competence go down in history not as rebels but as revolutionists. The soldier or sailor who attempts rebellion must be prepared to accept the full penalty of failure. His act is one which is only justified by its success and the service. that he renders.

The code for rebels who would be revolutionists is an inexorable one. It demands, first of all, the elimination of all self-seeking; it demands next the elimination of political chicanery; it demands further the elimination of personal hostility and vindictiveness. Without these things the motives of the rebel will be questioned and doubted and his own opportunity for any further usefulness destroyed.

The military and naval service has the right and duty to protect its morale and its organization from the disruptive egotism of self-seekers. Some of these facts appear to have been forgotten by the men who are calling for the reorganization of the Air Service in the American Army and Navy.

A

The Davis Cup
Stays Here

MERICA'S successful defense of

the Davis Cup was not unexpected by the tennis world. The real surprise lay in the fact that it was the French team, and not the Australians, who were the challengers. Championship matches in hot weather have their effect on form, and undoubtedly, too, the Australian confidence had been somewhat upset by Richards and Williams in the doubles at Boston.

Borotra reached great heights in the round against the Antipodeans, in the course of which René La Coste was of little help. When it came to the challenge round, however, La Coste showed such tennis as he had not put on display since Wimbledon. After some of his play at Boston one had expected some fine tennis from Borotra, but the gallery had about despaired of La Coste. Perhaps the greatest tennis of the season in a way was the utter ruin of Gerald Patterson's famous service, accomplished by Borotra. The way for that had been prepared by Richards and Williams, and Borotra was quick to profit by the lead of the Americans. Richards and Williams stood on or inside the base-line against the famous cannon-ball service, and in

this way broke through it. Borotra did the same thing, scoring ace after ace in this way. The result was that Patterson lost his confidence, and so did his partner, Hawkes, and the French won a surprising victory in the doubles. It apparently took too much out of them, however, for when they came to the challenge round at Philadelphia they could not match either the stroking or the generalship of Richards and Williams. Williams had improved, if anything, over his

play at Boston, and the team was simply unbeatable.

It was the singles, as expected, that provided the dramatic features, with the result that the challenge round provided some wonderful tennis, despite the fact that America took every match. William T. Tilden 2d, the National champion, found the Frenchmen the hardest pair to meet he had encountered in some time, and proved, incidentally, that he was not the great Tilden of even a year ago. In

the matter of stamina he was hard put to it to get through both Borotra and La Coste, and against La Coste he was signally outplayed and occasionally almost ludicrously outgeneraled well into the third set. The fact that he is undoubtedly the greatest stroke-maker in the world pulled him through the long match against Borotra, and at last through the three-hour affair with La Coste.

and improved after apparently having played himself out was one of the marvels of the tournament. Tilden's play this year has shown that, while he is still a great champion, he is no longer in a class by himself. La Coste proved that effectively. Just how near he came to winning may be realized from the fact that Tilden played one of the matchpoint returns of the Frenchman out of point returns of the Frenchman out of court, and it was not until the play was over and many had thought the Frenchman a victor that the judge on the line called La Coste's ball out, thus saving Tilden. There is no question of the correctness of the decision, but it was just another of those unfortunately belated decisions that have been so frequent this year.

In this match the twenty-year-old French winner at Wimbledon flashed for well over two sets tennis as perfect as even Tilden had ever played at any stage of his career. This is superlative praise, but it is earned. Tilden has his own special style of generalship that is generally a puzzle to the highest ranking of the other players. This time, however, the French star turned on a generalship of his own so nearly perfect that there were times when the champion was utterly bewildered. It was only the quality of a real champion that has always marked Tilden's play that pulled him through. Four times the French challenger was at match point, and four times Tilden brought off daring shots by way of rescue. Utterly exhausted, apparently, half-way through the match, the American was compelled to stretch himself flat on the sod for a rest. That he regained some of his strength later time.

I

So the United States is still supreme in tennis, and is likely to remain so for a long time to come. Good as are the Australians, the French, the Spaniards, and the Japanese, there are only a few of them of the first flight, while this country has a small army of youngsters coming along players who are apt to upset the leaders at any time. It is said that tennis runs more truly to form than any other game, and in the main this is true, but the younger element is close on the heels of the leaders and likely to come through the best of them at any

John Galt and Some Other Scots

By LAWRENCE F. ABBOTT
Contributing Editor of The Outlook

F you want to irritate a Scotchman, call him a Scotchman. He insists (and quite reasonably, for every man is entitled to choose his own cognomen) that he is either Scottish or a Scot or a Scotsman. He resents the adjective Scotch (abbreviated by Englishmen and Americans from Scottish), which he believes has been imposed upon him by the Sassenach to the south of him.

And yet we must not let this trifling orthographical hobby blind us to the fact that Scotland, with an area of 30,000 square miles and with a population of 5,000,000 (three-fifths the area and onehalf the population of the State of New York), has produced some of the great est names in the history of literature, science, and art. If I were a picture collector, I should like to own a Raeburn, the most engaging, to my mind, of all the

great British portrait painters. Sir Walter Scott (unfashionable as it is, just at the moment, to read him) easily heads the list of historical novelists. Robert Burns, whom Sir James Barrie calls "the greatest Scotsman who ever lived," has probably touched more hearts than any other poet of all time, except, perhaps, David the Jew. Barrie himself has no superior as a playwright of delicate whimsy and imagination. Adam Smith, whose "Wealth of Nations" will be read when more scientific treatises on political economy are forgotten, was born in Fifeshire; David Hume, who has left a deep impress on English history and philosophy, was born in Edinburgh; and John Stuart Mill, the celebrated logician, was a Scot in character and spirit, for his father, born in Forfarshire, the son of a Scottish shoemaker, was trained for the

Church in the University of Edinburgh. It would be hard to name a trio from the records of English literature who had clearer intellects in the realm of abstract thought than these three men. No scientist, except possibly the Frenchman Pasteur, has ever done more for the assuagement of pain than the Scottish physician Sir James Simpson, who introduced, against the violent opposition of the leading members of his profession, the use of anæsthetics in childbirth. He was of very humble origin, but was created a baronet late in life. His social pretensions, to which his birth did not wholly entitle him, gave rise to some goodhumored chaffing.

To the foregoing roster of Scottish names I would add, last but not least, the name of James Boswell, the greatest of all biographers. It is the fashion in some quarters to look down upon Boswell as the meanest of his kind and to regard his achievement as a sort of accident. The opinion of Carlyle (another great Scotsman) seems to me to be sounder:

Boswell was a person whose mean or bad qualities lay open to the general eye; visible, palpable to the dullest.

...

Unfortunately, on the other hand, what great and genuine good lay in him was nowise so self-evident. . You may surround the iron and the magnet with what enclosures and encumbrances you please,-with wood, with rubbish, with brass: it matters not, the two feel each other, they will be together. The iron may be a Scottish squirelet, full of gulosity and "gigmanity;" the magnet an English plebeian, and moving rag-and-dust mountain, coarse, proud, irascible, imperious; nevertheless, behold how they embrace, and inseparably cleave to one another! It is one of the strangest phenomena of the past century, that at a time when the old reverent feeling of Discipleship (such as brought men from far countries with rich gifts, and prostrate soul to the feet of the prophets) had passed, utterly away from men's practical experience, and was no longer surmised to exist (as it does), perennial, indestructible, in man's inmost heart, James Boswell should have been the individual of all others, predestined to recall it, in such singular guise, to the wondering, and for a long while, laughing and unrecognizing world.

These comments on Scottish men of power have been suggested by another Scottish writer with whom I have just" renewed acquaintance. Some years ago a friend gave me a copy of a story Scottish life and character, now e

hundred years old, called "The Annals of the Parish," by John Galt, a Scottish ''novelist of whom up to that time I had never heard. It delighted me. Lately I found listed in a publisher's catalogue an edition, published in Edinburgh, of another of John Galt's novels, "The Provost" by name. It was equally delightful. In speaking of these two stories to a friend of mine, an American by choice and marriage, a Scot by birth, chief actuary of one of the great insurance companies of New York City (and, by the way, insurance actuaries, who must be men of mathematical precision and wise reasoning powers, are very commonly of Scottish birth and education), I found that he also was an admirer of John Galt. He lent me a copy, in two volumes, of Galt's autobiography, published in London in 1833.

John Galt was born in Ayrshire, a few miles from the birthplace of Robert Burns and twenty years later than the plowman-poet. Galt was a voluminous writer from his early youth, but he wanted to be a business man. He established himself in London, but went into bankruptcy. When nearly fifty years of age, he was sent to America as secretary and superintendent of the Canada Company, which was founded for the agricultural and mercantile exploitation of Canada, in imitation of the historic East India Company, in which Charles Lamb was one time a clerk. Galt's ambition appears to have been to make himself a kind of Warren Hastings of Canada. But, although his ideas were prolific and ingenious, and while he made many novel suggestions, such as the cultivation of cotton and tobacco on Canadian soil,

D

his contributions to the development of Canada were unsuccessful, at least financially, unless there is reckoned as one of his contributions his son, Sir Alexander Galt, who became one of the important and influential Canadian statesmen of the middle of the last century.

Galt's career, like that of William De Morgan, is a curious illustration of the fact that a man's avocation may sometimes prove to be the source of his fame, and his chosen vocation, in which it was. his ambition to shine, may be forgotten by all others but himself. De Morgan wished to be an artist, but he will always be remembered, if remembered at all, as a novelist. John Galt wished to be a colonizer, a statesman, a leader of men, but he will be remembered as the author of four or five novels which may fairly take rank with Mrs. Gaskell's "Cran

ford," Miss Mitford's "Our Village," Miss Burney's "Evelina," and some of Jane Austen's stories as delineations of "small-town" life and character. The Rev. Micah Balwhidder and Provost Pawkie are quite as lifelike as any of Sinclair Lewis's portraitures, and far more engaging, humorous, and genial. The pathetic thing about John Galt is that his fame-for I think that it may be said that his reputation among the judicious is growing into fame-rests on his past-mastership in a profession which he publicly disavowed in his autobiography:

At no time, as I frankly confess [he says], have I been a great admirer of mere literary character; to tell the truth, I have sometimes felt a little shamefaced in thinking myself so much an author, in consequence of the estimation in which I view the profes

A

sors of book making in general. mere literary man- an author by profession-stands but low in my opinion.

So it was with John Hay. Almost by force of circumstances he was a statesman, and a good one too, but at heart he was always a man of letters. Nevertheless he did not want to be remembered (as he will be) for his "Pike County Ballads," and especially for the most famous ballad of them all, "Little Breeches." I do not suppose it makes much difference to the spirit of George Canning, Prime Minister of England, that I remember him, not as one of the promulgators of the Monroe Doctrine, and therefore one of the fathers of the Panama Canal, but as the author of "The Needy Knife Grinder."

Forty or more years ago, about the time that the Wagnerian operas were being introduced in this country, George M. Pullman had a competitor by the name of Wagner who manufactured sleeping-cars and "palace-cars." They were widely known and used throughout the country. One evening, so the story goes, two Western railway executives dropped into the Metropolitan Opera House in New York, and in martyrdom suffered one of the more esoteric of Richard Wagner's great music dramas "Die Walkürie," perhaps, or "Götterdämmerung." Coming out, one of them remarked to the other, "Jim, I think that man Wagner would have done better to stick to sleeping-cars!"

After having read three of John Galt's five best novels and his own account of his ventures in commerce and industry, I think he did well not to stick to business, but to devote himself to literary art.

O you know where the real Californian is, the giant, the world builder? He is sitting by the trail, high up in the mountains. His eyes are dim and his head is white. His sleeves are lowered. His pick and shovel are by his side. His feet are weary and sore. He is still prospecting. Pretty soon he will sink his last prospect hole in the Sierras. Some younger men will come along and lengthen it out a little and lay him in his grave. The oldtimer will have passed out to prospect the outcroppings that star the floors of heaven. And, though he may die there

in the pines of the mighty mountains while still searching for the golden fleece, do not forget that his life is an epic, noble as any handed down from out the dusty eld. Some day a fitting poet will come, and then he will take his place. among the heroes and the gods."

This passage of Joaquin Miller came to my thought with strange vividness the other evening as I sat at an open window facing east, and looked down from the heights of Nob Hill over the city of San Francisco, ablaze with light to celebrate California's Diamond Jubilee. Beyond the city was the bay, catching the silver

gold glow of the rising harvest moon, and beyond the bay the lights of the bay cities, and beyond the lights of the bay cities the silent repose of the mountains and the everlasting hills.

It was these hills and these mountains that set me thinking of Joaquin Miller and the days and the people to whom he paid tribute. It all seemed so far away and long ago, and yet, as time goes to the making of history, it was little more. than yesterday. The story is indeed but a span long. Seventy-seven years or so ago, just before the onset of the gold rush, that spark in the powder-house

which produced one of the greatest race movements in history, San Francisco was no more than "a sleepy village on an almost vacant bay." It knew the "Boston man" who came in his clipper ship round the Horn for his cargo of hides and tallow, but, for the rest, it was well content that the way of to-morrow should be even as this day. As it was with San Francisco, so it was with the whole of California; from the Mexican border to the Oregon line it has practically all come into being since then.

Well, at first Joaquin Miller's looking backwards appealed to me. That day I had traversed the city in many directions. I had seen a great procession move up Market Street beneath a fluttering cloud of flags and gay streamers; the rich Spanish colors of red and green and gold were everywhere, and overhead the cloudless blue of a Californian sky. I had seen all the great wealth of power and achievement of this great State go by. From far and near men and women had come with their wonderful moving tableaux, designed to show how man's inventive genius, courage, and patience had here found their typical American expression. I felt sorry for the oldtimer. To be sure, he was honored in this endless procession which moved slowly up the great thoroughfare which cuts a broad swath through the city from the Ferry building to the Twin Peaks. I had seen John Marshall in the act of finding the first gold at Coloma. Native sons and daughters had indeed labored to do these pioneers honor. But still, seventy-five years ago they were the whole show; to-day they are no more than a romantic memory.

California still produces more gold than any other State in the Union, but California has long since ceased to look

to gold as the source of her wealth. Beneath the giant sky-scrapers of the lower city of San Francisco there lie the ribs and the beams and the iron keels of the abandoned ships, deserted on the mudflats in the days of the gold rush and destined to form a foundation upon which a great city was to arise-a city which drew its wealth, not from the gold pan up in the mountains, but from millions of acres of the richest land in all the world made to bear fruit abundantly by the enterprise and resource of rancher and engineer, from oil wells and lumber camps, from great machines set in motion by the harnessing of many waters. It all found typical expression in San Francisco and throughout the State in Diamond Jubilee week. The San Franciscan is not so much given to superlatives as is his brother in Los Angeles, but when it comes to California, he sees the greatest and best everywhere, and no one who knows him can blame him. And so for one glorious week he spent himself in telling himself and his neighbors and all the world how great things the idea that is California, that is America, that is, in the last test, the ideal of Anglo-Saxon thought and hope, had done for him and his. For that is, after all, what it amounts to. California has been a bounteous mother, but she challenges her children at every turn to the attainment of a higher standard. In all this last western movement of our race, which began three centuries ago, no greater barrier to progress was ever interposed than that which lay between the East and the West in the days of the covered wagon. After all the difficulties and dangers attendant on the passage of the Rockies and the great desert places of what is now Utah and Nevada there came the huge amorphous bulk of the Sierra Ne

Thousands died on those weary

vada. marches died of hardship and toil, starvation and cold. Many of those who rode or walked, in the parades through the city or looked on along the route could tell of fathers and mothers who had "crossed the plains." Native sons and daughters there were by the thousands, adopted sons and daughters by the tens of thousands; pioneers there were, just a few-a few old men and old women, riding in queer little Old World Victorias. The cheer that greeted them was perhaps the loudest of them all.

On the great day, Wednesday, September 9, Admission Day, there rode with these pioneers in the great parade many notable people. General Dawes was there in the forefront, and representatives of Great Britain and France and Japan, and of many Powers, even of Germany, followed after. And bands played, and vast crowds reckoned well over half a million cheered and cheered, and waved and waved, and climbed into doorways, and swarmed up lamp-posts, and mounted on fruit-boxes, and teetered on step-ladders, and cheered and cheered and waved again, and then came more bands and more floats and Red Indians and Spanish soldiers and Mexican bullfighters and cowboys and cowgirls and drums and fifes, and every known tune from "Tea for Two" to "Waltz Me Around Again, Willie." And at night the city and all around was a blaze of light, in the heavens above and on the earth beneath, and thousands flocked to see the famous Arch of Jewels in the Civic Center flashing in ever-changing colored lights; and thousands more climbed the heights of Russian Hill or Nob Hill or Telegraph Hill, or motored out to Twin Peaks, and, like Balaam from the top of Pisgah, looked out over the city and its hosts. And everywhere, even thus far away, the air seemed to be filled with the sound of music or of distant cheering or the undertone of many voices.

It was a strange and vivid experience; but every now and again, amid it all, one came back to earth-or was it to heaven? -and looked up at the silent sky or over the still waters of the great bay or on to the mountains and the everlasting hills, and so to the old-timer and to the beginning of things. And it all seemed so near and yet such worlds away; so much already accomplished, but so much still to do; so much life everlasting, so much world without end, so much-Amen.

But it would need Joaquin Miller's "fitting poet" to tell of it fittingly. It only remains for a humble journalist to record the fact that at California's Diamond Jubilee "a pleasant time was had by all."

T

HE thirty-fifth session of the Council of the League of Nations has just opened.

Ten delegates form the Council. Four are the representatives of the Permanent Powers on the League that is to say, Great Britain, France, Italy, Japan. These delegates are, respectively, the tall, austere, and determined-looking Austen Chamberlain, British Foreign Minister; the much shorter and dumpier but very shrewd Aristide Briand, French Foreign Minister and many times Prime Minister; the scholarly, intellectual, and detached Senator Scialoja, the eminent Italian law authority; the lynx-eyed and altogether inscrutable Viscount Ishii, shortest of all and well known in America because of his activity there at the time of the Lansing-Ishii Agreement.

Then come the six delegates from the Powers elected every year by the Assembly to representation on the Council. These, this year, are Belgium, Brazil, Czechoslovakia, Spain, Sweden, and Uruguay. For Belgium appears Paul Hymans, an alert, splitting-hairs kind of person, one of the sprightliest orators in the League; he has represented his country from the beginning, it always having been on the Council. For Brazil we have this year Senhor de Mello-Franco, a quieter personage with a sort of hope-Idon't-intrude air. For Czechoslovakia we see the newest person in the group, Dr. Veverka, representing Dr. Benes, Czechoslovakian Foreign Minister, temporarily delayed. For Spain there is the inevitable portly and impressive Señor Quiñones de León, Spanish Ambassador at Paris. For Sweden there is the younger, slighter, and much more thoughtful-looking Dr. Unden, taking the place of the lamented Hjalmar Branting.

M. Briand is presiding. Signor Scialoja is speaking. In clear and precise tones he outlines the mission of the International Aid Union, now popularly known as the U. I. S. (l'Union Internationale de Secours), a noble endeavor, suggested by the Italian Senator Ciraolo, to supplement the Red Cross in helping populations suffering from calamity.

Dr. Unden follows Senator Scialoja, and presents a series of interesting suggestions relative to the abolition of slavery in the hidden places where it still exists.

The Outlook's Editor in Europe

Other questions follow. The Council refers most of them to the Assembly. This is not "passing the buck." The more diplomatic Council needs the opinion of the larger and more parliamentary body, with its representatives from fiftyfive nations, a body to meet here in a few days. Then the subjects come back to the Council, and from its decisions no appeal may be taken.

The Assembly meets once a year; the Council four times, for it regulates the increasing numerous and complicated administrative questions and current affairs. The agenda for its present session comprise twenty-three subjects; for example: gas warfare; opium, slavery; the protection of children, in particular the protection of women and children in the Near East; the protection of minorities in Greece, Turkey, Rumania, Lithuania; the U. I. S., etc.

But there are two items on the agenda occasioning more talk than all the rest put together-Austria and Mosul.

The Plight of Austria

THE question of Austria is more than

ever uppermost, now that the Germans are making such a determined effort to add that remnant of the old Dual Empire to their own dominions, and now that many faint-hearted Austrians see economic salvation only in that direction. As is well known, however, success has attended the League's decision of 1922, largely engineered by Lord Balfour and largely engineered by Lord Balfour and Sir Arthur Salter, to put Austria on her economic feet. This effort involved a foreign loan and radical internal reforms. In the main the Austrian Government, under the sagacious leadership of Chanunder the sagacious leadership of Chancellor Seipel and now of Chancellor Ramek, has well weathered the storm. But it has involved a lot of internal friction, much of which has come from the tion, much of which has come from the mutual jealousy existing between the capital, Vienna, and the provinces; some has also come from racial and mere party feeling. The League appointed two agents, MM. Layton and Rist, to go to Austria to report on the economic situaAustria to report on the economic situation. To them, as to every one, it is clear that Austria cannot exist economically unless Austria's neighbors and Austria herself let down the protectionist tria herself let down the protectionist bars. Of course, the solution of the problem depends on no one country in

particular, but on all together; it even depends on some of Austria's more distant neighbors. And, of course, no one country feels inclined to lessen its degree of protection until convinced that all the rest will follow suit. This is the problem before the Council-how to convince them? It will be a stiff fight, and when you read these lines the fight is likely to be at its thickest, for it will take weeks to settle the matter even approximately.

TH

How Big is Irak?

HE Mosul affair is more dramatic. When England received a mandate to administer Irak, the Mosul territory at the north of that region and fairly compactly inhabited by Kurds was supposed to be a part of Irak, the old Mesopotamia. But as soon as the new Turkey, especially after having thrashed Greece, began to feel her oats she emphatically said "No" and carried the question into the Conference of Lausanne. That Conference could not solve it, and was relieved when both parties to the discussion let it be understood that they would agree to arbitration by the League of Nations. The League appointed as members of a Commission to proceed to the territory in question a delegate representing the Entente Allies in the person of Colonel Paulis, a Belgian officer of artillery; a delegate representing neutrals in the late war in the person of the Swedish Minister of State, Wirsen; and a delegate representing the Central Powers in the person of Count Teleki, ex-Prime Minister of Hungary, a man of proTuranian sympathies.

The Commissioners became convinced of the insuperable practical difficulties of a plebiscite taken among essentially nomad populations, but declared that the populations should not be partitioned. The sentiments of the majority of the inhabitants seemed to favor uniting with Irak the territory south of the provisional line laid down by the League Council last October, showing the limits of the territory which might be occupied by either side until a definite decision was reached. Here, it might be expected, the Commissioners would sum up in favor of Great Britain. Not so. Irak, they say, is in a very unstable condition as compared with Turkey; hence "the territory must remain under the effective mandate of