FROM the East Side to Columbia University, from Columbia to Moscow, where during the Revolution he edited an English newspaper, from Moscow to China, where for ten years he was identified with the government of Chiang Kaishek, and from the Orient back to the depression-stricken United States, George E. Sokolsky (p. 257) has progressed steadily from Left to Right. Paradoxical as it may sound, he is able to sympathize with Labor and to defend the advantages of a capitalistic society.

Europe is an open book to John Gunther (p. 266), who from 1621 to 1935 was a foreign correspondent of the Chicago Daily News, with his hatrack in one capital after anot her. His Inside Europe has informed and entertained thousands of readers here and in England. Now, in his forthright London Diary, he shows us the exhilarating routine of a roving reporter in his middle thirties.

On a recent trip to Japan, Ellery Sedgwick (p. 276) found himself involved in a comedy which, while it lasted, threatened all AngloAmerican relations.

A student of Fine Arts and a Harvard graduate, John P. Coolidge (p. 286), who is just twentythree, has clear and perhaps disconcerting ideas of what a modern American home should be. Some readers may be reluctant to turn their backs on what he calls ‘fancy-dress architecture.’

The Atlantic editors look forward with keen anticipation to reading the manuscript of Geofferey Household’s (p. 267) lirst novel, which has been written this past year, partly in Malaga and partly in London. Mr. Household is the author of a hook lor boys, The Spanish Care, anil of short stories which have attracted a wide response among Atlantic readers.

Elliott Humphrey (p. 303) is one of those rare beings who can talk to animals and make them understand. His work at the headquarters of The Seeing Eye, in Morristown, New Jersey, where he teaches both dogs and instructors, calls for a knowledge of psychology such as is possessed by few Americans.

In the Atlantic for September 1936, Waller Lippmann (p. 311) embarked on a series of seven articles in which he scrutinized the dev iations of Democracy and sought to isolate the forces which endanger its continuity. II Democracy is to survive, there must, he says, he a reconstruction of liberalism: and this, the linal and positive section of his forthcoming book, The Good Society, Mr. Lippmann is now completing in his Southern seclusion.

In his Letter to his son Stanley, now in his tenth year, Robert Hillyer (p. 321) continues the series of poetic epistles which Alfred Knopf will eventually publish in book form.

Ear close to twenty years, Frederic G. Melcher (p. 329) has been the best-trusted referee in American publishing. As editor of Publishers’ Weekly, he has st udied the family (but sometimes conflicting) interests ol author, publisher, and bookseller.

The lirst underground anthracite mine in the Pennsylvania region was opened in June 1831 by Archibald Law (p. 332), a mining engineer of the Delaware and Hudson Canal Company. Mr. Law came here from Scotland in 1830. The letter which he sent to his Scotch relatives commenting upon the financial crisis of 1837 might have been written yesterday.

Charles T. Jackson (p. 335), a graduate of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, has served as a management engineer with General Electric, as a cost accountant for the Boston Garter Company, and as general administrative assistant for the Bemis industries. Early identified with the coöperative movement in Boston, be has risen to his feet to reply to t he criticism of Mr. J. B. Matthews, whose article,’The Coöperatives: An Experiment in Civilization,’appeared in the December Atlantic.

A New York executive, Arthur Kudner (p. 339) is head of one of the largest advertising agencies in this country.

A mathematician of note with his professional headquarters at the California Institute of Technology. Eric T. Bell (p. 344) has allowed us to print a chapter of his forthcoming book, Men of Mathematics, which is scheduled to appear this spring.

James Still (p. 353) is librarian of the Hindman Settlement, Knott County, Kentucky. East year, besides his work in the Settlement and town, he delivered traveling libraries on foot to nineteen schools having no books. He carried twenty books on his shoulder, often walking fifteen to seventeen miles in spite of muddy trails and swollen streams during the winter months. He changed the collection every two weeks.

Nicola Chiaromonte (p. 359) is an Italian critic and essayist now in his thirty-third year. When Fascism became too much for his liberal spirit, he took refuge in Paris, where he lived in exile until the outbreak of the Spanish war. Then with his friend Andre Malraux, the novelist, he volunteered as an aviator with the government forces defending Madrid.

Salvador de Madariaga (p. 364) was Spanish Ambassador to the United States in 1931 and to France in the years directly thereafter. Now, exiled by both of the contending factions, he is an international liberal working for the cause of peace.

Bernard M. Baruch (p. 368) has been a member of the New York Stock Exchange for many years. In 1916, President Wilson appointed him to the Council of National Defense. When war became inevitable he was made Chairman of the Committee on Raw Materials, Minerals and Metals, and thereafter Chairman of the War Industries Board. To the study of neutrality he brings a thorough knowledge of those wartime necessities which are apt to bo overlooked in times of peace.

Born in Flint, Michigan, Arthur Pound’s (p. 377) career has coincided with the development of the motor wagon. Economist and editorial writer, he has observed the growth of our major industries and is qualified to describe, as few other contemporaries, the amazing skill and invention which are part of our industrial management.

Many readers will recall with pleasure the happy-go-lucky experiences of Juanita Harrison which were published in the October and NovemberAtlanticfor 1935 under the title, ‘My Great, Wide, Beautiful World.’ Her rarefree, knockabout life has since been made the. subject of a hook of the same title. Juanita still clings to her tent on the beach near Honolulu.

Wednesday Dec. 23, 1936
Dear Mr. Sedgwick
may this find all well and and enjoying the new year, i am in the same spot as this time last year and just as soon as i finish this will lake the same pillow case to our beloved Kress for toys and candies for the children here in the Yard. it is more private now a fence around with a gate and my tent are souronded with green plants and i like my Tent life more than ever i worked up at Black Point Hoad 3 months and only slept well when t came down to my rent, did You like the way the Book are made up? Mrs Dickinson liked it which pleased me more than any thing. I didn’t want it sold here i like best to be about and see but not be seen fad the finest people have called to see me. it have sold well here and would have sold many more this month but the last was sold Thanksgiven day and the order didn’t gel out the strike have made, it very bad for the Islands but if is very Christmases and quite cool, i receive so many delightful letters from readers of M G W B W and laugh when they ask how soon will i have another one. i just side step questions like that i dont know how soon we will get some change maybe next may. Miss Mildred borrowed it from her Mama and are dissipointed to wait so long, i am so busy enjoying my back to nature life i wont think of it until my Tent begain to leak, i hope that You have one of my Great Wide beautiful World. Yours truly
JUANITA

There is something about all remarks on grammar and diction, as Wilson Follett has pointed out, which produces more riot and mayhem than a defense of the New Deal, an assault on holy wedlock, or the historical lowdown on the Boston Tea Party. We wish with all our hearts that space were available to do justice to the enormous correspondence following the publication of Mr. Follett’s article, ‘The State of the Language,’ in the JanuaryAtlantic.Here are just a few sample comments.

Dear Atlantic, —
It is always a delight to meet one of the surviving members of the Remnant, like Wilson Follett. ‘The Slate of the Language’ is correct both in observation and in delineation of the requisites for checking its decay and promoting its growth.
Still, now and then chance brings a bit of cheer in the form of corruption of language, extreme, but for all that so strikingly lucid that the most rabid purist is provoked to smile.
On Columbus Avenue. New York, it, was my privilege to hear four words condensed into as many letters, without the slightest loss of clarity. A couple of urchins were engaged in a fist fight. An Italian rushed up from a basement and ejaculated ‘Smah!’ Which was, you must admit, what might be called an efficient manner of saying, ‘What is the matter?'
CORNEIL RIDDERHOF
San Diego, California

In his discussion of that nautical term the ‘knot,’ Mr. Follett evolves one of the most curious definitions that have (i.e., not has) come to my attention in some time.
He states, ‘But the knot is essentially a rate of speed per hour.’ Now of course he is quite correct in his contention that ’knots per hour’ is an incorrect usage, but let us analyze the author’s own statement. Speed itself is a rate at which distance is covered and is measured in miles per hour, feet per second, etc. — i.e., it represents a distance divided by a time. Rate of speed, then, would indicate that speed was to be divided again by time, giving a distance divided by the square of a time, which is the definition of acceleration. Thus the phrase ‘rate of speed’ is itself incorrect in the sense that it is usually used.
But Mr. Follett goes a step further by saying ‘rate of speed per hour.’ In other words, he divides again by time, getting finally a distance divided by the cube of a time. This is equivalent to saving that the knot is a measure of the rate at which the acceleration is changing — i.e., knots might be expressed in units of nautical miles per hour per hour per hour. Mr. Follett, the state of your language!
D. E. GRAY
Akron, Ohio

There are a great many errors similar to Mr. Follett’s bone of contention ‘one of the few uncensored dispatches that has come’ — found in our newspapers which we English teachers do not sanction; nor do they find favor in English journals or texts. The few Latin terms which Mr. Follett picked at random seldom have call to be used in a highschool student’s course of day, but his main point, the above-quoted ‘dispatches,’ appears often. So often, in fact, that my people, freshmen to juniors, stilled yawns when I announced that such had been the topic of a current magazine article.
Out of the forty-eight weeks I’ve been teaching, twenty-four have teen spent in pounding home just such errors in verb and subject agreement. In the other twenty-four, mind you, I ’ve tried to present every branch of literature from Beowulf to Eugene O’Neill. If there are any among my classes who still say ‘ this is one of the dispalehes that has come,’ they are certainly those who will never get off the farm anyway, and so will never threaten the purity of our journalistic English.
VIVIAN PIKE
Mulvane, Kansas

Wilson Follett’s paragraphs, for the most, part, are clear and cogent,, and demonstrate the fact that the English language is rapidly becoming unintelligible jargon. So-called schools of English send out advertising matter Containing faulty diction, ‘dangling’ participles, incorrect punctuation, and with no regard whatever to the proper sequence of the lenses. I stepped into a schoolroom a levy days ago and the teacher of English gave the fifth-grade pupils the following sentence to analyze: ‘Five minutes is a mighty short time for play.’
Let us ask and petition Congress to establish a national academy, such as the French and the Spanish have, the members of which shall pass upon the legitimacy and the admissibility of words or phrases, and let the Congress provide that any new word, or any proposed change in the construction or in the meaning of words, shall, before it may become effective, hear the stamp of approval by the academy. And let us coöperate with our cousins across the Atlantic in Lhis campaign.
JOHN B. HAROLD
San Antonio, Texas

I must congratulate Mr. Follett on his neat evasion of the liberal argument. I fail to see any difference between the change that has occurred in the use of the word ‘resentment’ and the fate of the expression redactio ad absurdnm so far as their present meanings are concerned. Why should it matter to those who use the words that the derivation of one is logical, of the other not? Mr. Follett grants us the modern use of the verb ‘to prove’; therefore the phrase ‘the exception proves the rule’ has as little bearing on the argument as would have the Ozarkian girl’s saying: ‘See a red bird before it, lights, see your beau before to-night’ (from the January Contributors’ Club).
I would not voluntarily torture the language. I must even confess that misuse of the words ‘imply’ and ‘infer’ still causes me to wince. If, as Mr. Follett believes, this confusion is made by only five hundred out of a thousand people (all five hundred of them live near me), may he succeed in correcting it. I merely feel that an expression which is chosen ninety-nine times out of a possible hundred can no longer te called a mistake or ungrammatical, whatever its past history may be.
CHARLOTTE BASSETT
Boston, Massachusetts

R. B.’s letter in the Contributors’ Column of our February issue has provoked as brisk an argument as ever took place on our back porch. Now the Atlantic will publish stories full of sweetness and light, full of‘nice people,’ full of good humor, whenever they can be found. And we shall be equally accessible to those stories which touch on the sterner realities and which, in their delineation of tragedy, do move the reader to pity. Those whose preference is for comedy should remember that the Artemus Wards, the Mark Twains, and the Finley Peter Dunnes are few and far between; they should remember that the writing of short stories has gone deeper and become more introspective since the days of O. Henry. A miner’s wife silting beside the cold, stark body of her asphyxiated husband seems to be the natural heroine of much present-day romance.

We intend that our material shall be neither gloomy nor light-minded. Meantime, in which of these two schools do you place yourself?

Dear Atlantic, — For many years my husband and I have been staunch friends of your magazine. But often and often we have felt much as R. B. has.
Surely there is a vast field between ‘Pollyanna’ and the ‘Greek word for it’ that you use. A little of either extreme is enough.
I do know that you encourage the younger literati and make them welcome in your pages. The young are prone to he lugubrious. (Not all of them, ol course.)
There is always real pleasure in reading anything that A. Edward Newton writes or Earnest Calkins, for instance. Wit is not Pollyanna; neither are the courage and the line working philosophy that are Mr. Calkins’.
No, 1 think that R. B. is entirely rightA proper balance is necessary in any work of Art, even the Allantic.
EDITH B. EMERSON
Old Lyme, Connecticut

I just want to add an Amen to R. B.’s letter asking for stories about nice people, who compare favorably with the delightful animals, dogs, and fish which have illuminated the pages ot the Atlantic.
I asked one of my pupils why he liked Tobacco Road and he replied:‘Well, I leave the theatre feeling so superior to the people l have seen.’
That may he a catharsis, but I should say il was I he opposite.
MARTHA CLAY
Grand Rapids, Michigan

I was very much interested in the letter of R. B. to the Atlantic asking for more cheerful subject matter in the future. I do not in the least agree with B. B., and I will try to tell you my reasons. The Atlantic has been a source of pleasure and education to me for many years. I prefer realism to lantasy; the Atlantic has given me an insight into the lives of people in all walks of life and in many countries. My own life has been one of variety, lived in a number ot places, under various circumstances, both pleasant and unpleasant, difficult and easy; the Atlurdtc has never fooled me about life — il has told me the truth and made it interesting at all times.
As the daughter of a country doctor, a nurse in the United Stales Navy during the war, and I he wile of a surgeon, I have touched closely many lives under tragic conditions. I read iu the Atlantic ol the experiences of others; I am given an insight into the struggle of the human soul to meet life fairly and with fortitude. Each of the various revealing articles I have enjoyed has given me one more piece of the picture puzzle of the human soul. Each article has helped to answer questions in my mind that are to me most vital, such as the place of faith in life to-day, God’s true relation to man, the reason lor man s existence, our individualcontribution to the world, and other questions that puzzle us all.
In the suffering anil bravery of others we find a guide for ourselves. W ho can go through life upon a road entirely smooth and joyful? The only joyfulness that can help us. the only serenity that can he a guide to us, are the joy fulness, the serenit that come to those who have successfully conquered and endured the rough realities and cruel tragedies of life.
No, I cannot agree with It. B.! W hen l open my Atlantic each month ! want, still to feel that l am opening the door to wider education, deeper thought, realism and perhaps tragedy, but, most important and stimulating of all, truth and life as il really is not as we might like to have it.
NANCY GABER SCHMIDT
San Francisco, California

In the Contributors’ Column of the February issue B. B. complains about the class of articles that the Atlantic has been publishing during the last two years. Two articles are specified and several more hinted at as ’a résumé of the cheerful hits you have published in the past two years.’
On my part I consider ‘the continued story of Hilda Rose absorbing and have noticed no complaint or demands for sympathy. Few people, of course, would have the courage to do what she has done lor an ideal — that her son might become a man like his father, whom she loves and reverences, by growing up in the same hard environment in which his lather grew. By the way, how is the Rose family doing now? It seems a long time since you published any news.
As for ‘Stork Expected at Point Barrow,’ I thought that was crammed lull ol the joy of living. TTI the same number as the article ‘Yes, Bulb Is Wonderful’ was the inspirational ‘An Explorer’s Religion.’
By all means let the Atlantic continue to give us stories of real life and its problems — joy and sorrowtogether, for t hey are never found far apart. If folks like R. B. want to keep on the surface of life, if they feel that the Atlantic, pictures ‘pangs too sharp, griefs too deep, ecstasies too high,’ put. warning marks on the index, but, dear editors, please continue to give us as many accounts of deep honest living and thinking as you can find.
ELSIE HILL RYZNER
Santa Barbara, California

In case you did n’t care for ‘Butter Will Melt’ in the FebruaryAtlantic.

Dear Atlantic, —
She was a writer and like other writers she wrote sometimes with a pen sometimes with a pencil and with a typewriter but she wrote, she wrote words, long words short words hut she wrote, words make a writer even if a writer makeswords, anybody can make words but words make writers, and words lool publishers.
She was a woman a woman who knew words lots of words hard words easy words and words make writers and fool publishers.
Words make sentences and they do not. everybody writes sentences if they write, she writes sentences and she does not but sentences make sense but why make sense with sentences if you have words, sentences make sense but words tool publishers.
Words make writers make writers make writers and words make sense make sentences make sentiments. even if butter melts words fool publishers and thats where gertie makes her wherewithal to make more words.
HAYMOND SZYMANOWITZ
New York City

Bravo for H. B. Elliston!

Dear Atlantic, —
I read an unfamiliar (to me) department in the January Atlantic, the one having to do with finance. This is just a line to say That H. B. Elliston seemed to me to have given a fresh and amusing slant to dry matters, and that I look forward to the other pieces in his series.
But then, anybody would of course have to read the current issues of the Atlantic in any event on account of your Lippmann articles!
HAMILTON FISH ARMSTRONG
Editor,‘Foreign Affairs’
New York City

Dear Atlantic, —
It is a refreshing change from the usual comments on ‘Finance’ by financial editors, as to why Jones & Smith dropped two points while Brown & Thompson jumped one, and which usually are wholly divorced from anything legitimately termed ‘finance,’ to have Mr. Elliston’s penetrating thought, throw light on the fundamental reasons why things are as they I are.
To throw the spotlight on causes and effects seems to be peculiarly a thought quality of Mr. Elliston. Many thousands of Christian Scientists doubtless have had their own thought processes quickened and vitalized on ‘money’ and ‘finance’ by his snappy yet cogent triweekly ‘Economics in the News’ in the Christian Science Monitor.
Whether Atlanticites need this mental furbishing up I have no means of judging. But even the snappiest of its readers could no doubt profit at times from a dose of a ‘ Hot Money’ article, by way of Mr. Elliston’s unusual method of approach to the one subject on which the ignorance of the average man is so profound that you could cut it with a knife.
ROBERT BAKER
Brooklyn, New York

Here is a request that bothers Bill Adams. How would you answer it?

Dear Mr. Sedgwick, —
Suppose that you had an old ark of a house surrounded in spring by some fifty thousand or so violets, and a good many thousand daffodils, with several widespread trees, and a big woodshed, and not enough to do on the place to provide you with exercise sufficient to keep you healthy — well, you could not very well say to the writer of the enclosed, ‘Come along. I need a man to pick my violets and my daffodils.’ No matter how sympathetic you might feel for the fellow, you could not afford to hire him.
Whatever his offense against ‘society’ may have been, it is not for me to fuss about. I should like to give him a leg up. That I have not myself been in a penitentiary is but a happy chance, I rather reckon. Did not I once, long ago, steal enough from my ship’s cargo to enable me to dispense with eating the ship’s stores during a five-month voyage? Have not I in my day stolen turkeys, chickens, ducks, when I was hungry? I have known of a man going to the hoosegow for such doings. In fact I knew very well three of the company of a ship who stole but two cases of grub from her cargo, and who, being less foxy than I, were caught and sent to San Quentin. Oh-la-la! It is all but a matter of chance.
Fair winds to you!
BILL ADAMS
Dutch Flat, California

Dear Bill Adams:
Maybe you ’re not at Dutch Flats still, although there’s a thought way back in my head that you once wrote something about your home there. What brings you to mind this minute is that I’ve just gotten hold of the Atlantic for February ’35 with your few lines in the Contributors’ Column. It was given to me to-day by an inmate friend (a former M.D.) because of the article on occupational therapy, as part of my own four years and some months here in San Quentin were spent working in the local Psychiatrical Department.
Well, I surrendered that last February in order to go to the dock office, where a shallow channel rolls up close to the door and it’s pretty as Heaven, off towards Tamalpais. Also, I’ve lots of time to pound my typewriter. And finally I thought, away back in the first part of the year, that I’d be free on parole about the end of May, and not still here.
But there’s a hitch, Bill. I was eligible to leave here on parole last July. But release on parole is wholly contingent upon possession of employment ; you’ve got to have a job waiting to go to. And being still jobless, despite my best efforts at composing applications (about two hundred and fifty mailed since May), I’m still here.
I thought maybe you’d like to take a hand. If you do, it ’ll help. Maybe you’ve got only a lawn and a couple of trees of your own, but if you know anybody else up there, in town or out, who can use me, have ’em write and I’ll answer questions from now till doomsday. Experience: was raised in a store. Had a hitch in the Navy as quartermaster (although that won’t help much now, probably). Have been laborer, truck driver, and timekeeper on highway construction. Then I’ve had office work and two years’ experience here in psychiatry, ending as secretary to the Resident Psychiatrist.
A man’s a fool, and generally disappointed, besides, to think he can land anything that suits him, coming right out of here. So I ’ll be thankful for anything at all — because it will mean freedom. I ’ll scratch for myself then. Earnestly,
S. E. THOMAS
San Quentin, California
P.S. Age 34. Offense— checks.

One apple lover lo another.

Dear Atlantic, —
Being an old fruit grower, I was very much interested in Delia T. Lutes’s article in your November issue. I too was reared on a farm, and one where there was a good apple orchard, as orchards ran then, containing about all the varieties mentioned in her article. We had Early Harvest and Sweet Bough so. plentifully that it was a regular job of mine as a kid to pick up these apples and carry them to the pigs.
How well Della describes the Seek-No-Furl her fruit and tree! What a quality sub-acid apple it is, but, being a little dull in color and biennial in bearing, scarcely anyone sets it now. Occasionally I have elderly persons, in particular, hunting for I hem and very much delighted to find them. I should not know now where to find a tree of Greasy Pippin.
The old Maiden Blush is still one of the, popular apples, coining shortly after the Red Astrachan. M. Blush is hard to beat for sauce and pie and is known by city buyers, probably, better than any summer apple, except the Yellow Transparent.
Transparent is now the most popular very early apple, a truly good sauce and pie apple. It supplants the Early Harvest, commercially, as it is a better cooking apple than E. Harvest, and that is what is done with the bulk of apples. I say Transparent is not as good to eat raw as an Early Harvest.
Your writer in referring to dried apples recalls the many hours I spent on rainy days or evenings paring apples for mother to dry. They were dried about the old kitchen stove in various ways, and finally before I left home we bought a good outdoor dryer containing many drawers. It dried by the bushel. I was such a fiend for apple pie that dried apple pie went very well after the last of winter apples and until E. Harvest season.
One of the objects in writing this (as well as showing my appreeiat ion of the article) is to call attent ion to some of the new varieties.
McIntosh Red is one that has gained, probably, faster than any. It has many, too, bred from it that are so good, and early and late in season. Cortland is one of the best of these. Bed and Golden Delicious are very good, the Bed mostly a hand apple, as it is not tart enough for best cooking.
Jonathan is a splendid seller and good. Stayman is now preferred by many to Baldwin. Borne Beaut y, Galia Beaut y, and some bud sports of them are on the gain. Melba, a new striped early-surnmer apple, is excellent.
I must confess lastly that I know others besides Della Lutes’s father who fear the loss in quality of that last piece of apple pie if it. should be left over to another meal.
HIRAM BURKHOLDER
Clyde, Ohio

Relics of Newgate Prison.

Dear Atlantic, —
I read Janet Whitney’s article, ‘Elizabeth Fry Goes to Newgate,’ in the November issue, with a great deal of interest.
In November 1902, I was in London with my parents, and at that lime there were many artieles in the daily press concerning Newgate Prison, which was soon to be torn down. I remember my father visiting the prison on one of the days when some of the furnishings were, to be sold. At that time he told me about Elizabeth Fry and said that someone had bought her desk and chair.
He himself bought five stones which were in a niche at the corner of the building, also some iron bars which were over the door of the execut ion room, and some chains found in the dungeon which were used to fasten the prisoners to the walls. All this was shipped across the Atlantic, and the live stones, forming an arch, were placed in the fireplace at our summer home in Friendship, Maine. The iron bars were also used, being placed above the mantel.
ALICE LOGAN
Northampton, Massachusetts

The Coronation Stone of England.

Dear Atlantic, —
There is an interesting story in the myth of the Coronation Stone of England that might possibly be of use to you in connection with the approaching coronation of George VI.
The stone in the chair at Westminster is ‘sienite.’ This stone is common in the neighborhood of the Dead Sea in Palestine. The story told by Holinshed and some of the earlier writers is that, this stone served as a pillow for the patriarch Jacob on the Plain of Luz, near Bethel, when he dreamed of the ladder reaching from the earth to Heaven. The stone was taken by the Israelites to Egypt; later, at the time of the Exodus under Moses, the stone was taken by Gathelus, son of the Greek king Cecrops, and by his wife, Scot a, daughter of Pharaoh, to Spain; from there it was transferred to Tara Hill in Ireland; thence to the Abbey of Scone and from there taken by Edward the Confessor to England.
ALBERT WOODRUFF GRAY
New York City

Here Sleeps in Peace! An inscription copied from a tombstone in the graveyard of the Cathedral at Winchester, England.

In grateful remembrance of
THOMAS FLETCHER
Aged 26
A grenadier who died from drinking
cold beer when hot,
Placed here by his loving comrades.

HERE SLEEPS IN PEACE A HAMPSHIRE GRENADIER WHO CAUGHT HIS DEATH BY DRINKING COLD SMALL BEER.

SOLDIERS BE WISE FROM THIS UNTIMELY FALL,
AND WHEN YOU ’RE HOT DRINK STRONG OR NOT AT ALL,!
AN HONEST SOLDIER NEVER IS FORGOT,
WHETHER HE DIE BY MUSKET OR BY POT!