tive, though I realize he may fit somewhere in the picture of life. His discussion begins and ends with the statement that wars are hell and should be abolished at any price. He does not trouble to make an analysis of war and peace and discover what effect they have on the onward march of the human race.

I want to say here with emphasis that one of the first and most essential things that must be done to tackle the problem of war is to make a scientific analysis of it so as to know how it has affected progress, how it may affect progress now and how it may affect the race in the future. Has it helped progress in the past? If it has, is it not unnatural that it should have done so. In the state of nature, animal eats animal. The strong and swift survive. Cruelty is the rule. By this ruthless method nature produces fine, stalwart species and noble races. This method is hard for the individual but necessary for the races-cruel to the living but beneficial to the future. To-day has always been sacrificed for

to-morrow.

But we must not forget that the whole effort of civilization has been to build a wall around itself to keep out this state of cruel nature and to find substitutes for ruthlessness and to organize so that the cruel method of progress is not necessary. That, I repeat, is the very essence of civilization.

Is it not possible that our substitution and increasingly delicate mechanisms of civilization are gradually not only making war unnecessary but inefficient for purposes of progress? I cannot say that that time has Such changes come about gradually. It is clear, however, that at some time in the future wars will be vestiges of useful phenomena—just as are appendices and extraordinary acquisitiveness and vengeance of primeval man.

come.

If Commander Byrd were a mere visionary, his words would lack force. If he were merely a skillful aviator, his deeds would lack significance. But he has shown himself capable not only of doing great deeds, but also of holding before himself an ideal toward which these deeds are leading. It is the man who is willing to give himself in war, if need be, for the sake of an ideal who is most likely to be able to direct the thoughts and ways of men to the achievement of that ideal without war. Mere fear of the horrors of war will never drive war from the earth. The only thing that will abolish war is that development of good will, understanding, and reason which will enable men to adjust their clashing interests and harmonize their conflicting wills by other means than combat. And when war will

Selling Democracy to
the Voter

N the November elections of 1926 two-thirds of the possible voters of the country stayed at home. This is the more remarkable because for the two previous years an active campaign to prod voters up to do their civic duty had been made by several large nonpartisan organizations, hundreds of meetings to "sell democracy" over again to the American people had been held, and countless tons of literature had been sent out to enlighten the voter.

Puzzled at the negative results of all this effort, its inspirers sent out a questionnaire to their own members asking its recipients to tell frankly whether they had or had not voted; and if not, why not, and what ought to be done about it. Sixty thousand answers were received. They have been analyzed and commented upon by Mr. John Hays Hammond, Chairman of the Department on Political Education of the National Civic Federation.

Among the comments summarized in this illuminating document is one very short one which stands out like a lighthouse: "Have a real issue that every one cares about." Most of the other remedies proposed say, in effect, "Punish the non-voter," or, "Coax the voter," or, "Bribe the voter to vote by giving him a tax advantage." One energetic reformer advises: "Hound people out and drag them individually to the polls. Also suspend railroad service to the suburbs for the day."

But the man who asks for a real issue is the one who sees what General Apathy really means. In a non-Presidential year, when things are running smoothly, when most of the political ideas the voter is interested in are not up for discussion, when locally, despite the primary, there may not be any real contest at all, the average citizen must be stirred up by something stronger than an appeal to party loyalty.

Mr. Hammond recognizes this and proposes in its next campaign to employ intensive, individual effort rather than platform oratory and pamphlet publicity. Study of the things which should be vital in each State legislature and municipality will be put before the non

voter. In a Presidential campaign it is easy to arouse 'interest and even excitement; but two years later, although many Congressmen are elected, the nonvoter just yawns and later abuses the Congress to better which he was too lazy to walk a few blocks.

One thing is certain. You will never force a man to vote by making a law to punish him if he doesn't-or rather, he will vote once just to overthrow that law. Neither can you coax him with buttered party slogans. You must interest him! If you don't, he will laugh in your face. And if you get him "good and mad" as the children say, while it may not help the particular political policy you advocate, it will for once outflank old General Apathy.

Congested Highways

A

PRESSING American problem is the congested highway. With one automobile to every five in our population, if all our cars were in line they would form a procession approximately 50,000 miles long, which, allowing for scant head-room, would reach twice around the world! Automobiles choke the streets of cities and popular routes from city to country. Connecticut, a pioneer in road-making, is constantly widening her roads, only to find them ever narrow. The speed advantages of the automobile are being lost in the delays due to crowding.

What can be done about it? There is only one reply: More roads and wider ones, plus special highways for trucks. By moving at night trucks make some gain, yet this relief has been taken away by the expansion of bus lines. In some places the busses have replaced trolley cars, but in many others they are newcomers and add their long, wide bodies to the crush. They also increase the dangers, hiding, as they do, the vision of motorists and usurping with the insistence of giants the right of way. They are particularly dangerous when drawn up to the curb. But they have come to stay. It is not the busses or the trucks that are at fault, but the roads.

New road extension is a costly item, but it must come. Convenience has to be served. To delay a legion of motor cars for lack of facilities is to make their use more costly than the carrying charges for further construction. The world is on wheels. It insists on moving.

Perhaps in time the air will relieve the earth of some of its transit burden, but for the moment the solution is in the hands of road-builders, and these are more than full.

A

T the present moment the battleground of St. Andrews is as well known to all golfing Americans as Thermopylæ, Bunker Hill, or Waterloo. Thermopyla may have its Leonidas, Bunker Hill its Prescott, and Waterloo its Wellington, but what is their glory or their patriotism compared to that of "Bobby" Jones who has just won an unprecedented victory at St. Andrews unprecedented because the victory makes this young American amateur champion of the world at golf for the second consecutive year. Heretofore none but a Britisher has achieved the honor of winning this blue-ribbon championship twice in succession, and less than a handful of amateurs have ever won it since the contest was inaugurated in 1860 as an annual event. calls for the highest skill since it is an "open championship," that is open to professionals and amateurs alike. If my memory is not at fault the only other amateurs who in a span of sixty-eight years have succeeded in beating the professionals are John Ball, Jr., and H. H. Hilton, both Englishmen. But neither of them equalled "Bobby's" feat of both capturing and in a successful defense retaining the highly prized cup.

It

No sporting contest has such a delightful literature associated with it, not even cricket or prize-fighting, although George Bernard Shaw in "Cashel Byron's Profession" and George Borrow in "Lavengro" have paid their glowing and readable tributes to the "manly art of self-defense." But the ancient and honorable game of golf is played at St. Andrews in an atmosphere reeking with literature and biography. The cricket oval at Lord's is no different, in point of play, from that at Canterbury, and Dr. W. G. Grace could make his centuries on one well rolled and sodded pitch or crease as well as another. The tennis courts at the English Wimbledon or the American Forest Hills are as alike as two peas and the aces served by Helen Wills or William Tilden at Wimbledon, beautiful as they may be, are precisely similar to their aces at Forest Hills.

On the other hand each of the eighteen holes of the old course at St. Andrews has its own traits, topography, allurements, and difficulties. Each shot

is sui generis, calling for a special applispecial application of wit and skill, unlike in some detail any shot that ever has been played or ever will be played. What are

sins for the ordinary player, such as "hooks" or "slices" or "tops," may be turned into sublime virtues by the deliberate intention of the golfing genius like "Bobby" Jones. No wonder that regiments of St. Andrews citizens followed him on his triumphant round of one hundred and eight holes which he

T. Werner Laurie, London

"Old Tom" Morris He made a 94 at 83

played with scarcely an error during the five-day contest. No wonder that "Andra" Kirkaldy, one of the old veterans of the school of Tom Morris, exclaimed: "Mon, he's nae gowfer at all. He's juist a machine. In all my sixty-seven years I hae never-r-r seen such gowf."

St. Andrews is a small but ancient city of about ten thousand souls on the east coast of Scotland midway between the Firth of Forth and the Firth of Tay. Its vocation is golf; its avocation is education. It might boast, if it cared to, of the oldest university in Scotland founded in 1411, about three hundred years after Oxford and two hundred years before Harvard. But what it really boasts of, and justly, is the oldest golf club in the world, the "Royal and Ancient." It is an historical fact that the royal line of Stuarts were golfers, and there is a tradition that the beautiful but wretched Mary Queen of Scots neglected some of her more serious duties for the fascinations of the game. The old course, over which "Bobby" Jones has just won his

glistening laurels is municipal property and anybody can play over it on payment of a fixed and very moderate fee. But woe betide the player who does not strictly observe the rules, regulations, and etiquette established by the Royal and Ancient Golf Club! This venerable and reverend body occupies a comfortable stone club-house near the first tee and is the fount of all golf legislation not only for St. Andrews but for golfers of every nationality in all parts of the earth.

The golf democracy of St. Andrews is almost utopian. There peers and plowmen are ranked by the skill and character-character, mind you, is an important element in the ranking-which they display on the links. The long mid-summer twilights of Scotland enable the artisans and clerks of the little university city to play after their work is done. Seated in a bay-window of the Marine Hotel which stands near the course I have seen at nine o'clock at night some of these artisans finishing their round of eighteen holes

Two golfing incidents may here be related which illustrate the democratic spirit of St. Andrews one came my way by hearsay, the other by experience. "Andra" Kirkaldy (pronounced in broad Scots, Kercawdy) was one day playing with the Bishop of London, a very great personage. The Bishop got his ball into a terrible sand pit known by everybody at St. Andrews as "Hell Bunker" or "Hell" for short. By a masterly stroke with his niblick the Bishop extricated himself in one shot, a very creditable feat. Elated at his unhoped for prowess, the Bishop called to Kirkaldy: "Andrew, did you see me get out of 'Hell' with my niblick!" "Yes, my Lord," promptly responded the professional, "and I'd advise ye to tak' that niblick wi' ye when ye dee!"

My own experience justifies the reputation of the St. Andrews professional for unabashed frankness. Just before the World War I was playing a match over "the old course." I was dormy when we came to the tee of the seventeenth hole-known in St. Andrews literature as the "station master's garden hole" but called to-day by the newspaper correspondents "the greatly dreaded road hole"-and I needed only a half to win the match. In spite of the odds of half a stroke which my opponent was giving me I missed a twelveinch putt and lost the hole. My caddie, a white-haired ex-professional of seventy years, said nothing but unutterable disgust gleamed in his eye. He probably had a small wager on the match with his colleague, my opponent's caddie. At the

eighteenth tee, pressing to make sure of a half this time, I topped my drive and my ball rolled into the "Swilcan Burn," an ancient brook that crosses the course at that point. When my ball was retrieved and I was safely over, but with the hole almost irretrievably lost, the old caddie came up to me and, like a stern schoolmaster administering a rebuke, remarked: "Ye had no business to go into the bur-r-r-n, sir! Ye've broke my heart!" "But," said I, "it isn't my business to put heart into you; it's your business to put heart into me.” “I've had no heart to put into ye, sir," was his sad rejoinder, “since ye missed that putt on the seventeenth green!"

The University of St. Andrews has had some distinguished scholars and famous men of the world connected with it. The names of Andrew Carnegie and Sir James Barrie are on the roster of its honorary Lord Rectors. But the one outstanding name at St. Andrews, the name that everybody knows and respects, is that of "Old Tom" Morris. He was called "Old Tom" to distinguish him from his almost equally famous son"Young Tom," whose promising genius was cut off by death in youth—a sore blow to Old Tom.

Old Tom was born in 1821 and lived to be eighty-seven years of age. Thus his own experience and that of those great exponents of the game with whom he talked and played in his youth covered a span of more than a century. To the ardent golfer of St. Andrews Tom Morris, not Gladstone, is "the grand old man." His life has been written by a doctor of divinity to whom golf is apparently a second religion. Indeed, it I was so with Old Tom himself. He was a respected elder of the Presbyterian "Kirk," and was once honored by being sent to Edinburgh as a representative of St. Andrews at the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland. Only a Scotch Presbyterian can appreciate what this distinction must have meant. As greenkeeper he presided over his golf course with all of the honor and integrity and much of the reverence that he displayed in the Kirk. Golf is not played at St. Andrews on Sunday. Old Tom once said to two protesting Englishmen: "If you gentlemen dinna need a rest on the Sawbath, the links does." His two stamping-grounds, the kirk and the links, were inextricably mingled in his affections. Once when a visiting clergyman preached an especially eloquent sermon in the church of which Old Tom was an officer, he said to the preacher after the service: "Man, ye missed nae short putts the day," thus in a breath complimenting the perfection of the dis

course and confessing his own besetting sin on the links. Like Mrs. Battle he was for the rigor of the game. He did not believe in stymies and argued for their abolition, but he always played them because they were authorized by the rules of the Royal and Ancient Golf Club, the sanhedrim of golf. Both his skill and his sense of honor are revealed in a story related by his biographer, the Rev. Dr. W. W. Tulloch, son of the well-known Principal Tulloch of St. Mary's College, St. Andrews. The whole passage, although rather long perhaps, is worth quoting because of the pleasant light it throws on the citizenship of St. Andrews, which, bound together by a common love of golf, was in truth a kind of fraternity:

But amidst his work and golf play Tom got time to do something else. He found leisure to do a little bit of "courting," and in time he took unto himself a wife. The girl of his choice was Nancy Bayne. Her father was coachman at Kincaple, or some place in the neighborhood, and they were married from Captain Broughton's house at 2 Playfair Terrace, where she was then at service. The good old Captain, whom I remember well, would, I am sure, give the young couple as good a send-off as possible. He and Tom were old friends, and no doubt the Captain had a great respect for the bridegroom as well as for the bride. The following story is alike creditable both to Captain Broughton and Tom. It is said to have occurred at the High Hole. Tom was badly bunkered, and had tried once or twice to dislodge his obstinate ball, and playing two or three times.

"Pick up your ball, Tom, it's no use," called out the Captain. "Na, na, I might hole it." "If you do I'll give you £50." "Done," replied Tom.

He had another shot at it, eye on ball and perhaps one on the fair Nancy. By some million-to-one chance the ball did actually go into the hole.

"That will mak' a nice nest-egg for me to put in the bank," said the young fellow; and he tells how "the Captain, he put on a gey sarious face, nae doot o' that, and passed on.”

The Captain honorably turned up with the £50, but Tom resolutely refused to touch a copper of the money, remarking that the whole affair was a joke, and "he wasna raly meaning it." No doubt, the Captain remembered this when the marriage day came round.

It was Principal Haldane who had baptised Tom, and probably the bride as well, who married them "The Doctor," as I have said he was called. The Doctor was a great favorite in

St. Andrews, and several stories are still told of him. For two of these I am indebted to a charming lady who knew him, and whom I am proud to call my friend. "Doctor or Principal Haldane," she writes me, "was a bachelor, yet had a wonderful gift of drawing children to him, and few could give so interesting and attractive an address to Sabbath School children as he did once a month in one of the large halls of the Madras College, at that time. Many still remember his kindly face and simple, expressive words; parents as well as children attended to hear the monthly address from the white-haired minister. The one romance of his life did not prosper. It is said that he secretly admired, when a young man, a Miss Jackson, relative of a University Professor. Not having courage to propose, he asked the lady to come and see his house, wishing to know if she approved of his pictures, furniture, etc., which she did. He then, in rather a hesitating manner, remarked that he rather thought there, was still one thing wanting, hoping that the lady would understand and help him out; but she did not speak, so, after repeated attempts, he at last stammered out the remark that perhaps the only want was a sideboard. And so it was all over, although friends suspected she would have been so pleased if he had said 'a wife.' So he remained a bachelor, the one romance of his life concluded."

In the days preceding the Disruption of '43, when party feeling ran high, and it was well known that Dr. Haldane did not sympathize with Dissenters, a report reached him that one of his parishioners named Charles had been guilty of thrashing his wife. The Doctor called to remonstrate with him, saying, "Charles, what's this I hear about your being unkind to your wife?" To which Charles answered, "Weel, she's aye rinnin' to thae Disruption meetin's, neglecting the hoose, "Ay, and I canna get ma meat." Charles," said Dr. Haldane, solemnly shaking his head, a well-known habit of his, "but ye must be judeecious, ye must be judeecious."

It was this fine old Scottish minister, then, who married Tom Morris and Nancy Bayne, and no doubt he would counsel the young couple to be "judeecious." And "judeecious" Tom has been all his days.

Such is the spirit of St. Andrews. In no other city in the world, perhaps, are character and skill so universally recognized as the standards of measurement of the worth of a man. It is because Bobby Jones measures up to these standards in a singular degree, because he is "judeecious" and honorable as well as skillful, that his victory was acclaimed

rison, and Texas is wondering if Dan Moody is old enough to do the job. So you see, the South is looking for a candidate; it doesn't like at all the idea of Al Smith.

OF

F the few sporadic Smith announcements, alleged to have been made, by Southern leaders, several were at once repudiated by those by whom they had been supposed to have been said. For instance, Carter Glass, of Virginia, was quoted as saying that his State was

for Smith, a statement he quickly repudiated; Burleson, of Texas, came out for Smith, to the amusement of Texas, which knew the wet record and failing strength of the former Attorney-General; Underwood, once of Alabama, came out for Smith, but Underwood had not even dared run for his Senate seat in Alabama last year.

These Smith announcements had a peculiar air either of being incorrect or prearranged, as some huge propaganda

machine at work. They bore the stamp of manufacture, and the South was more impressed by the repudiations than by the declarations. It looked as if the Smith boom was actively under way a year before the National convention, and as if Tammany henchmen were shelling unfamiliar woods. My own impression is that the Smith drive was premature, and ineffective, and that the deflation of the Tammany campaign has already perceptibly commenced.

THERE is a good deal of Southern talk

in recent weeks, that if McAdoo doesn't run, Thomas J. Walsh, of Montana, is the man the Democrats ought to nominate. This proceeds out of a very real admiration for the Senator's courage and progressiveness. The South knows that he is a real prohibitionist, and will not stand for nullification of the Eighteenth Amendment. He is regarded as a social liberal and economic progressive, the sort of President the

South would be proud to have. The South respects Walsh's devotion to the faith of his fathers; and it knows that he is no Tammanyite, no nullifying wet. If McAdoo finally refuses to enter the race, it would not be at all surprising to see Walsh amass a great block of Southern delegates. Donahey, of Ohio, is the next most likely candidate in the South.

If Smith should by chance become the nominee, he would have a tough job in the South. If he came out of a presidential election without losing over 60 Southern electoral votes, he would be lucky. In the border States he would have practically no chance at all. His nomination might have one good collateral effect—a real rupture of the Solid South would give a chance for a fine two-party system. This would greatly benefit the South's political health. It would put an end to the Democratic party's taking the South for granted, something that no longer can safely be done.

T

NO the scientists engaged in the many phases of research directed to one end-"America First in the Air" the Atlantic Flight Air"-the made by Byrd, Balchen, Acosta, and Noville brought mixed emotions.

On the one hand, there was the remarkably successful journey across three thousand miles of trackless sea with the aviators safely carried through well-nigh impossible weather conditions as a result of years of painstaking work by scientific minds.

The obverse of the shield carries the picture of Byrd and his gallant companions hopelessly lost-seeing nothing but rain and blackness-hearing nothing from the anxiously waiting worldand at last being forced to descend into the sea after putting up a splendid fight to attain their goal.

By C. H. BIDDLECOMBE

airplanes and motors of the finest in the world and men equal to all demands that may be made upon their courage, resource, and endurance.

The second outstanding feature of the flight is the remarkable progress that has been made in the production of instruments to aid the acts of flying and navigating aircraft. The weather flown through by the "America" was of the kind usually described as "impossible for flying" and it would have been impossible only a very few years ago; the inability to leave the ground on the part of the airplanes detailed to meet Byrd on his arrival is sufficient comment on the weather prevailing. The "America's" successful flight through many hours of such weather before reaching European shores indicates the accuracy and reliability of the flying instruments of to-day

First-that this country to-day worthily upholds the traditions handed on to the younger generation by the pioneers of inventive and engineering attainment -Fulton, Edison, Bell, Ford, the Wright Brothers and all those others who have put America first in various spheres of mechanical progress. This further demonstration shows that we have to-day

indicators, climb indicators, compasses, radio equipment-all have reached a stage of development leaving little to be desired.

The third phase of the flight lies in the old paradox-"an airplane flies on the ground," and demonstrates again that history repeats itself; every vehicle that man has built has always been ahead of his facilities for using it.

Stage coaches and automobiles were handicapped by the lack of roads in their early years, steamships by inadequate docking facilities, railroad trains by poor road beds and imperfect signaling systems, and the airplane by defective ground organization, which has not kept pace in the scientific sense with the vehicle itself.

In the realm of pure research, there is vastly more to be done on the ground than in the air, to give the airplane it's rightful position as a fast, safe, and economical form of transport.

Byrd's experiences and the data obtained by him will be a valuable contribution to this research work, although the information was actually gained in the air; the future transatlantic passenger services, which must inevitably come within a decade, will be very largely dependent for their success upon further flights such as Byrd has made, all directed towards the collection of data of what may be termed of some scientific nature.

It is of interest to note that the development of an organization for the ready collection of the widely varying items of information necessary to the establishment of passenger carrying airplane service is now being set up by the