Indianapolis Times, Volume 47, Number 205, Indianapolis, Marion County, 5 November 1935 — Page 11

It Seems to Me HEYWOOD BROUN (Mr. Broun s column was written yesterday before the hurricane struck Florida. The Times is awaiting his next dispatch.) BEACH, Nov. s.—Florida is In a curious plight. It wants millions of people to know that it has a marveloue winter climate, and it is equally desirous that the matter should not come to the attention of a good many other millions. With the right hand the state makes a welcoming gesture to visitors are pinched by the cold in the Northern States. But that doesn't go for those who are too pinched. Toward them Florida extends a warning left hand and bids them stay away from her hospitable door.

There was a day when communities were eager for an influx of workers and coolish toward those who came only to loaf. That day will not come hereabouts in the year 1935. If you want to play Miami Beach and all the resorts of the golden coast are prepared to offer aid and comfort. But the man who comes looking for a job will be greeted as a dangerous parasite and stopped at the State line if his heinous ambition to work can be discovered in due time.

Heywood Broun

a a a Hoominy the Hoorn and Miami Beach are sharing in a building boom. The merchants of ihese towns are eager to have potential purchasers everywhere know about the amount of new construction which is going on. It isn’t anv trouble at all to get anybody to point out to you the house that Floyd Gibbons bought and remodeled or the house that is being prepared for H. I. Phillips, the columnist, and Kent Cooper’s name is also mentioned because he is general manager of the Associated Press and bought in on the boom. New hotels and houses are going up everywhere. Sound the trumpet and the drum so that all good Investors may beat a pathway to the door. But ♦ here is just one hitch in making the matter too public. Florida does not want artisans in the building trades to hear about the boom. According to the Miami Herald, a recent survey found “that there are in Florida three times as many experienced local people as can possibly be given work even if the most optimistic expectations are realized as to the number of people who may find employment.” This is an interesting statement, and it is doubly interesting since it happened by a strange coincidence to appear in Ihe Miami Herald just one column removed from an editorial denouncing organized labor for its attempt to shorten hours. tt tt a Rather Topsy Tun y "IN other words,” says the sage inspired by Frank A B. Shutts, “real competition, efficient and enhanced production and a decrease in prices will place more needs, conveniences and luxuries within reach of the people.” But then as my eye turns to the right on the same page I find more editorial comment on the survey of Florida, employment and the status of the willing workers who would sell their labor and take part in the enhancement of the boom—" They should not come unless they are fully equipped with sufficient money to pay for transportation both coming and returning and their expenses while here.” “This is sound advice,” says the Miami Herald, “and if heeded will not only help relieve the employment situation in Florida but will save unduly reckless people from much suffering and humiliation after they arrive here.” And in all this I must confess I find a curious topsy-turvy reversal of older modes of thinking. If a playboy came to Florida equipped with a fat bankroll and he were intent upon playing roulette and betting on the horse races he would be welcomed as the most desirable of visitors. Noi do I mean to be a hypocrite and suggest that he should be turned away at the border along with the hitch-hikers. In fact, but for the phrase “a fat bankroll” the whole thing might be the story of my own life in Florida. (Copyright,. 1935)

Your Health -BY DR. MORRIS FISHBEIN-

T TARDLY a month goes by without the announcement that someone has made a significant advance against cancer. Yet as the years pass these so-called “cures” are never heard of again. This is unfortunate, because today more people arc afraid of rancer than are afraid of any other disease. Cancer is not conquered yet. Few people realize that it takes at least five years to test a cancer cure. Time is the tester. Unfortunately, thus far, every cancer cure proposed within the five-year limit has at the end of that time been revealed as an unsuccessful experiment. a a a A T present, we know that cancer still afflicts old people more than young people. Ninety per cent of all deaths from cancer occur after the age of 40 years, and 98 per cent after 30 years of age. Another type of cancer, known as sarcoma, more frequently affects people in the younger years. Women have cancer more often than do men, because women have cancer of the breast and of the organs associated with childbirth. They still suffer less than do men from cancer of the mouth and cancer of the skin. Cancer should not be considered a hopeless and Incurable disease. It appears first in one spot of the body and, if it can be detected in time and removed, the menace is under control.

Today s Science BY DAVID DIETZ

'T'HE death rate from diabetes continues to climb and at the close of 1934 was the highest in the history of the nation. Figures for 1935 are not available yet but there is no reason to suspect that they showed any appreciable change. The last decade has seen the death rate from diabetes in a list of over 100 American cities selected for tabulation increase from 18.3 deaths per 100.000 citizens in 1925 to 25.4 per 100.000 in 1934. There have been years in which the death rate was slightly below the preceding one, but the upward march always has been subsequently resumed. The year 1933 was such a year, the rate being 23.8 as compared with 24.3 in 1932. But now anew all-time high for the nation has been reached with a figure of 25 4 for 1934. a a a THIS appalling figure is gleaned from the figures which Dr. Frederick L. Hoffman, consulting statistician, presents in the current issue of The Spectator, weekly journal of the insurance field Annually, for a number of years now, Dr. Hoffman has made such a study of the situation and I have relayed his findings to the readers of this newspaper. The rate for the cities appears to be larger than that for the nation as a whole Dr. Hoffman says that a report just issued by the United States census office puts the total deaths from diabetes m 1934 at 28.000. This would be equivalent to a rate of 22.1 per 100,000 for the nation. The highest rate in the United States in 1934 was reported for Concord, N. H.. the rate being 603. Lancaster, Pa., was next with a rate of 57.3. The lowest rate was reported for Decatur, HI., namely, 3.3. New York had a rate of 30.4 for 1934, Cleveland of 28.3. Buffalo of 28.8, Indianapolis of 17.4.

Full Leased Wire F'<?rvice of the United Press Association

Listening to INDUSTRIAL AMERICA

Jobs and Food, Not Elections, Interest Steel Workers

The live* of mm who make *terl arr, in turn, made by steel. Frazier Runt, touring the industrial regions of the United States, has interviewed these men of steel and their bosses to find out how they feel today about the New Deal and about the statt of the nation in general. His report is contained in the accompanying article, the second of six in an illuminating series called: “Listening to Industrial America." a a a a a a BY FRAZIER HUNT *e (Copyright. 1935. NEA Service, Inc.) J PULLED up the car alongside a group of about 15 Negroes loafing on a street corner in Indiana Harbor’s rather uninspiring main street. They worked in the nearby high-walled, forbidding fortresses where men and machines make steel plates and girders and innumerable things the economists call “durable goods.” “Wish you boys would settle a bet,” I said to the gang. They crowded around the car as I hurriedly concocted a question. “Fve bet a buck with this fellow here that there are more Republicans than Roosevelt men among you.” A thick-lipped, good-natured boy in his early twenties bellowed out the first reply. “You lose, boss we’s all Roosevelt!”

“Shore thing,” another cut in. “Ain’t no Republicans ’round heah.” A third stepped close to the open window. “We ain’t interested in the party no more—we’s interested in the man. That’s Roosevelt now.” A slender, high-yellow crowded into the picture. “Don’t forget Huey,” he announced. “They was plenty of us Huey folks around here ’til they went an’ killed him. Guess most of us Huey folks is got to be fer Roosevelt now.” a a a 1 ASKED about things in the plant. “We’re working eight hours, five days a week,” the boy with the wide grin explained. “We're gettin' $3.85 a day. Kain’t hardly live on that. . . . Some of the boys tried to strike once but they jes’ shut down the mills and tol’ us to starve. They pick wrong time. Right time to strike is when the mills is makin’ money and orders is cornin’ in. They won’t shet down on us then.” A boy with a green sweater stepped in close. “It’s the machines that’s makin’ it tough on us. They’re puttin’ in new ones all the time. , . . An’ if we'd try to organize the company spies would find out about us and we’d git fired.” The others nodded in approval. They were in dead earnest. Everything here seemed to be in earnest; there is somberness and depression in the very air of a steel town. And these colored boys brought up North to replace white striking labor after the great strike of 1919 seemed to symbolize their, depressing environment. At best they could live only a precarious hand-to-mouth existence. They with the coal and ore and sand were poured into the great furnaces to come out as steel. a a a FOR 15 miles along the shore of Lake Michigan stretch the great plants, with a thousand tiny factories gathered around their feet. Here possibly half a million people live out their humdrum lives. It is jobs and food, not elections, that interest them—but I tried to find out how they would vote next year. I talked to men off their shifts, housewives, store keepers, minor labor leaders. Mrs. Gus Michan, in South Chicago, told me about her attack of flu and then added; “People around here is kicking a lot about the way relief is handled. Still I guess most of the people is still for Roosevelt, even if they don’t think he kept all his promises. Maybe he done the best he could, but you know what it’s like when there’s a hole in my boy’s overalls; if I don't mend it when I wash it, it gets bigger than ever.” tt a a THAT evening at a monthly meeting of the South Chicago Trades and Labor Assembly, her husband, who is the secretary of the council and - 'a capable labor organizer, set forth his ideas: “Organized labor will be from 75 per cent to 80 per cent for

Skyline Drive, America s Newest Mountain Highway, Exposes Breath-Taking Beauty of Virginia's Blue Ridge Area to Public

BY ERNIE PYLE WASHINGTON, Nov. s—You might not e'.en notice it in an airplane, but when you come up over the pinnacle in your car and almost top 4000 feet, you get a tight feeling in your ears, and a ringing. And when you stop and look down at the valley below, so far away, you have a catch in your breath that may not be due entirely to the altitude. That is the Skyline Drive. It's America’s latest example of what man can do with mountains. Man can't improve on mountains, but he can help us get up there on top for the long look down. The Skyline Drive is in central Virginia, in Shenandoah National Park. You drive above 90 miles southwest from Washington. You see the mountains coming, and your road wanders up into them. You top a ridge and turn to your left, and then—for 32 miles you sail up and down through and around pinnacles. 32 miles along the serrated ridge of the Blue Ridge chain, with the great valleys first on one side and then the other. People will be coming from many thousands of miles away to ride the Skyline, as its fame spreads. a a a THE Skyline Drive is a highway. It was built by the Federal government—the National Park Service and the Bureau of Public Roads. They started it under Hoover, in 1932. It will be 90 miles long when

The Indianapolis Times

Roosevelt. Unorganized labor benefited even more from relief and as consequence they are sure to be for Roosevelt. “As long as labor has a job it is not kicking about the 30 per cent increase in the cost of living. We know that the farmer has to be prosperous in order to buy the things that we make and in order to get the whole country prosperous. ... If the Wagner Bill is declared constitutional we’ll organize every steel worker in America within a year. “But were not going to get caught out on the end of a limb again like we did with Section 7A of the NRA.” tt a a 1 DROPPED in at Hammond, where great gas refineries vie with the steel mills. I stopped a square-shouldered man on the street. “Most everybody here is for Roosevelt,” he said. “I work in a refinery here and honestly I only know one man there who is against Roosevelt—and he’s sore over what happened to Huey. . . . Sure, livmg expenses are higher, but wf. -<,t of it? I got the money to pay for things now. “I just paid 53.50 for this pair of shoes. Two or three years ago I could have bought them for 52.50. But I didn't have the $2.50 then, and I’ve got the $3.50 now, so what the hell do I care!” But this story is really about steel. Let’s jump across the politically doubtful states of Indiana and Ohio into roaring Pitsburgh, built on hills that rise from its magnificent rivers. Os the scores of people I talked with here I would quote half a dozen. Two had richly Xur* i ‘ nished offices on the twentyeighth floor of the tall Grant Building. The first of these was named Earl Reed, an amiable, intelligent and experienced lawyer enjoying much prosperity in his early forties. a a a IT was Reed who expounded and more or less exposed the opinion of the 58 volunteer “justices” who passed on the constitutionality of the Wagner Law for the benefit of the American Liberty League—and the enlightenment and entertainment of the public generally. This purely amateur “Supreme Court” had thumbs down on the Wagner Law —the most interesting provision of which is that 51 per cent of the men in any plant can force the company to recognize their union and deal for all employes through them. If i( c tands the test of the real Suprf Court in Washington it will iv i i that such non-union industries as steel, automotive and rubber will be almost immediately unionized. “Probably the first test of the Wagner Law will come on a ca -; involving the Wheeling Steel Corp., at Portsmouth, 0.,” Mr. Reed frankly explained to me. “I am certain that the law will not stand the test of the courts.' It is unquestionably unconstitutional. ... It is unfortunate, but true, that political lines are being more and more closely drawn

finished. The first 32 miles were opened about a year ago. The second 30 miles are open, but not hard-surfaced yet. They haven't started on the last 30 miles. So far it has cost less than a million and a half. It was all done under contract, but the CCC boys helped out with the light work. There are eight or nine CCC camps in Shenandoah Park. Four of them are along the 32 miles that now’ constitute the real Skyline Drive. Tire boys build stone guard rails, trim ledges, fix “overlooks" so you can park and see. The camps are neat and clean, their green barracks and little gravel streets as trim as any army camp you ever saw’. The boys at work wave at you as you drive by. a a a IT is getting cold up on that ridge now. The wind whines and whips the leaves, and it will be snowing soon. Autumn has touched the hillsides and passed on to use its brush on mountains farther south. But there is still magnificence up there, for the brilliance of the leaves has faded ever so slightly into a gentler harmony with the distant blue haze. Climax is waiting for you almost within the first mile of the Skyline. You turn and climb and turn, and suddenly you see a hole in the hill ahead of you, and you drive in and you're in a tunnel. Railroad tunnels are not at all

INDIANAPOLIS, TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 5,1935

fillip V ft. ft /••... I ''' * *

—Photo -by Margaret Bourke-White: from NEA Service. . . . high-walled, forbidding fortresses where men and machines make steel plates and girders and innumerable things the economists call ‘durable goods’.”

along economic lines. The Have Nots stand almost as a body against the Haves. It will be a bitter and hard-fought campaign.” a an DOWN the hall and at anot.h'et *&nd of the building” l are the offices of the great National Steel Corp. Ernest T. Weir, chairman of the board, is a pleasant and forceful interviewee. “I don’t think for a moment that the Wagner Law will stand the test of the courts, but if it should, it would be nothing short of a revolution in the steel industry. It would be a complete overthrow of all our set-up with our employes. We’re getting along fine now . . . “And let me clear up your mind about all this balderdash about machines replacing labor. Why, machines lower the price of production and give it the necessary increased consumption. “Men replaced by machines etiher slip into increased production or are absorbed in new and allied industries. America has to be rebuilt every 30 years. “We need to be rebuilt now—millions of homes, old-fashioned business and public buildings of all kinds. Just watch us go.” t: n a AND then he said something that will please a great many people as much as it did me: “Everybody in America knows that wars do not pay. Industry is not concerned with the immediate profits that w'ould come to us from either selling materials to belligerents or to ourselves. “We all hope America has the brains and the courage to keep

uncommon, but how many highway tunnels have you seen in your travels? Not many, for there aren’t many. This is a long one too. almost 1000 feet. It was blasted through solid rock. As you leave the tunnel, there is a wide parking place to the left, and you stop and get out and look back down at the miles and miles of valley and foothills through which you have been approaching the Skyline for an hour. And right there you use up

THE AUTO OF THE FUTURE By Scripps-lloxcard Xeicspaper Alliance N"E\V YORK, Nov. s.—The automobile of the future depends upon the rate at which scientists solve the fundamental problems involved in the process of turning fuel into motion, Charles F. Kettering, research genius of General Motors Corp., indicated today. Here for the annual auto show', Mr. Kettering discussed his views with a small group at luncheon. Controlling factors are the limits of our basic knowledge, he said. Chief among the limiting factors are our lack of such knowledge concerning fuels and lubrication Mr Kettering indicated that the day eventually would arrive when automotive fuels would be made to order by the chemist. “The octane number of a fuel is really a way of expressing its molecular arrangement, for that is what it defends upon." he said. “Much progress had been made in the last 10 years but we don't yet know what the top in octane numbers will be. “What we need is molecular engineering. Today we have to take fuels pretty much as we find them. One of the big problems of the automotive world is to learn to make molecular patterns to order." Another field in which much progress remains to be made is that of lubrication, Mr. Kettering said.

clear from anything to do with any war.” Over in West End, across the Ohio River, Lewis Leonard, the short, heavy-set International Secretary of the Amalgamated Association of Iron, Steel and Tin Workers, dropped this high explosive in my lap: “I want to predict seriously that Roosevelt will get more labor votes in 1936 than he did in 1932. “Organized labor is entirely for him and unorganized labor knows he has done more for it than any half dozen Presidents put together. . . . When the Wagner law passes the court tests we’ll repeat in steel what the United Miners did; we’ll have every worker in our unions.” a a a NOW go with me to the steel suburb of Homestead, of infamous memory. Here in 1892 armed thugs in barges floated down the beautiful Monongahela and poured rifle fire into striking pickets in the first labor massacre in American history. A block from this same battleground lies Ammon-st with its rows of old-fashioned tenement shacks, where families live in two and three rooms, without modern conveniences. In the doorway of a frame house in a rear lot I stood and talked to a woman in a torn and ragged dress. Her brown hair was tousled and unkempt, but there was something decent and pathetically fine about her. “My husband has just gone to the mills,” she explained. “We have three children. He gets about four days work a week, at $3.88 a day. We can barely scrape

practically all of your exclamations, so that you have almost nothing left for the other climaxes. a a a 1. would advise that when you stop at the first parking place, you just get out and say “Humph, what are you looking at?" to your fellow’ travelers, and then say “Oh. is that what you mean, that down there? Humph.” and then get back in the car. That way you won’t feel so speechless w’hen you finally reach

along; seems like the children always got to have new shoes or there’s something wrong ... I don’t hear people say much except they’re always complaining about how much things cost. But I guess hardly anybody would vote against Roosevelt. He tried to help us as much as he could.” a a tt TUST then a thin, white-faced ** boy in neat, clean clothes, came home from school. I had been asking about how some of the neighbors felt and my hostess suggested that her boy might act as my guide around the district. We started off. At each home we received much the same replies; prices were high; work was scarce; times were bad; but people could hardly blame Roosevelt. “You going in the steel mills when you grow up?” I asked my undersized 12-year-old guide. He told me that he had just had a birthday and that he was in the seventh grade. He looked up at me out of soft brown eyes—frightened eyes. It was almost as if I had struck him. “Oh. I hope I won’t have to go in the mills,” he said in a low tone. “I don’t want to do that. I want to be an aviator.” Well, I am sure I do not know how he can wing his way out of the smoke and dirt and foulness and discouragement of Homestead into the bright blue sky. Steel profits may keep him close to the ground, and he may end up just as his father has done—a number in a roaring mill. Tomorrow: Unorganized and somewhat disillusioned auto workers still cling to Roosevelt.

the spot where you look down into the valley on the other side of the ridge, the Shenandoah Valley itself. so wide and calm and far down there, w’ith the little town of Shenandoah itself set in the middle of it all. There are a dozen or more places, I guess, where the builders have put parking places at just the right spots, and there is not one that won't give you a thrill if you stop and look over the edge. a a a PEOPLE in the East are going over the Skyline Drive. In its first year, 150,000 cars have been over it. On Sundays this fall, it has just been stop-and-go, stop-and-go, while the solid line of traffic jerked up and over the packed highway. On Sunday, Oct. 20, W’hen the fall colorings were most brilliant, 30.000 people in 7900 cars rode, over the highway. In one single hour, 870 cars entered the drive. There is none of the sheemess on the Skyline Drive that makas the Rockies so appalling, and sc harsh. There are no great flat rock walls, with drops of thousands of feet. There is no feeling of awe at mere bulk, or at prodigious upheaval. Rather there is the feeling of pure beauty, with no need for extremes of nature. There is height and depth in the view, with sloping gentleness between them, and sky and haze and fanciful forests of color.

Second Section

Entered M Seennd-Clis at Pnsffire. Indianapoli*. Ini.

Fair Enough WESTBROOK PEGIER GENEVA, Nov. s.—Your correspondent had his first view of diplomatic preparations for the next World War when representatives of many nations met in the temporary Palace of Peace to set the date for cracking down on Signor Mussolini with a boycott. This punishment is to be applied in the name of humanity for protection of Ethiopia, a barefoot member of the club, but its effect is to protect the British Empire. It is just as well not to accept at the

outset any sentimental notion that world politicians gathered for these deliberations are bothered about the rights or sufferings ot the Ethiopians. Such an idea can only cause confusion. It should be just as sensible to believe that delegates at a national party convention in the United States were free and independent patriots with altruistic motives bent on nominating the best man in the country for the office of President. It must be said that the League business is carried on without mournful howling, parading, spitting, throwing of papers and trash

which always leaves American convention halls looking and smelling like gigantic animal cages. These statesmen, though the equals of the convention delegates and party leaders in every branch of duplicity and ruthlessness, are much braver physically, more sanitary and comparative in appearance to the United States Senate. a a a A Little Fire Water on the Side UNLIKE American convention goers who can’t be trusted with a wet bar lest they get drunk and forget who bought them up last, a majority of the bar patrons of the Palace of Peace drink tea, with occasional Scotch and soda or a Negus. The Negus, it may be explained, is a house specialty containing orange and lemon juice and a big slosh of a black French liquor said to be distilled from rotten logs and to have been known to blow a soft hat through a concrete ceiling. About 50 statesmen, innumerable secretaries and journalists eventually drifted toward the chamber during my visit, the statesmen arraying themselves at long tables on the floor, the secretaries in rows of low chairs, back to back, and officials of committees assuming their places on the long dais with Senhor Vasconcellos of Portugal, president of the co-ordina-tion committee, in the center, with an English interpreter at a reading stand just below. The press ascended a steeply rising gallery at th® rear of the room. Guests arrayed above and behind the press were admonished by signs in three languages against cheering, making a demonstration or smoking. St tt tt Just the Warm-Up, Roys THE statesmen and the journalists, however, are permitted to smoke, although few did, among them being Hugh Wilson, American observer, who fired up a pipe. He is merely a kibitzer, so to speak, the United States being a non-member. At the same table sat the Aga Khan, Indian potentate and race horse owner, fat, swarthy, glossy, with dark bulbous eyes—a man who is god to mariv Indians glad to drink his bathwater. This god is an absent divinity, preferring the pleasures and palaces of Europe. Business is conducted first in French, then mumbled again in rapid English. Everybody rose. It developed Latvia wanted reservations on the crackdown and some others, like our conventioneers still in the market for inducements, had not yet approved this mere matter of easily accomplishable business negotiation. A world war is not imminent, according to the best information, and won’t start until Germany is ready, possibly two years hence. They are merely choosing up sides now and fattening the young for slaughter.

The Cabinet .BY GEN. HUGH S. JOHNSON.

WASHINGTON, Nov. s.—The War and Navy Departments in our government stand completely apart from all others in this: That it makes very little difference in peace-time who heads them, except when they inject some such strong personality as Root or Taft or Garrison into Cabinet counsel. This Administration doesn't have strong personalities in Cabinet counsels; therefore it makes almost no difference at ail. The reason it makes so little difference is that the century-old machines of the military and supply staff are entirely non-political permanent institutions and they simply grind on regardless of who wears the high hat of figure-head control. But there is one slight exception. It makes a great deal of difference where one department of government has to contest with another for shares in a limited appropriation. The Administration policy was for a strong Navy, and the appropriations have been made even if the ships leave the ways too slowly. It was for a sensible Army, too, and much has been done to strengthen that—but not nearly enough. The President is as good a naval officer as any admiral and he, personally—more than Secretary Swanson—did the Navy job. The Army did not lie so close to his training and tradition and an opportunity was lost—because Secretary Dem was too complacent in fighting Mr. Ickes for a share of Public Works. a a a IN its effort to create employment in the heavy industries, NIRA contained almost unlimited authority to motorize and mechanize the Army—that is, to take it out of the relative bow-and-arrow stage of pre-war equipment and bring it abreast of the best aimament of modern mechanical war. We muffed that bright chance completely. Those hundreds of millions—which must be spent some day—all were set aside for Mr. Ickes not to spend, or went to Mr. Hopkins for raking leaves and boondoggling. Hundreds of millions more are being poured down the same rat-holes—while the equipment of our Army remains obsolete and insufficient. (Copyright, 1935, by United Feature Syndicate. Inc.)

Times Books

IN these days of giant electric power and great machines, we sometimes are prone to think of our cogs and wheels and turbines as having sprung fullbloom from some Jovian brow. This is not so; our forebears put the water and the winds to work for them, and to their credit it may be said that they built up around their little mills a sweeter cultural life than we are building around our power plants. Marion Nicholl Rawson has just written and drawn a scholarly and delicious book on the “Little Old Mills” (Dutton <fc Cos.) of early America, which reminds us forcefully of these early contributions to our daily bread, spinning, snuff, paper, and the other necessities of our first three centuries. It is interesting for students of the giant Quoddr tide-harnessing power project in Maine to discover that cruder mills utilizing the force of stored-up tide-water have been operating on the same Atlantic seaboard since 1636. A Dutchman set up such a mill to grind com then in what Ls now Brooklyn. Eight or nine tide mills are still active in New England. Rawson reports. The authors 131 drawings are excellent. The writing is smooth and limpid, and not the least delicious part of the book is its sprinkling of the additions to our language and ideology which have come through the operations of the mill and the miller, who originally ranked with the town-meeting as the chief focal point of community life. “He’s been through the mill.” “There was a jolly miller once. Lived on the River Dee.” Here is where we began. (By Herbert Little.)

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Westbrook Pegler