted to William Bayard Hale in July 1908, which was suppressed on the eve of publication, and which William Harlan Hale, the son, unearthed from its hiding place. That it might easily have altered the course of European events is indicated by the furor caused by a less sensational interview published in the London Daily Telegraph of October 28. 1908, and equally by the fact that the Hale interview, even after twenty-six years, became first-page news when it was made public in April. 1 Adventures of a Document ’ recounts the astonishing sequel to the Kaiser’s indiscretion. John A. Holmes is a young writer whose ‘Address to the Living will be the title poem of a book to appear shortly.

What reader, gentle or no, has yet to meet James Norman Hall for the first time? If such there be, almost we envy him; but we suggest that he beg, borrow, or steal copies of the last three Atlantics and follow Hall on his latest adventure from his home in Tahiti to Pitcairn Island, to the uninhabited coral island called Timoe, where ‘Castaway picks up the story. ∆ ‘ A Lay Sermon,’ Paul Shorey’s first pronouncement in the Chapel at the University of Chicago, where he was Professor of Greek through four decades, was also his last public utterance. The world lost a great scholar and classicist when he died on April 24. ∆ Those who have read Ernst Toller’sI Was a German will remember his intense, serious face in the picture taken at Emil Ludwig’s home in Switzerland with Count Metternich, Thomas Mann, Erich Maria Remarque, and the Ludwigs, father and son. They will remember, too, the description on the placard offering 10,000 marks reward for his arrest on a charge of treason: ‘Toller is of slight build . . . has a thin, pale face, clean shaven; large brown eyes, sharp glance, closes his eyes when thinking.’ They will be the more relieved, then, to find that, as in ‘The Montilla of Señor Cobos,’ he has happier and lighter moments. An English friend writes of him: ‘He is brave, humorous, unself-pitying, with a passion to relieve the sufferings of his fellow men. We in London are very grateful to the Nazis for sending Ernst Toller to live here.’ ∆ Both our stories and both poems this month are by writers under thirty. ‘Epitaph for a Sad Gentleman is by Margaret Marks, who graduated from Barnard in 1929 and has written a number of poems, most of them, she says, unpublished, some published in Poetry. Sir Frederick Whyte (‘ The Mind of Asia’) served as a young man a not inconspicuous term in Parliament. Distinguished for his concern with imperial problems, he was sent to India as President of the Indian Assembly. In later years he has served as adviser to the government of China, and is known throughout America as an illuminating lecturer on world affairs. Bill Adams is another Atlantic familiar. Mis friends will rejoice to learn that ‘Romance at Dutch Flat’ — sequel to his ‘Letter’ published last July — is the true story of his new happiness. Natalie B. Notkin writes as follows: ‘“Crazy Pashka” is my first story to be published and also the first I have tried to get published, with the exception of one terrible thing of awkward length and no literary or any other value which I sent out once.’ ∆ ‘The New Spirit in Education ’ is distilled from concentrated experience; Claude M. Fuess has been long associated with Phillips Academy at Andover, and is now Headmaster. Joshua Jewett is a writer who sometimes, as in ‘Witchcraft, New Style,’ amuses himself with historical parallels and economic paradoxes.

Descendant of a mutineer.

Dear Atlantic, —
In James Norman Hall’s story in the March issue I searched for the name McCoy, and at last, read that the mutineer of that name, in a fit of delirium tremens, had thrown himself from the rocks into the sea and been drowned. This was peculiarly interesting to me because about eighteen years ago I met a descendant of McCoy’s, in Bridgeport, Connecticut.
It was in June 1916, to be exact. I had gone home from a local hospital with my two-weeksold son, and, needing help in the care of the infant and of one older child, I had telephoned the nurses’ registry for a trained nurse. A woman appeared, saying she had been sent by the registry, and in the uncertain light of that early summer evening I first took her for a Negress. She was a large woman, tall and heavily built, with black curly hair and a very dark skin. I gazed at her in astonishment for a moment, for I had never happened to see a trained nurse who was also a colored person; but, on turning up the light, I saw that she was not a Negress; that her hair, though curly, was not kinky; and when she told me that her name, was McCoy, she spoke with a pronounced Scotch accent.
She was a Seventh-day Adventist, and deeply religious. If her duties interfered with ehurchgping on Saturdays, she would read her Bible quietly by herself. I can see her now, sitting in a rockingchair in the nursery with her Bible on her knees, looking up with a wide smile that disclosed gold fillings. She would read a little, and rock a little, and sing hymns, in worship as sincere as any I ever saw in church.
While she was living with us, some feature writer got hold of Miss McCoy’s story, came to Bridgeport, and interviewed her - and she, in her naïveté, answered all questions. The result bore witness to the reporter’s genius for stretching an inch of fact into an ell of sensation. A full page in the Sunday Supplements carried this heading: ‘Bachelors Take Notice. The Queen of Pitcairn Island lives in Bridgeport, and when she returns home she might be induced to take a consort with her.’
It was the opening words that brought in the letters. They began to arrive by the hundred — all from bachelors who had taken notice. They were from old men and young men, fat men and thin men, cripples and athletes, dentists and business men — all of them apparently eager to return with her to Pitcairn. Many enclosed snapshots, others contented themselves with descriptions of their hair, eyes, weight, and disposition. Some telephoned, many telegraphed, and every one who wrote enclosed a stamp for a reply.
This mail, hundreds and hundreds of letters, all came to Miss McCoy at the nurses’ registry. When too much of it had accumulated, somebody from there would telephone, and she would go down with a handbag and bring it back full. Then she would sit on the side of my bed, and together we would read the letters, going into shouts of laughter at some, feeling rather sorry at others.
After a time I left Bridgeport and saw nothing of Miss McCoy for a number of years, though I still heard of her now and then. For a while, she ran a small home for orphans who were too young for big instituions. I was told that she had adopted two of the children, and that sounded just like the sort of thing she would do. Then I heard that there had been an epidemic (I think it was diphtheria) and that several of the orphans had died, including both of her own.
It is now many years since I had any news of her. She may have returned to the South Seas, which was always her intention, or she may still be living in Connecticut. Wherever she is, I wish her well, for I feel sure she is doing her duty, living her life simply and honorably. The old mutineer McCoy may have been a scoundrel, but his blood now flows in the veins of one person who is the exact opposite of what that word implies.
Carleton Place, Ontario, Canada

The very best ‘hummer.’

Dear Atlantic, —
Among my recent fan letters has come one from a tot aged eight. Perhaps you have not known that the Atlantic reached an audience so tender: for proof of it I enclose the letter.
Cold Spring, Minnesota

Dear Glanville Smith, —
My family likes the Atlantic eamencely. I have just started to enjoy it and I hope that all the stories will have as much hummer as yours.
I liked most how you look your bath and the captains hot water. Will you please send me your pitchure and autograph.
Crosse Pointe, Michigan
P. S. I am 8, years old.

Business judgment vs. sentiment.

Dear Atlantic, -
On a basis of a thoroughly satisfactory experience with student loans, even during the depression. I fell as I read Mrs, Ripperger’s article, ‘The Kept Student.’ a bit as Stevenson must have fell when reading the attack on Father Damien. Of course many students have defaulted or have been exceedingly slow with repayments to college loan funds, especially during the depression, but might there be a chance that many of these loans, like many of our foreign loans to which Mrs. Bipperger refers, should never have been made?
Our experience with the Harvard Business School Loan Fund established in 1910 is exactly opposite to the conclusions in this article. Admittedly, our loans are to graduate students going into business, a group Mrs. Ripperger eliminates from the specific statements in her article, though not from her implications. Our Loan Fund has lent over $700,000 in almost a quarter of a century to about 1600 men, or over one fourth of our total alumni body, and our total losses plus our estimated losses reveal about a 2 per cent loss on total loans. Interest payments in any year have always exceeded losses.
Our loans are made only to students in good scholastic standing after a personal interview and after the student has submitted a budget of income and outgo. Business judgment, rather than sentiment, is the basis for granting these loans.
Like Mrs. Ripperger. I know of loan funds which failed to operate as hoped for in recent years, but still I have great confidence in carefully made, strictly administered loans where students at all times are kept alive to the moral and business implications of their commitments. For these reasons it seems to me that the incidence of such an article as ‘The Kept Student ’ should bear more heavily on the administration phase of student aid rather than on the lack of character and responsibility of students.
JOHN C. BAKER, Assistant Dean
Graduate School of Business Administration
Harvard University

The ‘Soldier of God against Mammon.‘

Dear Atlantic, —
Thank you from my heart for your tribute to my friend Chapman. I marched with him in his last ‘crusade,’ and learned to know him well enough to appreciate and to delight in every word of Mr. Wister’s flawless biography. Me shall miss Chapman’s vehement and incisive strokes when the battle begins again.
Williamstown, Massachusetts

Note on Stavisky.

At our request the author of ‘The Stavisky Scandal’ in the March issue has made every effort to establish the truth of Stavisky’s racial origin. From France he reports: —
‘The statement that Stavisky was a Jew was made in an account of his early life which came into my hands. I think it was true, and so does everyone I have consulted. It is quite true that there is a cross on the grave of his parents in Paris, and Stavisky himself may well have been “born into the Christian faith,” but I am thinking of race, not religion. I cannot now definitely affirm that Stavisky was a Jew, or prove it, because I cannot get access to conclusive evidence. Naturalization papers, and so forth, are confidential documents, and I have been refused access to them by the Ministry of Justice. Now that the whole affair is sub judice, the relevant dossier is not accessible.
‘In any event I had no intention of reflecting unfavorably on the Jewish community as a whole, and sincerely regret that my article should have given rise to that impression.’