little daughter to belong to any school club whatever; one father has sent his boy away to boarding-school to escape the problems and dangers of the highschool secret societies. Obviously, I have stumbled upon a live issue, and one that is puzzling wiser heads than mine.

Puzzled I surely am. In 'my day' there were baseball clubs for the boys, and sewing or cooking clubs for the girls, and there an end, with no secret societies at all. Moreover, the baseball clubs really played baseball, and the sewing and cooking clubs really sewed and cooked, or tried to. But that was long ago. In those days, too, the club life of the grown-ups was correspondingly simple: a charitable sewing society for the ladies, where they met to sew and talk; a club for the men, where they smoked and talked politics or science or whatever interested them; and for men and women together, a euchre club, and perhaps a literary' club.

But the plot has thickened. We are beset by clubs on all sides, and one of the chief problems of life, if I can trust my observation, seems to be how to keep out of the wrong ones and get into the right ones, while, with regard to the officering of them, the predicament of the martyr Jack may be taken as typical. I have even been assured, by a very high authority indeed, that most clubs are started by people who have a craving to be president of something, and who therefore get up a club to meet this 'long-felt want.' Moreover, it is apparently a widespread desire, this wish to 'conect up' with other clubs and make an 'afilliation.' If, then, the old cocks-and hens-are crowing and cackling after this fashion, what else is to be expected of the young ones?

But I have no intention of drifting into an argument. I am merely observing, and wondering how it is all going to come out. Being, in general,

no friend to repressive measures, I have a feeling that it will do little good to prohibit clubs and secret societies among the children. I should rather favor letting them go on, if they must, but giving them something really to do. Societies that chiefly 'hold meetings,' and 'initiate,' seem to my plain mind to be in need, not so much of repressing, as of being given a job. And meawhile, I confess that I am sorry for Jack, I admire James, and I am proud that I know Paul and Lillie.

ON SAYING THANK YOU TO
EDITORS

PERHAPS because I am the shyest of novices in the cloisters of literature, perhaps because I was taught from a babe to say 'Please!' and 'Thank you,' I am always impelled to speak out a very genuine and very much surprised gratitude to the editors who occasionally accept the frail offspring of my pen. From my side, the relationship of editor and writer seems rude almost to barbarism. To receive a kind letter of critical appreciation,to receive also, presently, a neat check that means a trip to the city or a wider margin of extra delights for several weeks, all in a glum silence, is wrong. The only witness, indeed, that the letter and the check ever came to me, is my greedy indorsement of the latter; while the joyful gleam and ambitious leap forward into fresh fields of hope and achievement go unrecorded as an hour of stupid sleep.

It is such a wonderful thing, to me, that my works should ever be accepted by a proud-spirited magazine. Not because what I write is not good enough! Of course, what I write seems, from one point of view, entirely excellent to me. I suppose I should n't write it if it did n't. But I realize that solely in the fact of its being my own does the

virtue lie. What banners blow in that line of poetry, for me! What leaves are murmuring druid things! What souls of men long dead are calling mysteries to me over the dark! But it is only I that hear them, for they are mine, my dreams, my little singing words. How can they tell their secrets to an alien ear? It seems impossible that what I write should say in the least degree what I dream; and so I am astonished when the cool and crowded minds that keep the magazines astirring find my verses or my plain speech worthy of print (and the check). Each time that something is accepted, it is as if I had been climbing a great hill, and with a sudden effort and reaching out of friendly hands, had gained the top and looked forth across fair regions. 'Oh My!' I gasp. 'I did it that time: but the next hill-I can never get up that! This was the last: I shall never, never see the view beyond that farther ridge. Yet this is good!' and I sit down for a minute to breathe and contemplate. But before very long the lure of the horizon draws me to my feet, and I must journey away, till, amazingly, I am climbing the next hill, and the next, always without faith, and always with deep, shy joy at the conquest of the summit. Indeed, I do not often conquer. Most literary hills have slippery sides, and there are some all wrought of glass, whose glittering crests only the strong wings of genius can gain.

Such being my attitude toward my work and its success, it seems to me only ordinary good manners to recognize those who help me up the hills. I thank the policeman who steers me across Piccadilly or Broadway, although he has merely convoyed my body in safety through the hurly-burly of a minute. And shall I be dumb

to the escorts of my spirit up the Parnassian heights?

But is it proper? That is what I am most desirous of knowing. Do the editors think a person very boresomely naïve if he or she writes a scrap of a note to say, 'I am glad you liked my verses,''Thank you for taking my story,' 'Your criticism of my essay was a great help to me'? Do they grin, as much as to reply, 'My dear verdant young friend, we don't want your thanks. We take your stuff because it happens this once to be the sort that makes the magazine sell, and we don't care a hang about you or your prim, earnest little schoolboy and schoolgirl courtesies. Please indorse your check and get a new hat or a new waistcoat: you probably need them; and correct your proof nicely when we send it to you, maybe in two or three years, and then leave us alone, for we have bigger things to think about than whether you feel obliged to us or not. It is really embarrassing to have you around, all serious and round-eyed and thankful.'

Now if the editors feel like that, far be it from me to abase myself before them. Yet, if they are not quite human and quite kind, they would not write us such long and pleasant words of explanation, admonition, even praise. And being human, might they not bear with a little gratitude? It may come to pass, on a day in the far whirling of the future, that such as I shall grow arrogant and high and cool, and that the editors will fall at our feet and beg us with tears and gold to favor them. A humorous thought! But now

TO THE EDITOR OF THE ATLANTIC.

SIR: After reading in twenty-six different papers a variety of denials and criticisms by agents and officers of various steamship lines, called forth by my article in the May Atlantic, entitled 'The Man on the Bridge,' I wish to add a few facts and comments pertinent to the discussion.

Let me first attend to the statement of the agents, for they are floundering in the deeper water. To a deep-sea officer who knows his profession, their ignorance seems complete, and there is a reason for it. In ten years' experience with steamship agents, I have never known an agent to be in evidence aboard a liner except at the hours of arrival or departure. Of the normal conditions on board ship when in dock, or of the state of things at sea, he knows nothing at first hand. My article charged that liner officers were overworked. The chorus of agents stated that they were not. Specifically, Mr. Charles P. Sumner, agent for the Cunard Line, stated that the Cunard officers are on duty for four hours, and off for eight hours. He omitted, however, to state the very material fact that such heavenly watches as these are kept on Cunard steamships only when the vessels are well clear of the land, and dangers are at their minimum. The Cunard agent furthermore prudently omitted from his denial any

reference to what I said about the strain officers are subjected to when leaving dock on the morning tide before sailing-day. In my remarks, I kept well within the margin of truth, and stated times and duties which upon investigation would prove to be strictly

correct.

I regret that the Cunard agent did not see fit to enter into illuminating detail, and state that on the passenger steamers of his company only six officers are carried, against seven of the White Star Line. The public may know that many of the White Star Atlantic passenger steamers are only half the size and speed of the big Cunard fliers, and yet even these smaller steamers carry one more officer than the Cunard complement. The public, however, does not know that White Star officers do not handle mail and baggage, as is the Cunard practice. These duties are attended to by post-office officials and a baggage-master, thus relieving an officer from something like 20 hours' continuous strain when approaching the land, in addition to his bridgeduties and station-work incidental to arrivals and departures. Why, then, is the additional officer carried on White Star ships? Surely not because he is necessary. Possibly from philanthropy. Furthermore, why is the new president of the Cunard Company now making inquiry into the strain certain officers

are required to stand? Now that he has begun to take the public into his confidence, perhaps the Cunard agent would be good enough to explain all of these matters.

In my article, I stated that officers and masters were sometimes on duty for from 20 to 70 hours at a stretch. I said on duty, and not on the bridge, as some of my critics have ingenuously supposed. I stated clearly that, in addition to bridge-watches, the various unnecessary duties performed by officers at sailing-time made up the total. It was specifically of captains that I said that during fog they may sometimes have to remain on the bridge for over 70 hours. In regard to this statement, let me quote from the New York World the words of three captains interviewed by that paper on the subject of my article.

Captain Cannon of the S. S. Minnetonka stated that 'he had never heard of a captain being obliged to remain on the bridge for 30 or 40 hours at a stretch.'

Captain Wettin of the S. S. George Washington stated that 'he had often been 30 and even 40 hours on the bridge at a stretch, but was not unfit for duty.' Captain Dahl of the Friedrich der Grosse stated that 'he had been even four days on the bridge, and was alert and wide-awake all that time.'

Contrast this first statement with the second. Contrast both with the last. Remember also that liner-masters are generally past middle life. Many of them are well over sixty. Medical opinion on this point would prove valuable, both to the companies and to the public. Suppose we put the question thus:

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'Is a man of about sixty years a proper person to be intrusted with the safety of some 3000 souls, after standing in foggy weather on the bridge in a watch like Captain Dahl's, — over four

days, in damp foggy weather with the whistle at his ear screaming continuously?'

I notice that of the liner officers, captains alone give their views. It is a pity that subordinate officers also were not interviewed. Ask a White Star mate if his two hours on watch and four hours off allow him a healthful and continuous sleep. Ask a Cunard mate if my statements are exaggerated. Question them about leaving dock on a morning tide the day before sailing.

I do not wish to leave these charges relative to overwork without mentioning the subject of vacations. I have yet to see any officer of any English liner who was in a position to state that he ever got two weeks' consecutive leave on full pay. On shore even officeboys get their week-ends off, in addition to two weeks' leave annually; while aboard ship officers, even after being away a full year, are as often as not called down to the dock on Sunday to shift ship. Instead of leave of absence when in home port, not to speak of annually, certain officers have to keep watch on a cold ship in winter, and often for 24 hours are left absolutely without food. While superintendents, stewards, cooks, butchers, and shoreclerks, can come aboard liners when in dock, and partake of hot food, the officers in their quarters receive none. Of course, if they wish to do so, they can place themselves under an obligation to the ship's butcher or cook, but a gentleman of the service prefers to go hungry. I speak from experi

ence.

In my paper, I brought up this topic of vacation particularly with reference to the officers on the Mauretania, saying that on certain occasions they only got 24 hours' leave ashore to visit their families after a voyage. Curiously enough, the last time they were in port, they, as well as the officers of the

Lusitania, had better reliefs than have been known since either ship was put into commission. To use an Americanism, has my muckraking had anything to do with it? I am very much inclined to think so.

Veer now to log-faking and cutting corners. All the steamship agents interested, with a single honorable exception, agreed that log-book faking is impossible. One agent sagely pointed out that it is an offense punishable by law. Now, there is a brief catechism which I should like to put to these agents:

'Do you know the difference between the official log and the chief officer's log?'

'Do you know that the chief officer's log-book is never called for by the British Board of Trade except in cases of collision or stranding? Copy-logs are sent in to the companies' marine superintendent after the completion of each voyage, and these are copied from the chief officer's log by a junior officer.'

Agents who have never heard of these familiar facts will be interested to learn the difference between the official log-book and the chief officer's logbook. The official log contains entries relating to births, deaths, accidents, loggings of crew, desertion, draught, times of arrival and departure, etc. The noon position, whether by observation or dead reckoning, is never entered in the official log-book.

The chief officer's log will contain many of the above entries, and in addition the course and distance made, course and distance to steer, latitude and longitude at noon by observation and dead reckoning, revolutions of propeller, compass-course steered, wind and weather conditions, etc.

Now, if the chief officer's log stated that his ship was in latitude 42.18 N, longitude 62.52 W, on a certain day,

who is to say that the ship was not in that position, and how could any official arrive at such a conclusion? The course and distance steered from the position of the day before would place the ship exactly where the entry placed her, and no agent will, I imagine, dispute this.

The truth is that log-book faking across the Atlantic is the easiest thing in the world, and in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, no risk is involved it only means the stating of a lie, and nothing more, claims on the underwriters seldom being made.

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The faking of log-books is by no means confined to the officers of transatlantic liners. The detestable practice of many shipowners now carrying insurance, in order to have their repairs made at the expense of the underwriters, is an occurrence well recognized. Let me quote from a plain-spoken contemporary:

"There are firms known who, from one year's end to the other, hardly ever pay for the repairs due to the natural deterioration of the ships under their management, nothing being too small or too big to be entered in the log-book as due to some cause or other wherewith they can recover from the insurance; and yet a big item for repairs is usually included in each balance-sheet issued to the shareholders, and as they are audited by chartered accountants, it is only reasonable to suppose that there are vouchers to prove same.

'Now, in the majority of these cases the superintendent is an engineer, and he is responsible to the managing owner for all the repairs both to the hull and engines, and has, therefore, both the mate's and engineer's log-books at his command. After a visit down below, where the engineer points out the various repairs that are necessary, he strolls round the deck with a mate, and soon has a list of repairs that would