whom I recently gave the "Saga."

I just finished the new installment of "The White Monkey" last night. I compliment you on lining up this novel for the magazine and hope we can look forward to something equally good to succeed it. It's a relief after the silly serials that some magazines publish.

CLEAVELAND V. CHILDS.

*

And just at this minute we get the opportunity to glance at Homer E. Woodbridge's review of "The White Monkey" in the Saturday Review of Literature for November 22. And we find that his conclusion is this:

We have no novelist who equals Mr. Galsworthy in depth of perspective, in the power to give us a limitless sense of the variety of life. Partly, perhaps, because he is not here dealing with an incarnation of beauty like Irene Heron, or with a "grand passion," his vision seems clearer and his insight into character surer in this story than in any earlier Forsyte books. I am not sure that this is not his finest novel.

But, if Galsworthy's vision was clouded in the "Forsyte Saga," it was a beautiful cloud that did it. And we are not sure this is personal, not official-that "The Indian Summer of a Forsyte," that long short-story, is not Galsworthy's finest work. We often think of old Jolyon sleeping there with beauty tripping toward him across the grass. We fear this is entirely a personal reaction. But it is a powerful one and as such we offer it.

A NONAGENARIAN ON MORALS

A lady of ninety-two years was inspired by a reverend gentleman's cry of "Thank God for the Censors" in the November number to decry tendencies toward vice in these modern days:

Mattituck, Long Island. DEAR EDITOR: I feel constrained by my conscience and an ardent desire to see the youth of our beloved land grow up a noble band of Christian citizens. This is the reason that I write you these few lines.

We, who are fond of the movies, say "Amen” to the letter in the November SCRIBNER'S "Thank God for Censors," and as we sat behind a seat full of young lads a short time ago, so full of applause at all the fighting scenes, we wished the censors would include Prize-Fighting and banish it from the stage.

Our Village and Town Libraries are the source of much pleasure and instruction, but to those of us who were taught from our youth up that profanity was not only an immorality, but a sin, it is quite a shock to read all through perhaps a well-written story, exclamations here and there not only of mild profanity but outright violations of the Third Commandment!

to a Village Library-after reading 20 or 30 pages. you felt inclined to drop the book, and blush, that our boys and girls must not only hear profanity in the streets but read it. In this same book was a card requesting a prompt return of the book, as it was in great demand. Perhaps, Mr. Editor, a suggestion from SCRIBNER'S might make the censors a little more thorough in their work. The words of the poet come to my mind at this

time:

"Vice is a monster of so frightful mien
As to be hated needs but to be seen;
Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face
We first endure, then pity, then embrace."
L. R.

We personally do not believe that the nobi ity of American youth and the thoroughness of the censor's work have anything to do with each other, save perhaps in this negative way that the nobility of our youth is in inverse ratio to the thoroughness of the censors. Nor do we see the great power of the printed word. that things heard in the streets are so much more terrible in print. All these matters of custom and convention have changed consiċerably during the span of L. R.'s life. We reaize that it must be painful to her at times, but we really fail to see that it has harmed oc young people. The great effort should be i placed not upon concealing, but upon leading people to see in the proper light.

Harvard Library 185 Cambridge, Mass.

DEAR PROFESSOR PUPIN: I have just read your wonderful story and prepared an enthusiastic review of it for Isis. Your mother was undoubtedly a woman of genius; I speak of her at some length. It was a great opportunity to have, in your veins. the blood and, in your heart, the teachings of such a woman;-money is nothing in comparison.

As a professorial historian of science, I was much interested in your suggestion (on p. 105) to set aside special days to celebrate the saints of science, as your sainted mother called them (the name applies to some of them, but not to all!.. I strongly believe that it is and will become more and more necessary to teach the History of Science-in order to humanize science and to counterbalance the evil potentialities which increase with its very power. But to deliver the main chapters of their history according to the birthdays of the heroes would be a highly artificial procedure. You can do that with ordinary saints

nd there is no harm in speaking of St. Sava, of rancesco of Assisi, of Jeanne d'Arc-in any der you please-but if we try to explain to boys he work of Galileo, Newton, Faraday, Maxwell -we must speak of them in this order and in no her.

The present situation is ludicrous. For exame, at Harvard there are about 50 teachers of istory, teaching the history of everything under he sun (politics, economics, religions, art, literaire) except science. The only development which truly cumulative and progressive, and thus nds itself admirably to historical treatment, is he only one to be left out! The same situation btains in every university.

Indeed, at the present time there is not a single hair of the history of science anywhere in the orld! And as far as I know (and I am well laced to know), I am the only man in the world 'ho is able to earn a living by the study of the istory of science! It seems unbelievable, does it ot?

But I won't bother you any longer. Let me hank you once more for the great pleasure your ook gave me. GEORGE SARTON.

THRILLING BUT SATISFYING

The army certainly approves of Isa Glenn's tories of life in the service. Every story of hers hat appears in this Magazine brings an afternath of letters and comment from army people n the faithfulness of her presentation and the teenness of her perception. Here is one from n army wife:

Camp Lewis, Washington. DEAR EDITOR: Please let me thank you and Isa Jrquhart Glenn for "The Coffee Cooler."

I think that we Army women who have to live n strange places, at times appreciate the pubishing of an occasional thing about us.

"The Coffee Cooler" is entrancing-and-if you only knew!-so true.

The atmosphere in the tropics-the mildew dor, the unnamed fears-I shared with Mrs. Bagley in the story.

Like the General I have seen so many Army women come up to scratch in almost unimaginable situations that I wish I had the facile pen to tell of them.

But-it's an awfully satisfying life. And, most of us would not trade it with any of you.

At present, living in a wood and beaverboard shack at a wartime cantonment, with the Washington winter finding a new leak each day, I have to make a confession-this is my second winter and I am still enjoying it!

KATHERINE HUGHES.

BETTER LATE THAN EVER This contribution in the form of a letter to a friend came to us shortly after the publication of the April number, and we have been forced to hold it because of lack of space. But in

this number, Mr. Cortissoz has veered again to furniture and the arts employed in house decoration. This letter is doubly apropos and all the better for being saved until this time:

Bells, Tenn.

DEAR EMMY: I've just been reading the April SCRIBNER'S, and in the "Behind the Scenes with Scribner's Authors," there was this sentence: "After all, one wonders why a piece of furniture should be regarded as beautiful merely because it is old."

Of course the writer speaks of real antiques, but does he not bring to mind some of those near antiques we have been called on to admire? That immense old bedroom set for instance, that Rachel bought and so valiantly did over. And it made me think of Florence Mills, bless her heart! I can't help loving her even though she was so anxious to be "the correct thing" that she wasn't always the true Florence. Did I ever tell you about her antiques? They were acquired, I am sure, after your last visit to me.

You know all that Mrs. Carter had or did was perfection in Florence's eyes. Do you remember those family portraits that hung in the Carter drawing-room and the two old oil paintings the family had handed down for over a hundred years? When Florence built her new home, she decided that she must have some old pictures and some pieces of "family" furniture. And in the naïvest manner, she went about securing them. She remembered the oil paintings that had hung in the parlors at home in her girlhood; they were discarded for the copies of Gibson girls and Christie people that still adorn those parlors. I was with her when she drove over to the old home to locate those paintings. She found them in the smoke house. And great was her joy, when, under stacks of discarded articles, she found also two ugly old chairs upholstered still in their original horsehair.

Inside of three weeks, Florence had those chairs done over in velour to match the shining new furniture she had acquired, and the town painter had patched a hole in one painting and polished up the great gold frames and they were hanging on her walls.

One is the picture of a shy maiden in wide spreading skirts, eyes cast down and a finger coyly held on her cheek; she stood beside a stone wall waiting the kiss of the velvet-coated, featherhatted gallant leaning to salute her over the wall. And one is a picture of a wee girl and a wee lamb in a daisy-dotted meadow; the girl has her arms full of flowers and the lamb is in such exuberant spirits he is kicking up his little heels. And the third is a copy of that woe-begone maiden clinging to the Rock of Ages in the form of the cross.

Florence glories in them and not even the lovely prints and photographs she has since acquired will ever take precedence in her affections. Speaking of her photographs, I sat one day looking at "Spring" and remarked, "That Corot is a

it? And the garden is just full of it; I must have Peter cut more.' SHE referred to the coreopsis filling a bowl on the table.

Do you remember, Emmy, those monstrous creations I perpetrated at school? My family was convinced that I was an artist and I studied "oil painting." Oh Art, Art, what crimes are committed in thy name! My "paintings" were exhibited at Commencement along with all the other products of that studio; bowls of unbelievable fruit! Yards of flowers that could never have grown! Those horses in a storm! Deer of strange physical structure against a background that never was on land or sea!

None of mine survive, thank the Gods, save for one woe-begone landscape presented when I was still innocent of my crimes, to a doting aunt and preserved by her to reproach me in my age. When I married, I carried my works of art to my new home; little by little, they drifted out of the foreground: their last appearance was in the attic and they were kindly removed from that hiding-place by a maid whose eye ran to color. My own daughter shall not "take art." I want her to love all things beautiful, but I never want her to believe that ANY painting, however crude, is a picture.

Write me, Emmy, and don't think me illnatured for gossiping so.

Dear Sir: We notice in the November issue of SCRIBNER'S that you have an article entitled "The Coming Commonwealth of the Pacific," in which you state that the development of the future will be between the mouth of the Columbia River and Vancouver, B. C., then you go on to name the principal harbors of the Pacific Coast, viz: Vancouver, B. C., Seattle, San Francisco and Los Angeles. Apparently you are not very familiar with this part of the country as you have left out two of the leading ports-Tacoma and Portland-to say nothing of Astoria, Grays Harbor, Coos Bay, Everett and Bellingham.

For your information, we are sending you under separate cover the 1924 edition of "Port and City of Tacoma" which, if you will take the time to read over, you will find that Tacoma at least deserved consideration in your article and we trust that if you have occasion in the future to deal with this subject that you will be kind enough to remember our solicitations and include the great Port of Tacoma which is one of the few natural harbors of the world that can accommodate any ship afloat. (Advt.—Ed.)

considerations, we beg to remain Yours very truly,

PORT OF TACOMA.

By G. W. OSGOOD, Manager

Now we call the roll of Pacific ports and th answer is "All present and accounted f Since Mr. Traquair assembled his choice. band mainly to dismiss it we should think th Tacoma would be more honored by omissi than by reference.

We hazard a guess that Mr. Osgood stoppe to light a cigar after the first "which" in second paragraph. These stenographers are bit diffident about telling one that one's ser tence doesn't hang together. If you would i to have a nice booklet on the great Por Tacoma, don't mention it.

CONDEMNED ON THREE COUNTS Miss Fonetta Flansburg, of Colorado Sprin inquires: "Is it because you are a champion inaccuracy or because you became so inex ably tangled' in my name that you faile spell it correctly? You wouldn't like m write Scribbler's for Scribner's, would ver

To both of which we answer "no." We ¦ apologize for interpreting Miss Flansb name as Foretta. There may be a complex: the bottom of that.

The second reproach is a couplet:

"It wouldn't have done a bit of hurt To print my 'verse' on Mr. Burt." Again she may be right. And again pr dice may be to blame. But somehow * couldn't print even what the writer calls gerel which contained a line:

"Then all would work out mighty fine." It is purely prejudice, we are sure.

Now for the death blow:

"What You Think About It" would be mot the point if some people did not construe it as for compliments for the magazine as a whole.

One writer indulges in plain gush, another g "fighting mad" at those who throw "co stones." "May God help them," she says. what's the use? Let us gush and swear and cause the editorial smile.

As we remember it our correspondent ca for help not for the cobble-stone flingers for "the poor really erring fellow-humans: cross their paths." Inaccuracy?

We hereby do give permission, invite, b and beseech our clients to swear at, by with us according to their several prefere

about it

The spiritual adventures recorded in the December number stirred up enough conversation to last us for several months. Judge Winston's novel method of retiring had renarkable effect in bringing many out of their very-day shell of reticence and inspiring them o say: "Judge Winston has done just what intend to do some day."

For instance, here is one from the president of the Gulf Coast Business College, which >raises the departure from the beaten track by both Judge Winston and Gaylord White.

Mobile, Ala.

DEAR EDITOR: As a new reader of SCRIBNER'S, nay I express my appreciation of two articles in he December number-"A Freshman Again at Sixty" and "Reflections of a Settlement Worker"? Both Mr. White and Mr. Winston testify to the ame fact-the most significant in each record to ne-that growth and something of wisdom come o the man who will leave accustomed ruts and ravel new paths with open eyes and mind. Probbly the "open eyes and mind" are the essentials, ut the getting out of old ruts into new paths elps.

While none may duplicate and few approxinate Mr. Winston's experience or Mr. White's, e may all find encouragement from them to bok more closely for the opportunities at our wn door to become good neighbors, strive more arnestly for a sweeter and a saner philosophy. n this age of the apotheosis of motors and the movies, such encouragement is welcome.

EDWIN G. BROWN.

THE PARSON SEES AHEAD

The university "parson" at Chapel Hill, rote Judge Winston as follows:

MY DEAR JUDGE: I can't tell you how I enyed reading the "Freshman at Sixty." And I on't wonder at the enthusiasm it has evoked om every one about me who has read it—and very one seems to have read it.

It seems to me that your article calls for a new pe of man among us, similar to the type proced in England. Over there they carry on their e, but they don't get swamped by it. Busy like Balfour take time to make their

en

LONGEVITY A STATE OF MIND

Other comments on Judge Winston's article are:

State Senator R. O. Everett, Durham, N. C.

I hope you can accomplish what Cicero failed to do in his "Old Age," and really show by your work how useful old age can be, and by your philosophy how satisfactory a period of life it can be made. . . . I am thoroughly convinced that longevity is a state of mind after maturity, and men have something to live for if they live! And when they have nothing to live for, they die. If you can point the way to how men can be happy, contented, and useful in old age, you will do a great deal more toward elevating the average life of the American citizen than lots of our scientific friends have so far been able to do.

Josephus Daniels, former secretary of the navy:

I was in Texas when your article appeared in December SCRIBNER'S. After reading "A Freshman Again at Sixty" I concluded that you had made no mistake in retiring from actual practice of the law and devoting yourself to constructive sociological and aesthetical work. I immediately purchased a copy of SCRIBNER'S for Mrs. Daniels and her mother and forwarded same to them.

W. S. McKee, Augusta, Maine:

I have read with deep interest your article "A Freshman Again at Sixty" in the December SCRIBNER'S. I am glad indeed to have been privileged to read it, and shall read it again, this time to Mrs. McKee, and tell her of the joyous memories it recalls.

Mrs. Julia Thurston Booker, Baltimore, Md.: