TIDE AND PREJUDICE

The election campaigns have at last come to a close and the country can now return to its natural course of action. The President, who has been absent from his official duties for some four weeks despite the Crisis which he uses as one of the strongest arguments for his reelection, can go back to his real work. And the Governor of New York who has scarcely been in Albany one month in the last five, is able to return and find out what has been going on. The radio world, which has been occupied with hearse-voiced political speeches, full of nonsense and false accusations, full of nonsense and false accusations, will again turn its attention to jazz, music, and toothpaste. Special trains will become ordinary for another four years. The American Ambassador to the Court of St. James will try to make people forget that he made a campaign speech for Hoover in Manchester, England; and the Mayor of Boston, that he opened the City Hall to take "silver" contributions to the Democratic Campaign Fund.

The vigor of the campaign may be, to some minds, sufficient guarantee of the individual candidate's sincerity. But to the average man, there is small patriotic glory in a struggle which has expended thirty millions, called public men from their duties in time of crisis, engendered uneasiness in the minds of the electorate, and which has appealed to emotions at a time when the need was for clear thinking on the issues and personalities involved. The story of the past campaign is not new, but it is unfortunate that it must be repeated at such a time, especially when the outcome can make small difference in solving the problems of the Depression. The only thing ruined in tonight's returns will be a set of defeated candidates.