pack to supply your needs and feet able to take you where you want to go, the world is yours and the loveliest corners thereof.

M

Y present pack, light, strong, wellbalanced, and commodious, with three large external pockets, was acquired in Zermatt, under the Matterhorn, and has served me well for six years. My favorite shoes are easy, ankle-high moccasins with fairly heavy soles; but I suppose that my addiction to moccasins is largely sentimental. While on a nine days' tramp through Switzerland I wanted my moccasins, just as when in the gondolas of Venice I pined for a canoe, the loveliest craft that floats. The right pack is the one that enables you most comfortably to carry what you need, and the right footwear is that which fits you and the region and is adequately soled without being so heavy as to remind you that an ounce on the foot is equal to a pound on the back.

For woodland trail and mountain height

Let foot and pack and heart be light.

Walking is a sport, the simplest of all sports, a sport that demands no special ability, training, or equipment. All you need is a pair of responsible feet and sufficient motive power to enable you alternately and progressively to lift them up and set them down over and upon whatever part of the earth's surface happens to be convenient. With deep thankfulness I acknowledge that in the course of a physically active life my feet have carried me into many pleasant places; and yet they began their varied career poor but honest, and with certain natural disadvantages. To be frankly autobiographical, I remember myself as a very small and puny boy of five, wearing heavy steel leg-braces the weight of which compelled me to drag myself upstairs on hands and knees. Fortunately for me, an unusually wise mother, who had not forgotten her own tomboy girlhood in Ohio, saw to it that I had what I needed. Quietly-so quietly that only after I was thirty did it suddenly dawn upon me how I had been guided-she encouraged a boy's natural bent for athletics. A pair of skates as a present on my eighth birthday inevitably sent me forth on the ice to strengthen my weak ankles in the best possible exercise for the purpose. Plenty of baseball and shinny in vacant lots and all running games in a few years made me admittedly the swiftest of foot in my crowd. Trying to keep step with a tall and sinewy uncle, one of those who had enlisted at Lincoln's first call, gave me a

length of stride out of all proportion to

my vertical inches that has been serviceable on many a long trail and steep climb.

More health is gained by wearing out shoe-leather

Than comes from all the doctors put together.

The most important walk is the one that begins just outside your door. Living as I do in the heart of New York, when I feel the imperative need to interrupt my work with a little exercise I generally take a jaunt of from two to four miles up and down a colorful and always exhilarating stretch of Fifth Avenue. Every town-dweller should have his pleasant, convenient walks, short and long, and every city, even your own, affords them. Dr. John Huston Finley, one-time President of my own College, State Commissioner of Education, and now one of the pillars of the New York "Times," has a pet oneday route completely skirting Manhattan Island. That means a distance of thirty miles over hard-paved streets, and requires good condition and fairly heavy soles.

S

OME of my pedestrian friends, two in particular, are experts in matters of equipment. Their packs are always of the latest and best type and are fitted with everything desirable, including complete and compact cooking outfits; consequently, though myself a hasty and haphazard packer, vicarious experience qualifies me to tell you what the well-packed man will bear. But I prefer to dwell upon something of even more moment than the walker's physical burden, namely, his mental equipment. For walking is not a merely muscular exercise. Better a well-stored head than a well-filled pack, and, though a walker should be good company for others, he

hidden from companions of far keener sight but less training.

The stars and all the flowers that sleep below them

Are theirs who learn to name them and to know them.

A

N old English proverb runs, "Do as I say, don't do as I do,' as the parson said when they brought him home in the wheelbarrow." So I gravely counsel you to learn to employ map and compass both in one-day walks and in more extended tours, sorrowfully confessing my own impatient tendency to depend upon instinct, many questions, and the imps of luck, who have treated me far better than I have deserved. Remember, too, that even the best woodsman sometimes "gets turned round” and loses his bearings, but the good woodsman and trailsman keeps his head.

Keep the old trail well in sight

Till you know the new is right. When Daniel Boone was about eightyfour, a visitor to his remote cabin asked him, "Colonel Boone, were you ever lost?"

"No," said the old pioneer, reflectively; "I can't say as I was ever exactly lost, but I was bewildered once for three days."

I also have been bewildered, but at no other time quite to the same degree as once, when on the top of Katahdin I committed the inexcusable folly of striking off across a broad plateau of broken rock in a thickening mist. Even though I did hit upon a method by which we happened to relocate our path, the incident remains a particularly black blot upon an otherwise not unblemished ca

reer.

When mists about the mountain wreathe a veil,

Don't go exploring; keep the wellmarked trail.

a

himself. Like a good newspaper man, good walker cannot know too much. A lively minded person with some knowledge of birds, beasts, flowers, trees, rocks, and local history will see more, think more, and enjoy more than another who lumps his changing surroundings as "scenery." Tribesmen of primitive races conceal their real names in the belief that by learning the true name of a man one gains a certain power over him. Transferring this notion from the domain of black magic to that of white magic, there is a degree of truth in it; for I do know that the walker who can name and distinguish, for example, hepaticas, bloodroot, anemones, and the varieties of violets will discover and delight in the early spring flowers that are

panion of the last eighteen years

is now so badly spoiled that she demands as a right a tramp of at least three days at the end of each vacation, and as many other expeditions as we can manage; and our feet have known many lovely trails, low and high, East and West, at home and abroad. But I find that my homing instinct is still northward and toward rising ground, and that my dearest recollections are of mountains-Rockies, Ramapos, Alps, Laurentians, Green Mountains, White Mountains, Catskills, and Adirondacks.

Men love the hills because, like men, they rise

Compact of earth but reaching toward the skies.

There is a cave on Katahdin, just below

timber-line, that proved a good refuge. There was an unexpected shelter on Killington, on the Long Trail over the crest of the Green Mountains, which saved us from a night in the open without blankets; and there we found firewood, coffee-pot, and frying-pan, with enough coffee, sugar, butter, and condensed milk thoughtfully left by the last tenants; and these enabled us to enjoy the beans for supper and the bountiful Welsh rarebit for breakfast that the meager contents of our pack afforded. I remember, too, a summit in Canada in a driving snow-storm, where our chattering teeth enabled us to eat our sandwiches with an economy of effort, the frosty top of Long's Peak in Colorado,

and unnumbered forest camps where our fires have glowed. Best of all are memories of many courtesies received on the way; for people are especially welldisposed toward the pedestrian whose amateur standing is sufficiently evident.

With a certain capacity for enjoyment, with the zest and touch of imagination that can make great adventures of little things, the sturdy walker shall never lack delight, whether his way runs through settled country or leafy wilder

ness.

Enjoy the road: The best is lost to those

Who hurry blindly toward the journey's close.

Party Conventions for the National Capital

By DIXON MERRITT

The Outlook's Staff Correspondent in Washington

The proposal was made by Senator THE advantage to be gained by the Carter Glass, of Virginia, and has the support of a large number of men and women prominent in the party. It has the opposition, however, of other Democrats equally prominent Democrats who think they perceive greater party expediency in holding the Convention elsewhere.

Expediency, more often than not, has controlled in matters of American politics. One might guess, therefore, that the Democratic National Convention will be held next year in Cleveland, the metropolis of a doubtful State, where partisan advantage, according to the calculations of the politicians, may be gained.

But by the mere proposal Senator Glass has rendered a service to American politics, not merely to Democratic politics. If he wins the Convention for Washington, the benefit may be immediate. If he loses, the benefit will not

holding of a National party convention in Washington is that the deliberations of the party would be as far as possible removed from local and State influences. It is, in party affairs, identical with the advantage, in Governmental affairs, that we have always had from having the seat of the Federal Government in a Federal District rather than in one of the States. Those influences, often adverse to the best interests both of the party and of the country, have rarely failed to exert themselves in National conventions, and sometimes they have been well-nigh disastrous.

All National conventions of all recognized National parties ought, it seems to me, to be held in Washington. The Federal City ought to be recognized as the home of National party conventions just as it is recognized as the home of Congress.

Under our system, the party organi

zations are, in a very essential way, the Government. Whatever Congress is to do, whatever the President and his administrative officers are to do, is in large measure predetermined in the National convention of one or the other of the parties.

The holding of conventions in Washington would be a step toward recognition of party machinery as Governmental machinery. It would enable the parties to maintain, what they always have needed but never have had, a continuing organization apart from State and local organizations. Under the present system of hauling the conventions about the country, like a road show, there is no National party office except during Presidential campaigns. At all other times the headquarters of the party is supposed to be where the chairman of the National Committee resides, and the chairman is a part of some State organization. At this moment the official Republican National organization is by way of being a Massachusetts organization because Chairman Butler lives there. The official Democratic National organization would be, if it were anything, a West Virginia organization because Chairman Shaver lives there. There is not, and has never been, in either party an established office for the transaction of party business in a regular way.

The holding of all National party conventions in Washington might lead to the recognition of party machinery as Governmental machinery to the extent that essential party expenses would be met from Federal funds. That the Government should pay the cost of National campaigns Senator Borah suggested last January as one means of getting rid of unnecessary party expenses and removing undue influence of moneyed interests both in primaries and in conventions.

Of course, that is exactly what many politicians in both parties do not want. It is one of the reasons why the Democratic National Convention of 1928 may not go to Washington; one of the reasons why, even if Washington is chosen. by the Democrats for 1928, it might not be permanently chosen by them as their convention city; one of the reasons why, even if the Democrats should decide to hold all of their National conventions in Washington, the Republicans would be slow to adopt a similar policy.

None the less, Senator Glass's proposal, whether it is accepted or not, will accomplish something toward bringing public recognition of the proper place of party conventions and party machinery in our Governmental affairs. དོ,༈。་།རྩྭ་3;

1

66

Glory o' the Dawn

A story that will stir the hearts
of all who love the ways of ships
and the mystery of the past

"GL

LORY O' THE DAWN," by Harold Trowbridge Pulsifer, a story of singular beauty, is told with a quiet impressiveness suggestive of Hawthorne. In the once flourishing Maine port of Middlehaven Caleb Gurney, stone-mason, ship-builder, and maker of models, gave years of his life and all the passion of his soul to recreating in miniature "Glory o' the Dawn." It was not merely a ship model that he fashioned, but a symbol of past greatness. The splendor of those ships which once carried New England's fame through all the seven seas lived again in the moving beauty of the model.

The Savor of the Sea The San Francisco "Journal" says: "This little story is one of remarkable beauty and strength."

The Boston "Globe" says: "It is a rare occasion in the world of books when such a little gem as this is born."

The New York "Herald" says: "Mr. Pulsifer has compounded the pathos and humor of this text into a pleasing mixture."

The "Public Ledger" says: "Mr. Pulsifer has molded his prose to the same sensitive craftsmanship he has given to the shaping of poetry."

An Autographed Copy for You!

Mr. Pulsifer has kindly volunteered to autograph special copies of this book for those who accept the offer which appears below. The offer is limited, however, to subscribers of The Outlook. Simply mail the coupon today. Send no money now. Attractively bound in blue cloth with silver stamping, printed on heavy paper.

COCKADES. By Meade Minnigerode. G. P. Put

nam's Sons, New York.

Mr. Minnigerode's romance based upon the mythical career in America of the missing Dauphin, Louis XVII differs widely in tone and tempo from other stories treating the same inviting subject. For one thing, there is much more of America and less of Louis; the first few chapters especially are done in Mr. Minnigerode's best pageant-of-the-times style. For another, neither the shadow of the guillotine thrown from the past nor that of an undesired throne looming in the future is allowed to subdue the story to one of sentimentality, pathos, or tragedy; on the contrary, it is a spirited, swiftly moving, bucyant, colorful tale from first to last. A certain joltiness and jerkiness occasionally mar its progress, due partly to the absence of the hero from the scene for long intervals of time and partly to the extreme intricacy of the plottings and counterplottings, spyings and counter-spyings, of which he is the center. But the story is a good story and a picturesque one, and we cavil only at the quite unnecessary addition of the culminating improbability introduced in the last chapter. It comes as a startling surprise, it is true, one which few readers will anticipate; but the book would be better without it.

THE ARROW. By Christopher Morley. Doubleday, Page & Co., New York. $1.50.

On the sea a young man's fancy lightly swings to thoughts of love, and when, in Mr. Morley's airy and amusing fantasy, the perturbed youth reaches London and leaves his ship, it is still a bit dizzy, and the extraordinary and malicious behavior of the pedestaled Cupid in Piccadilly Circus is not such as to produce a steadying effect. As light as a soap-bubble, this clever and charming little tale does not, like so many literary bubbles blown with shimmering promise, resolve itself before the close into a mere disillusioning spatter of soap-suds. On the contrary, like the solider material of its origin, "it floats" and is still afloat unspoiled and iridescent at the end.

DAWN: A LOST ROMANCE OF THE TIMES OF CHRIST. By Irving Bacheller. The Macniillan Company, New York. $2.50.

Mr. Bacheller's purpose has been, not to write the life of Christ in fiction form, but to carry out faithfully the promise of his subtitle, and thus to give us romance and adventure and also present a colorful and dramatic picture of the times, places, and people. He succeeds admirably in this attempt.

Doris, who in the author's device wrote this anciently lost and recently found narrative, was a Greek girl of beauty, charm, and wisdom. Her love for the Jew Apollos (we take it this is he of whom it was said, "Paul may plant and Apollos may water") was deep and moving. That she came to be that woman as to whom Christ said, "He who is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her," does not mean that she was ever an evil-minded woman; the pressure of Roman rule and the danger of a worse fate had forced her to become a mistress first of the centurion who later became the Emperor Vespasian and then of one other man. Her adventures and escapes are genuinely thrilling. Quite naturally she met and knew various persons of the Bible story-Blind Bartimeus, and Mary of Magdala, for instance-and she happened to be present at the enlightenment of Saul of Tarsus, whereby he be

came Paul the Apostle to the Gentiles. In her old age, in Colossæ, she writes this simple, immensely human record of her life, ending as she hears the coming of the soldiers to lead her to death.

Of stories of Bible times there have been many scores, but only once in a decade or so does one appear that combines reverence, simplicity, and human romance. Such a volume, in our judgment, is "Dawn."

THE DRUMS OF AULONE. By Robert W. Chambers. D. Appleton & Co., New York. $2. Mr. Chambers possesses a wide and accurate knowledge of French and American history, and in weaving a richly intricate tapestry as a background for the figures of his imagination he displays in "The Drums of Auione," as elsewhere, a skill not fairly to be ignored. Unfortunately, his romanticism, adventurous and emotional, has few limits; reticence, restraint, moderation, rarely hamper his flamboyant pen. In this particular novel the scene changes picturesquely from France to England, and thence to Quebec under Frontenac, who himself appears, peppery, warm-hearted, and imperious, and much the most delightful person in the book. There is a wholly evil villain, a wholly gallant hero, and the heroine, Mademoiselle Michelle de Maniscamp, from whose maiden lips we receive the story (Mr. Robert Chambers speaking, a trifle falsetto), is, of course, unfailingly devoted, courageous, tender, and girlishly charming. In short, here is an exciting yarn about people of romantically impossible behavior, performing upon a correctly furnished historic stage.

SPLIT SECONDS. Tales of the Cinder Track. By Jackson Scholz. William Morrow & Co., New York. $2.

By the 1924 Olympic champion, and holder of the world's record for the 200meter dash; a book written for regular guys. "When you make the statement to some people that track is a romantic sport, why they sort of look at you as though you were a trifle dotty," Mr. Scholz points out. "They believe that the sport consists of nothing but climbing into a track suit, running yourself blue in the face, and then going into the gym for a shower." Mr. Scholz would lead these benighted ones to the light. He would show that the atmosphere of the cinder track is not entirely due to neat's-foot oil, that many a romantic battle of the hurdles has been won by a young knight with a Charley horse. Yes, indeed!

The romance of track is exposed to an astounded public in a series of stories laid in a Mid-Western university, in each of which Mr. Scholz himself has a prominent part, and these stories not only abound with romance and action, but also teach valuable moral lessons: swinging the hips, jockeying for the pole, the use of the thumb in discus throwing, fighting for the dear old school, etc., etc. And if here and there it seems that Mr. Scholz has been unduly influenced by the "Rover Boys," that should be no drawback to most of his readers.

ADAM IN MOONSHINE. By J. B. Priestley. Harper & Brothers, New York. $2.50. Events "grow curiouser and curiouser" from the moment when Adam Stewart, starting on a holiday, looks out of a railway carriage into the upturned face of not one, but three beautiful girls. The girls are bidding farewell to a fellow-traveler,