fact, cited by the Court only to be dismissed as outside the province of Congressional power over inter-State commerce, which is part of the condition that is without remedy unless Congress has power to remedy it.

It is not necessary in order to remedy this condition that Congress should legislate directly concerning industrial conditions within the States; but it is necessary that it should have power over the inter-State commerce in goods other than those produced or manufactured by child labor. If the Child Labor Amendment goes too far in providing for Federal legislation on subjects that ought to be left to the States, it does not go far enough in protecting States which have not only good child labor laws but good industrial laws generally.

We have expressed the opinion that the Child Labor Amendment ought to be adopted. It certainly should be if the choice is between that and nothing. Children should be protected against the wrong of labor under improper conditions; and if they are not to be protected by the States, they should be protected by the Nation. But if the Amendment is rejected, the way should be open for an amendment giving to Congress the power which the Court denied it. It should provide that Congress should have power so to regulate inter-State commerce as to protect those States which conform to certain standards of industrial legislation against the competition of those States that do not meet such standards. Such an amendment would not interfere with the legislative powers of the several States, but would make certain that the game of commerce among the several States would be played fairly, and that no State would be penalized for progress.

He fixed his gaze upon the only remaining editor, bowed with Latin grace as he doffed his cap, and said in the tone of one accustomed to command:

"I come, sir, to tell you the Secret of my Success."

The editor blinked and asked, "Your name, sir."

"My name," said the visitor, "is Christopher Columbus. I don't want my Message to be lost for the younger generation. I want them to know how I achieved my Fame; how I overcame Obstacles; how I Triumphed."

"The younger generation," the editor replied, "has read much of you in school, and there is a worthy organization which has insisted that your natal day be made a public holiday in many parts of our land."

"Pooh!" said Columbus; "what does the younger generation know of my ideals? A broken egg, the Queen's jewels, a voyage or two, chains, death. They know nothing of the Urge that drove me forth upon my perilous ventures."

"There have been rumors, Mr. Columbus," said the editor, "that yours was a commercial undertaking; that you searched for spices, gold, and the trade of the Indies. That you didn't know what you had found when you found it."

The visitor's eyes flashed. “A base libel, sir," he said. "When I set sail, I carried in my doublet these papers," and he drew forth a sheaf of yellowed parchments and spread them out on a desk. "These," he said, "if you glance through them, will show you a little of what I had in mind."

The editor picked up the parchments and read the following headings:

Rules for Health, drawn up by Christopher Columbus at the age of eight.

Plan for Achieving Fame, prepared by Christopher Columbus at the age of eleven.

Essay on what the Old World Needs and How to Supply It, written by Christopher Columbus at the age of thirteen and a half.

Paper on What to Do with the New World When I Find It, outlined by Christopher Columbus at the age of seventeen.

Columbus drew another sheaf of documents from his pocket. "These," he said, "will show you how completely I had worked out my plan for utilizing and developing my discovery before I even left the coast of Europe."

The documents were labeled "Papers Carried by Christopher Columbus on the Santa Maria," and their titles were certainly varied enough to suit the taste of any man. The editor scanned them hastily and read:

Programme for Lewis and Clark
Expedition.

The Best Location for Chicago.
Traffic Regulations for New York.
Air Routes from Coast to Coast.
Suggested Methods of Enforcing
National Prohibition.

The editor opened his eyes wide, or thought he did. "Pardon me, Mr. Columbus, weren't you a bit previous with some of these plans?"

"Not at all," Columbus said, sternly. "To achieve Success you must map out the whole future in advance; you must grasp the significance of every detail; you must leave nothing to chance. You must be the first at your desk in the morning and the last to leave at night. You must save your pennies; you must choose well your associates; you must know the proper fork to use for your salad. Whatever your task, whether it be licking postage stamps or commanding a ship, you must do it just a little better than the next man. You must"

"Pardon me, Mr. Columbus," said the editor, "but where are you headed now? Do I understand that you wish to write the story of your life for The Outlook?"

"Exactly," said Columbus. "I have come back to earth to set the beacon light of my Achievement before the young Americans who have peopled the land which owes its discovery to me."

"I see," said the editor, "that you have a vast knowledge of our country and the type of literature which passes for wisdom in this twentieth century of ours. Perhaps you do not know, however, that we have certain periodicals that specialize in just the type of Message that you have to give. Take the elevator in this very building, and you will find the editorial office of a magazine where you will be welcomed with open arms. Success is its watchword and Messages its daily meat. The magazine," said the editor, "is called the 'Amer'

Before he could finish his sentence Christopher Columbus broke in. "I need no elevator," he said, and there was a swish of his cloak in the air and he vanished through the ceiling.

The editor rubbed his eyes and listened. The fading swish turned into the regular swish of the cleaner's broom in the corridor outside. The editor rubbed

his eyes again and spoke. "Well," said he, "I seem to have foregone a Great Feature that might have added a million circulation to The Outlook.

"Anyhow," he added, patriotically, "I am certain that now it will not be lost to a Waiting Nation."

We advise our readers to watch for an

early announcement of Columbus's own story of his Success. It will not, however, we make bold to say, appear in these pages.

F

OR more than two decades M.

Jusserand has fulfilled the duties

of French Ambassador at Washington with remarkable intelligence, tact, and competence. A man still in the prime of life, more than any other Ambassador from the European Continent he has really become one of us, and thus has strengthened the friendliness between his country and ours as have none others. We had all hoped for further years of his residence among us. Yet the French Foreign Office doubtless feels that his term of service has been long enough for one place. That may be all very well for the French Foreign Office, but for many of us Washington will no longer be the same place without the inspiring presence of M. and Mme. Jusserand.

It is possible that better than any one in the French diplomatic service M. Emile Daeschner is marked as one who could continue his predecessor's work.

Sixty-one years old, born of an Alsatian family, as is his wife, the new French Ambassador at Washington is a Protestant, as she is. He is rather tall. His shoulders are slightly bent. His face seems a little stern in its precise, clearcut outline. His eye takes in every detail of men, minds, things. A quiet, reserved, almost shy manner, a bit cautious at first; an intelligent grasp of what is going on and perfect discretion as to comment on it. Yet withal a courteous, kindly smile, a sympathetic man. He challenges your confidence. I talked with him to-day, and liked him much.

He is no diplomatic novice, taken out of the ranks of business or professional life because the French Government wishes thus to honor some outstanding personality there. Emile Daeschner began his career thirty-seven years ago in the French Foreign Office, and remained there fifteen years. He gradually rose to be Under-Chief, then Chief Adjunct of Cabinet. In 1898 he was named to a secretaryship at the London Embassy, where, under the orders of Paul Cambon, the greatest diplomat of the Third Republic, he busied himself along with M. de Fleuriau, now nominated as Ambassador at London, in negotiations which

.

resulted finally in 1904 in the AngloFrench entente cordiale. The nomination of M. Daeschner at Washington and of M. de Fleuriau at London, the two principal collaborators of the great master of French diplomacy, indicates that the present French Government desires to have the two living men who were responsible for that large and who were responsible for that large and generous policy fill the two most important diplomatic posts.

In 1905 M. Rouvier, French Prime Minister and Foreign Minister, chose M. Daeschner as Director of his Cabinet, and so well did the latter succeed, especially in the difficult Morocco situation, that M. Sarrien kept him in that position. Afterwards M. Daeschner was made Councilor of Embassy at Madrid and then at London. In 1912 he became M. Poincaré's Chief of Cabinet, and

when M. Poincaré was elected President became Minister at Lisbon. However, M. Poincaré recalled him to go with him on his famous journey to Russia. In 1920 M. Daeschner became Minister to Rumania. Here he aided vitally in constructing the Little Entente, particularly smoothing out the points of friction between Rumania and Jugoslavia. In 1922 he returned to Paris to become Director of Administrative and Technical Affairs in the French Foreign Office.

The discerning choice of M. Daeschner indicates that if M. Jusserand must leave Washington, it is our good fortune that he should be followed by one who for a quarter of a century has shown creative ability, energy, and tact in dealing with great international problems.

C

ravage and pain had ebbed from his features, and absolute aloofness and calm were written there. Yes, and a kind of haughty indifférence which brought out startlingly the classic grandeur of his face."

OLLECTORS of "Privately Printed" and "Limited Edition" books, especially Conrad students, will be eager to possess "Joseph Conrad's Last Day," by Richard Curle. One hundred only were printed. I am the fortunate owner of a copy of this slim booklet of thirty-four pages, because I

I happened to sit near to Mr. Richard Curle at an Authors' Club dinner. We had not met before; but his name was familiar, and, after reflection, I said, "Oh, yes, you were with Conrad at the end." We talked about this seafaring Pole, this deep-hearted, great-hearted Conrad, who taught himself to write deep-hearted, great-hearted English, and who became one of the most famous of living authors; we talked, for I knew Conrad in the old days when he was living not far from H. G. Wells, who had built himself a house on the cliff at Sandgate, Kent; we talked, and a few days later "Joseph Conrad's Last Day" reached me by post.

IT

T is simply and beautifully written. Mr. Curle arrived at the Conrad house-Oswalds, near Canterbury-a little while before the end, but there was no premonition of it, for the pain that he occasionally felt in his chest was no new thing. Conrad talked of the fragment of a novel, "The Sisters," that had been put aside years before; then of the novel, "Suspense," he was writing, and of the article, "Legends," he was just finishing. "There are about six different lines in 'Suspense' which might be followed," Conrad mused.

Next day the two friends went for a motor drive towards a new house that Conrad was thinking of taking. He liked to move every five years or so.. They had gone about four miles, when suddenly Conrad said, "I feel the pain I had a few days ago." He wanted to continue the drive; but Mr. Curle persuaded him to return. He went to his room, to bed; he never left his room again. Later in the day his younger son and Mr. Curle were with him. "Go away, dear boys," he said. "I can't bear you to see me like this." The night passed as the day. In the morning they heard him call, "Here" They rushed in. They rushed in. All

was over.

"He looked," writes Mr. Curle, "incredibly noble and splendid. All the

LAST saw Conrad at the dress rehearsal of his play "The Secret Agent," which was founded on his subtle melodrama of that name. As a play I

sion upon me when I read it. I am glad now that I did not ask Conrad his opinion of it, because I have since learned that he felt about Mr. McFee much as William Morris felt when Aubrey Beardsley showed Morris his early drawings. "A man should do his own work," exclaimed Morris. But "Captain Macedoine's Daughter" is a very beautiful and interesting book.

I

HAVE dealt thus far in this letter mainly with one book only, and that not officially published, because it is impossible even to indicate the extent of the welter of books published at this season of the year. Not one-third of them has adequate review. Half of them are not noticed at all. It is impossible. Aghast at this welter, some publishers encourage the custom of limited editions of beautiful books, such as "The Apocrypha," which has just been issued by the Nonesuch Press. It has been oversubscribed by the booksellers. "The Apocrypha" has gone to a premium; so has the Bible, which is also being issued by the same publishers as a beautiful book. Fancy the Bible and the Apocrypha going to a premium! Bravo, battered twentieth century, which scatters books at us like rain! More and more, I think, will people get their current literature from circulating libraries, and stock their small libraries with beautiful books. My own library is gradually sifting down to anthologies and reference books.

Who can hope to keep up with modern fiction? I am told that novels are being issued at ten per day. In two volumes of short stories that have come my way, "Young Mrs. Cruse," by Viola Meynell, and "Overheard," by Stacy Aumonier, I find a couple of short stories that I would certainly include in an anthology of the best short stories of the year. They are "Pastoral," by Viola Meynell, and "The Friends," by Stacy Aumonier.

ND in the midst of the welter of new books we have found time through meetings and dinners to honor the centenary of George MacDonald-fairy-tale teller, poet, preacher, child-lover, saint. I have put fairy-tale teller first, for probably he ranks to-day with Hans Andersen and the author of "Alice in Wonderland."