AMERICA’S most, eminent brain surgeon is Harvey Cushing, for many years Professor of Surgery at Harvard, and now at Yale. Skillful with pen as with scalpel, he won the Pulitzer Prize in 1925 with his Life of Sir William Osler. Memories of his exceptional work during the war. rewarded by the French Legion of Honor as well as by our own Distinguished Service Medal, will prepare an eager reception for these excerpts ‘From a Surgeons Journal. A During America’s participation in the war, Vincent Sheean was an undergraduate at the University of Chicago, meeting reality in the form of first-hand experience with our social system as it is organized in fraternities and as he found it affected My friend the Jew.’ Since then there has been no disturbance of any kind that he has missed. His adventures as a foreign correspondent, the most persistent trouble-seeker of our time, have kept him as busy as they will keep his readers fascinated when they appear in succeeding issues. William Henry Chamberlin (‘Government by Terror’) has just been assigned to the Far East after completing a decade of service in Moscow as correspondent of the Christian Science Monitor. His books, Soviet Russia: A Living Record and a History and The Soviet Planned Economic Order, have been adjudged the most authoritative volumes in their held.

Ever since Madame Montessori induced Mothers-in-Council, and evert reluctant fathers, to reconsider the training of their young,

’This Progressive Education has been a battle ground for conflicting opinions. Carl Joachim Friedrich is not only a parent and an educator (Associate Professor of Government at Harvard); he is intimately concerned with the project to start a school for the faculty children of Cambridge, and his views are the result ol practical thinking on the subject. Δ A critic of literature whose reviews and researches are gaining wider recognition, Horace Gregory sends from London this small essay,

‘ A Gallery of Immortals,’ which makes one realize that ‘characters in history were ’people’ too. Δ Born in 1912 of Italian-American parents, John Fante presents in ‘One of Us’ a story drawn from life. It is not his first — he has been writing and publishing for two years; but ‘ this acceptance from the Atlantic,’ says he, ‘tickles the devil out of me. I now have no doubt whatever that I not only know how to write, but possess a remarkable talent, far, far above the average.’ Read it and see. Δ ’An Adirondack Friendship’ continues Josephine Goldmark’s account of a happy association wit William James during the last years of his life. The Goldmarks, Josephine and Pauline, are sisters-in-law of Mr. Justice Hrundeis, and in their own right liberals and social reformers. J. Redwood Anderson’sTransvaluations, published by the Oxford University Press, has been received with the critical acclaim which ‘Before Ararat’ and ‘Encounter’ also merit. Δ ‘Umbrian Pilgrimage’ is another Italian adventure of Elizabeth Wilder, a young student, teacher, and research worker in Italian art, whose ‘friends in the House’ appeared last. Novemher. Δ ‘ An Excursion in Numbers’ takes us (those of us who can follow all the way) into the exciting mysteries of mathematics. Its author insists that in college mathematics was his least-liked subject, which he dropped at the earliest possible moment; but a passion for mountain climbing has perhaps accustomed him to a more perilous sport. F. Emerson Andrews divides his days between his position as manager of publications for the Russell Sage Foundation and free-lance writing. A Known the world over as ‘Ghinese Bland,’ J. O. p. Bland, in ‘The Chinese Mind,’ shares his intimate knowledge of an illimitable subject. Edgar J. Goodspeed (‘The Original Language of the Gospels’) is Distinguished Service Professor of Biblical and Patristic Greek at the University of Chicago. A Headers who remember Old One-Eye, the sufish, will welcome ‘Toad’s Destiny,’ another story of the Water Hazard by Peggy von der Goliz, a ‘self-made naturalist’ who has been working with animals, particularly the little fishes of the shallow waters, since 1925.

Δ ‘The Turn of the Tide in Europe,’ an important sequel to Frank H. Simonds’s Austrian paper of last April, reached us at the moment of going to press. After a long career as editor and foreign correspondent, Mr. Simonds now devotes his time to illuminating comment, in books and articles, on international affairs. Δ ‘Signs of the Times’ contains further pleasant observations by Edward Weeks, editor of the Atlantic Monthly Press. Δ Born in Budapest, Eugene Bagger is a naturalized American who has lived for the last seven years in France and England, and whose biographies, including ‘The First of the Moderns,’ deal with the European scene.

Who can answer this query?

Dear Atlantic, —
Miss Montague’s very helpful article on the psychology of the deaf reminded me of what T. H. Huxley once wrote on this subject in a letter to a friend: ’I am so sorry to hear you are troubled by your ears. I am so deaf that I begin to light shy of society. It irritates me not to hear; it irritates me still more to he spoken to as if I were deaf, and the absurdity of being irritated on the last ground irritates me still more.’
Who but Huxley could have summed up the subject so briefly and so vividly?
Incidentally, could you now perhaps entice some articulate persons to tell us what sort of behavior and speech is acceptable to those who have recently sulfered great bereavement, or who have just been condemned to death with heart disease or cancer, or who have just been dismissed from a sanatorium for the insane?
We physicians could profit particularly from a series of articles written by the much-traveled sick describing their annoyances at our wellintentioned but often blundering behavior,
Mayo Clinic
Rochester, Minnesota

A lawyer’s handicap.

Dear Atlantic, —
As one who has suffered from impaired hearing since childhood and now finds on entering his eightieth year that the impairment is increasing I wish to express my deep gratitude to Margaret Prescott Montague for her two articles in recent numbers of your magazine on the subject of deafness.
My own many years of practice of law, in and out of court, were made possible only by the most careful training of my right ear’s faculty, and the persistent habit of ‘keeping all the world on the right-side of me.’ In court trials I seldom occupied a seat, I ranged about in the lawyers’ space, getting my hearings on the judge, the witness, or opposing counsel, so that I should not miss a word. Often I seemed to annoy others by my frequent requests to ‘speak up so everybody can hear.’
I was not settsilive about my defect, but, since my livelihood depended on making others speak plainly, I always did so. No judge or juror ever went to sleep in my cases.
EUGENE E. PRESSINGHollywood, California

A poser for amateur naturalists.

Dear Atlantic, —
Do wasps not like colors?
I watched a wasp walk on the wall paper and when he came to a color in the pattern he flew off when he came again to the plain tan background — the color of his nest — he alighted and walked until he reached the colors again. He would not alight on the ceiling, which was white, but only on the part of the wall that was the color of his nest.
I wish someone would tell me if all wasps are this way.
KEVIN L. MOSERClarksville, Missouri

The story of two Botticellis.

Dear Atlantic,—
‘Roman Spring’ caught my eye in your July issue. I did not know Mrs. Winthrop Chanler, but I gulped down the fascinating paragraphs of Borne of the days gone by, and palpitated as I found she was the half sister of my pel author at the romantic age of eighteen.
Although horn of New York parents here in California, my mother, after her second marriage, took us to my stepfather’s birthplace in Florence. One of my stepfather’s sisters married the wellknown artist, Angelo Bernini, from whose country villa two of the finest of Botticelli’s frescoes were removed and sold to the French Govermnent. For years they hung on each side of one of the big main entrances to the Louvre, and do yet, no doubt.
Mr. Lemmi’s father was having a window cut in a large room on the second story when the chips from the tools showed the paint. It was known that the Medici family, who had once owned the fine old for tress-like establishment. had employed Botticelli to do some frescoes, but centuries of whitewashing had covered the immense walls and obscured them for generations.
The instant Mr. Bernini saw the chips he realized that they had been found. Painstakingly the layers of whitewash were removed, and to this day the corners of both pictures -depicting ‘The Annunciation’ and, I believe, ‘The Feast’ — show the square lines of I he w indow that was in the process of being cut when the discovery was made.
San Marino, California

An American trinity.

Dear Allantic, —
Can you tell me how many French girls, married to Americans during the war, have accepted during these last fifteen or sixteen years the Atlantic Monthly as part and parcel of their new home?
Won’t you please print this question in a small corner of your magazine? The reason for such curiosity is easily surmised; on entering my American home, I found this powerful sacrosanct trinity: the Atlanlic for the head, and, si parva licet componere magnis, baked pea beans for the body, and Pond’s extract of hamarnelis for the ailments of both.
Well, baked beans with molasses I still do not care for; the Indian remedy I am rather skeptical of; but, taken on the whole, after very nearly sixteen years of trial, I must say: —
‘Vive l’Atlantic Monthly.‘
Bedford Village, New York

A haven for depressionists.

Dear Atlantic, —
The depression having driven my husband and me to the woods, our family and friends, know ing our need of reading matter, send us their magazines after they have read them. Thus at one time I received a number of Atlantics. In one afternoon I shivered with Hilda Rose in Alberta and with Glanville Smith ’near Ely and the Border.’
Before another winter, when some of your authors or readers may have to hunt inexpensive living conditions, tell them of the Georgia coast. Not only does a ‘depressionist’ avoid the cold hero, but if he can row a boat and shoot he can have all the sea food and game he wants for the taking.
One Saturday morning last winter I was wondering what I should have for Saturday and Sunday dinners, Just then a fisherman to whom we had lent our boat brought us a ’mess’ of oysters. In a few minutes my husband rushed out of the house with his gun and dog. He had seen a wild duck on the water. He came back with it. That easily were my two dinners supplied.
Incidentally, one is so busy getting and preparing this food that there is no time to worry over being a victim of the depression — which is another asset.
Darien, Georgia

Atlantic discoveries appreciated.

Dear Atlantic,—
William Wister Haines and Glanville Smith are eharacteristieally good Atlantic discoveries. Smith’s humor is a delight. Last year, cycling in England, I had a little time in Suffolk, my ’porpoise’ leading me to the tiny cluster of villages near the Norfolk border described in W. H. Hudson’s A foot in England—villages associated with the farmer-poet Robert Bloomfield. That experience of mine— I stayed the night in a hospitable field laborer’s house — doubled my enjoyment of ’Suffolk, with a Porpoise,’ I hope Mr. Smith has more articles on your desk ready for the fall and winter issues.
Ann Arbor, Michigan

The many-tongned flea.

The author of the polylingual jingle printed in this issue of the Contributors’ Club has given a further demonstration of his versatility and Englished it thus; —

There once was a frisky young flea;
His dog was quite nice, but yet he Desired a cat.
His Ma said to that:
‘Don’t leave your dear Daddy and me.’
But he would not listen to prayer;
He left the old folks in despair —
By feline claw smitten,
By feline tooth bitten,
Ye gods, what a mess there was there!
Around and about the gore flew:
‘Have mercy upon me, please do!’
With shriek and with groan,
‘ All me, I ’in undone,’
He gave up the ghost, and was through.
Stay at home, is the gist of my tale,
Let the lift of your wings not prevail:
At home he your seat.
Home ever so sweet,
Be true to it, sir, without fail.

New Orleans, Louisiana

Guess again.

To those who have inquired knowingly whether John Cowper Powys was not the author of an anonymous essay entitled ’The Auguries of Phudd’ which appeared in the Contributors’ Club of the August. Atlantic, one more guess will be allowed. Mr. Powys is exonerated.