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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1b6f7e0 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #62296 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/62296) diff --git a/old/62296-0.txt b/old/62296-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c129054..0000000 --- a/old/62296-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1279 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Fly Leaf, No. 1, Vol. 1, December 1895, by Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Fly Leaf, No. 1, Vol. 1, December 1895 - -Author: Various - -Editor: Walter Blackburn Harte - -Release Date: June 1, 2020 [EBook #62296] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLY LEAF, DECEMBER 1895 *** - - - - -Produced by hekula03, David E. Brown, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -book was produced from images made available by the -HathiTrust Digital Library.) - - - - - - - - - - The Fly Leaf - - A Pamphlet Periodical of - the New--the New Man, - New Woman, New Ideas, - Whimsies and Things. - - CONDUCTED BY WALTER BLACKBURN HARTE. - - Published Monthly by the Fly Leaf Publishing Co. - Subscription One Dollar a Year. Single Copies 10 - Cents. December, 1895. Number One. - - - - -The Fly Leaf. - - A Pamphlet Periodical of the New--the new man, new woman, new ideas, - whimsies and things. Conducted by Walter Blackburn Harte. - - -Published monthly. Single copies 10 cents; subscription, $1.00 a year. -Subscriptions to be made payable to W. B. Harte, 269 St. Botolph -Street, Boston, Mass. Subscriptions may be left with newsdealers, or -sent direct to the publisher. - -Business communications should be addressed simply W. B. Harte, 269 -St. Botolph Street, Boston. All matter intended for publication should -be sent to same address. All MSS. must be accompanied by properly -stamped addressed envelope, and those found unavailable will be -promptly returned. Everything will be fairly considered, according to -the requirements of the FLY LEAF. Unknown writers of ability will be -welcomed. All articles and sketches must be short and piquant--not -exceeding 1200 or 1500 words. - -Entered at the Boston Post Office as second class mail matter. - -Copyright, 1895, by W. B. Harte, - - _The trade supplied by the New England News Company._ - - - - -THE FLY LEAF - - No. 1. December, 1895. Vol. 1. - - - - -THE STIR IN LITERATURE. - - -Of course the most important event of the month in this favored part -of the world is the unheralded advent of such a robust youngster as -the FLY LEAF. Oh yes, thank you, Mrs. Grundy, we are doing very well -indeed--a very healthy and vigorous infant and a favorite already; and -we may be able to show a very pretty set of teeth in a month or two, -if occasion should demand. Some of our distinguished contemporaries -will perceive the delicacy of this metaphor; albeit the babe is quite -good-natured. - -And now a few words about the aims and purposes of the FLY LEAF will -be in order--and the incidental commentary may be found to be equally -interesting. For the FLY LEAF, although but the bantling of yesterday, -has been nursed in the lap of harsh experience, and is at least as -wise as some drivelling and decrepit contemporaries it finds lagging -superfluous on the stage. - -It is true that the field of contemporary journalism is already fairly -well stocked with various periodicals, of various shades of unprovoked -domesticity, and innocuous intention in the way of imparting that -miscellaneous misinformation, which is the mental stock-in-trade of -the millions everywhere, and put into print day after day, is the most -effective bar to tolerance and growth and hospitality of thought. But -there is plenty of room for the FLY LEAF. These highly respectable -publications are all competing with each other, and reaping the rich -rewards that are the portion of those who have invested their capital -in the impossible virtues and spotless innocence of the Young Person. -They are all reported to be very prosperous, and we cannot bring -ourselves to believe so highly of human nature in the bulk as to doubt -the truth of their returns. - -But the FLY LEAF will occupy a field that all these periodicals regard -with the suspicion of conservatism. It will not impinge on their field, -and they cannot by any possibility intrench upon its. For it is a -magazine of the New, the Modern, the Young Man, the Young Woman, Today -and its stirring, probing, fantastical spirit. - -With the immense reading public that exists in this land of popular -education and enlightenment--a public which expands every year, as -generation after generation takes its place in the ranks of life--there -is room for all sorts of periodicals; and instead of these various -periodicals being in rivalry, they actually raise up new readers for -each other. Even the old fogy magazines have helped to prepare the way -for honest bubbling thought and fancy and humor. They have unwittingly -and unwillingly educated their readers for the FLY LEAF. The more -literature is cultivated in America--the more writers with fresh -opinions and experiences and ideas increase--the more readers there -will be to encourage the treatment of ever new and wider aspects of the -complex life of this vast and complex aggregation of people. - -In the pages of these respectable domestic periodicals, old-fashioned -folk, who lived before thought was let loose in the English tongue -among respectable, law-abiding people, and who linger on to the -confusion of poetry and new ideas and new interests, can still doze -over profound articles on “How to Cook a Beefsteak” and fiction that -has even less relevance to the comedy and tragedy of real modern life. -But all inspiring literature is drenched in the spirit and vigor of -Youth--even though the writers may be only belated boys. It is the -New in eternal nature that entrances the imaginations of thinkers -and poets. The day is coming when the periodicals now devoted to the -dissemination of the platitudes and ideas of two or three generations -ago will have to awaken to the fact that the Young Man and the Young -Woman of this era demand the heart of life in their literature, or -they will be compelled to give way to bolder spirits, such as are now -gathering strength in every modern literature. Already the tide has set -in. Hence the FLY LEAF. - -The FLY LEAF belongs to this end of the century. It is essentially -modern. It does not look to the future, however, with any affected _fin -de siecle_ weariness or ennui, but with the hopefulness and stirring -courage of youth. It does not aim to be Decadent, or pin its faith to -any particular Ism; although it will always be hospitable to art and -beauty and truth from any quarter. - -The Editor and his coadjutors are of the new school of younger writers, -and they aim to unite free sincere thought with humor and fantastic -whimsies and imagination; to be serious and amusing; earnest and -honest; but never dull. The underlying purpose and inspiration of our -efforts will be to strike this Modern note and awaken this broader -Modern spirit, which marks the literature of our era off from all the -ancient thought and literature of the world. - -The FLY LEAF will deal with the Here and Now, with the aims and ideals -of the Young Man and the Young Woman, with the drift and tendencies of -American social and literary thought. It will embody the New Spirit of -the age that is moving the literature of all the world, but it will be -distinctively an American periodical. - -The FLY LEAF hopes that in this struggle for the recognition of this -broader spirit in criticism and the material of literature, and for -the encouragement of American writers of ability, it will receive the -cordial support of the younger generation of readers throughout the -country. - - - - -THE NEW MYSTICISM. - - -The latest development of the new mysticism, or symbolism, or -impressionism, which first came to us from the Continent, has just -reached the Editor of the FLY LEAF from the pen of an old friend. - -It appears that my friend had been reading Maurice Maeterlinck’s “The -Blind” and “The Seven Princesses,” and he had come to the conclusion -that a painful poverty of ideas was palpably wrapped up in a barren -iteration of half meaningless and half ludicrous phrases. He then -turned to Stephen Crane’s recently published “Black Riders,” thinking -that symbolism might be a little more coherent and comprehensible -in the alembic of the colder and clearer Anglo-Saxon intellect and -imagination. He had heard Crane’s impressionistic book of rhythms -spoken of in the inner circles of the New York and Boston literary -world as a collection of startling psychological pictures--the Heaven -and Hell of the human soul by flashlight. The Boozy Prophet, Crane has -been called by a certain eminent critic--and there’s invitation to -human nature in such a piquant characterization. - -But, for a long while, he labored in Crane’s pages, without discovering -the secret flame of spiritual insight that others had spoken of -so confidently, and he began to suspect that the profundity which -had allured so many minds was simply the fatal lure of the weirdly -incomprehensible, which is the inspiration of a good many schools of -art and new religions. He had looked for a burst of spiritual light -that should spur his tired imagination to renewed efforts in setting -forth the superior qualities of a certain brand of coal tar soap which -was the inspiration of his Muse for so much a week. He sank into the -rocker by the fire, and fell into a mood of despondent reminiscence, -weaving all the sad strands of his life into haunting fancies. Then, as -he says in his letter, a change suddenly came over him, and he sprang -up feeling oppressed and dizzy with a flood of crimson thoughts that -inspired his brain.--Ed. - -Here is his account of what happened. - - There is something irresistible about this new mysticism in poetry, - which those who have not pondered over its potent fascinations cannot - understand. It seizes upon the mind suddenly and without warning. - For years all my dreams of literary achievement and fame had lain - buried, and as I thought, a little sadly, dead--strangled by cruel - circumstance and devoured by an ever increasing family. I had become - completely reconciled to writing on tar soap and other commodities. - But all of a sudden my thoughts seemed to plunge into an abyss of - mystical yearnings after the impossible and infinite, and then I - recalled some of Crane’s verses with a new and vivid realization - of their photographic fidelity to perplexity of mind. Then, to my - amazement, I felt the divine afflatus rise overpoweringly within me, - and for the first time in my life I produced two lines which rhymed. - They ran as follows: - - A goblin hung on to the horn of the moon - A-singing a love song composed by a coon. - - I had never performed such a feat as this in my whole life before, - for even in my hours of transcendent ambition I had recognized the - essentially prosaic bent of my mind. I had always expected to be a - great prose writer, and I had felt a rather indulgent condescension - toward contemporary poets--especially those of my acquaintance. I - used to think prose was the only vehicle of modern thought, and that - all the great poets were dead. But when a man finds himself beginning - to lisp in poetry at a belated age, his views on the significance of - modern poetry are apt to undergo some important modification. - - I thought this couplet a very fair beginning; but no well rounded - thought would come that had any relevance to the goblin, the moon - or the love song. So I leave the couplet to stand by itself as a - picture, suggestive of the fact that ambition may miss its mark, but - a love song will surely live in some heart. My next attempt--for I - was on fire with symbolic rhapsody--was a little more successful. I - submit it without comment. The lesson is so obvious. - - I saw a bleeding head grinning, - It grinned at me; I grinned at it, - In fact, we both grinned irreverently. - - But the smiling sun shone on! - - I find the longer one delves in mystic poetry the deeper - philosophical problems one can sound in a very few poignant flashes - of symbolic description. Here is one of my happiest efforts: - - As my worn soul lay wriggling in the dust, - I cried aloud to God in indignation - That he had so mistreated me; - But God only laughed, until He’d like to bust - And pointed out that dirt was all creation. - - - I turned off a number of other things, quite as profound and - fantastical, and I find that in mystical poetry the Deity lends - Himself to picturesque treatment a good deal more readily than any - other person or subject of immediate and contemporary interest. - So that in this way it leads the mind of the masses away from - the frivolities of the hour to the larger considerations of life - and destiny, and chastens folly with thoughts of the over-ruling - immutable providence that is too often forgotten in the bustling - cities of civilization. - - I send you only one more piece, to which I have given the dignity - of a title. It is “The Dissatisfactions of Luxury,” and is in two - stanzas: - - - I heard a man mumbling in the horrid silence of the night. - He was chaffering aloud with the good God; - But God in the darkness vouchsafed no sign. - And I asked him, scoffing, what he desired of the Omnipotent. - “I am rich, I am Plutus,” answered he, angrily, - “And I am bargaining for the moon.” - “And why do you want it?” asked I in amaze. - “Because I am tired of all my other toys.” - “And the price?” asked I, scoffing, for I bore the badge of Lazarus. - “Untold millions, heaped up to Heaven’s gate.” - “Fool!” I cried in bitter derision; - “Offer the good God your corrupt soul.” - - I can make affidavit I never wrote a line of poetry before in my - life, and so I am sorely troubled at this writing. This is a crisis - in my career. I do not know whether to continue in my employment as - a writer of soap and medicine “ads,” or to devote myself wholly to - the service of the Muses. The question is, am I a genius, or is this - new mystic poetry, which is so uplifting and inspiring, merely some - delusive imposture of bubbling verbiage? - - JONATHAN PENN. - - - - -THE YELLOW GIRL. - - -The advent of the Yellow Girl--the mad, fantastic siren who is -beginning to haunt the hoardings and our dreams--is calling forth a -good deal of an outcry among those who hold the cure of morals in the -English public press. It is rather a difficult undertaking to attempt -to import a ray or two of cheer and fantasy into the gloom and drab -of English life, but some of the English artists, touched with the -spirit of the age, have had the audacity to import the Yellow Girl -from Paris. There she is--on every hoarding and bare wall a gleam of -light and color and deviltry, under those dull gray skies, that must -awaken a flash of fantasy here and there in some toil-worn heart in -the crowd, and cheer some fog born pessimists who would fain forget -the necessities and narrowness of their drab existence. Instead of the -old monotonous clumsy pictures and unescapable rivers of hideous black -and white catch words, that seemed to emphasize the limited horizon -and freedom of the millions bound to spend their whole lives in the -great cities, there are ten thousand variations of the Eternal Feminine -in her latest glamor of gold and yellow, and even under the pall of a -London sky, the very walls open out into the land of Fantasia. - -But the moralists are shocked, and they are fearful for the future -intellectual and moral stability of England, simply because the Yellow -Girl is the embodiment of an artist’s dream of the modern Circe--a -reminiscence of the Bacchantic dreams that used to fill the poets’ -heads in the old days, before they were all become so very respectable. -It is the artist who now puts a little diversion and unreal distraction -from the invading ugliness and melancholy of modern metropolitan life -into the passing current of our fancies. The poets used to serve this -purpose, but they are all so anxious to stand well with Mrs. Grundy -nowadays, whereas Mrs. Grundy and the artists have never really arrived -at any amicable understanding. Old England and civilization are in no -danger from the Yellow Girl. - -The moralists, unluckily, have no sense of humor, and so they fail to -perceive that the masses accept the Yellow Girl as an unreal fantastic -abstraction without any sort of relevance to the reality of life, which -yet stirs the imagination and puts a little splash of fitful joy into -reality. - -A writer in one of the leading English journals assails the Yellow -Girl in a tremendous tirade, that shows the English intellectual -incapacity for appreciation of the light and good humored caricature -of the superficial aspects of life, which, by exaggeration, puts the -permanent and beautiful things of life into their true proportions and -tempers sanity of thought with a gleam of insight into the fantastic -range of human nature that lies always just below the drab surface -of the show of things. The English mind only seems to understand the -coarse and brutal caricature of Hogarth, with its savage insistence -upon a moral. Hogarth was too great an artist and observer, however, -not to have enjoyed and made capital of the Yellow Girl himself, if -he were alive today. The caricature of today is less obvious, and we -may thank our stars it is. The moralists, like the poor, we have always -with us, and they make modern life one perpetual din that leaves us no -time for thought, meditation or merriment. We should be grateful that -the hoarding places do not assail us at every turn with the sort of -caricature that bites into the heart and soul. There is quite enough -sadness in life in the all absorbing struggle for existence, and I -think that the Yellow Girl is one of those Providential gifts that keep -human life sweet and sane in the stress of the heartless strife for -bread and riches. She is the creation of the law of compensation that -gives us love and poetry, dreams and religion, and every other refuge -from life. The moralists and the realists and the rest of them who -would forever pin our minds in the narrow and sordid round of reality -would drive us all to madness if they had their way. The fantasy of -art and poetry keep life balanced and sane. Human nature requires -this outlet from the horrid nightmare of sordid sorrow it has created -in civilization. The so-called mad poets and unhinged artists give -us that distraction from ourselves and our monomaniac absorption in -money-making that saves the world from becoming one immense lunatic -asylum. - -The English moralist describes the Yellow Girl in somewhat of the -fierce contumely of an ancient Hebrew prophet--but the Yellow Girl is -not really to be spoken of in the same breath with Ashtaroth. She is -but the phantom of dreams that pictured or unpictured lives ever in -the heart of youth. But she does not rule life as did Aphrodite. The -moralists should remember that youth and sorrow must have their dreams. -And all the commonplace virtues of domesticity are fed upon them. The -English writer bemoans the decadence of soberness in life in this -fashion: - -“The growth of modern life is in great measure the Parisianising of -the civilized world. The worship of the senses is insensibly taking -hold on the world, and so in the land of Milton and the Martyrs is -set up the flaunting sign of the growing worship, this hair-brained -comedienne--the Yellow Girl. Bare armed, bare throated, great hatted, -with parasol a-kimbo, with flapping gown of gold, and snakey boa -bristling in the breeze, with tripping toes a la Chinoise, with waspy -waist, with painted cheeks and sparkling, wine-fed eyes, and a monkey -grin of daftest daftness--there flaunts the Yellow Girl, the she Baal, -the new born goddess of Today, laughing the amazed to scorn. She is the -Spirit of the Age--Circe herself again--Venus in a Regatta gown, the -Devil in petticoats, as he always was.” - -This is strong as well as picturesque. But the truth is that the Yellow -Girl puts a splash of color into the dulness of city life, with its -endless bricks and placards and blank walls, and come upon in a sudden -turning her gleaming, impish eyes remind us that it is our own fault if -we take life too sadly, for the spirit of fantasy and joy lurks forever -in nature and life. As for our morals--they are less safe with drab -folk than they are with the Yellow Girl, who simply reminds us that Pan -rules in modern life as much as in the olden days. - - BEN FRANKLIN, JR. - - - - -A PLAGUE OF LOCUSTS. - - -The Americans are the most curious people since the Athenians. - -Our big American periodicals buy their “great features” by contracting -with the busy bees of the London literary world, for so many thousands -of words before there are even ideas to be put into words. It is a way -of encouraging literature which destroys the personality that is the -soul of literature. It develops the taste of readers of literature -by strangling all the original thinkers and writers who may spring -up here in America. These periodicals aim simply to put before the -public a bill of well known names--which usually belong to some of the -busiest, most slip-shod and worthless writers of our time. But genius -two thousand miles away has twice the potent fascination of genius -that lives in Boston or Hoboken. They command the services of all the -writers of England and the Continent who are on the topmost wave of the -hour’s popularity, and whose names and achievements are viewed in this -country through a rosy and delusive glamor of European reputation that -effectually silences all criticism. If English romancers cost such a -pretty penny, surely no obscure American critic or man of letters will -dare to be so captious as to declare that at least half the literature -made in England for this appreciative American people is palpable -balderdash, wholly out of tune with the large democratic spirit of our -age. - -Of course we are not going to deny the abilities of the greatest -European writers and artists of the day. That would be too absurd; -and we thank the good God that a proper sense of humor is one of the -unfailing elements of good nature, good taste and charm that our -readers may always count upon finding in the FLY LEAF. In some cases, -they are men of the finest genius, who would grace the literature of -any era; and it will never be the province of the FLY LEAF to decry -men who have honestly won their laurels. - -But we have particularly in mind some of the mere industrious mechanics -of letters, who build their domestic and sanguinary romances after the -pattern desired by the exemplary publishers, who are most romantic for -the dollar’s sake. And the publishers have somehow become invested with -the onerous charge of the world’s morality, and insist that we poor -critics shall be driven into crime and immorality by sheer intolerable -dulness, and not by any potent allurements of the sort employed by -some of the delightfully audacious French romancers. If we must make -a choice between the female theological novelist of the Humphrey Ward -stripe and Catulle Mendes, we prefer to be debauched morally rather -than mentally. - -In the case of these eminently successful writers who are so liberally -encouraged to save us the trouble of producing a native literature -peculiar to the soil and conditions of life and thought here, it is -not too much to say that the genius is so excellently and artistically -simulated by ingenious puffery, that the average American reader, -gobbling up his culture and luncheon in one frantic breath, does not -stop to inquire whether this London hall mark is genuine or fraudulent. - -It is not generally known, or even suspected, in this land of guileless -innocence, outside “the Trade” and journalism, that a good many British -authors flourish in American literature as full fledged masters of -the Yellow-jacket, who are very much more famous in this country than -they are at home. In fact, a crowd of English mediocrities, of no more -significance in their Grub-street than the most ordinary denizen of -our own Grub Street is here, are received by our critics and public as -writers of the first order of merit. They flood the American newspapers -and magazines from Portland, Maine, to San Francisco, until there is -actually no sort of opening left to the men and women who are trying, -under the most discouraging circumstances, to produce an American -literature. - -This is due largely to the adroit exploitation of the literary -syndicates, and partly due to the apathy and timorousness of the -American reading public, that is almost afraid to recognize American -authors without the endorsation of the London press. And the English -critics damn all American writers on principle. - -But the magazine publishers are largely responsible, as they set -the pace in Anglo-mania in literature; and today about the only -circumstance that is peculiarly American in American periodical -literature is this: the copyright law obliges the publishers to have -the typography and printing done in this country. The literature is all -made in Great Britain, because there is nothing interesting to write -about in America and God does not allow genius to sprout here! - -But a stir is beginning to be felt among the younger people in every -city and state of this country, and the Young Man and the Young -Woman--as entirely distinct from “The Young Person”--of contemporary -America, are beginning to want to see this life here at our doors -put into literature, and to read poetry and romance through eyes in -sympathy with modern life. It will, therefore, be one of the principal -aims of the FLY LEAF to foster and encourage this new spirit of -independence and self-reliance and faith in the common life and beauty -of this country. There are men and women in America who have something -to say, too. - -We protest that the periodicals, ostensibly appealing to Americans, -should deal with the life and interests here, and should mirror -American literary life and thought. How else are we to foster a -literature here? The periodical world is the trial arena for the men -who may be the giants of thought and poetry in a few years. But no -arena, no circus; no audience, no gladiators. Poets and romancers are -not produced when public apathy drives all the writers into clerking, -or advertisement-writing or journalism. America is filled with literary -talent, and yet a birch broom is more to be depended upon than the pen -for mere bread, for the American market is monopolized by aliens. - -We are devoured by a plague of locusts. - - - - -THE JEALOUS GOD. - - -In the gloom of the sunless November afternoon the ordinary solemnity -of the old church seemed palpably increased by an atmosphere of unusual -peace and mystery that gave sorrow its solace in a sense of the latent -and inevitable sadness of all mortal life. - -From one or two of the confessional boxes there arose a confused murmur -of voices, and under one of the galleries, where the great fantastic -shadows were rather increased than diminished by a flare of gaslight, -a nun was drilling a bevy of demure little maidens in their catechism. -And every now and again the subdued chords of the organ rose into a -joyous peal and thrilled and dominated the drowsy, monotonous sibilant -murmur of prayer and clear treble responses of the children. Then in -the hush the muffled sounds of praying and moving women seemed to -intensify the stillness that filled the dome and nave, and a sense of -isolation in the midst of life crept over the spirit of one touched -with the human pathos of the scene. - -Occasionally, however, one of the low, narrow doors of the main -entrance was held open for a few moments, and the rumble of the traffic -in the crowded streets without surged in with a music of its own, -and the nearness of the whirlpool of human destiny swept through the -minds of many who would fain put the world out of their thoughts and -lives and find a refuge for all sorrow in the love of God. Unburdened -hearts thus suddenly invaded by the chill mockery of reality sought -to drown the reawakened memory of life’s human web of fate in a fresh -abandonment to all their deepest sorrows and unutterable hopes in the -silence of God’s House. Here they would forget the fierce turmoil of -the world, and acknowledge to God all the anguish of thoughts and soul -that none dare reveal to their fellows. But there is no sanctuary in -the world for the soul of man so sacred that the irony of life cannot -enter. - -At the chancel steps the form of a woman was bent in an attitude of -prostrate prayer--in an oblivious abandonment of everything but the -passion in her soul, so entirely unusual in a conventional religious -assembly in our time, that several eyes were directed toward her. A -gray and venerable father who was passing through the church observed -her, and hesitated for a moment whether he should go and say a word of -comfort to her. But as a sob shook her frame he murmured to himself, -“She is in the hands of God and He will restore,” and with a little -sigh passed on. This was a very poor parish. The good father was used -to pitiable scenes and the prayers of those whose only friend in all -the world was God--and even so the priest had to admit that life was -sad. - -The woman was oblivious or indifferent to all that passed about her. -Her face was buried in her hands, clenched together in anguish, and -the sobs that rose and choked her utterance and swept conscious -thought into paroxysms of inarticulate despair, showed how intensely -she suffered and hoped and doubted. There was no serenity, no calm -acquiescence in her prayer--it was all revolt and demand, and in the -presence of the Host at God’s altar she doubted. - -She had purposely withdrawn from the little groups of women gathered -together in their devotions, and when the door opened and the noise -of the street clashed for a moment with the harmony of prayer and the -low tide of flutey music from the organ loft, she shrank closer to the -altar railing. The stir of life without struck a chill into her heart, -and all the fervor of her hopes died within her. - -For a few moments her lips were compressed in the silent anguish that -benumbs the mind and racks the body in every nerve and fibre. She -almost collapsed inertly on the steps. Then the loathing of life that -had possessed her as she had threaded her way through the narrow, -sordid streets returned with all its dread insistence of inconquerable -morbid thought. “So long as men are what they are,” she said under her -breath, despairingly, “God cannot be good,” and she drew herself up -with dry eyes and haggard face, and mechanically crossing herself as -she gained her feet, she turned to leave the church without another -word. - -She tottered slowly and half blindly down the aisle and only reached -the darkened vestibule with a great effort and several stops on the -way. Putting her hand to the heavy, leathern door, she found herself -too feeble to move it. She leaned wearily against the wainscot and -waited. No one came. Then, moved with the petulance of passionate -despair, she prayed in her heart, “Oh, God, let me out of thy House -since thou wilt not answer my prayers.” - -It was now twilight, and she recalled the flaunting horrors and misery -of the squalid streets of the quarter, and a feeling of revulsion swept -over her. After all, she and her husband had only God in all the world -to look to for help and comfort under the burdens of life; for even -the knowledge of misery and sorrow does not teach men love and pity. -And in the cruel world she only dared to be human with God. - -She steadied herself against the wall, her eyes dimmed with tears, and -her soul filled with a great longing to pour out her repentance, and -again ask the boon that haunted her troubled dreams as well as her -waking thoughts. - -She stumbled into one of the nearest pews, and falling upon her knees -she repeated mentally, with her busy thoughts otherwhere, one of the -prayers of the regular service, and then a great cry arose in her soul, -and she wailed the prayer that monopolized her heart and mind day and -night, and in or out of church was always being prayed in all her life. - - -“Oh, Lord God, we are utterly alone and bereft in the world, save -as Thy presence is near to comfort us. I ask and pray for only one -thing--for the life and strength of my poor husband, who is as Thou -knowest wasting at death’s door, and in our misery I can do nothing to -save him, nothing to alleviate his sufferings. Oh, God, I have given -Thee this day, to make my special prayer--and a day is so much to the -poor, whose bread must be won somehow every day. Oh, dear Lord, in -mercy hear me. There is no pity, no mercy, no compassion among men, for -they live only for gold though they bring their prayers to Thee. Only -Thou, the living truth and God art left to our hope, and I am here at -thy altar to claim the gift of life Thou hast promised in giving life. -Abandoned and despised, denied and starved by men, I come to Thee, in -our dire extremity, and ask this boon of life of Thy omnipotent arm.” - -And so she prayed with all the fervor of her overwrought spirit, until -the dusk reminded her of the many hours she had been absent from the -sick man in the attic they called home. - -As she was about to cross her own threshold, a hand was laid upon her -shoulder in the darkness, and a voice filled with a love and tenderness -she had never heard in any human speech, said, softly: - -“What ails thee?” - -She could see nothing, but her soul was grown desperate, and she -answered, without fear, “I am troubled for my husband, for his life is -ebbing away, and the miseries we suffer. I pray only for him, but God -does not answer my prayers.” - -“And do you pray only for your husband?” - -“Yes, we are all alone in the world, and there are none who care for -us, or do for us, or pity us. We have only God.” - -“Then pray for all the world and all mankind, and perhaps God will hear -your prayer.” - -Then the sorrowing soul knew that she too was not without sin, and that -out of the House of God she had met the angel of the Lord. - - WALTER BLACKBURN HARTE. - - - - -BUBBLE AND SQUEAK. - - -Just received a book for review, an author’s complimentary copy, from -one of my friends, one of the finest hearted, most beautiful natured -men in the world. This is one of the saddest ironies of life. It is -just such a book as I wish my enemy had written. - - * * * * * - -The New Woman, who is really new and not a mere simulacrum of the old -fetish masquerading in borrowed plumage, carries a copy of the FLY LEAF -in the pocket of her bloomers; for the editor of the FLY LEAF is a New -Woman’s man, and distinctly prefers her to her grandmother. - - * * * * * - -This is worth the attention of young people just graduating from our -schools and colleges and entering upon the sad and serious business of -life, as it will put them in the path of success quicker than all the -wisdom of Aristotle and Plato--and I say this, who spawned it. One can -break all the ten commandments upon a technicality. - - * * * * * - -A wink is much more innocent than a blush. - - * * * * * - -One of the tragedies of old fogyism is the wit and wisdom of youth. But -youth has its little ironies, and the longevity of old fogeyism is one -of them. - - * * * * * - -The Humphrey Ward nightmare is stalking through the land again already. -It is evident this female survival of the Inquisition has awakened to -the glorious possibilities of the American market, and in future we -may expect to meet Marcella and the whole string of British boobies -that she has imported (they did not need creating) into fiction at -every turn in our periodical literature. And we had hoped we had seen -the last of the little snob Marcella and the rest of them for at least -another year. But the world is pressing Mrs. Ward for the solution of -the servant girl question and she is becoming more industrious than -ever. Subtle studies of snobocracy seem out of place, though, in the -periodicals of a democratic country. - - * * * * * - -I have just seen the latest portrait of Mrs. Humphrey Ward in the -“Century.” It explains the aridity of the atrocious Robert Elsmere. -Mrs. Ward’s physiognomy is severe. She is no hero to her maid servants -and man servants, but a terror to evil doers. British superiority is in -evidence; but the benignity of genius is not. - - * * * * * - -There are certain aspects of Stephen Crane’s literature that appeal -to the risibilities of a man who is blessed or cursed with some -humorous perception. His mystic, weird lines outrage all the laws of -prosody, and can only stand as the audacious flings of a fantastic and -untrammeled imagination, that is impatient of form and loves the hot -splash of thought. But it must not be rashly judged that any fool can -do this sort of thing. It demands a feeling for words and an abundant, -bubbling imagination. Still, the grave critics who have seriously -accepted Mr. Crane’s little book of verses as poetry and literature of -a high order appear in a rather ludicrous light. It is an interesting -freak of a quick fancy playing over life and thought and taking all -that comes to the surface in all seriousness. It is, however, something -new in print, for the unchastened whimsies of a perfervid imagination -seldom get into print--except in a few periodicals where there is no -one appointed to edit the editor. - - * * * * * - -The article of Jonathan Penn in this number seems to raise an -uncomfortable theory that this sort of inspiration is infectious, and -that a million new poets may spring up any morning. But Mr. Penn is -really only surprised at his own versatility, which does not surprise -us in the least, for he is one of the most imaginative and brilliant -prose writers in contemporary journalism. It is a pity that his -necessities and the conditions governing the literary market in America -compel him to write advertisements for his living. But if Mr. Crane -and others can only manage to put into their serious efforts such fine -limpid prose and such delicious fancies and quirks of humor as Mr. Penn -puts into his alluring advertisements, a great future awaits them in -prose literature. - - * * * * * - -In the death of Eugene Field, American literature has sustained a loss -that will not be readily forgotten, for this whimsical poet of genius -won a place for himself in the hearts of thousands. His “Sharps and -Flats” in the _Chicago Record_ also gained him a national reputation, -but it is the fate of all journalists who succeed in winning such a -place as he held in daily journalism to waste in the eternal ferment -of the short-lived daily newspaper the fine talents of imagination and -wit, that put into the permanent form of literature, would give them a -place among the famous wits and humorists of the world. Luckily Eugene -Field was a poet as well as a wit and droll, and the publisher of the -_Record_ was appreciative and catholic enough to open his columns to -his poetry. - -If other American newspapers would allow their cleverest writers the -same latitude of doing signed work in poetry and prose, we should -soon have a very encouraging group of distinctive and virile American -writers. Eugene Field was, perhaps, the only American man of letters -using the term in its broad sense, and not restricting it especially -to the writer of merely funny or political work, who has won fame in -literature through the medium of a newspaper. This is high praise for -the _Record_ as well as a monument of achievement for Field, which only -those in the harassing harness of journalism can properly appreciate. -At the close of his career, of course, Field was published in books and -magazines, but he won his reputation in the _Record_. - -Why do not some other proprietors of large newspapers give other young -American writers of originality and talent a show, instead of giving -the public nothing in the way of literature but syndicate matter by -English writers who crop up everywhere? If the newspaper publishers -and editors took to producing literary men of their own, and were not -content to get out a newspaper that tallies with every other in every -town from Maine to Frisco, we should soon find that a rich streak of -spontaneous, fresh talent would be struck in this country. - - * * * * * - -Those early “Plain Tales from the Hills” were fine, and “The Light that -Failed,” and the rest showed that in Kipling we had a man of virile -force, great observation and picturesque power. But it seems to one who -looks for the sense of permanence in an artist’s choice of subjects -and style of treatment that the furore over the “Jungle Stories” -is simply the exaggeration that is meted out to every established -literary favorite in a mere strain for novelty. There is nothing really -permanent about this literary twist of investing the wild beasts with -human traits and speech, and although it is doubtless well done, it -does not support the contention of some critics that Kipling is the -most significant and robust writer in English today. This is not -denying Kipling’s universally acknowledged abilities, it is merely -pointing out that he is striving more for immediate effect than for -the substantial art that would insure his place in the great body of -standard English literature. - - - - -A Good Cause - - Needs a good writer to support and advocate and present it. - - -A Bad Cause - - Needs a better writer to make it appear as good as the best. - -A writer of experience, ability and versatility is desirous of finding -employment in some journalistic capacity. He prefers to advocate a -damnably bad cause for good wages than a good one for bad. Address, - - HARDUP, care FLY LEAF. - - - - -Meditations in Motley. - -By WALTER BLACKBURN HARTE. - - - I have met with no volume of essays from America since Miss Agnes - Repplier’s so good as his “Meditations in Motley.”--Richard Le - Gallienne, in the London “Realm.” - - Mr. Harte is a litterateur of the light and humorous sort, with a - keen eye for observation, and an extremely facile pen. His style is - quaint and interesting. He has original ideas and always an original - way of putting things. The writer if not quite a genius, is very - closely related to one. There is a sly and quiet humor everywhere - present. We hope that the author will soon sharpen his quill for more - work of the same kind.--New York “Herald.” - - “Meditations in Motley” reveals a new American essayist, honest - and whimsical, with a good deal of decorative plain speaking.--I. - Zangwill, in “The Pall Mall Magazine” for April, 1895. - - The reader gets out of this book a good deal of the satisfaction - which he finds in the essay-writing of the good old days of the - English essayists. He will be reminded in many ways of that - happy time, for he will gain the sense of leisure, independence - of democratic opinion, a willingness to be odd if one’s oddity - is attractive, a touch of the whimsical, and a good deal of - straight-forward and earnest thinking. One is often reminded in - reading these pages of Hazlitt. Mr. Harte understands the art of - essay-writing.--“The Outlook,” New York. - - “Meditations in Motley,” which has stirred up thinking people - wherever it has entered their circles, is one of the lately built - pieces of literary masonry that is strong enough to last.--“The - Examiner,” San Francisco, Cal. - - - Price in Handsome Cloth, $1.25. - - _FOR SALE BY ALL BOOKSELLERS._ - - _Or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the Publishers_, - - The Arena Publishing Co., - Copley Square, Boston, Mass. - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Archaic or alternate spelling has been retained from the original. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Fly Leaf, No. 1, Vol. 1, December -1895, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLY LEAF, DECEMBER 1895 *** - -***** This file should be named 62296-0.txt or 62296-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/2/9/62296/ - -Produced by hekula03, David E. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Fly Leaf, No. 1, Vol. 1, December 1895 - -Author: Various - -Editor: Walter Blackburn Harte - -Release Date: June 1, 2020 [EBook #62296] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLY LEAF, DECEMBER 1895 *** - - - - -Produced by hekula03, David E. Brown, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -book was produced from images made available by the -HathiTrust Digital Library.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="" /></div> -<hr class="chap" /> - - - -<h1>The Fly Leaf</h1> - -<p class="center"><b>A Pamphlet Periodical of<br /> -the New—the New Man,<br /> -New Woman, New Ideas,<br /> -Whimsies and Things.</b></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><b>Conducted by Walter Blackburn Harte.</b></span></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p class="center"><b>Published Monthly by the Fly Leaf Publishing Co.<br /> -Subscription One Dollar a Year. Single Copies 10<br /> -Cents. December, 1895. Number One.</b></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="ph1">The Fly Leaf.</p> - - - -<p class="center">A Pamphlet Periodical of the New—the<br /> -new man, new woman, new ideas,<br /> -whimsies and things. Conducted by<br /> -Walter Blackburn Harte.</p> - - -<p>Published monthly. Single copies 10 cents; -subscription, $1.00 a year. Subscriptions to be -made payable to W. B. Harte, 269 St. Botolph -Street, Boston, Mass. Subscriptions may be -left with newsdealers, or sent direct to the publisher.</p> - -<p>Business communications should be addressed -simply W. B. Harte, 269 St. Botolph Street, -Boston. All matter intended for publication -should be sent to same address. All MSS. must -be accompanied by properly stamped addressed -envelope, and those found unavailable will be -promptly returned. Everything will be fairly -considered, according to the requirements of the -<span class="smcap">Fly Leaf</span>. Unknown writers of ability will be -welcomed. All articles and sketches must be -short and piquant—not exceeding 1200 or 1500 -words.</p> - -<p>Entered at the Boston Post Office as second -class mail matter.</p> - -<p>Copyright, 1895, by W. B. Harte,</p> - - -<p><i>The trade supplied by the New England News -Company.</i></p></blockquote> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span> - - -<p class="ph2">THE FLY LEAF</p> -<hr class="tb" /> -<p class="center">No. 1.<span class="gap"> December, 1895.</span><span class="gap"> Vol. 1.</span></p> -<hr class="tb" /> - - -<h2 class="nobreak">THE STIR IN LITERATURE.</h2></div> - - -<p>Of course the most important event of the -month in this favored part of the world is the -unheralded advent of such a robust youngster as -the <span class="smcap">Fly Leaf</span>. Oh yes, thank you, Mrs. Grundy, -we are doing very well indeed—a very healthy -and vigorous infant and a favorite already; and -we may be able to show a very pretty set of teeth -in a month or two, if occasion should demand. -Some of our distinguished contemporaries will -perceive the delicacy of this metaphor; albeit -the babe is quite good-natured.</p> - -<p>And now a few words about the aims and purposes -of the <span class="smcap">Fly Leaf</span> will be in order—and -the incidental commentary may be found to be -equally interesting. For the <span class="smcap">Fly Leaf</span>, although -but the bantling of yesterday, has been nursed -in the lap of harsh experience, and is at least as -wise as some drivelling and decrepit contemporaries -it finds lagging superfluous on the stage.</p> - -<p>It is true that the field of contemporary journalism -is already fairly well stocked with various -periodicals, of various shades of unprovoked domesticity, -and innocuous intention in the way of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> -imparting that miscellaneous misinformation, -which is the mental stock-in-trade of the millions -everywhere, and put into print day after day, -is the most effective bar to tolerance and growth -and hospitality of thought. But there is plenty of -room for the <span class="smcap">Fly Leaf</span>. These highly respectable -publications are all competing with each -other, and reaping the rich rewards that are the -portion of those who have invested their capital -in the impossible virtues and spotless innocence -of the Young Person. They are all reported -to be very prosperous, and we cannot -bring ourselves to believe so highly of human -nature in the bulk as to doubt the truth of their -returns.</p> - -<p>But the <span class="smcap">Fly Leaf</span> will occupy a field that all -these periodicals regard with the suspicion of -conservatism. It will not impinge on their field, -and they cannot by any possibility intrench upon -its. For it is a magazine of the New, the Modern, -the Young Man, the Young Woman, Today -and its stirring, probing, fantastical spirit.</p> - -<p>With the immense reading public that exists -in this land of popular education and enlightenment—a -public which expands every year, as -generation after generation takes its place in the -ranks of life—there is room for all sorts of periodicals; -and instead of these various periodicals -being in rivalry, they actually raise up new<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> -readers for each other. Even the old fogy magazines -have helped to prepare the way for honest -bubbling thought and fancy and humor. -They have unwittingly and unwillingly educated -their readers for the <span class="smcap">Fly Leaf</span>. The more literature -is cultivated in America—the more -writers with fresh opinions and experiences and -ideas increase—the more readers there will be -to encourage the treatment of ever new and -wider aspects of the complex life of this vast and -complex aggregation of people.</p> - -<p>In the pages of these respectable domestic periodicals, -old-fashioned folk, who lived before -thought was let loose in the English tongue -among respectable, law-abiding people, and who -linger on to the confusion of poetry and new -ideas and new interests, can still doze over profound -articles on “How to Cook a Beefsteak” -and fiction that has even less relevance to the -comedy and tragedy of real modern life. But all -inspiring literature is drenched in the spirit and -vigor of Youth—even though the writers may -be only belated boys. It is the New in eternal -nature that entrances the imaginations of thinkers -and poets. The day is coming when the periodicals -now devoted to the dissemination of -the platitudes and ideas of two or three generations -ago will have to awaken to the fact that -the Young Man and the Young Woman of this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> -era demand the heart of life in their literature, -or they will be compelled to give way to bolder -spirits, such as are now gathering strength in -every modern literature. Already the tide has -set in. Hence the <span class="smcap">Fly Leaf</span>.</p> - -<p>The <span class="smcap">Fly Leaf</span> belongs to this end of the -century. It is essentially modern. It does not -look to the future, however, with any affected -<i>fin de siecle</i> weariness or ennui, but with the -hopefulness and stirring courage of youth. It -does not aim to be Decadent, or pin its faith to -any particular Ism; although it will always be -hospitable to art and beauty and truth from any -quarter.</p> - -<p>The Editor and his coadjutors are of the new -school of younger writers, and they aim to unite -free sincere thought with humor and fantastic -whimsies and imagination; to be serious and -amusing; earnest and honest; but never dull. -The underlying purpose and inspiration of our -efforts will be to strike this Modern note and -awaken this broader Modern spirit, which marks -the literature of our era off from all the ancient -thought and literature of the world.</p> - -<p>The <span class="smcap">Fly Leaf</span> will deal with the Here and -Now, with the aims and ideals of the Young -Man and the Young Woman, with the drift -and tendencies of American social and literary -thought. It will embody the New Spirit of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> -age that is moving the literature of all the -world, but it will be distinctively an American -periodical.</p> - -<p>The <span class="smcap">Fly Leaf</span> hopes that in this struggle for -the recognition of this broader spirit in criticism -and the material of literature, and for the -encouragement of American writers of ability, it -will receive the cordial support of the younger -generation of readers throughout the country.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">THE NEW MYSTICISM.</h2></div> - - -<p>The latest development of the new mysticism, -or symbolism, or impressionism, which -first came to us from the Continent, has just -reached the Editor of the <span class="smcap">Fly Leaf</span> from the -pen of an old friend.</p> - -<p>It appears that my friend had been reading -Maurice Maeterlinck’s “The Blind” and “The -Seven Princesses,” and he had come to the conclusion -that a painful poverty of ideas was palpably -wrapped up in a barren iteration of half -meaningless and half ludicrous phrases. He -then turned to Stephen Crane’s recently published -“Black Riders,” thinking that symbolism -might be a little more coherent and comprehensible -in the alembic of the colder and clearer -Anglo-Saxon intellect and imagination. He had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> -heard Crane’s impressionistic book of rhythms -spoken of in the inner circles of the New -York and Boston literary world as a collection -of startling psychological pictures—the Heaven -and Hell of the human soul by flashlight. The -Boozy Prophet, Crane has been called by a certain -eminent critic—and there’s invitation to -human nature in such a piquant characterization.</p> - -<p>But, for a long while, he labored in Crane’s -pages, without discovering the secret flame of -spiritual insight that others had spoken of so -confidently, and he began to suspect that the -profundity which had allured so many minds -was simply the fatal lure of the weirdly incomprehensible, -which is the inspiration of a good -many schools of art and new religions. He had -looked for a burst of spiritual light that should -spur his tired imagination to renewed efforts in -setting forth the superior qualities of a certain -brand of coal tar soap which was the inspiration -of his Muse for so much a week. He sank -into the rocker by the fire, and fell into a mood -of despondent reminiscence, weaving all the sad -strands of his life into haunting fancies. Then, -as he says in his letter, a change suddenly came -over him, and he sprang up feeling oppressed -and dizzy with a flood of crimson thoughts that -inspired his brain.—Ed.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>Here is his account of what happened.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>There is something irresistible about this new -mysticism in poetry, which those who have not -pondered over its potent fascinations cannot -understand. It seizes upon the mind suddenly -and without warning. For years all my dreams -of literary achievement and fame had lain buried, -and as I thought, a little sadly, dead—strangled -by cruel circumstance and devoured by an ever -increasing family. I had become completely -reconciled to writing on tar soap and other commodities. -But all of a sudden my thoughts -seemed to plunge into an abyss of mystical -yearnings after the impossible and infinite, and -then I recalled some of Crane’s verses with a -new and vivid realization of their photographic -fidelity to perplexity of mind. Then, to my -amazement, I felt the divine afflatus rise overpoweringly -within me, and for the first time in -my life I produced two lines which rhymed. -They ran as follows:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">A goblin hung on to the horn of the moon</div> -<div class="verse">A-singing a love song composed by a coon.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>I had never performed such a feat as this in my -whole life before, for even in my hours of transcendent -ambition I had recognized the essentially -prosaic bent of my mind. I had always -expected to be a great prose writer, and I had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> -felt a rather indulgent condescension toward -contemporary poets—especially those of my -acquaintance. I used to think prose was the -only vehicle of modern thought, and that all the -great poets were dead. But when a man finds -himself beginning to lisp in poetry at a belated -age, his views on the significance of modern -poetry are apt to undergo some important modification.</p> - -<p>I thought this couplet a very fair beginning; -but no well rounded thought would come that -had any relevance to the goblin, the moon or the -love song. So I leave the couplet to stand by -itself as a picture, suggestive of the fact that -ambition may miss its mark, but a love song will -surely live in some heart. My next attempt—for -I was on fire with symbolic rhapsody—was -a little more successful. I submit it without -comment. The lesson is so obvious.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">I saw a bleeding head grinning,</div> -<div class="verse">It grinned at me; I grinned at it,</div> -<div class="verse">In fact, we both grinned irreverently.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">But the smiling sun shone on!</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>I find the longer one delves in mystic poetry -the deeper philosophical problems one can sound -in a very few poignant flashes of symbolic description. -Here is one of my happiest efforts:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">As my worn soul lay wriggling in the dust,</div> -<div class="verse">I cried aloud to God in indignation</div> -<div class="verse">That he had so mistreated me;</div> -<div class="verse">But God only laughed, until He’d like to bust</div> -<div class="verse">And pointed out that dirt was all creation.</div> -</div></div> - -<p>I turned off a number of other things, quite -as profound and fantastical, and I find that in -mystical poetry the Deity lends Himself to picturesque -treatment a good deal more readily -than any other person or subject of immediate -and contemporary interest. So that in this way -it leads the mind of the masses away from the -frivolities of the hour to the larger considerations -of life and destiny, and chastens folly with -thoughts of the over-ruling immutable providence -that is too often forgotten in the bustling -cities of civilization.</p> - -<p>I send you only one more piece, to which I -have given the dignity of a title. It is “The -Dissatisfactions of Luxury,” and is in two stanzas:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">I heard a man mumbling in the horrid silence of the night.</div> -<div class="verse">He was chaffering aloud with the good God;</div> -<div class="verse">But God in the darkness vouchsafed no sign.</div> -<div class="verse">And I asked him, scoffing, what he desired of the Omnipotent.</div> -<div class="verse">“I am rich, I am Plutus,” answered he, angrily,</div> -<div class="verse">“And I am bargaining for the moon.”</div> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> -<div class="verse">“And why do you want it?” asked I in amaze.</div> -<div class="verse">“Because I am tired of all my other toys.”</div> -<div class="verse">“And the price?” asked I, scoffing, for I bore the badge of Lazarus.</div> -<div class="verse">“Untold millions, heaped up to Heaven’s gate.”</div> -<div class="verse">“Fool!” I cried in bitter derision;</div> -<div class="verse">“Offer the good God your corrupt soul.”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>I can make affidavit I never wrote a line of -poetry before in my life, and so I am sorely -troubled at this writing. This is a crisis in my -career. I do not know whether to continue in -my employment as a writer of soap and medicine -“ads,” or to devote myself wholly to the -service of the Muses. The question is, am I a -genius, or is this new mystic poetry, which is so -uplifting and inspiring, merely some delusive -imposture of bubbling verbiage?</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Jonathan Penn.</span></p></blockquote> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE YELLOW GIRL.</h2></div> - - -<p>The advent of the Yellow Girl—the mad, fantastic -siren who is beginning to haunt the hoardings -and our dreams—is calling forth a good -deal of an outcry among those who hold the -cure of morals in the English public press. It -is rather a difficult undertaking to attempt to -import a ray or two of cheer and fantasy into the -gloom and drab of English life, but some of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> -English artists, touched with the spirit of the -age, have had the audacity to import the Yellow -Girl from Paris. There she is—on every hoarding -and bare wall a gleam of light and color and -deviltry, under those dull gray skies, that must -awaken a flash of fantasy here and there in some -toil-worn heart in the crowd, and cheer some -fog born pessimists who would fain forget the -necessities and narrowness of their drab existence. -Instead of the old monotonous clumsy -pictures and unescapable rivers of hideous black -and white catch words, that seemed to emphasize -the limited horizon and freedom of the millions -bound to spend their whole lives in the -great cities, there are ten thousand variations -of the Eternal Feminine in her latest glamor of -gold and yellow, and even under the pall of a -London sky, the very walls open out into the -land of Fantasia.</p> - -<p>But the moralists are shocked, and they are -fearful for the future intellectual and moral stability -of England, simply because the Yellow -Girl is the embodiment of an artist’s dream of -the modern Circe—a reminiscence of the Bacchantic -dreams that used to fill the poets’ heads in -the old days, before they were all become so very -respectable. It is the artist who now puts a -little diversion and unreal distraction from the -invading ugliness and melancholy of modern<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> -metropolitan life into the passing current of our -fancies. The poets used to serve this purpose, -but they are all so anxious to stand well with -Mrs. Grundy nowadays, whereas Mrs. Grundy -and the artists have never really arrived at any -amicable understanding. Old England and civilization -are in no danger from the Yellow Girl.</p> - -<p>The moralists, unluckily, have no sense of -humor, and so they fail to perceive that the -masses accept the Yellow Girl as an unreal fantastic -abstraction without any sort of relevance -to the reality of life, which yet stirs the imagination -and puts a little splash of fitful joy into -reality.</p> - -<p>A writer in one of the leading English journals -assails the Yellow Girl in a tremendous -tirade, that shows the English intellectual incapacity -for appreciation of the light and good -humored caricature of the superficial aspects of -life, which, by exaggeration, puts the permanent -and beautiful things of life into their true proportions -and tempers sanity of thought with a -gleam of insight into the fantastic range of -human nature that lies always just below the -drab surface of the show of things. The English -mind only seems to understand the coarse -and brutal caricature of Hogarth, with its savage -insistence upon a moral. Hogarth was too -great an artist and observer, however, not to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> -have enjoyed and made capital of the Yellow -Girl himself, if he were alive today. The caricature -of today is less obvious, and we may -thank our stars it is. The moralists, like the -poor, we have always with us, and they make -modern life one perpetual din that leaves us no -time for thought, meditation or merriment. -We should be grateful that the hoarding places -do not assail us at every turn with the sort of -caricature that bites into the heart and soul. -There is quite enough sadness in life in the all -absorbing struggle for existence, and I think -that the Yellow Girl is one of those Providential -gifts that keep human life sweet and sane in the -stress of the heartless strife for bread and -riches. She is the creation of the law of compensation -that gives us love and poetry, dreams -and religion, and every other refuge from life. -The moralists and the realists and the rest of -them who would forever pin our minds in the -narrow and sordid round of reality would drive -us all to madness if they had their way. The -fantasy of art and poetry keep life balanced and -sane. Human nature requires this outlet from -the horrid nightmare of sordid sorrow it has -created in civilization. The so-called mad poets -and unhinged artists give us that distraction from -ourselves and our monomaniac absorption in -money-making that saves the world from becoming -one immense lunatic asylum.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>The English moralist describes the Yellow -Girl in somewhat of the fierce contumely of an -ancient Hebrew prophet—but the Yellow Girl -is not really to be spoken of in the same breath -with Ashtaroth. She is but the phantom of -dreams that pictured or unpictured lives ever in -the heart of youth. But she does not rule life -as did Aphrodite. The moralists should remember -that youth and sorrow must have their -dreams. And all the commonplace virtues of -domesticity are fed upon them. The English -writer bemoans the decadence of soberness in -life in this fashion:</p> - - - -<p>“The growth of modern life is in great measure -the Parisianising of the civilized world. The -worship of the senses is insensibly taking hold -on the world, and so in the land of Milton and -the Martyrs is set up the flaunting sign of the -growing worship, this hair-brained comedienne—the -Yellow Girl. Bare armed, bare throated, -great hatted, with parasol a-kimbo, with flapping -gown of gold, and snakey boa bristling in the -breeze, with tripping toes a la Chinoise, with -waspy waist, with painted cheeks and sparkling, -wine-fed eyes, and a monkey grin of daftest daftness—there -flaunts the Yellow Girl, the she -Baal, the new born goddess of Today, laughing -the amazed to scorn. She is the Spirit of the -Age—Circe herself again—Venus in a Regatta -gown, the Devil in petticoats, as he always was.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>This is strong as well as picturesque. But the -truth is that the Yellow Girl puts a splash of -color into the dulness of city life, with its endless -bricks and placards and blank walls, and -come upon in a sudden turning her gleaming, -impish eyes remind us that it is our own fault -if we take life too sadly, for the spirit of fantasy -and joy lurks forever in nature and life. As for -our morals—they are less safe with drab folk -than they are with the Yellow Girl, who simply -reminds us that Pan rules in modern life as -much as in the olden days.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Ben Franklin, Jr.</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">A PLAGUE OF LOCUSTS.</h2></div> - - -<p>The Americans are the most curious people -since the Athenians.</p> - -<p>Our big American periodicals buy their “great -features” by contracting with the busy bees of the -London literary world, for so many thousands of -words before there are even ideas to be put into -words. It is a way of encouraging literature -which destroys the personality that is the soul -of literature. It develops the taste of readers of -literature by strangling all the original thinkers -and writers who may spring up here in America. -These periodicals aim simply to put before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> -the public a bill of well known names—which -usually belong to some of the busiest, most slip-shod -and worthless writers of our time. But -genius two thousand miles away has twice the -potent fascination of genius that lives in Boston -or Hoboken. They command the services of -all the writers of England and the Continent -who are on the topmost wave of the hour’s popularity, -and whose names and achievements are -viewed in this country through a rosy and delusive -glamor of European reputation that effectually -silences all criticism. If English romancers -cost such a pretty penny, surely no -obscure American critic or man of letters will -dare to be so captious as to declare that at least -half the literature made in England for this appreciative -American people is palpable balderdash, -wholly out of tune with the large democratic -spirit of our age.</p> - -<p>Of course we are not going to deny the abilities -of the greatest European writers and artists -of the day. That would be too absurd; and we -thank the good God that a proper sense of -humor is one of the unfailing elements of good -nature, good taste and charm that our readers -may always count upon finding in the <span class="smcap">Fly Leaf</span>. -In some cases, they are men of the finest genius, -who would grace the literature of any era; and -it will never be the province of the <span class="smcap">Fly Leaf</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> -to decry men who have honestly won their -laurels.</p> - -<p>But we have particularly in mind some of the -mere industrious mechanics of letters, who -build their domestic and sanguinary romances -after the pattern desired by the exemplary publishers, -who are most romantic for the dollar’s -sake. And the publishers have somehow become -invested with the onerous charge of the -world’s morality, and insist that we poor critics -shall be driven into crime and immorality by -sheer intolerable dulness, and not by any potent -allurements of the sort employed by some of the -delightfully audacious French romancers. If -we must make a choice between the female theological -novelist of the Humphrey Ward stripe -and Catulle Mendes, we prefer to be debauched -morally rather than mentally.</p> - -<p>In the case of these eminently successful writers -who are so liberally encouraged to save us -the trouble of producing a native literature -peculiar to the soil and conditions of life and -thought here, it is not too much to say that the -genius is so excellently and artistically simulated -by ingenious puffery, that the average -American reader, gobbling up his culture and -luncheon in one frantic breath, does not stop to -inquire whether this London hall mark is genuine -or fraudulent.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>It is not generally known, or even suspected, -in this land of guileless innocence, outside “the -Trade” and journalism, that a good many British -authors flourish in American literature as -full fledged masters of the Yellow-jacket, who -are very much more famous in this country than -they are at home. In fact, a crowd of English -mediocrities, of no more significance in their -Grub-street than the most ordinary denizen of -our own Grub Street is here, are received by our -critics and public as writers of the first order of -merit. They flood the American newspapers -and magazines from Portland, Maine, to San -Francisco, until there is actually no sort of -opening left to the men and women who are trying, -under the most discouraging circumstances, -to produce an American literature.</p> - -<p>This is due largely to the adroit exploitation -of the literary syndicates, and partly due to the -apathy and timorousness of the American reading -public, that is almost afraid to recognize -American authors without the endorsation of -the London press. And the English critics -damn all American writers on principle.</p> - -<p>But the magazine publishers are largely responsible, -as they set the pace in Anglo-mania -in literature; and today about the only circumstance -that is peculiarly American in American -periodical literature is this: the copyright law<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> -obliges the publishers to have the typography -and printing done in this country. The literature -is all made in Great Britain, because there is -nothing interesting to write about in America -and God does not allow genius to sprout here!</p> - -<p>But a stir is beginning to be felt among the -younger people in every city and state of this -country, and the Young Man and the Young -Woman—as entirely distinct from “The Young -Person”—of contemporary America, are beginning -to want to see this life here at our doors -put into literature, and to read poetry and romance -through eyes in sympathy with modern -life. It will, therefore, be one of the principal -aims of the <span class="smcap">Fly Leaf</span> to foster and encourage -this new spirit of independence and self-reliance -and faith in the common life and beauty of this -country. There are men and women in America -who have something to say, too.</p> - -<p>We protest that the periodicals, ostensibly -appealing to Americans, should deal with the -life and interests here, and should mirror American -literary life and thought. How else are we -to foster a literature here? The periodical world -is the trial arena for the men who may be the -giants of thought and poetry in a few years. -But no arena, no circus; no audience, no gladiators. -Poets and romancers are not produced -when public apathy drives all the writers into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> -clerking, or advertisement-writing or journalism. -America is filled with literary talent, and -yet a birch broom is more to be depended upon -than the pen for mere bread, for the American -market is monopolized by aliens.</p> - -<p>We are devoured by a plague of locusts.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE JEALOUS GOD.</h2></div> - - -<p>In the gloom of the sunless November afternoon -the ordinary solemnity of the old church -seemed palpably increased by an atmosphere -of unusual peace and mystery that gave sorrow -its solace in a sense of the latent and inevitable -sadness of all mortal life.</p> - -<p>From one or two of the confessional boxes -there arose a confused murmur of voices, and -under one of the galleries, where the great fantastic -shadows were rather increased than diminished -by a flare of gaslight, a nun was drilling -a bevy of demure little maidens in their catechism. -And every now and again the subdued -chords of the organ rose into a joyous peal and -thrilled and dominated the drowsy, monotonous -sibilant murmur of prayer and clear treble responses -of the children. Then in the hush the -muffled sounds of praying and moving women -seemed to intensify the stillness that filled the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> -dome and nave, and a sense of isolation in the -midst of life crept over the spirit of one touched -with the human pathos of the scene.</p> - -<p>Occasionally, however, one of the low, narrow -doors of the main entrance was held open for a -few moments, and the rumble of the traffic in -the crowded streets without surged in with a -music of its own, and the nearness of the whirlpool -of human destiny swept through the minds -of many who would fain put the world out of -their thoughts and lives and find a refuge for all -sorrow in the love of God. Unburdened hearts -thus suddenly invaded by the chill mockery of -reality sought to drown the reawakened memory -of life’s human web of fate in a fresh abandonment -to all their deepest sorrows and unutterable -hopes in the silence of God’s House. Here they -would forget the fierce turmoil of the world, -and acknowledge to God all the anguish of -thoughts and soul that none dare reveal to their -fellows. But there is no sanctuary in the world -for the soul of man so sacred that the irony of -life cannot enter.</p> - -<p>At the chancel steps the form of a woman was -bent in an attitude of prostrate prayer—in an -oblivious abandonment of everything but the -passion in her soul, so entirely unusual in a -conventional religious assembly in our time, -that several eyes were directed toward her. A<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> -gray and venerable father who was passing -through the church observed her, and hesitated -for a moment whether he should go and say a -word of comfort to her. But as a sob shook her -frame he murmured to himself, “She is in the -hands of God and He will restore,” and with a -little sigh passed on. This was a very poor -parish. The good father was used to pitiable -scenes and the prayers of those whose only -friend in all the world was God—and even so -the priest had to admit that life was sad.</p> - -<p>The woman was oblivious or indifferent to all -that passed about her. Her face was buried in -her hands, clenched together in anguish, and -the sobs that rose and choked her utterance and -swept conscious thought into paroxysms of inarticulate -despair, showed how intensely she -suffered and hoped and doubted. There was no -serenity, no calm acquiescence in her prayer—it -was all revolt and demand, and in the presence -of the Host at God’s altar she doubted.</p> - -<p>She had purposely withdrawn from the little -groups of women gathered together in their devotions, -and when the door opened and the noise -of the street clashed for a moment with the harmony -of prayer and the low tide of flutey music -from the organ loft, she shrank closer to the altar -railing. The stir of life without struck a -chill into her heart, and all the fervor of her -hopes died within her.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>For a few moments her lips were compressed -in the silent anguish that benumbs the mind -and racks the body in every nerve and fibre. -She almost collapsed inertly on the steps. Then -the loathing of life that had possessed her as -she had threaded her way through the narrow, -sordid streets returned with all its dread insistence -of inconquerable morbid thought. “So -long as men are what they are,” she said under -her breath, despairingly, “God cannot be good,” -and she drew herself up with dry eyes and haggard -face, and mechanically crossing herself as -she gained her feet, she turned to leave the -church without another word.</p> - -<p>She tottered slowly and half blindly down the -aisle and only reached the darkened vestibule -with a great effort and several stops on the way. -Putting her hand to the heavy, leathern door, -she found herself too feeble to move it. She -leaned wearily against the wainscot and waited. -No one came. Then, moved with the petulance -of passionate despair, she prayed in her heart, -“Oh, God, let me out of thy House since thou -wilt not answer my prayers.”</p> - -<p>It was now twilight, and she recalled the -flaunting horrors and misery of the squalid -streets of the quarter, and a feeling of revulsion -swept over her. After all, she and her husband -had only God in all the world to look to for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> -help and comfort under the burdens of life; for -even the knowledge of misery and sorrow does -not teach men love and pity. And in the cruel -world she only dared to be human with God.</p> - -<p>She steadied herself against the wall, her eyes -dimmed with tears, and her soul filled with a -great longing to pour out her repentance, and -again ask the boon that haunted her troubled -dreams as well as her waking thoughts.</p> - -<p>She stumbled into one of the nearest pews, -and falling upon her knees she repeated mentally, -with her busy thoughts otherwhere, one -of the prayers of the regular service, and then a -great cry arose in her soul, and she wailed the -prayer that monopolized her heart and mind -day and night, and in or out of church was -always being prayed in all her life.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Lord God, we are utterly alone and bereft -in the world, save as Thy presence is near -to comfort us. I ask and pray for only one -thing—for the life and strength of my poor -husband, who is as Thou knowest wasting at -death’s door, and in our misery I can do nothing -to save him, nothing to alleviate his sufferings. -Oh, God, I have given Thee this day, to -make my special prayer—and a day is so much -to the poor, whose bread must be won somehow -every day. Oh, dear Lord, in mercy hear me. -There is no pity, no mercy, no compassion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> -among men, for they live only for gold though -they bring their prayers to Thee. Only Thou, -the living truth and God art left to our hope, -and I am here at thy altar to claim the gift of -life Thou hast promised in giving life. Abandoned -and despised, denied and starved by men, I -come to Thee, in our dire extremity, and ask -this boon of life of Thy omnipotent arm.”</p> - -<p>And so she prayed with all the fervor of her -overwrought spirit, until the dusk reminded -her of the many hours she had been absent from -the sick man in the attic they called home.</p> - -<p>As she was about to cross her own threshold, -a hand was laid upon her shoulder in the darkness, -and a voice filled with a love and tenderness -she had never heard in any human speech, -said, softly:</p> - -<p>“What ails thee?”</p> - -<p>She could see nothing, but her soul was -grown desperate, and she answered, without -fear, “I am troubled for my husband, for his -life is ebbing away, and the miseries we suffer. -I pray only for him, but God does not answer -my prayers.”</p> - - -<p>“And do you pray only for your husband?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, we are all alone in the world, and there -are none who care for us, or do for us, or pity -us. We have only God.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>“Then pray for all the world and all mankind, -and perhaps God will hear your prayer.”</p> - -<p>Then the sorrowing soul knew that she too -was not without sin, and that out of the House -of God she had met the angel of the Lord.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Walter Blackburn Harte.</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">BUBBLE AND SQUEAK.</h2></div> - - -<p>Just received a book for review, an author’s -complimentary copy, from one of my friends, -one of the finest hearted, most beautiful natured -men in the world. This is one of the saddest -ironies of life. It is just such a book as I wish -my enemy had written.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The New Woman, who is really new and not -a mere simulacrum of the old fetish masquerading -in borrowed plumage, carries a copy of the -<span class="smcap">Fly Leaf</span> in the pocket of her bloomers; for -the editor of the <span class="smcap">Fly Leaf</span> is a New Woman’s -man, and distinctly prefers her to her grandmother.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>This is worth the attention of young people -just graduating from our schools and colleges -and entering upon the sad and serious business -of life, as it will put them in the path of success -quicker than all the wisdom of Aristotle and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> -Plato—and I say this, who spawned it. One -can break all the ten commandments upon a -technicality.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>A wink is much more innocent than a blush.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>One of the tragedies of old fogyism is the wit -and wisdom of youth. But youth has its little -ironies, and the longevity of old fogeyism is one -of them.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The Humphrey Ward nightmare is stalking -through the land again already. It is evident -this female survival of the Inquisition has -awakened to the glorious possibilities of the -American market, and in future we may expect -to meet Marcella and the whole string of British -boobies that she has imported (they did not -need creating) into fiction at every turn in our -periodical literature. And we had hoped we -had seen the last of the little snob Marcella and -the rest of them for at least another year. But -the world is pressing Mrs. Ward for the solution -of the servant girl question and she is becoming -more industrious than ever. Subtle -studies of snobocracy seem out of place, though, -in the periodicals of a democratic country.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I have just seen the latest portrait of Mrs. -Humphrey Ward in the “Century.” It explains -the aridity of the atrocious Robert Elsmere.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> -Mrs. Ward’s physiognomy is severe. She is no -hero to her maid servants and man servants, but -a terror to evil doers. British superiority is in -evidence; but the benignity of genius is not.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>There are certain aspects of Stephen Crane’s -literature that appeal to the risibilities of a man -who is blessed or cursed with some humorous -perception. His mystic, weird lines outrage all -the laws of prosody, and can only stand as the -audacious flings of a fantastic and untrammeled -imagination, that is impatient of form and loves -the hot splash of thought. But it must not be -rashly judged that any fool can do this sort of -thing. It demands a feeling for words and an -abundant, bubbling imagination. Still, the -grave critics who have seriously accepted Mr. -Crane’s little book of verses as poetry and literature -of a high order appear in a rather ludicrous -light. It is an interesting freak of a quick -fancy playing over life and thought and taking -all that comes to the surface in all seriousness. -It is, however, something new in print, for the -unchastened whimsies of a perfervid imagination -seldom get into print—except in a few -periodicals where there is no one appointed to -edit the editor.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The article of Jonathan Penn in this number -seems to raise an uncomfortable theory that this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> -sort of inspiration is infectious, and that a million -new poets may spring up any morning. -But Mr. Penn is really only surprised at his own -versatility, which does not surprise us in the -least, for he is one of the most imaginative and -brilliant prose writers in contemporary journalism. -It is a pity that his necessities and the -conditions governing the literary market in -America compel him to write advertisements -for his living. But if Mr. Crane and others can -only manage to put into their serious efforts -such fine limpid prose and such delicious fancies -and quirks of humor as Mr. Penn puts into his -alluring advertisements, a great future awaits -them in prose literature.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>In the death of Eugene Field, American literature -has sustained a loss that will not be readily -forgotten, for this whimsical poet of genius won -a place for himself in the hearts of thousands. -His “Sharps and Flats” in the <i>Chicago Record</i> -also gained him a national reputation, but it is -the fate of all journalists who succeed in winning -such a place as he held in daily journalism -to waste in the eternal ferment of the short-lived -daily newspaper the fine talents of imagination -and wit, that put into the permanent form of literature, -would give them a place among the -famous wits and humorists of the world. Luckily<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> -Eugene Field was a poet as well as a wit and -droll, and the publisher of the <i>Record</i> was appreciative -and catholic enough to open his columns -to his poetry.</p> - -<p>If other American newspapers would allow -their cleverest writers the same latitude of doing -signed work in poetry and prose, we should soon -have a very encouraging group of distinctive -and virile American writers. Eugene Field was, -perhaps, the only American man of letters using -the term in its broad sense, and not restricting it -especially to the writer of merely funny or political -work, who has won fame in literature -through the medium of a newspaper. This is -high praise for the <i>Record</i> as well as a monument -of achievement for Field, which only those -in the harassing harness of journalism can -properly appreciate. At the close of his career, -of course, Field was published in books and -magazines, but he won his reputation in the -<i>Record</i>.</p> - -<p>Why do not some other proprietors of large -newspapers give other young American writers -of originality and talent a show, instead of giving -the public nothing in the way of literature but -syndicate matter by English writers who crop -up everywhere? If the newspaper publishers -and editors took to producing literary men of -their own, and were not content to get out a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> -newspaper that tallies with every other in every -town from Maine to Frisco, we should soon find -that a rich streak of spontaneous, fresh talent -would be struck in this country.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Those early “Plain Tales from the Hills” -were fine, and “The Light that Failed,” and the -rest showed that in Kipling we had a man of -virile force, great observation and picturesque -power. But it seems to one who looks for the -sense of permanence in an artist’s choice of subjects -and style of treatment that the furore over -the “Jungle Stories” is simply the exaggeration -that is meted out to every established literary -favorite in a mere strain for novelty. There -is nothing really permanent about this literary -twist of investing the wild beasts with human -traits and speech, and although it is doubtless -well done, it does not support the contention of -some critics that Kipling is the most significant -and robust writer in English today. This is not -denying Kipling’s universally acknowledged -abilities, it is merely pointing out that he is -striving more for immediate effect than for the -substantial art that would insure his place in the -great body of standard English literature.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="large"><b>A Good Cause</b></span></p></div> - -<blockquote> - -<p>Needs a good writer to support and advocate -and present it.</p></blockquote> - - -<p><span class="large"><b>A Bad Cause</b></span></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>Needs a better writer to make it appear as -good as the best.</p></blockquote> - -<blockquote> -<p>A writer of experience, ability and versatility -is desirous of finding employment in some journalistic -capacity. He prefers to advocate a -damnably bad cause for good wages than a -good one for bad. Address,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Hardup</span>, care <span class="smcap">Fly Leaf</span>.</p></blockquote> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> - - -<p class="ph3">Meditations in Motley.</p></div> - -<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Walter Blackburn Harte</span>.</p> - - -<blockquote> - -<p>I have met with no volume of essays from America since Miss -Agnes Repplier’s so good as his “Meditations in Motley.”—Richard -Le Gallienne, in the London “Realm.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Harte is a litterateur of the light and humorous sort, with -a keen eye for observation, and an extremely facile pen. His -style is quaint and interesting. He has original ideas and always -an original way of putting things. The writer if not quite a -genius, is very closely related to one. There is a sly and quiet -humor everywhere present. We hope that the author will soon -sharpen his quill for more work of the same kind.—New York -“Herald.”</p> - -<p>“Meditations in Motley” reveals a new American essayist, -honest and whimsical, with a good deal of decorative plain -speaking.—I. Zangwill, in “The Pall Mall Magazine” for -April, 1895.</p> - -<p>The reader gets out of this book a good deal of the satisfaction -which he finds in the essay-writing of the good old days of the -English essayists. He will be reminded in many ways of that -happy time, for he will gain the sense of leisure, independence -of democratic opinion, a willingness to be odd if one’s oddity is -attractive, a touch of the whimsical, and a good deal of straight-forward -and earnest thinking. One is often reminded in reading -these pages of Hazlitt. Mr. Harte understands the art of essay-writing.—“The -Outlook,” New York.</p> - -<p>“Meditations in Motley,” which has stirred up thinking people -wherever it has entered their circles, is one of the lately built -pieces of literary masonry that is strong enough to last.—“The -Examiner,” San Francisco, Cal.</p> - - -<p class="center"><span class="large"><b>Price in Handsome Cloth, $1.25.</b></span></p> - -<p class="center"><span class="large"><i>FOR SALE BY ALL BOOKSELLERS.</i></span><br /> - -<i>Or sent postpaid on receipt of price by<br /> -the Publishers</i>,</p> - -<p class="center"><span class="large"><b>The Arena Publishing Co.,</b></span><br /> -<b>Copley Square, Boston, Mass.</b></p></blockquote> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="transnote"> - -<p class="ph4">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p> - - -<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p> - -<p>Archaic or alternate spelling has been retained from the original.</p> -</div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Fly Leaf, No. 1, Vol. 1, December -1895, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLY LEAF, DECEMBER 1895 *** - -***** This file should be named 62296-h.htm or 62296-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/2/9/62296/ - -Produced by hekula03, David E. 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