L 2 the Stalking the Ovis Poli with Roosevelt Condensed from Vanity Fair (May '26) Corey Ford was early in April of last year that our brave expedition left New York Harbor amid the excited tooting of horns and blowing of whistles, and a shower of well-wishes and other hard objects from friends on shore; and proceeded directly to Bombay, where our caravan was already assembled. I shall never forget the inspiring picture we presented upon our departure from Bombay. The sun shone bright and clear overhead and the C bulbuls were singing happily in the syringas as our great caravan gathered before the hotel. In the immediate foreground Colonel Roosevelt was seated upon his elephant, his white helmet tilted back upon his forehead to disclose the keen, piercing eyes staring toward the horizon, the jaw thrust forward in a gesture of determination that boded ill for the ovis poli in the far-off hills. markable scene, with the Colonel in the foreground. Here we made our first bivouac (camp), the Colonel having been informed that any scientific expedition that is a scientific expedition invariably gets lost the first few days out, and remains hidden until the United States Government sends an airplane in search, filled with newspaper reporters. Accordingly, as soon as we were safely hidden, we waited for three days, giggling to ourselves, at the end of which time a member of the party sent a cable to the State Department to count 100 and then come find us. The State Department promptly cabled back: "Why?" and so the game was called; but if they had come we had a dandy hiding place between two Himalayas, where they would never have seen us. Another good game is Anagrams. For a moment no one stirred. The Colonel sat tense, motionless, his left fist clutching his trusty Express rifle and his right waving a small American flag. The dramatic silence was broken by the sudden click of the newspaper cameras, whereupon the Colonel, with a sigh of relief, clambered down from his elephant, handed his cork helmet to an attendant and stepped into his waiting automobile. We were off! Our main objective was the famed ovis poli, a sort of sheep which lives on barren, treeless plateaus and is seldom seen in captivity, owing to the fact that it is so hard to catch, and even if it were easy to catch nobody would want it. Game was now grow. ing plentiful; and we had no end of fun shooting the rare Goitered Gazelles (Gezella thyroid). In the event of attack these harmless creatures simply crouch down behind their goitre, rendering them practically invisible to the casual eye. The finest specimen of the trip was bagged by Kermit, and it was later placed in a wheelbarrow, and Kermit was photographed beside it, holding a large placard which read: "This goitre was grown in Thibet: The Land of Opportunity." Having progressed by easy stages to Srinagar, the rifles and equipment following by freight, we now trekked Over the first range of the Himalaya Mountains to the Zozzi la (pass), a desolate tract of snow and ice. What a sight! To our right and to our left extended an unbroken vista of ice and snow, while before us and behind us a flat stretch of snow and ice reached to the very horizon. We took several photographs of this re Another rare capture was the Asiatic Wapiti, a strange deer which derives its name from the noise it makes whenever it inadvertently steps off a Himalaya and tumbles wapiti! wapiti! wam! down to the bottom. Nothing is known of the home life of the wapiti, beyond the fact that it has none; but the Colonel was particularly interested to learn that it is a cousin of the American bull-moose, the latter a favorite game of his father's. The Colonel formed a Wapiti Party on the spot. It must not be thought that the Colonel remained idle during these scientific discoveries, or lost sight for a moment of the real purpose of his trip. Time and again, when the more irresponsible members of his expedition were wasting their time stalking the Gooral or the Markhor, the Colonel with a serious face would sit before his photographer for hours, assuming appropriate poses beside the specimens which the rest of us had brought back to camp the night before. Often we returned home from the hunt to find this solitary figure seated at his typewriter, already writing the account of our adventures for the Times. It was in the Russian Pamirs that we got our first ovis poli. I shall never forget the thrill of that moment. We were awakened at dawn by the eager cry of “Nian!" (ovis poli); and the camp was instantly plunged into utter confusion. The Colonel, with rare presence of mind, drew on his nail-studded hunting boots, his white helmet and the long red beard, which we all wore on the trip, slung a telescope over his shoulder and knelt in the door of his shuldarree (tent), his 500-bore Express rifle in his hand. Following his example, we all dressed rapidly in our hunting costumes and knelt behind him, guns in hand. The day could not have been more ideal for our purpose; the sun shone directly upon our faces, so that no feature remained in shadow. Our group was perfectly arranged, the four tallest natives standing in the rear, the rest of us kneeling before them, while Kermit reclined gracefully at our feet, resting on his elbow, with his forefinger laid alongside his cheek. In the center the Colonel, a smile on his grim face, stared directly into the camera. For a moment the photographer hesitated. "No nian?" (where's your ovis poli?), he asked us at length. With a shrug of irritation at this oversight the Colonel directed one of the natives to climb up the mountainside, from which he returned shortly bringing a splendid specimen. This was placed between the Colonel's knees, and the first of our prize captures (the largest seen in a dozen years) was shot and dispatched to the rotogravure sections at once. After crossing the perilous Kara. koram Pass, the party descended the mountains to Turkestan; and it was here that the Colonel had the narrow escape from annihilation which was mentioned briefly in the dispatches. The Colonel, whose self-confidence had been considerably augmented by this trip, conceived the idea of attempting to scale Mount Albany, which, next to Mount Washington, is the highest peak in all the Himalayas and has only been visited in the past six years by one man, a Governor Smith. I shall never forget the parting scene. The Colonel was mounted on Gop, his favorite elephant, and was clad in a loose-fitting coat belonging to his father. Higher and higher he climbed, while his party followed be hind, our hearts filled with misgiv ings. Suddenly, before anyone could stop him, the Colonel's foot accidentally overturned a treacherous stone, called by the natives do-hee-neh or The Tea Pot. As this obstacle bounced down the hill, it loosened a huge quantity of dirt, which followed behind it in a veritable landslide, descending with a roar upon the Colonel and completely covering all his followers as well, until the entire party was practically hidden from sight. Yet the Colonel's confidence is so little shaken that he is already determined upon a second attempt to scale this peak in the near future. "I am ready," he insists, "for a fight or a frolic." On a Certain Condescension in Americans Condensed from The Atlantic Monthly (May '26) IFTY-SEVEN years ago Mr. The deep exhaustion of European Countries that have been struggling for life as a drowning man struggles for breath is hardly a matter of surprise. Yet Dr. Frank Crane, in a syndicated article, tells "There is only one thing the matter us that with Europe, one root trouble from which all its difficulties spring-it has not yet learned to work and to love work. Europeans still idealize idleness." can we find a better spokesman for the race than Mr. Walter Hines Page, who did superlatively well a hard and heart-rending job. Yet this able and representative American could see no good in people who did not speak English or French. "Except the British and the French," he wrote to his son, Arthur Page, in December 1917, "there's no nation in Europe worth a tinker's damn when you come to the real scratch. The whole continent is rotten, or tyrannical, or yellow dog. I wouldn't give Long Island for the whole of continental Europe." It was a curious estimate of values. No one can truly say that Switzerland, Denmark and Holland are rotten, or tyrannical, or yellow dog. Indeed Mr. Page admitted that the Danes were a free people, and that Switzerland was a true republic, but too small to count-a typically American point of view. We interpret life in terms of size and numbers rather than in terms of intellect, beauty, and goodness. An editorial in The Ladies' Home Journal, August, "There is only one first-class civiliza1923, stated: tion in the world today. It is right here in the United States and the Dominion of Canada. hardly second-class, and Asia's is Europe's is about fourth- to sixth-class." rowed this quotation for a lecture I I borwas giving in New York. My audience applauded the sentiment enthusiastically. It was evident that to them it was a modest statement of an incontrovertible fact. seemed to believe that we were, like They the Jews, a chosen people, that our human race, and that it behooved the "uplift" of the those who were to be uplifted to recognize their inferior attitude. mission was Is this an unusual frame of mind among educated Americans? Where That Mr. Page clearly foresaw the wealth and strength that would accrue to the United States from the World War proves the keenness of his vision. In 1914 he wrote to President Wilson: "From an economic point of view, we are the world; and from a political point of view also." And finally, in a letter to Mr. Frank Doubleday, 1916, comes a magnificent affirmation of our august preeminence: "God has yet made nothing or nobody equal to the American people; and I don't think He ever will or can.' It is natural, though regrettable, that inferior nations, crowded together in Europe, which they have somehow contrived to make glorious and beautiful ("Thank God," cried Henry James, "for a world which holds so rich an England, so an Italy!"), should resent our presenting ourselves to them as an example. They have troubles and traditions of their own, inheritances great and grievous which reach back to "old, unhappy, far-off things." They cannot wipe the slate clean, and begin afresh after a new and improved model. We keep on telling them (I quote now from recent American utterances) that our "accumulated heritage of spiritual blessings" is theirs to command; that our idealism "has made itself felt as a great contributory force to the advancement of mankind," and that "the Stars and Stripes are a harbinger of a new and happier day for the lesser nations of the world." "Lord, gie us a guid conceit o' ourselves" is one prayer which the American has no need to utter. If Europeans pay insufficient regard to our carefully catalogued virtues, Americans are far too deeply impressed by them. It is as demoralizing for a nation to feel itself an ethical exhibit as it is demoralizing for a young woman to win a beauty prize-by virtue of her nakedness-in an Atlantic City contest. If our civilization be "infinitely the best so far developed in the ages," we have all the less need to say so. If we are giving to the world "supreme grandeur in service," we can afford to be modest in calling attention to the fact. If we are, by virtue of precept and example, "working great changes in the spirit of international morality," it would be more self-respecting to give other nations a chance to express their unprodded appreciation. A point of difference between the condescension of foreigners in 1869 and the condescension of Americans in 1926 is that the magniloquence which amused and ruffled Mr. Lowell was mainly spoken (he was in a position to hear it both at home and abroad), and the magniloquence which today ruffles without amusing sensitive foreigners and Americans is, 28 I have shown by liberal quotations, printed for all the reading world to see. We may be as good as we are great, but our distaste for sincere and searching criticism blurs our national vision. A blustering, filibustering, narrow-minded Senate is not a source of legitimate pride. To lead the world in crime should be a source of legitimate humiliation. In 1923, Scotland, with a population of five millions, had only 11 murders, while Massachusetts, with a population of four millions, could boast of 107. It almost seems as if we could do a little housecleaning of our own. The superiority complex is, however, as impervious to fact as to feeling. It denies the practical, the intellectual, and the spiritual. The Sorbonne and the Institut Pasteur make no more appeal to it than does the girl Jeanne d'Arc, or the defenders of Verdun. France as the inspiration of the artist, the stimulus of the thinker, the home of those who seek to breathe the keen air of human intelligence, is lost in the France that cannot stabilize the franc, or keep the peace in Syria. She is, in our eyes, a nation reprehensible because she demands the security which two oceans guarantee to us, and contemptible because she has failed to readjust herself after such calamities as we have never known. It takes a great deal to make an enjoyable world. Efficiency is an asset; but, without a well-balanced emotional life, it gets us no further than the door of human happiness. Good-will, which Santayana says is the great American virtue, shines like a lamp; but even good-will must be intelligently directed if it is to light up the dark places of the earth; and the dark places of the earth are not confined to other continents than ours. “In judging others," says the wise à Kempis, "a man usually toileth in vain. For the most part he is mistaken, and he easily sinneth. But in judging and scrutinizing himself he always laboureth with profit." A Human Nature Excerpts from "The Wisdom of Laziness," by Fred C. Kelly (Doubleday, Page & Company) FUNNY kink in human nature is that while men dislike to be told facts, they love to tell facts to others. . . . The man who is an authority on almost any subject is willing to drop his work and give firsthand knowledge to any one that comes and asks for it. Indeed, there is no surer way to gain a man's undying friendship than to go to him seeking advice. Even though his time is extremely valuable, the man who knows, and knows that he knows, will talk and pass on this knowledge just as long as the caller will listen. In more than 25 years' experience as porter, I have never yet been refused information by a real authority. The man who fails to find out what he needs to know, has only himself to blame. There is always somebody who would gladly tell him. a re South American Development Co., er some such name. Still the Irish cashier hesitated. Smilingly he tapped the engraved card with his index finger and sagely remarked: "Paper never refused ink." The remark should be remembered by all who are too easily impressed by a pretentious letterhead, or by a beautifully engraved stock certificate. You can say anything you wish to on paper and the paper can't help itself. One of my neighbors punished his small son for a minor offense. tells me that he didn't realize until He the next day why he spanked the boy. It wasn't so much on account of what the boy had done, as because he was angry at a man in the office. He had unconsciously substituted the boy for the office associate as an object of his spleen. One of the best salesmen I ever knew confided to me when asked for the secret of his success: "I live well within my means, but dress far beyond my means." An Irish cashier at the most famous hotel in the United States hesitated about cashing a check for a newcomer. The guest indignantly showed his handsomely engraved card which indicated that he was president of a bigsounding corporation-The North and The Reader's Digest I used to know a man who worked longer hours than anybody in town. All his friends thought he must be a wonderful executive. He was about the only man in town who returned to his office every night after dinner. But the reason he worked such long hours was not that he was a good executive, but a poor one. All day long he hemmed and hawed and procrastinated and frittered away valuable time instead of flying at his tasks and getting them done. The reason he wasted so much time during the 83 |