A FEW weeks ago the Department of Commerce issued a newspaper statement about sugar. It was highly statistical and painfully dull in style, but it contained a few words destined to have results sensational enough for anybody. “Production for 1923 only 125,000 tons higher than last year,” said a note at the beginning.
THE French adventure in the Ruhr checked the rising propaganda for the entrance of the United States into the League of Nations, but it has not entirely arrested it. The case as the pro-Leaguers present it is very simple: Isolation means the continuance of war, cooperation the cessation of war. The League of Nations represents the method of cooperation; it represents the only existing attempt in that direction. The syllogism completes itself.
I read of blunders and bigotries, of catastrophic acts of blind ignorance, of the incredible bungling of statesmen and those in high places and then my jaundiced eye, arrived at the sporting page, brightens. It falls upon a name in a column of names. "E. Collins, 2b," reads the heartening box-score, "a. b.-4, h.-3, 0.-2, a.-3, e.-0." With Senator McCumber, I join in the belief that God's sun still shines over us.
These are the days of commemorations and centenaries, first, second, third and fourth. Columbus so far has had a monopoly of the last digit, but we are in the thick of the threes and it is only natural that 1920—or 1921, in the tardy manner of such ponderous occasions—has been used as tercentennial pretext to summon the Pilgrim from his venerably documented past and to make him live again as symbol for today of his courageous and questing spirit.