“jh.” may wreck your ship. I don’t doubt the sincerity of the people who feel her rocking the boat right blithely, but she’ll save your soul and this issue she certainly has saved. Her page! No one out of San Francisco can get the rest of it and no one in San Francisco can get this that she’s pulled down right out of the stars; but it’s just the touch to put you in Abraham’s bosom at the last. Imagine it now in the grins of your friends, and around the hearthstones of your enemies—your worst enemies. The Breakfast! The Sheriff! “Tearing her hair for humanity” will save “her” when she’s arrested for her seductive, seditious, and sudoriparous diatribe against—is it “against”? It’s not a diatribe, it’s an exposé; it’s an exposure, an indecent exposure of the crying disloyalty of humanity to humans, stripped stark. Families? And oh, there are some such nice families. But maybe they never thought about this. The great process _is_ “on.” But who’d have known the earth was beginning to whirl on a new axis poking out through the crust in Mill Valley? Oh I think you said a lot in a little, flaming Angel. With discernment, too. You were right. Why should the pages be filled until by something that simply will not be denied? Your analysis is sound, if it _is_ in a footnote, and there’s a mighty sane protest in the blank pages against the general welter. It’s only the beginning. It _is_ the beginning. It shows that even an editor may claim a little the inner sense of the dignity of life, that the prosy demands of a paid-up constituency for fodder—paid up, hell!—may be deliberately set aside if one needs a sweep for one’s vision or room to swing an axe or a chance to breathe, or if he sees a chance to save his soul by suddenly taking a firm hold on that fundamental of individualism that says “I will not do what I really don’t want to do” and by holding on until he’s chinned himself three times whatever chinning the rest may do over it. Look like the end? How can it! How can a man like F. L. W.?—but maybe he’s right: maybe he means the other end; maybe he could see what a beginning it was; but to most people it takes the actual sight of the blank pages to get a sense of what’s written so clearly on them. You saw it. You felt it. And aside from the effect it will have on the world,—for it can never again be said that “they have to print it because they can’t get anything better”; and it will be said many and many a time in defense of Modern Letters or a Summary of the Best of Contemporary Thought that an editor did one time assert her belief in herself, did blue pencil an entire issue and did contribute twelve consecutive pages to contemporary thought, the best thought at least that her subscribers are capable of, for they’re left to do their thinking for themselves, and if the thought’s not as consecutive as the pages it’s not the first time that that little matter has come to light when readers have been brought to