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.
Fantasy could hardly devise a situation less auspicious for nationalization of industries than that of Russia in 1918.