COMING

The Review is able this month to promise some tasty dishes for future menus. Among the forthcoming piéces-de-résistance, already in the editorial mixing bowl, are Acadians Find Peace in Louisiana, by Wilton P. Ledet, a native of the state where American cooking was elevated from the status of a domestic necessity to that of a Fine Art; Sentinel of the Atlantic's Graveyard, by C. G. Mackintosh, who personally knows a great deal of the 69-year history of the famous spiral-banded lighthouse of Cape Hatteras; The Park at Old Guilford Courthouse, by Acting Superintendent William P. Brandon, and The Facts of Wildlife Are Not Always True, by Dan Beard, Wildlife Technician, who will tell you whether porcupines shoot their quills or hoop snakes take tail in mouth and roll down a hill. Melvin J. Weig, Assistant Research Technician at Morristown National Historical Park, has agreed to prepare a study on Hopewell Village, and Willis King, Associate Wildlife Technician in Great Smoky Mountains National Park, will give you authentic information on the stocking and taking of fish in the bold streams of that wilderness area. The Review, shy to a fault, nevertheless experiences more than its accustomed sensations of pride in announcing these major gastronomic items and is happy to suggest that some of the hors-d'oeuvres and like auxiliary dishes also will be appetizing.

NATIVITY

The matter of being born, it now develops, is something which abides with you all the days of your life. That immutable law has been brought, with increasing insistence, to the attention of many employees since the issuance of the memorandum directing all workers to supply documentary proof of the date of birth. The mere fact that one has achieved and survived nativity can be established with comparative ease but, it now is apparent, the business of proving, by paper and seal, the exact day of that important occurrence occasions considerable research and not infrequently some startling surprises to the person who always had conceded unquestioningly the family tradition that he or she became a potential presidential candidate at 4:01 p. m. on Thursday, April 9, 1904, and that the name was Artaxerxes Marmaduke Jones or Minnie Cleopatra Smith. Surprises in the Region One headquarters included those of respectable employees who discovered that, contrary to previous reckonings:

  1. He was two years older;

  2. He was one year younger;

  3. His birthday was in another month;

  4. His first name, borne by five Polish kings and one patron saint, had been misspelled all along;

  5. Her calling cards bore a middle name never pronounced at baptism;

  6. She was, fortunately, six months over-generous in the age which she had always admitted.

If you started out to save this somewhat confusing world in a county where your arrival was not legally noted, it will be helpful if the Census jotted you down. It may be pointed out, however, that the harassed Bureau right now is busy certifying the birthday of every

U. S. relief laborer. "Yea, verily," the prophet hath said, "ye must be born again!" --- H. R. A.