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THE CONTRIBUTORS' COLUMN

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Frank Tannenbaum leading a mob up erations been a famous teacher at Harvard Fifth Avenue, and Frank Tannenbaum University. Discussing popular fallacies graduating with distinction from Columbia about the Puritans, he writes not uncharUniversity, have attracted diverse expres- acteristically: ‘We should remember that sions of opinion. We quote an interesting something like ten per cent of mankind are editorial from the New York Globe.

constitutionally sour. How unfair it is to

pick out that ten per cent of Puritans and The shopworn adventure of the poor boy who became rich has been outdone by Frank Tannen

make them representative!' Vicente Blasco baum, although the latter's career has hardly be

Ibañez first attracted to himself the attengun. Mr. Tannenbaum got into the public eye in tion of Spain by a political sonnet which 1914, when, by leading an orderly little mob into

won him applause and imprisonment. a church, he called attention to the pitiable condition of the unemployed. The method he used

More than thirty years later, though long did not appeal favorably to those who look upon

since famous in his native country, he atchurches as places of Worship, but it opened the tracted the attention of the world by his eyes of many people and the hearts of a few. As

Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Born in for Tannenbaum, he found lodging on Blackwell's Island for a year. His history since then throws

Valencia, of Aragonese parents, he is now light upon America during one of the most event- living in Paris. Editorial writer, printer, ful lustrums in its annals. In 1914 most news- investigator, and practical philosopher, Arpaper readers probably considered him a dan

thur Pound lives in Flint, Michigan, where gerous radical, although in that golden pre-war age the man in the street, instead of going into

the Buick, Chevrolet, and other familiar hysterics, merely smiled in a superior and rather types of cars are made, and where there convincing way at the antics of the little band is detailed opportunity to study the effect of Utopians.

of automotive machinery on human charTwo years later, Tannenbaum was working in a shipyard and trying to stir his fellow workers to

acter. greater efforts to counteract the ravages of the German submarines; two years after that, he was

Wilbur C. Abbott has been a member of in the army, and by his patriotic zeal had earned the rank of sergeant; a year later he had resumed

the History Department of Dartmouth, his studies at Columbia University; and this University of Michigan, University of week finds him graduating with 'highest honors Kansas, University of Chicago, Yale, and in history and economics,' a Phi Beta Kappa key

now, Harvard. He is a professor among in recognition of a brilliant record in his studies, and a scholarship which will enable him to take professors and something more. DuBose an advanced degree.

Heyward, a poet of North Carolina, makes There is another moral in this story than the his first appearance in the Atlantic. William mere conversion of a 'radical' to 'liberalism.'

Beebe is a household word in the Atlantic This is that youth, enthusiasm, and a degree of ignorance sufficient to make a youngster a noisy

Dictionary. Emma Lawrence (Mrs. John and irrational objector to the existing order may

S. Lawrence) is a Bostonian whose first cover up the most admirable qualities and the story appeared in the Atlantic two months highest abilities. Probably Mr. Tannenbaum has

ago. found out that if the world is to be made better, it must be done by prolonged hard work and painstaking preparation; but probably he does

Rufus M. Jones, the author of many valnot regret that, before this was quite so clear to him, he flung his gauntlet blindly in the face of

uable studies of the Quaker faith, is Profeswhat he thought injustice and a cruel indifference

sor of Philosophy at Haverford College, and to human suffering.

editor of the Friends' Review. Edward Carrington Venable, a member of the Flying

Corps during the war, lives in Baltimore. George Herbert Palmer, Professor Emer- Anne Winslow (Mrs. E. E. Winslow) is a itus of Philosophy, has for nearly two gen- contributor new to the Atlantic.

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Lieutenant-Colonel Charles à Court ish naval critic, of recognized attainments. Repington saw early and brilliant service in At the Atlantic's request, he writes this judiIndia, Afghanistan, Burma, the Sudan, and cious and important comparison of the relaother British outposts of Empire. Subse- tive strength of the American and Japanese quently he was Military Attaché at Brus- navies. Admiral Sims gives, in another sels and The Hague. After leaving the column, a highly interesting estimate of Mr. army, he became military critic of the Lon- Bywater's views. don Times, where his articles (we quote from his most bitter critic) ‘are almost News from Russia is more voluminous models of their kind; clear, sprightly, tell- than authentic. Our readers will be intering - almost classical journalism.' Leav- ested in this record of the actual experiing the Times under dramatic circum- ences of a Russian lady, whose name, for stances, he joined the Morning Post. Every prudence' sake, we do not reveal. reader who has followed the war is familiar

PETROGRAD. with his subsequent record, and all students

DEAR ATLANTIC, with his Diaries of the First World-War.

We are alive, but our existence can hardly be To all interested in Colonel Repington's called living. We are buried alive: no news from adventurous and dramatic life, we recom

the outside world, no new books, papers, or magmend his autobiography, published under

azines. “They' have their own publications, in

which they can lie to their hearts' content. I the title of Vestigia. His competence

never read them. to discuss the present subject will not be We suffered from hunger and cold, especially in called in question. Walter B. Pitkin, who

the winters of 1919 and 1920. I had the scurvy, has devoted much time to the study of the

but am better now. This last winter we suffered

less, but our life is still hard to bear. We subsist Far East, writes in the belief that ‘American

on rations which are distributed to us, and conreaders have heard too much about the sist of black bread of inferior quality, smoked Open Door in China and too little about soy herring which I cannot swallow, frozen potatoes, beans in Manchuria, coal in Shensi, cotton

and sometimes meat; also a little butter and a

few apples; no genuine tea, coffee, or cocoa. We in South China, and a hundred other con

depend mostly on porridge (cereal) and a few crete matters that cannot be disposed of other things such as we can buy; for although it by fine generalities.'

is illegal to trade, almost everyone ‘speculates.' We cannot keep servants, and do our own work. I don't find that so very hard, but it is hard

to witness Russia's complete annihilation; that J. O. P. Bland knows China, if anybody is painful, indeed. A country without trade is does. For years he was Secretary to the

dead. Municipality for the Foreign Settlements in

You would not recognize Petrograd - it is de

populated. The former millions have shrunk into Shanghai, and representative in China of

hundreds! No traffic in the streets, no izroshthe British and Chinese Corporation. More zhiks; most of the horses have been killed; only a recently, he has served as a distinguished few wretched conveyances, which are so crowded correspondent of the London Times. A

that an old woman like myself dare not venture

to use them. world-traveler and carefully trained ob

We live in a wild country, among savages who server, Mr. Bland may be definitely classed rule by terror. Lies, devastation, famine, conas a realist in his discussions of political and tagious diseases, and privations of all kinds are social questions. E. Alexander Powell has

common.

They are not organizers, but destroyers. The corresponded for the papers round the world

greater part of the forests have been cut down, and back again. A veteran in the service, but still we have no wood to keep us warm. A he has devoted a great deal of time to in- great many wooden houses have been demolished, vestigating the questions centring on the

and hardly a summer home remains standing. It

will be a desert soon. It is impossible to describe western shores of the Pacific. Herbert Side

the misery we have suffered. One has to live in botham, who succeeded to the post left va- the midst of it to understand. The despotism of cant by Colonel Repington, under dramatic the Tsars was nothing in comparison. We cannot circumstances, as military critic of the Lon

move, we cannot go anywhere without leave, and don Times, has just severed his connection

to obtain leave is well-nigh impossible. One must

negotiate for weeks, and even months; and at preswith that paper. Hector C. Bywater is a Brit- ent the railways can hardly be said either to be town,' the man replied. “Those people are a poor DEAR ATLANTIC,

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safe for travel or to function satisfactorily. (Les vestigate. I found in a crevice a magazine. Judge chemins de fer sont presque annihilés; ils sont de- my surprise when I discovered it to be an Atlantic puis longtemps dans une position catastrophique.) Monthly published in 1867, two years after the

It is three years since we have been able to buy Civil War. Although the cabin is almost a ruin, any wearing apparel or footwear. Nothing is ob- the print is in first-class condition and also the tainable, not even pins and needles. I am old and paper, although it has lain here for fifty-four need but little, and what I have may last me years. I think it is a unique find, and if you are until I die, but the young people are almost des- interested, write to titute — dans une position incroyable. Every

PATRICK H. FOESSLER. thing has been stolen from our country-house, even our library and we had been collecting books for fifty years! The trees in the park on the estate have been all cut down; everything has

‘Our Street,' we agree, is open to further been desolated (saccagé); but we only share the

discussion, and to friendly traffic of every general fate.

sort. For this little thoroughfare, not less Wells could not have been allowed to see much, than ‘Main Street' and 'The Drive,' is as he was conducted' most of the time, and saw only what they chose to show him. He may have

found on the road-map of every American heard the truth, however, from Pavlof (the well

town. And for some of us it is the familiar known professor of physiology, who received the road toward home. Nobel Prize).

We are in almost total ignorance as to what DEAR ATLANTIC, happened in the years 1918, 1919, and 1920. Never before have I wished to usurp the edi

Although the salary of as Professor is torial prerogative -- but why could n't there fifty thousand rubles a month, the money has no have been more of 'Our Street'? Why could n't value and prices are monstrous. An egg costs a the Atlantic have sent it back with a request for a thousand rubles, a pound of bread three thousand, little more detail, a little wider vista, perhaps for a pound of butter seventeen thousand, and a a larger, more comprehensive canvas? For there pound of meat ten thousand and more.

is more of it, a great deal more of it, in spite of Cherish no illusions about our higher schools, Masters and Mencken and Sinclair Lewis. universities, or polytechnic institutions: they are Let me confess that for me 'Our Street' is not flourishing, they are only shadows of their making the most effective assault possible upon former selves. There are few students, and those the so-called realists — it is so real, and at the who atttend cannot study with any degree of same time so permanent, like Truth and Progress comfort. The buildings are not heated, and it is and Human Charity. Its reality and its fine perimpossible to study in a temperature of six de- manency speak to me every day through all my grees below zero (Réaumur). There is neither wa- windows and my open doors, with the wafted ter nor gas in the laboratories.

odors of my neighbor's baking and the strong It is the same everywhere. In such conditions young voices of her children. We are plain peoyou would not think that life was possible! ple, working-people all, with barely a college de

gree to go around. But there are no fences be

tween our houses; our green corn and our new One used to believe that the names of biscuits find their way to more than one table; the great and celebrated should not suffer when one of us gets to hear Rachmaninoff, he abbreviation. According to the following brings the programme home for the rest to see.

We exchange paper patterns and opera records letter, however, the Plague of Abbreviation

and Atlantics; for how could one have all these is no respecter of rank.

things at once? And quite often we go shopping DEAR ATLANTIC,

for a new dining-room rug and come home with

books. Your article on the Plague of Abbreviation called to mind some correspondence with a

Periodically, usually in the spring, some of us brother clergyman, who always signed himself

wonder if we should n't try to find a house ‘yours in the faith of O.B.L.' It took me a good

on the Drive — for the children's sake, you while to find out what 0.B.L. really meant.

know. But somehow we never do. The soil seems Yours truly,

to suit us, here on Our Street, and moving might FRANK DURANT.

very well destroy in us something native and nat

ural to that homely environment. It took us a good while, too.

I have heard, somewhere, the story of a Quaker who overtook a man traveling with a van-load of

household goods. Old Atlantics are carefully kept. Note 'Is thee moving, Robert?' asked the Quaker. this curious instance.

“Yes, and I'm glad to get away from that

lot; not a decent soul among them.' While walking in the Adirondack Mountains, 'Friend,' said the Quaker, 'thee will find the I came across an old log-cabin and went in to in- same wherever thee goes!'

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Very likely for some folk heaven itself would have its Main Street.

Yours sincerely,

ELAINE GOULD.

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Here is a note which will appeal to bibliophiles - and bibliophilistines, too. DEAR ATLANTIC,

I had an experience in one of our bookstores that may interest Mr. Newton. I inquired for Frank Stockton's The Lady, or the Tiger? The salesman replied, 'I am sorry, madam, but we have neither.'

Yours sincerely,

Edna L. TAYLOR. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA.

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The following inquiry suggests that the corporate octopus may still need an additional tentacle or two. DEAR ATLANTIC,

Will you please advise me concerning the possibility of my having a poem accepted by the Atlantic Monthly Company? Do you buy them from companies or from individuals? If from individuals, would you ignore the work of an unknown writer?

Very truly yours, By way of defining the policy of the magazine, we may state that, if any excellent company poems should ever come our way, we should doubtless accept them without inquiring too curiously into their authorship.

These rumors of Archæology in the Backyard make us long unseasonably to spade the garden. DEAR ATLANTIC,

Upon my return to-day to the little khaki tent on a big New Mexican ranch which constitutes my temporary home, I had the exhilarating experience of reading Mr. Moorehead's article in your September issue. May I be allowed a comment or two?

I, too, am an archæologist, and one of the younger school that went ‘West, South, or abroad.' Each one of us, when he reached the parting of the ways, chose that American culture which interested him most, as the subject for his life-work. The entire New World is roughly divided into large geographical areas, each of which was once the home of some distinct civilization. In nearly every case, these old civilizations differ one from the other as widely as ancient Egypt from Babylon in its prime. Each archæologist, in attacking the many and varied problems in his own area, soon becomes a specialist, and, as such, becomes incompetent to judge of the detailed problems of other areas. However, all of us have a sufficient knowledge of the general problems of American archæology to appreciate those of another area. When all is said and done, we are one in our desire to extend the history of the American Indian backward in the realm of time.

Mr. Moorehead has mentioned public interest in archæology. I quite agree with him that this interest should start at home. If, however, the antiquities of one area of our country have received a modicum of attention in excess of another, the men working in that area are to be congratulated. Even at its best, the interest our public takes in the history and archæology of its own country is discouragingly small. It is our great dream that some day the public as a whole will awaken to the great fund of romance and history that now lies hidden in the ruins, not only in one area, but in all parts of the country. The slogan 'See American First' should be changed to ‘Know America First,' in all that the change of the verb implies. A better knowledge of Indian history, and also of the remnants of that race still living, would certainly do much more good than harm.

These few sentences are not to be construed as a criticism in any way. They are simply in the form of a footnote. I congratulate my friend, Mr. Moorehead, and also the Atlantic, upon this article, which gives promise of a better, saner interest on the part of the public in our work, because it is a serious article, put before the right kind of a public. Sincerely yours,

CARL E. GUTHE.

This question is a poser, but we think the Apex wins. DEAR ATLANTIC,

Here's a new situation, and I want you to answer this all-important question.

This morning's mail brought the new Atlantic, which I am always anxious to peruse. The family washing had to be done. The ancient axiom ‘Duty before pleasure' again held sway, but I changed it.

Descending into the laundry, laden with the washing, surmounted by the Atlantic, I started my labors and then, while the Apex Electric Washing-Machine chug-chugged the clothes to snowy whiteness, I laughed over A. Edward Newton's 'Twenty-five Hours a Day.'

Here is the question: Would the above situation be a better 'Ad' for the Atlantic than for the Apex Electric Washing-Machine Co.? You tell! Sincerely,

HELEN DORCAS MAGEE.

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Will any Atlantic reader in possession of letters from the distinguished painter, Abbott H. Thayer, be so good as to communicate with Mrs. Abbott H. Thayer, Monadnock, New Hampshire. All originals will be carefully returned.

DECEMBER, 1921

POOLED SELF-ESTEEM

BY A. CLUTTON-BROCK

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I AM, I confess, astonished at the surrender above all things. In spite of lack of curiosity which even psycholo- the psychologists, we know that the gists, and they more than most men, sexual instinct is not the tyrant or the discover about the most familiar, yet chief source of those delusions to which most surprising, facts of the human we are all subject. It is because we are mind. They have their formulæ, as in love with ourselves, not because we that the human mind is unconsciously are in love with other people, that always subject to the sexual instinct; we make such a mess of our lives. and these formulæ, while they make Now, what we ask of psychology, if psychology easier for those who accept it is to be a true science, is that it shall them, utterly fail to explain the most help us to manage ourselves so that we familiar, yet most surprising facts. may achieve our deepest, most perma

There is, for instance, self-esteem, nent desires. Between us and those de-- egotism, - we have no precise scien- sires there is always this obstacle of

tific name for it; if we go by our own self-esteem, and if psychology will help experience, it seems to be far more pow- us to get rid of that, then, indeed, we erful and constant than the sexual in- will take it seriously, more seriously stinct, far more difficult to control, and than politics, or machinery, or drains, far more troublesome. The sexual in- or any other science. For all of these, stinct gets much of its power from however necessary, are subsidiary to this egotism, or self-esteem, and would the management of the self; and all be manageable without it; but self- would be a thousand times better manesteem is, for many of us, unmanageable. aged by a race of beings who knew how Often we suppress it, but still it is our to manage themselves. There is not a chief obstacle to happiness or any kind science, or an art, that is not hampered of excellence; and, however strong or by the self-esteem of those who practise persistent it may be in us, we never it; for it blinds us both to truth and to value it. In others we dislike it intense beauty, and most of us are far more unly, and no less intensely in ourselves conscious of its workings than we are when we become aware of it; and, if a of the workings of our sexual instinct. man can lose it in a passion for some- The Greeks were right when they said, thing else, then we admire that self- 'Know thyself'; but we have not tried

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