one for myself, and one for my brother-in-law to 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 !

For instance, from a new book recently added 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 nobility 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 considerably during the span of L. R.'s life. We realize that it must be painful to her at times, but we really fail to see that it has harmed our young people. The great effort should be placed not upon concealing, but upon leading people to see in the proper light.

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. 195) 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

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

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

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

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

THRILLING BUT SATISFYING

The army certainly approves of Isa Glenn's stories of life in the service. Every story of hers that appears in this Magazine brings an aftermath of letters and comment from army people on the faithfulness of her presentation and the keenness of her perception. Here is one from an army wife:

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

I think that we Army women who have to live in strange places, at times appreciate the publishing 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 odor, 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

lovely thing." "Yes," she agreed cordially, "isn't 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" wete 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.

Your own,

A PORT PROTESTS

L. N. C.

The port of Tacoma feels hurt at being left out of Mr. Traquair's article in the November number. A copy of the manager's protest

came to us.

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 un'der 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.)

Thanking you in anticipation of your kind 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 the answer is "All present and accounted for." Since Mr. Traquair assembled his choice little band mainly to dismiss it we should think that Tacoma would be more honored by omission than by reference.

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

CONDEMNED ON THREE COUNTS

Miss Fonetta Flansburg, of Colorado Springs, inquires: "Is it because you are a champion of inaccuracy or because you became so inexorably tangled' in my name that you failed to spell it correctly? You wouldn't like me to write Scribbler's for Scribner's, would you?"

To both of which we answer "no." We do apologize for interpreting Miss Flansburg's name as Foretta. There may be a complex at 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 prejudice may be to blame. But somehow we couldn't print even what the writer calls doggerel 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 more to the point if some people did not construe it as a bid for compliments for the magazine as a whole. One writer indulges in plain gush, another gets "fighting mad" at those who throw "cobblestones." "May God help them," she says. So what's the use? Let us gush and swear and so cause the editorial smile.

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

We hereby do give permission, invite, beg, and beseech our clients to swear at, by, or with us according to their several preferences.

with a medical name-coryza. In addition to the danger that pneumonia may develop, a cold often leads to chronic catarrh of the nasal passages, to ear trouble ending in deafness, to chronic bronchitis and inflammation of the bony cavities of the face. A neglected cold may even prepare the way for serious heart trouble.

The first noticeable symptoms of diphtheria, typhoid fever, measles, scarlatina, whooping cough or smallpox may appear as a cold. A person suffering from what seems to be an innocent cold may pass on to someone else a fatal attack of one of these diseases. If you or your children are suffering from colds stay away from other people until you are certain that the "cold" is not an

The amount of absenteeism in large business establishments is seldom realized until the facts are thoroughly reviewed. Common colds are among the chief sources of loss of time.

In a group of about 8,000 clerical employees of the Metropolitan Life Insurance Company at the Home Office, records show that colds which involve disability for work affect 2 out of every 5 employees during the course of a year.

Among school children, colds are probably the cause of more absenteeism than any other illness -with consequent falling back in grades and extra expense to the tax payer.

Medical supervision of schools is becoming more thorough from year to year and is doing much to

infectious disease. This decent precaution will prevent many serious epidemics and save many lives.

A cold is an inflammation of the mucous mem brane which settles up. on the point of least resistance the nose, throat, chest, or gastrointestinal tract. Sudden changes in temperature, drafts and exposure to damp and cold, breathing stale air and street dust-these are direct causes of colds.

Lack of fresh air and sufficient exercise to keep the skin and body healthy, lack of sleep and rest, over-indul gence in rich indigestible food

these are indirect causes of colds.

To take cold easily is to advertise that your living habits are wrong. By following simple health rules you are likely to keep well. But if in spite of all your care, you do take a cold-do not treat it lightly. See your doctor. Remember, it is not a sign of weakness but a mark of wisdom never to neglect a cold.

LIGH

THE

THAT

NEVER

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