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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..6053d1d --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #62430 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/62430) diff --git a/old/62430-0.txt b/old/62430-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 52b3271..0000000 --- a/old/62430-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1386 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Fly Leaf, No. 2, Vol. 1, January 1896, 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. 2, Vol. 1, January 1896 - -Author: Various - -Editor: Walter Blackburn Harte - -Release Date: June 19, 2020 [EBook #62430] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLY LEAF, JANUARY 1896 *** - - - - -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 - - [Illustration] - - A Pamphlet Periodical of - the New--the New Man, - New Woman, New Ideas, - Whimsies and Things. - - CONDUCTED BY WALTER BLACKBURN HARTE. - - WITH PICTURE NOTES BY - H. MARMADUKE RUSSELL. - - Published Monthly by the Fly Leaf Publishing Co., - Boston, Mass. Subscription One Dollar a Year. - Single Copies 10 Cents. January, 1896. Number - Two. - - - - -A Word of Praise in Season. - - -Philip Hale, the well-known and brilliant Boston literary and musical -critic writes as follows: - - “Walter Blackburn Harte is beyond doubt and peradventure the leading - essayist in Boston today. For Boston perhaps you had better read ‘the - United States.’ His matter is original and brave, his style is clear, - polished when effect is to be gained thereby, blunt when the blow - of the bludgeon should fall, and at times delightfully whimsical, - rambling, paradoxical, fantastical. But read for yourself, Miss - Eustacia; and Harte’s ‘Meditations in Motley’ will remain one of your - favorite books. And now Mr. Harte is the editor of THE FLY LEAF. The - first number is out, and let us earnestly call your attention to it.” - - A vigorous writer and thoroughly animated by the idea that the field - of letters in this country should bloom with the genius of its youth. - If THE FLY LEAF doesn’t achieve a great success it will not be for - lack of talent and energy on the part of its director.--_The Boston - Traveller._ - - A new and wholly up to date brochure, THE FLY LEAF, has just - appeared under the conductorship of Walter Blackburn Harte, one of - the brightest young men in American literature.--_The Boston Home - Journal._ - - Promises to be something of a novelty in periodical literature, for - it is filled with piquant comments on current fads and fashions, and - contains some spicy and whimsical essays in miniature, written in a - vivid impressionistic manner.--_The Boston Transcript._ - -These are a few press notices. But all the young men and women in every -city and town in the United States are discussing THE FLY LEAF and -spreading its fame. - - - - -The Fly Leaf - - No. 2. January, 1896. Vol. 1. - - - - -THE MONK. - - - We were gay fellows, all of us, - And christened him “the Monk.” - He sat among us silently, - His wine was never drunk. - He heard the music passionate, - But did not join the dance, - Unmoved, he saw white arms and throats, - Unloving, caught Love’s glance. - I asked him why he cared to live, - “Because,” responded he,-- - “_I like to watch these pictures - Of the things inside of me._” - - CLAUDE F. BRAGDON. - - - - -THE VISION OF YOUTH. - - -[Illustration] - -It may be accepted as an axiom that the strong are always audacious, -and so when we hear of any man in literature who is shocking and -rumpling all the susceptibilities of nice, quiet, drowsy people we may -be sure that his capital crime is independence of thought and opinion. -He is looking at life for himself, instead of through the refracted -lenses of old class habit or antiquated religious dogma. And it is -a thousand to one he has the criminal audacity to be young; for the -vision of youth is clearer and more sure, and more pitying than the old -green or crimson goggles of selfish age, that would paint the world as -popes and kings and classes and governments, with rewards and honors to -give, would have it. All men whose life and work make for the uplifting -of human conditions and thought are set in the way of truth before -reaching thirty. If a man is timorous before thirty, he will be an -unmitigable coward, perhaps knave, for the rest of his days. And today -the only profession which demands any active spirit of heroism is the -calling of literature, that has become the _Deus ex machina_ of all -modern civilized life. - -[Illustration] - -Every truly ambitious writer, or for that matter, every manly writer, -be he a genius or a mediocrity, has certain large ideal aims to serve -in all his literature. It is not enough for a manly man to simply evoke -applause. A nude nymph from the gutter of Paris dancing a can-can on -a cafe table, also lives by popular suffrage, and wins such popular -approbation as is never given to literature--the incoherent cries -in which the whole body emits its tingling void of aching, sensuous -delight, the deep, whole-hearted greed of the flaming instincts and -soul of the race. - -There are a thousand arts and tricks that gain applause and good pay, -and have the world’s countenance (and ours, for we are not such rigid -moralists as to try to upset nature); but it is the business of the -artist to gain respect, not for himself as an individual, for in that -capacity we can allow much to temptation, but for his precious art, -which is the voice of all the dumb ones of our kind. Surely, if there -is any thing that Almighty God could forbear in tenderness to destroy, -of all man’s sad attempts to win a home in this inhospitable world, it -is the written pages that hold the highest aspirations of the human -soul--some pages that we, in our overweening pride in the glory of our -fellows, think hold a beauty and breadth that must partake of Divinity -itself. But the wind of deathless Time is rushing even now, and we know -that nothing can escape its touch. - -It is the final business of literature to quicken the spirit of -humanity and stir those noblest impulses that make us despise the mere -grovelling life of those who have not learned the irony of _things_. -We hide ourselves like guilty creatures among our dusty, dusty -possessions, afraid to waste time for living and thought, and so the -days and nights that should be ours pass and we enjoy them not. Only a -few poets possess the days and nights, and even they know the sweetness -of life mostly in sorrow. - -All literature is trivial that lacks this large relevance to human -life, and so, in looking over the bulk of contemporary American -literature, it is to be feared that neither charity nor policy can make -it out to be very important. It is destitute of any of the spirit of -genius, and it is for the most part merely a travesty of the small talk -of the surface life of so-called “good society.” It nowhere touches -upon the reality of human passion, existent under every mask of custom -and artificial seeming of refinement, and its inspiration is evident in -every hasty line--money and advertising. - -[Illustration] - -To be quite candid, could any other country boast such an utterly -mediocre, uninspired group of literary artisans as is represented -by the Scratchback Club of New York, which in its membership really -furnishes all that passes for contemporary “American” literature in -our periodicals? They show the intellectual and imaginative poverty of -a people merely pushing and ingenious. They reveal the shallowness of -the prevailing idea that mere education furnishes those deep forces -of personality which have made all true literature, and all true -cultivation, with or without education. There is none of the audacity -of real spontaneous thought in these men and women’s work; it is all -written to order, as mechanically as an auctioneer’s catalogue. - -But it is well to have a definite aim in literature, and the pens -concerned in the production of the FLY LEAF are at least inspired by -a sense of the fluidity of this excellent medium of prose, and though -they may fail in the haste of periodical writing to achieve the perfect -ends of art, at least they will not wantonly strive to debase the -public judgment and taste by pandering to the narrow minds of ignorant -prudes, after the fashion of the popular periodical literature of the -day. - -The FLY LEAF has a definite aim and purpose in being, and that is, to -get more latitude in literature written in English, and to make the -work of the real writers of our end of the century better known to -the great democracy of readers. These are the younger men and not the -old, fogy carpenters, brought up to write moral tracts under Dr. J. G. -Holland at the close of the fifties. The FLY LEAF looks to the younger -generation to enable it to make its aims a force in our intellectual -and literary life here in America. - -There is a revolt and a quickening sense of changes and forces in the -air. The work of any individual writer or worker can effect little -or nothing. But the earnest enthusiasm of a little band of men and -women, inspired with a belief in the impartiality of the good God and -the perpetual renewal of imagination and thought and genius in every -branch of the race, can set such an enthusiasm for better things and -higher ideals in not merely the substance but the spirit of all our -art endeavor as shall bring in a harvest of real, robust literature -from every quarter of this country--largely from the most unsuspected -quarters. It is this scattered interest in a nobler ideal than obtains -in our contemporary periodical literature that the FLY LEAF will -attempt to focus. At present nearly all the writers with any individual -style and force and robustness and largeness of aim are shut out of -American periodical literature, because such qualities in literature -are deemed _too shocking_ nowadays. - -The FLY LEAF believes there are still readers who appreciate boldness, -original conceptions, audacity of treatment, and the varied play of -fancy over the whole and not merely a part of human existence. These -are the qualities that gave us our standard English literature, and -in the early days inspired our greatest writers in America. They must -be the impulse and inspiration of today, if Americans are not content -to be represented in literature by snobbish boys trying to write like -“ladies,” and women who write without effort like the deuce knows what. - -When we say we appeal to the younger people it must not be thought -that we appeal to the children--although since they are so far -more critical than their grandparents, we shall not dare to forget -them altogether. We mean that we desire to enlist the interests and -sympathies of our own generation--say those born sometime in the -sixties and since. Our grandparents may be very good folk and quite -smart in getting around today, but they were largely brought up on -almanacs, and their literary tastes are narrow and eccentric without -being picturesque. They belong to ancient times without holding the -antique novelties of the really far away ancient times, which were -really more in touch with the intellectual bustle and eager curiosity -of our day than those gray years of smug Anglo-Saxon absorption in a -civilization of mere bread and beer that lie immediately behind us, -and still cast the chill shadow of their prurient morality over all -our literature. Even some of the direct parents of this generation -are a little threadbare in their craniums. They have read domestic -literature all their lives and of course are incapable of thought. -The stirring gray matter is found in the heads of those born not much -further back, say, than ’49, the year of gold. Let us resolve to make -this _fin de siecle_ the golden age of American literature. And if -there are, as I suspect there are, some belated grandparents still on -earth, animated with the spirit and ideals of Milton and the Martyrs, -young at heart in their enthusiasm for the truth, for the art that -touches and ennobles life, and for freedom of thought and expression, -these are of us also, and will gladly find in the FLY LEAF, in its -burst of youth, the ideals that have always permeated robust and honest -literature--especially in the old days when a man might swing or burn -for an audacious pamphlet. With such old fogies we have no bone of -contention. But the old fogies in petticoats, the gingerbread writers, -we shall probably toss up in a blanket nine times as high as the -moon--when we are not so pressed for space and time. - -[Illustration] - - - - -GREY EYES. - - - Brown eyes for passion and blue eyes for life, - Pink eyes and green eyes and black eyes for strife, - But the eyes of my love are grey. - - Bright eyes that are happy, dull eyes that are sad, - Wide innocent eyes and eyes to make mad, - But I love the soft eyes that are grey. - - I love the soft eyes that are grey, love, - And grey’ll be the eyes of the angels above, - For in heaven your eyes will be grey. - - SHERWIN CODY. - - - - -A GEOLOGICAL PARABLE. - - -It was at the place afterwards called Solenhofen. The weather was -miserable, as Jurassic weather usually was. The rain beat steadily -down, and carbon dioxide was still upon the earth. - -The Archaeopteryx was feeling pretty gloomy, for at that morning’s -meeting of the Amalgamated Association of Enaliosaurians he had been -blackballed. He was looked down upon by the Pterodactyl and the -Ichthyosaurus deigned not to notice him. Cast out by the Reptilia, and -Aves not being thought of, he became a wanderer upon the face of the -earth. “Alas!” sighed the poor Archaeopteryx, “this world is no place -for me.” And he laid him down and died; and became imbedded in the rock. - -And ages afterward a featherless biped, called man, dug him up, and -marvelled at him, crying, “Lo, the original Avis and fountain-head -of all our feathered flocks!” And they placed him with great -reverence in a case, and his name became a by-word in the land. But -the Archaeopteryx knew it not. And the descendant for whom he had -suffered and died strutted proudly about the barn-yard, crowing lustily -cock-a-doodle-do! - - S. P. CARRICK, JR. - - - - -THE WAIL OF THE HACK WRITER. - - - Ah, dreary is the toil for dull - And shallow thought--the chaff-choked grain, - That comes from just beneath the skull, - Not from the brain within the brain. - - But all the dull, chaff-nourished tribe - Must have its favorite food of bran, - And he who writes must let the scribe - Murder the poet in the man. - - Oft must he stem the tides that roll - From thought’s interior deep, and, dead - To their far voices, sell his soul-- - No, not for gold, for bread. - - And he must leave the heights that shine - And hasten down their arduous steeps - To feed the million-throated swine, - That gulps its garbage and then sleeps. - - SAM WALTER FOSS. - - - - -ADONIS IN TATTERS. - -A PARABLE ON THE POWER OF BEAUTY. - - -The audience at a parlor lecture in a Beacon Street drawing room is -apt to be rather intense and rapt in its attention, and discreet -in its enthusiasm, with the emphasis of discernment which subdued, -well-bred applause confers. At Mrs. Reginald Beveridge Vincent’s this -is always particularly noticeable, for Mrs. Vincent is one of the -social law givers of the “smart” set, and her rooms on these occasions -are thronged with all sorts of ambitious social strugglers, who pay -insidious homage to their hostess in their admiration of the idols for -whom she stands sponsor. There are all sorts of people here, and among -them many of the great army of the small celebrities, who are somewhat -more distinguished than prosperous, and who would fain pass from the -appreciation of imaginative literature to the serious consideration of -dining. The fact is, the socially nebulous, who rebel against their -birth’s invidious bar and strive to get out of the obscurity of the -mass of humanity, are really the backbone of the enthusiasm for letters -in fashionable society. These rather dubious folk, with no redeeming -big bank account, are spurred by ambition to attach themselves to some -sort of superiority--the superiority not always inherently residing in -them; and so literature becomes their easy spoil. They constitute the -one stable element in all literary gatherings out of Grub Street; and -even Mrs. Vincent, with all her social prestige, could not dispense -with them. And so they come, and dream of passing the rubicon, and so -on to more important functions. There are many who are considered good -enough and worthy to sit at a feast of reason and a flow of soul, who -would never be deemed eligible for the holier function of stuffing with -baked meats and wines. These literary afternoons, it may be noted, for -the benefit of the ambitious, serve an incidental purpose as a sort of -preliminary investigation into the character, standing and desirability -of new acquaintances. Many are called to the feast of literature--but -few are chosen to break bread at dinner. But the success of parlor -lectures, at the most dispiriting hour of the afternoon in winter when -the city streets are sunless and melancholy and depressing, depends -almost entirely upon the lure of social hopes, that influence the more -or less obscure to give up the comfort of their mediocre leisure to -swell the triumph of those who secure the glory of the passing show of -life. The woman who wants to shine as a patron of the fine arts must -not neglect these mixed social elements, or her rooms will be empty. -Exemplary activity in church politics and an interest in letters, are -the humble beginnings, the corduroy roads, as it were, of many who -ultimately shine with more certain lustre as leaders of the german. -Therefore, every wise blue stocking is affable and accessible to the -crowd of dubious persons whose admirations may be depended upon--unless -hope burns stronger in some other quarter. One thing is certain: the -grand dames of the upper social heavens are not to be depended upon -when literature or philosophy is the only attraction offered, even -when a grand dame is herself holding the reception. There are so many -petty jealousies, and so many rival courts; and, moreover, the grand -dames have so many questions of social diplomacy to occupy them--men, -for instance (_nice_, eligible men are scarce); consequently they do -not often come under the spell of the literary impressario, who gains -a precarious subsistence in the lap of luxury; and, besides, the -afternoon is the meridian of the shopping fever. - -The large drawing room was crowded on this particular afternoon, and -Mrs. Vincent was in high feather, for she had secured the new poet of -the season, Mr. Blanco Winterbourne, to give his lecture on “Ideals -of Beauty in Modern Life.” This was in itself a victory. Winterbourne -was a brand new poet, who had dropped straight from the skies and been -immediately accepted in London, so that he had all the freshness and -glamour of a debutante, and his reputation being still in the making in -the inner circles of society, the gold dust was still upon his wings, -unbrushed and untarnished by the chill after-thoughts of envious Grub -Street criticism. - -Everybody sat in an attitude of rare rapture, and every time the -lecturer uttered some especially well sounding and uplifting sentiment, -and paused a moment for the rapid click of eyes, some fine idealist -in the group would fix the hostess’s wandering glance with a gleam of -appreciation. This was intended to isolate him in her memory as a man -of discernment and culture worthy of remembrance in the Elysian domain -of dining. There is indeed something almost pathetic in this intense -concentration of mind, this painful anxiety of appreciation, which -is so evidently the tribute to the hostess and not to the new genius -himself. Only so much rapture goes to the lecturer as appearances -demand. The glory of the occasion belongs to the patron; for skill -and talent are largely a matter of labor and discipline, whereas the -recognition of excellence is the quick flash of pure intellect, genius! -But the audience is charitable enough, and the most terrible ordeal for -the lecturer, fresh from Parnassus or Grub Street, is the pervasive -and distracting rustling and swishing of silken skirts--a sound that -is the most tangible symbol of women’s potent whims in the sensuous -consciousness of man. - -[Illustration] - -There was one exception to the general air of complete absorption and -satisfaction, and this was a queer, oval cynical face, half in the -light of the waning day, and half in the shadow of the curtains. -It belonged to a young man, who leaned half forward in a rigid, -high-backed chair, and alternately glanced curiously from face to face -in the audience, and then turned completely about and looked out across -the bare tree-tops of the Common. A look of weariness, and even of -contempt, crept about his eyes and mouth, as certain high-flown phrases -reached his ears. - -Here is a bit of rapid rhetoric that evoked the applause of the -company, and made him only curl his lip. “The dominion of beauty -obtains forever in the human heart, and so long as this is so, no -class nor humanity at large can be utterly bad; for the discernment of -beauty involves the recognition of moral feeling. All permanent beauty -is essentially moral and is sure of ready acceptance, especially among -women, in whom the religious instinct is strongest. Modern life can -never annihilate this innate and instinctive perception of intellectual -nobility and pure beauty. Nay, since the form is the body of the soul, -the finest type of pure physical beauty will always rightly command our -admiration. It breaks through all creeds and castes, and holds the race -in unity of feeling and thought.” - -The lecture closed in a culminating clapping of hands, and the guests -all moved forward to congratulate the lecturer and the patron. The -young man turned and studied the different groups with an amused smile. - -A lady, who had been watching the young man’s mocking comment on the -scene in the changing expression of his eyes and pursed lips, suddenly -arose from a divan in the angle of the room, and crossed over to where -he sat in the afternoon twilight. - -She stopped him from arising with a gesture, and sank down into a seat -beside him. - -“You do not seem particularly pleased with Mr. Blanco Winterbourne’s -lecture?” - -[Illustration] - -“Well, it doesn’t interest me, because you see I come into contact with -life as it really is. I have heard all this cant about the beauty of -purity and character before so many times, but when I see beauty of -character in life I find it always taken advantage of. And as for the -dignity of physical beauty, I need scarcely tell one of your sex the -difference between a beauty in rags and a beauty in silks.” - -“Oh, but I protest, that although the world is gross, and the half -of us are mere Mammon worshippers, there is an instinct of delight, -and irresistible attraction for us, especially for we women, in sheer -beauty without any trappings of finery.” - -“Ah, indeed; that sounds like the magnanimity of humanity, universally -asserted by popular moralists. But your sex is really the least -amenable, as I could easily prove to you.” - -“Then prove it.” - -“I will, if you can put on your hat and coat and come at once.” - -“Well, I’m in a blaze of curiosity for the adventure.” - - * * * * * - -As they crossed Beacon Street a beggar boy stepped up to them, and in -piping tones of want asked the lady for alms. She glanced for a moment -into his face with a blank look of negation on her own, and with a sort -of comprehensive intake of his dirt and rags she gathered her skirts -about her and passed through the turnpike and down the steps to the -Common. But her companion lingered behind, and presently joined her, -half dragging the boy by his tattered sleeve. - -“Come here, Miss Lorillard, and look at the boy. I want to know if this -isn’t beauty?” - -She turned and looked into the boy’s face, as her companion held it -up to the light between his two hands. The extraordinary and perfect -beauty of his features seized upon her in a sort of wonderment. Where -had she ever seen such a face before?--And her memory swept through the -galleries of Europe. In none of them. How was it she had not noticed it -at first? The dirt? It was incomparable--it seemed superhuman in its -sweetness and beauty, its appeal, and its glow of divinity. God’s hand -was plainly set in that face. - -“This is the boy,” said the young man, laconically, watching her -expression. “Come along.” - -And linking his arm in that of the ragged youngster, the trio sauntered -along with the fashionable throng coming out of the matinees. - -[Illustration] - -“Get out of my way, you ugly little sweep,” said one woman, elbowing -the boy off the pavement; and the men pushed him hither and thither. -The fashionable women looked right through the ragged urchin and his -evidently dubious companions, as if they were glass, and their gaze -seemed to bite like frost. Not one woman remarked the surpassing -loveliness of the boy’s perfect face. - -At the corner of the Common the young man sent the boy about his -business. - -“Who is he, and what does all this mean?” - -“That is Adonis--the one-time victor of Venus. He fell upon evil days -when clothes made the king, and rags the knave.” - - WALTER BLACKBURN HARTE. - - - - -LIFE. - - -I sometimes think life is but a see-saw board, with hope at one end -and despair at the other. First hope goes up, and despair goes down, -and then it reverses. There seems to be no break in the steady rise -and fall. We live on, clinging to the belief that hope will outbalance -despair, but it does not, and men come and men go, and life still -teeters away. - - JOSEPH ANDREWS CONE. - - - - -A SONNET FOR POETS. - - - Sometimes birds sing not though the morn is fair; - Sometimes flowers folded lie beneath the sun; - Sometimes no dew falls though the day is done; - Sometimes where fruit should grow the branch is bare; - Sometimes the truest poet must forbear - To make his music, though the hour is one - With perfect beauty ended and begun: - Sometimes his power has left him to despair, - Sometimes he standeth spelled and dumb, though all - Is great around him, though he plainly sees - The beauty, and the grand sound plainly hears. - But if, ere glories vanish, it befall - That his sweet tongue doth loosen; as it frees - He thrills with rapture, hymning through his tears. - - WILLIAM FRANCIS BARNARD. - - - - -THE LITTLE GREEN HAT. - - -They were coming out of the matinee, and there was something in the way -he took her arm and swung her out of the crush, that the experienced -eye of the married man or married woman could at once detect as the -assurance of the husband, accustomed to being adored, and quietly and -covertly conscious of other feminine eyes in the crowd. - -He turned up her fur collar and they walked along in silence. She was -scrutinizing each face in the slowly moving throng. He was picking -his way, falling in her wake to give room to the opposing stream, and -occasionally to glance behind and strengthen some impression of a -silhouette, that awoke a momentary pang, and then faded into the blur -of faces, the rustle of silks and the subtle perfume of a well dressed -crowd of women. - -Once he turned half round sharply, as a tall, handsome woman swept -by, creaking and rustling like a great galleon in a swell of wind -and rolling sea. His wife brought back his eyes with a glance of -interrogation. - -“Pretty little green hat, that,” he said. “I think it would just suit -you.” - -“Ah yes,” answered she. “Strange you never notice hats in the -milliners’ windows.” - - JONATHAN PENN. - - - - -THE NEW GOD. - - -It is altogether fitting and proper, as Abraham Lincoln would say if he -were not dead, that that there should be an immediate definition of the -“New God.” It is not easy to define the New Woman--not easy to define -the New Man, nor to formulate New Ideas, but, in these days, when the -passion for money getting over-shadows everything else in life, and -colors our religion and philosophy, with the cheap cynicism of poor -cheated greed, it is easy to define the New God. In the first place, He -is everything that the Old God was not; and that is saying everything -that the Modern Dives wishes said--and for which he pays his preacher. -The successful modern preacher has to be a man of great intellectual -parts, and some knowledge of affairs. He must be a man of the world, -for it is the function of a new prophet in a successful metropolitan -church to preach the New God. And this is most effectively done while -occupying the Old Pulpit. An adroit and conservative judicial spirit -has entirely renovated and made respectable the gift of prophecy in -the Christian church. So we see the churches filled with the social -charity of sweet and silken equality, and all things are kept as sweet -and peaceful as possible in this atmosphere that once reeked with -sulphurous fumes for the wicked. But the sweet savor of camphor and -smelling salts has stifled the sulphur,--and all other disagreeable -odors in God’s House. - -The churches of today are mostly mausoleums in which rest the crumbling -remains of the ancient God. But an intellectual age still delights -in the glamor of impressive ritual, and his name and attributes are -enshrined in Creed, Decalogue and Hymn. But the old Law is serenely -disobeyed, with the assurance that the New God is much too good or much -too distant to perplex himself with the peccadillos of good society. -As a certain French countess said in the court of Louis XV., “The good -God would surely think twice before damning people of quality”--and -undoubtedly the New God is more liberal and refined than the old one. - -The New God, like the cynic man of the world, takes the world as he -finds it. He is a being of an infinite indifference to syndicates -(_sin_-di-cates!), deals (in which lurks the de’il!), coal oil -monopolies (whence come endowments that throttle free speech on social -questions), sugar trusts (that capture Congress), and the ways of a man -with a maid--or, what is quite as wonderful--the ways of a new maid -with an old man. - -The New God is a dilettante in religion, who winks (when bribed with a -good service in a fine church) and looks the other way when broad-cloth -and satin sow unto the flesh. - -It is to be suspected that the New Girl in her way is better than the -New God. If the New Man becomes any worse, he ought to--well, it would -be impolitic to say what he ought to do. But between the New God and -the cynics of Mammon this world does not seem to promise the millennium -or Utopia just yet a while. - - L. LEMMAH. - - - - -THE SCHOOL OF NECESSITY. - - -If we are to come into our inheritance as an artistic people, let us -hear less of Art with a big A. Let us turn from the oracle of the -Personally Conducted and make bonfires of our Baedeckers. - -The “Old Masters” were plain men, for the most part, with the virtues -and vices of their time, and would kill a man or paint a Madonna with -equal skill and enthusiasm. Art was to them only one form of a manifold -activity, not a problem to be solved nor a fetish to be worshipped. -Cellini made salt cellars and bragged about them long before he cast -his Perseus. Michaelangelo painted the Sistine ceiling because the -Pope commanded him, and not because he was divinely inspired to do it. -Raphael and Rubens ran picture factories which turned out paintings -of a certain brand, like so many barrels of flour. Shakespeare patched -together threadbare scenes and situations for special occasions, as -managers now prepare a Christmas pantomime; and Balzac wrote the -“Comedie Humaine” to pay his debts. - -Literature is not a thing of limited editions, nor painting of spring -exhibitions. While you are seeking the coming novelist between rich -covers he may be doing a daily “story” for some sensational morning -paper; and the new Raphael you think of as hid away in some sequestered -north-lit studio may be designing labels for boxes in a lithograph -factory. - -Respect, therefore, the poster, though it _is_ obtrusive, and despise -not the Japanese print, though it be cheap. Admit that there is more -merit in the pen and ink picture of which are printed a million copies, -than in the etching on your library walls, of which there are only ten. - -Believe that the baths and aqueducts of Rome, however marvellous, are -puerile as feats of engineering compared with a city floated on Lake -Michigan mud; and learn that while you drowse over your “standard -authors” of today the work of him who will be the standard author of -tomorrow may be appearing in these despised pages. - - CLAUDE FAYETTE BRAGDON. - - - - -BUBBLE AND SQUEAK. - - -Let the world wag as it may, the wits must live by waggery. - - -The optimists who are so comfortably situated that they can support -optimism without any severe strain upon their imaginations, say, “What -is, is right.” But they fail to tackle the corollary proposition, “What -isn’t, isn’t.” - - -I received a book the other day from one of the leading publishers for -review, and for three days and nights I have labored with it. It is one -of those dull and dreary affairs, without even the single redeeming -grace of conscious striving egotism, and it is written by one of the -most prominent members of the New York Scratchback Club, a man whose -name is in everybody’s mouth in the country. I wrote a scorching review -of the book, in my happiest vein of gory glee; but upon reflection I -shall not print it. This author is too infernally stupid to deserve so -good an “ad.” - - -The poets are not the only sufferers in these sober strenuous days, -in which the beautiful distractions of idleness are not properly -understood or appreciated. Full many a wag is born to waste his wit -upon the desert air--or the thick skull of an anthropoid on the “night -desk.” - - -It has been suggested by an undiscouraged friend of humanity that, -at the close of the Age of Consent discussion, a committee should be -organized among the society women who live in the highly fashionable -locality in Boston that is honored with the presence of Mrs. Helen H. -Gardener, to raise necessary funds to defray the cost of giving the -sources of this lady’s literary inspiration a good Spring cleaning. He -urges, and with some apparent show of reason, that after her arduous -labors as the historian of the Age of Consent movement, Mrs. Gardener -cannot wait until spring, and her consent should be sought at an -early date. Mrs. Gardener is well known as a sort of social tornado -in fiction, though I believe she claims to belong to the Red Cross -or Sanitary school of writers. She is, anyhow, the head and front of -the inodorous infliction called the Age of Consent agitation, and the -author of that delightfully aromatic literary confection--you should -read it held off in a pair of tongs--“Is this your son, my Lord?” We -can say with _empressement_, no, thank God! This particular kind of -pathological fiction is only possible to a certain haunted, morbid -feminine imagination. - - -Hall Caine tells young authors that when they are tempted to describe -a scene of more than usual delicacy to refrain from it, if it is not -absolutely necessary to the story. What about writing your story -around a delicate situation, as Shakespeare did in “The Rape of -Lucrece”? A delicate situation, delicately expressed, requires more -talent than an indelicate one indelicately described. - - -A great many readers of the powerful poem called “The Wail of the Hack -Writer” in this issue, picturing a mood of revulsion and despair common -enough among all writers who have to earn a livelihood by the pen, will -be surprised in coming upon the name of the author, Sam Walter Foss. -This is an interesting phase of personality. This poem reveals a new -and serious personality in a writer already known to a wider circle of -readers than few of us can ever hope to reach. For years the name of -Sam Walter Foss has been synonymous with the most bubbling humor and -spontaneous, genial fun. One could guess this man took life smiling -from the laugh in all his work, and his optimistic, large belief in his -fellows. And the superficial reader, caught with these merry jingles -and this good-natured philosophy, might naturally think that Mr. Foss -was a man who took all life as a joke, who hated serious books, and -never saw the sad side of life. The optimism of the man is in his work, -but it is not a narrow optimism, and all this light fun is born of a -deep and serious interest in the human drama being played out today. -The man himself is a serious man in all his ideas and interests in -life, and there is a serious undercurrent of purpose in all his fun -making. - - -Yvette Guilbert, the famous Paris chanteuse, who is now singing at the -Olympia in New York, is said to give in her repertoire some humorous -songs with more point in them than our English speaking audiences are -accustomed to. As two thirds of her English speaking audiences will -not be able to thoroughly understand her, even those who can read and -speak French being unable to follow it closely when sung, it must be -interesting to watch the faces of her audiences. While Mlle. Guilbert -is singing her sweet ditties of love-lorn maiden’s hopes and trials, it -is ten to one the greater part of her audience will be imagining all -sorts of wicked, depraved things are being publicly sown in the hearts -of our innocent people. London has pronounced her songs shocking. We -can scarcely expect Mlle. Guilbert will be much better understood on -this side, for the Anglo-Saxon has rarely the temperament to catch -the play of Gallic humor. So half the audience will sit and dream in -abandonment of the wicked things wicked people are reported to do; and -those who are so fortunate as to have wicked thoughts of their own will -think them, and Mlle. Guilbert will have to bear all their blushes. - - -The FLY LEAF appeals to the Young Man and Young Woman’s sense of -humor. It is time some of us youngsters were allowed to belong to -some generation, and if we do not assert our right to be _now_, we -shall experience some difficulty in squeezing into the ranks of the -generations unborn. The old fogies fail to see the reasonableness of -this. If the younger generation also fails to perceive our right to -exist, it will bring our gray hairs in sorrow to the grave--for we are -but belated boys, after all. This is a world in which it takes one a -long while to grow up, when one is poor--especially in Grub Street. - - -When I get so poor that I cannot afford to buy any more clothes, I -intend to dress in _Fly Leaves_, as I believe this badge of honorable -endeavor will save me somewhat from the scoffs of the mob, in a -community that holds letters in the high esteem they are held in -Boston. Then when I am dead and gone ten cities will contend for the -honor of my birth. I never tell where I was born. It is unwise; for -people will never forgive the impertinence of your being born among -them. - - -All these personal notes are relevant in up-to-date journalism, because -this is an age of confidences; and not to let the public know all about -one’s private life is to argue one’s self unknown. I may begin on my -autobiography in earnest, in a little while. I have “Passions” in great -number and variety. - - -To J. W. S.: No, my dear friend, I sympathize with your ambition, but -you cannot bribe the Editor of the FLY LEAF with any such consideration -as a year’s subscription to print your Ode. We have not yet been -tempted, as some of our popular contemporaries are every month, with an -offer to purchase an edition of fifty thousand and dine the editor; but -conscious virtue inclines us to repudiate your one dollar and get the -full credit of it with posterity. - - -A young lady writes to me from a western city and encloses her -photograph, which shows her to be a blooming, chubby-cheeked beauty -of eighteen summers. She says, in her letter, she is studying very -hard and sitting up night after night until daybreak, reading all the -great authors of our era: E. P. Roe, Edward W. Bok, Richard Harding -Davis and Dr. J. G. Holland, with the intention of adopting literature -as a career. These are all truly “great masters,” and their selection -shows an unerring judgment in one contemplating a career in _American_ -contemporary literature. I made the mistake of choosing certain obscure -Elizabethans and seventeenth century Englishmen as my masters; and -so have never got out of Grub Street. A woman can scarcely offend -against the canons of morality if she models her ideals of fictitious -propriety after the examples of these litterateurs who have made -simpering the grace and distinction of our epoch. It was unkind of fate -to deny these great minds the innocency of petticoats, but they have -remained wonderfully unspotted from the world. They have reduced all -morality to etiquette. But I am afraid my young lady will spoil her -beauty with all this strain to rid her mind of original predilections -after the manner of these “masters,” and she may develop that shocking -severity of countenance, which is so appallingly rife among our female -moralists in any illustrated book catalogue. All women are beautiful, -of course; but those who try to look like seers in their photographs -usually look as if life were a perpetual washing day with them. It -seems that scribbling often fatally undermines geniality in the female -temperament, and indeed most women write novels because they lack a -sense of humor. This severe superciliousness of our female celebrities, -I hold, is a warning to the New Woman to cultivate flippant male -society as much as possible. I warn my correspondent not to grow a face -that appals young love and stops clocks. - - -The _Arena_ should not hide its light under a bushel. It should put out -a sign, “Worlds reformed while you wait!” - - -The actress who finds herself too fat to be cast for the heroine -(heroines are always slender) and has to thin down upon a diet of -nothing but beef tea and hot water with a squeeze of lemon in it for -three months, buys fame almost as dearly as do the poets. Ambition -seems to have a trick of cheating the stomach; but asceticism and -mortification of the flesh on the stage have strangely enough made -their belated appearance with the advent of The Woman who Did. - - -The great trouble with human nature is that it is everywhere. If it -were only confined like a mad dog and rampaged solely in one country or -continent, we could take ideal views of life. And we could be patriots -without being scoundrels. - - -To the sentimental: Please do not forget that it was Dr. Johnson and -not the writer who said “Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel.” - - - - -THE LONDON ACADEMY - - The Leading Critical Literary Journal of London, in a long review of - “MEDITATIONS IN MOTLEY,” by WALTER BLACKBURN HARTE, says, among other - things: - - -“When any book of good criticism comes it should be welcomed and made -known for the benefit of the persons who care for such works. The book -under notice is one of these. It is, so far as I know, the first from -the author’s pen; but his writings are well known, and those who read -his present book will, with some eagerness, await its successor. For it -is a book in which wit and bright, if often satirical, humor are made -the vehicle for no flimsy affectations, but for genuine thought. Mr. -Ruskin has affirmed that the virtue of originality is not newness, but -genuineness. - -“In this true sense Mr. Harte’s book is original. Here is his own -thought on several topics, pleasantly displayed, and no mere echo or -second-hand production of the ideas of others. If Mr. Harte continues -to act up to this sentiment, [a long quotation from the book under -consideration] as he does in the present book, he may not achieve the -triumph of twentieth editions, but he will be a power for good--as -every true man of letters is, and must be in the world. If it were -practicable I should be much disposed to let the author recommend -himself by giving copious quotations from these essays. At his -best--that is, in his most characteristic and seemingly unconscious -passages--he reminds one of Montaigne: the charming inconsequence, the -egotism free from arrogance.” - - -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. - - - - -In Mens Sana, in Corpore Sano. - - -Some wicked nurses lull crying, starving children by putting the rubber -bulb of an empty nursing bottle into their mouths. This fills the babe -with evil wind and destroys its judgment, character, digestion and -intellect. The old fashioned popular periodicals do the same thing -for inquiring and curious minds, seeking nourishment and amusement. -They give them a bottle of windy pap, called _nice, pure domestic -literature_, and the result is the same as with the poor baby--only -aggravated. - -THE FLY LEAF is a robust, masculine, periodical for grown-up, common -sense young men and women. It takes the point of view of the young man -of today in literature and life. It is new, but sane. Its audacity -is integrity of opinion and not mere eccentricity. It advocates -greater freedom in American literature, and it discusses the aims and -tendencies of the new movement and new writers. - -THE FLY LEAF is young, but not such a cherub that it lacks wisdom -teeth, and those who appreciate waggery are laughing over its little -ironies. It is certain the new babe can live by its wits very well in -a community which appreciates wit as keenly as does the great American -public. - - - THE FLY LEAF, - 269 St. Botolph Street, Boston, Mass. - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Fly Leaf, No. 2, Vol. 1, January -1896, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLY LEAF, JANUARY 1896 *** - -***** This file should be named 62430-0.txt or 62430-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/4/3/62430/ - -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. 2, Vol. 1, January 1896 - -Author: Various - -Editor: Walter Blackburn Harte - -Release Date: June 19, 2020 [EBook #62430] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLY LEAF, JANUARY 1896 *** - - - - -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" /> - - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<blockquote> -<h1>The Fly Leaf</h1> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_001.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p>A Pamphlet Periodical of<br /> -the New—the New Man,<br /> -New Woman, New Ideas,<br /> -Whimsies and Things.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> -<p><span class="smcap">Conducted by Walter Blackburn Harte.</span></p> -<hr class="tb" /> - - -<p><span class="smcap">With Picture Notes by<br /> -H. Marmaduke Russell.</span></p> - -<p>Published Monthly by the Fly Leaf Publishing Co.,<br /> -Boston, Mass. Subscription One Dollar a Year.<br /> -Single Copies 10 Cents. January, 1896. Number Two.</p></blockquote> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">A Word of Praise in Season.</h2></div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Philip Hale</span>, the well-known and brilliant -Boston literary and musical critic writes as -follows:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“Walter Blackburn Harte is beyond doubt and peradventure -the leading essayist in Boston today. For Boston perhaps you -had better read ‘the United States.’ His matter is original -and brave, his style is clear, polished when effect is to be gained -thereby, blunt when the blow of the bludgeon should fall, and at -times delightfully whimsical, rambling, paradoxical, fantastical. -But read for yourself, Miss Eustacia; and Harte’s ‘Meditations -in Motley’ will remain one of your favorite books. And now -Mr. Harte is the editor of <span class="smcap">The Fly Leaf</span>. The first number is -out, and let us earnestly call your attention to it.”</p> - -<p>A vigorous writer and thoroughly animated by the idea that -the field of letters in this country should bloom with the genius -of its youth. If <span class="smcap">The Fly Leaf</span> doesn’t achieve a great success -it will not be for lack of talent and energy on the part of its -director.—<i>The Boston Traveller.</i></p> - -<p>A new and wholly up to date brochure, <span class="smcap">The Fly Leaf</span>, has -just appeared under the conductorship of Walter Blackburn -Harte, one of the brightest young men in American literature.—<i>The -Boston Home Journal.</i></p> - -<p>Promises to be something of a novelty in periodical literature, -for it is filled with piquant comments on current fads and fashions, -and contains some spicy and whimsical essays in miniature, -written in a vivid impressionistic manner.—<i>The Boston -Transcript.</i></p></blockquote> - -<p>These are a few press notices. But all the -young men and women in every city and town -in the United States are discussing <span class="smcap">The Fly -Leaf</span> and spreading its fame.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span> -<h2 class="nobreak"><span class="large">The Fly Leaf</span></h2></div> - -<hr class="tb" /> -<p class="center">No. 2. <span class="gap">January, 1896.</span><span class="gap"> Vol. 1.</span></p> -<hr class="tb" /> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE MONK.</h2></div> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">We were gay fellows, all of us,</div> -<div class="verse">And christened him “the Monk.”</div> -<div class="verse">He sat among us silently,</div> -<div class="verse">His wine was never drunk.</div> -<div class="verse">He heard the music passionate,</div> -<div class="verse">But did not join the dance,</div> -<div class="verse">Unmoved, he saw white arms and throats,</div> -<div class="verse">Unloving, caught Love’s glance.</div> -<div class="verse">I asked him why he cared to live,</div> -<div class="indent">“Because,” responded he,—</div> -<div class="verse">“<i>I like to watch these pictures</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Of the things inside of me.</i>”</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verseright"><span class="smcap">Claude F. Bragdon.</span></div> -</div></div></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE VISION OF YOUTH.</h2></div> - - -<div class="figright"><img src="images/i_001.jpg" alt="" /></div> - - -<p>It may be accepted as an axiom that the strong -are always audacious, and so when we hear of -any man in literature who is shocking and rumpling -all the susceptibilities of nice, quiet, drowsy -people we may be sure that his capital crime is -independence of thought and opinion. He is -looking at life for himself, instead of through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> -the refracted lenses of old class habit or antiquated -religious dogma. And it is a thousand to -one he has the criminal audacity to be young; -for the vision of youth is clearer and more sure, -and more pitying than the old green or crimson -goggles of selfish age, that would paint the world -as popes and kings and classes and governments, -with rewards and honors to give, would have it. -All men whose life and work make for the uplifting -of human conditions and thought are set in -the way of truth before reaching thirty. If a -man is timorous before thirty, he will be an unmitigable -coward, perhaps knave, for the rest of -his days. And today the only profession which -demands any active spirit of heroism is the calling -of literature, that has become the <i>Deus ex -machina</i> of all modern civilized life.</p> - -<div class="figleft"><img src="images/i_002.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p>Every truly ambitious writer, or for that matter, -every manly writer, be he a genius or a mediocrity, -has certain large ideal aims to serve -in all his literature. It is not enough for a manly -man to simply evoke applause. A nude nymph -from the gutter of Paris dancing a can-can on a -cafe table, also lives by popular suffrage, and -wins such popular approbation as is never given -to literature—the incoherent cries in which the -whole body emits its tingling void of aching, -sensuous delight, the deep, whole-hearted greed -of the flaming instincts and soul of the race.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span>There are a thousand arts and tricks that gain -applause and good pay, and have the world’s -countenance (and ours, for we are not such rigid -moralists as to try to upset nature); but it is -the business of the artist to gain respect, not -for himself as an individual, for in that capacity -we can allow much to temptation, but for -his precious art, which is the voice of all the -dumb ones of our kind. Surely, if there is any -thing that Almighty God could forbear in tenderness -to destroy, of all man’s sad attempts to -win a home in this inhospitable world, it is the -written pages that hold the highest aspirations -of the human soul—some pages that we, in our -overweening pride in the glory of our fellows, -think hold a beauty and breadth that must partake -of Divinity itself. But the wind of deathless -Time is rushing even now, and we know -that nothing can escape its touch.</p> - -<p>It is the final business of literature to quicken -the spirit of humanity and stir those noblest impulses -that make us despise the mere grovelling -life of those who have not learned the irony of -<i>things</i>. We hide ourselves like guilty creatures -among our dusty, dusty possessions, afraid to -waste time for living and thought, and so the -days and nights that should be ours pass and we -enjoy them not. Only a few poets possess the -days and nights, and even they know the sweetness -of life mostly in sorrow.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span>All literature is trivial that lacks this large -relevance to human life, and so, in looking over -the bulk of contemporary American literature, -it is to be feared that neither charity nor policy -can make it out to be very important. It is -destitute of any of the spirit of genius, and it is -for the most part merely a travesty of the small -talk of the surface life of so-called “good society.” -It nowhere touches upon the reality of -human passion, existent under every mask of -custom and artificial seeming of refinement, and -its inspiration is evident in every hasty line—money -and advertising.</p> - -<div class="figleft"><img src="images/i_004.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p>To be quite candid, could any other country -boast such an utterly mediocre, uninspired group -of literary artisans as is represented by the -Scratchback Club of New York, which in its -membership really furnishes all that passes for -contemporary “American” literature in our periodicals? -They show the intellectual and imaginative -poverty of a people merely pushing -and ingenious. They reveal the shallowness of -the prevailing idea that mere education furnishes -those deep forces of personality which have made -all true literature, and all true cultivation, with -or without education. There is none of the -audacity of real spontaneous thought in these -men and women’s work; it is all written to order, -as mechanically as an auctioneer’s catalogue.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>But it is well to have a definite aim in literature, -and the pens concerned in the production -of the <span class="smcap">Fly Leaf</span> are at least inspired by a sense -of the fluidity of this excellent medium of prose, -and though they may fail in the haste of periodical -writing to achieve the perfect ends of art, -at least they will not wantonly strive to debase -the public judgment and taste by pandering to -the narrow minds of ignorant prudes, after the -fashion of the popular periodical literature of -the day.</p> - -<p>The <span class="smcap">Fly Leaf</span> has a definite aim and purpose -in being, and that is, to get more latitude in literature -written in English, and to make the work -of the real writers of our end of the century better -known to the great democracy of readers. -These are the younger men and not the old, -fogy carpenters, brought up to write moral tracts -under Dr. J. G. Holland at the close of the fifties. -The <span class="smcap">Fly Leaf</span> looks to the younger generation -to enable it to make its aims a force in our intellectual -and literary life here in America.</p> - -<p>There is a revolt and a quickening sense of -changes and forces in the air. The work of any -individual writer or worker can effect little or -nothing. But the earnest enthusiasm of a little -band of men and women, inspired with a belief -in the impartiality of the good God and the perpetual -renewal of imagination and thought and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> -genius in every branch of the race, can set such -an enthusiasm for better things and higher ideals -in not merely the substance but the spirit of all -our art endeavor as shall bring in a harvest of -real, robust literature from every quarter of this -country—largely from the most unsuspected -quarters. It is this scattered interest in a nobler -ideal than obtains in our contemporary periodical -literature that the <span class="smcap">Fly Leaf</span> will attempt to -focus. At present nearly all the writers with -any individual style and force and robustness -and largeness of aim are shut out of American -periodical literature, because such qualities in -literature are deemed <i>too shocking</i> nowadays.</p> - -<p>The <span class="smcap">Fly Leaf</span> believes there are still readers -who appreciate boldness, original conceptions, -audacity of treatment, and the varied play of -fancy over the whole and not merely a part of -human existence. These are the qualities that -gave us our standard English literature, and in -the early days inspired our greatest writers in -America. They must be the impulse and inspiration -of today, if Americans are not content to -be represented in literature by snobbish boys -trying to write like “ladies,” and women who -write without effort like the deuce knows what.</p> - -<div class="figleft"><img src="images/i_008.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p>When we say we appeal to the younger people -it must not be thought that we appeal to the -children—although since they are so far more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> -critical than their grandparents, we shall not dare -to forget them altogether. We mean that we -desire to enlist the interests and sympathies of -our own generation—say those born sometime -in the sixties and since. Our grandparents may -be very good folk and quite smart in getting -around today, but they were largely brought up -on almanacs, and their literary tastes are narrow -and eccentric without being picturesque. They -belong to ancient times without holding the antique -novelties of the really far away ancient -times, which were really more in touch with the -intellectual bustle and eager curiosity of our day -than those gray years of smug Anglo-Saxon absorption -in a civilization of mere bread and beer -that lie immediately behind us, and still cast the -chill shadow of their prurient morality over all -our literature. Even some of the direct parents -of this generation are a little threadbare -in their craniums. They have read domestic -literature all their lives and of course are incapable -of thought. The stirring gray matter is -found in the heads of those born not much -further back, say, than ’49, the year of gold. -Let us resolve to make this <i>fin de siecle</i> the -golden age of American literature. And if there -are, as I suspect there are, some belated grandparents -still on earth, animated with the spirit -and ideals of Milton and the Martyrs, young at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> -heart in their enthusiasm for the truth, for the -art that touches and ennobles life, and for freedom -of thought and expression, these are of us -also, and will gladly find in the <span class="smcap">Fly Leaf</span>, in -its burst of youth, the ideals that have always -permeated robust and honest literature—especially -in the old days when a man might swing -or burn for an audacious pamphlet. With such -old fogies we have no bone of contention. But -the old fogies in petticoats, the gingerbread -writers, we shall probably toss up in a blanket -nine times as high as the moon—when we are -not so pressed for space and time.</p> - - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">GREY EYES.</h2></div> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Brown eyes for passion and blue eyes for life,</div> -<div class="verse">Pink eyes and green eyes and black eyes for strife,</div> -<div class="indent4">But the eyes of my love are grey.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Bright eyes that are happy, dull eyes that are sad,</div> -<div class="verse">Wide innocent eyes and eyes to make mad,</div> -<div class="indent4">But I love the soft eyes that are grey.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">I love the soft eyes that are grey, love,</div> -<div class="verse">And grey’ll be the eyes of the angels above,</div> -<div class="indent4">For in heaven your eyes will be grey.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verseright"><span class="smcap">Sherwin Cody.</span></div> -</div></div></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> -<h2 class="nobreak">A GEOLOGICAL PARABLE.</h2></div> - - -<p>It was at the place afterwards called Solenhofen. -The weather was miserable, as Jurassic -weather usually was. The rain beat steadily -down, and carbon dioxide was still upon the -earth.</p> - -<p>The Archaeopteryx was feeling pretty gloomy, -for at that morning’s meeting of the Amalgamated -Association of Enaliosaurians he had -been blackballed. He was looked down upon by -the Pterodactyl and the Ichthyosaurus deigned -not to notice him. Cast out by the Reptilia, -and Aves not being thought of, he became a -wanderer upon the face of the earth. “Alas!” -sighed the poor Archaeopteryx, “this world is -no place for me.” And he laid him down and -died; and became imbedded in the rock.</p> - -<p>And ages afterward a featherless biped, called -man, dug him up, and marvelled at him, crying, -“Lo, the original Avis and fountain-head of all -our feathered flocks!” And they placed him -with great reverence in a case, and his name became -a by-word in the land. But the Archaeopteryx -knew it not. And the descendant for -whom he had suffered and died strutted proudly -about the barn-yard, crowing lustily cock-a-doodle-do!</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">S. P. Carrick, Jr.</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE WAIL OF THE HACK WRITER.</h2></div> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Ah, dreary is the toil for dull</div> -<div class="indent">And shallow thought—the chaff-choked grain,</div> -<div class="verse">That comes from just beneath the skull,</div> -<div class="indent">Not from the brain within the brain.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">But all the dull, chaff-nourished tribe</div> -<div class="indent">Must have its favorite food of bran,</div> -<div class="verse">And he who writes must let the scribe</div> -<div class="indent">Murder the poet in the man.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Oft must he stem the tides that roll</div> -<div class="indent">From thought’s interior deep, and, dead</div> -<div class="verse">To their far voices, sell his soul—</div> -<div class="indent">No, not for gold, for bread.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">And he must leave the heights that shine</div> -<div class="indent">And hasten down their arduous steeps</div> -<div class="verse">To feed the million-throated swine,</div> -<div class="indent">That gulps its garbage and then sleeps.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verseright"><span class="smcap">Sam Walter Foss.</span></div> -</div></div></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">ADONIS IN TATTERS.</h2></div> - -<p class="center">A PARABLE ON THE POWER OF BEAUTY.</p> - - -<p>The audience at a parlor lecture in a Beacon -Street drawing room is apt to be rather intense -and rapt in its attention, and discreet in its enthusiasm, -with the emphasis of discernment -which subdued, well-bred applause confers. At -Mrs. Reginald Beveridge Vincent’s this is always<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> -particularly noticeable, for Mrs. Vincent is one -of the social law givers of the “smart” set, and -her rooms on these occasions are thronged with -all sorts of ambitious social strugglers, who pay -insidious homage to their hostess in their admiration -of the idols for whom she stands sponsor. -There are all sorts of people here, and -among them many of the great army of the -small celebrities, who are somewhat more distinguished -than prosperous, and who would fain -pass from the appreciation of imaginative literature -to the serious consideration of dining. The -fact is, the socially nebulous, who rebel against -their birth’s invidious bar and strive to get out of -the obscurity of the mass of humanity, are really -the backbone of the enthusiasm for letters in -fashionable society. These rather dubious folk, -with no redeeming big bank account, are spurred -by ambition to attach themselves to some sort of -superiority—the superiority not always inherently -residing in them; and so literature becomes -their easy spoil. They constitute the -one stable element in all literary gatherings out -of Grub Street; and even Mrs. Vincent, with all -her social prestige, could not dispense with them. -And so they come, and dream of passing the -rubicon, and so on to more important functions. -There are many who are considered good enough<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> -and worthy to sit at a feast of reason and a flow -of soul, who would never be deemed eligible for -the holier function of stuffing with baked meats -and wines. These literary afternoons, it may be -noted, for the benefit of the ambitious, serve an -incidental purpose as a sort of preliminary investigation -into the character, standing and desirability -of new acquaintances. Many are called -to the feast of literature—but few are chosen to -break bread at dinner. But the success of parlor -lectures, at the most dispiriting hour of the -afternoon in winter when the city streets are -sunless and melancholy and depressing, depends -almost entirely upon the lure of social hopes, -that influence the more or less obscure to give -up the comfort of their mediocre leisure to swell -the triumph of those who secure the glory of -the passing show of life. The woman who -wants to shine as a patron of the fine arts must -not neglect these mixed social elements, or her -rooms will be empty. Exemplary activity in -church politics and an interest in letters, are the -humble beginnings, the corduroy roads, as it -were, of many who ultimately shine with more -certain lustre as leaders of the german. Therefore, -every wise blue stocking is affable and accessible -to the crowd of dubious persons whose -admirations may be depended upon—unless hope -burns stronger in some other quarter. One<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> -thing is certain: the grand dames of the upper -social heavens are not to be depended upon when -literature or philosophy is the only attraction -offered, even when a grand dame is herself holding -the reception. There are so many petty -jealousies, and so many rival courts; and, moreover, -the grand dames have so many questions -of social diplomacy to occupy them—men, for -instance (<i>nice</i>, eligible men are scarce); consequently -they do not often come under the spell -of the literary impressario, who gains a precarious -subsistence in the lap of luxury; and, besides, -the afternoon is the meridian of the shopping -fever.</p> - -<p>The large drawing room was crowded on this -particular afternoon, and Mrs. Vincent was in -high feather, for she had secured the new poet -of the season, Mr. Blanco Winterbourne, to give -his lecture on “Ideals of Beauty in Modern -Life.” This was in itself a victory. Winterbourne -was a brand new poet, who had dropped -straight from the skies and been immediately -accepted in London, so that he had all the freshness -and glamour of a debutante, and his reputation -being still in the making in the inner circles -of society, the gold dust was still upon his wings, -unbrushed and untarnished by the chill after-thoughts -of envious Grub Street criticism.</p> - -<p>Everybody sat in an attitude of rare rapture,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> -and every time the lecturer uttered some especially -well sounding and uplifting sentiment, and -paused a moment for the rapid click of eyes, -some fine idealist in the group would fix the -hostess’s wandering glance with a gleam of appreciation. -This was intended to isolate him in -her memory as a man of discernment and culture -worthy of remembrance in the Elysian domain -of dining. There is indeed something almost -pathetic in this intense concentration of mind, -this painful anxiety of appreciation, which is so -evidently the tribute to the hostess and not to -the new genius himself. Only so much rapture -goes to the lecturer as appearances demand. -The glory of the occasion belongs to the patron; -for skill and talent are largely a matter of labor -and discipline, whereas the recognition of excellence -is the quick flash of pure intellect, genius! -But the audience is charitable enough, and the -most terrible ordeal for the lecturer, fresh from -Parnassus or Grub Street, is the pervasive and -distracting rustling and swishing of silken skirts—a -sound that is the most tangible symbol of -women’s potent whims in the sensuous consciousness -of man.</p> - -<div class="figleft"><img src="images/i_014.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p>There was one exception to the general air of -complete absorption and satisfaction, and this -was a queer, oval cynical face, half in the light -of the waning day, and half in the shadow of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> -the curtains. It belonged to a young man, who -leaned half forward in a rigid, high-backed chair, -and alternately glanced curiously from face to -face in the audience, and then turned completely -about and looked out across the bare tree-tops -of the Common. A look of weariness, and even -of contempt, crept about his eyes and mouth, as -certain high-flown phrases reached his ears.</p> - -<p>Here is a bit of rapid rhetoric that evoked the -applause of the company, and made him only -curl his lip. “The dominion of beauty obtains -forever in the human heart, and so long as this -is so, no class nor humanity at large can be -utterly bad; for the discernment of beauty involves -the recognition of moral feeling. All -permanent beauty is essentially moral and is -sure of ready acceptance, especially among -women, in whom the religious instinct is -strongest. Modern life can never annihilate -this innate and instinctive perception of intellectual -nobility and pure beauty. Nay, since -the form is the body of the soul, the finest type -of pure physical beauty will always rightly command -our admiration. It breaks through all -creeds and castes, and holds the race in unity of -feeling and thought.”</p> - -<p>The lecture closed in a culminating clapping -of hands, and the guests all moved forward to -congratulate the lecturer and the patron. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> -young man turned and studied the different -groups with an amused smile.</p> - -<p>A lady, who had been watching the young -man’s mocking comment on the scene in the -changing expression of his eyes and pursed lips, -suddenly arose from a divan in the angle of the -room, and crossed over to where he sat in the -afternoon twilight.</p> - -<div class="figleft"><img src="images/i_016.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p>She stopped him from arising with a gesture, -and sank down into a seat beside him.</p> - -<p>“You do not seem particularly pleased with -Mr. Blanco Winterbourne’s lecture?”</p> - - - -<p>“Well, it doesn’t interest me, because you -see I come into contact with life as it really is. -I have heard all this cant about the beauty of -purity and character before so many times, but -when I see beauty of character in life I find it -always taken advantage of. And as for the dignity -of physical beauty, I need scarcely tell one -of your sex the difference between a beauty in -rags and a beauty in silks.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, but I protest, that although the world -is gross, and the half of us are mere Mammon -worshippers, there is an instinct of delight, and -irresistible attraction for us, especially for we -women, in sheer beauty without any trappings -of finery.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, indeed; that sounds like the magnanimity -of humanity, universally asserted by popular<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> -moralists. But your sex is really the least -amenable, as I could easily prove to you.”</p> - -<p>“Then prove it.”</p> - -<p>“I will, if you can put on your hat and coat -and come at once.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m in a blaze of curiosity for the adventure.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>As they crossed Beacon Street a beggar boy -stepped up to them, and in piping tones of want -asked the lady for alms. She glanced for a moment -into his face with a blank look of negation -on her own, and with a sort of comprehensive -intake of his dirt and rags she gathered her -skirts about her and passed through the turnpike -and down the steps to the Common. But -her companion lingered behind, and presently -joined her, half dragging the boy by his tattered -sleeve.</p> - -<p>“Come here, Miss Lorillard, and look at the -boy. I want to know if this isn’t beauty?”</p> - -<p>She turned and looked into the boy’s face, as -her companion held it up to the light between -his two hands. The extraordinary and perfect -beauty of his features seized upon her in a sort -of wonderment. Where had she ever seen such -a face before?—And her memory swept through -the galleries of Europe. In none of them. How -was it she had not noticed it at first? The dirt?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> -It was incomparable—it seemed superhuman in -its sweetness and beauty, its appeal, and its glow -of divinity. God’s hand was plainly set in that -face.</p> - -<p>“This is the boy,” said the young man, laconically, -watching her expression. “Come -along.”</p> - -<div class="figleft"><img src="images/i_018.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p>And linking his arm in that of the ragged -youngster, the trio sauntered along with the -fashionable throng coming out of the matinees.</p> - - -<p>“Get out of my way, you ugly little sweep,” -said one woman, elbowing the boy off the pavement; -and the men pushed him hither and -thither. The fashionable women looked right -through the ragged urchin and his evidently dubious -companions, as if they were glass, and their -gaze seemed to bite like frost. Not one woman -remarked the surpassing loveliness of the boy’s -perfect face.</p> - -<p>At the corner of the Common the young man -sent the boy about his business.</p> - -<p>“Who is he, and what does all this mean?”</p> - -<p>“That is Adonis—the one-time victor of -Venus. He fell upon evil days when clothes -made the king, and rags the knave.”</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Walter Blackburn Harte.</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> -<h2 class="nobreak">LIFE.</h2></div> - - -<p>I sometimes think life is but a see-saw board, -with hope at one end and despair at the other. -First hope goes up, and despair goes down, and -then it reverses. There seems to be no break in -the steady rise and fall. We live on, clinging to -the belief that hope will outbalance despair, but -it does not, and men come and men go, and life -still teeters away.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Joseph Andrews Cone.</span></p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">A SONNET FOR POETS.</h2></div> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Sometimes birds sing not though the morn is fair;</div> -<div class="indent">Sometimes flowers folded lie beneath the sun;</div> -<div class="indent">Sometimes no dew falls though the day is done;</div> -<div class="verse">Sometimes where fruit should grow the branch is bare;</div> -<div class="verse">Sometimes the truest poet must forbear</div> -<div class="indent">To make his music, though the hour is one</div> -<div class="indent">With perfect beauty ended and begun:</div> -<div class="verse">Sometimes his power has left him to despair,</div> -<div class="verse">Sometimes he standeth spelled and dumb, though all</div> -<div class="indent">Is great around him, though he plainly sees</div> -<div class="indent2">The beauty, and the grand sound plainly hears.</div> -<div class="verse">But if, ere glories vanish, it befall</div> -<div class="indent">That his sweet tongue doth loosen; as it frees</div> -<div class="indent2">He thrills with rapture, hymning through his tears.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verseright"><span class="smcap">William Francis Barnard.</span></div> -</div></div></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE LITTLE GREEN HAT.</h2></div> - - -<p>They were coming out of the matinee, and -there was something in the way he took her arm -and swung her out of the crush, that the experienced -eye of the married man or married woman -could at once detect as the assurance of the husband, -accustomed to being adored, and quietly -and covertly conscious of other feminine eyes in -the crowd.</p> - -<p>He turned up her fur collar and they walked -along in silence. She was scrutinizing each face -in the slowly moving throng. He was picking -his way, falling in her wake to give room to the -opposing stream, and occasionally to glance behind -and strengthen some impression of a silhouette, -that awoke a momentary pang, and then -faded into the blur of faces, the rustle of silks -and the subtle perfume of a well dressed crowd of -women.</p> - -<p>Once he turned half round sharply, as a tall, -handsome woman swept by, creaking and rustling -like a great galleon in a swell of wind and -rolling sea. His wife brought back his eyes -with a glance of interrogation.</p> - -<p>“Pretty little green hat, that,” he said. “I -think it would just suit you.”</p> - -<p>“Ah yes,” answered she. “Strange you never -notice hats in the milliners’ windows.”</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Jonathan Penn.</span></p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE NEW GOD.</h2></div> - - -<p>It is altogether fitting and proper, as Abraham -Lincoln would say if he were not dead, that -that there should be an immediate definition of -the “New God.” It is not easy to define the -New Woman—not easy to define the New Man, -nor to formulate New Ideas, but, in these days, -when the passion for money getting over-shadows -everything else in life, and colors our -religion and philosophy, with the cheap cynicism -of poor cheated greed, it is easy to define the -New God. In the first place, He is everything -that the Old God was not; and that is saying -everything that the Modern Dives wishes said—and -for which he pays his preacher. The -successful modern preacher has to be a man of -great intellectual parts, and some knowledge of -affairs. He must be a man of the world, for it -is the function of a new prophet in a successful -metropolitan church to preach the New God. -And this is most effectively done while occupying -the Old Pulpit. An adroit and conservative -judicial spirit has entirely renovated and made -respectable the gift of prophecy in the Christian -church. So we see the churches filled with the -social charity of sweet and silken equality, and -all things are kept as sweet and peaceful as -possible in this atmosphere that once reeked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> -with sulphurous fumes for the wicked. But -the sweet savor of camphor and smelling salts -has stifled the sulphur,—and all other disagreeable -odors in God’s House.</p> - -<p>The churches of today are mostly mausoleums -in which rest the crumbling remains of the -ancient God. But an intellectual age still delights -in the glamor of impressive ritual, and -his name and attributes are enshrined in Creed, -Decalogue and Hymn. But the old Law is serenely -disobeyed, with the assurance that the -New God is much too good or much too distant -to perplex himself with the peccadillos of good -society. As a certain French countess said in -the court of Louis XV., “The good God would -surely think twice before damning people of -quality”—and undoubtedly the New God is -more liberal and refined than the old one.</p> - -<p>The New God, like the cynic man of the world, -takes the world as he finds it. He is a being of -an infinite indifference to syndicates (<i>sin</i>-di-cates!), -deals (in which lurks the de’il!), coal -oil monopolies (whence come endowments that -throttle free speech on social questions), sugar -trusts (that capture Congress), and the ways of -a man with a maid—or, what is quite as wonderful—the -ways of a new maid with an old -man.</p> - -<p>The New God is a dilettante in religion, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> -winks (when bribed with a good service in a fine -church) and looks the other way when broad-cloth -and satin sow unto the flesh.</p> - -<p>It is to be suspected that the New Girl in her -way is better than the New God. If the New -Man becomes any worse, he ought to—well, it -would be impolitic to say what he ought to do. -But between the New God and the cynics of -Mammon this world does not seem to promise -the millennium or Utopia just yet a while.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">L. Lemmah.</span></p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">THE SCHOOL OF NECESSITY.</h2></div> - - -<p>If we are to come into our inheritance as an -artistic people, let us hear less of Art with a -big A. Let us turn from the oracle of the Personally -Conducted and make bonfires of our -Baedeckers.</p> - -<p>The “Old Masters” were plain men, for the -most part, with the virtues and vices of their -time, and would kill a man or paint a Madonna -with equal skill and enthusiasm. Art was to -them only one form of a manifold activity, not -a problem to be solved nor a fetish to be worshipped. -Cellini made salt cellars and bragged -about them long before he cast his Perseus. -Michaelangelo painted the Sistine ceiling because -the Pope commanded him, and not because -he was divinely inspired to do it. Raphael and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> -Rubens ran picture factories which turned out -paintings of a certain brand, like so many barrels -of flour. Shakespeare patched together -threadbare scenes and situations for special occasions, -as managers now prepare a Christmas -pantomime; and Balzac wrote the “Comedie -Humaine” to pay his debts.</p> - -<p>Literature is not a thing of limited editions, -nor painting of spring exhibitions. While you -are seeking the coming novelist between rich -covers he may be doing a daily “story” for -some sensational morning paper; and the new -Raphael you think of as hid away in some -sequestered north-lit studio may be designing -labels for boxes in a lithograph factory.</p> - -<p>Respect, therefore, the poster, though it <i>is</i> -obtrusive, and despise not the Japanese print, -though it be cheap. Admit that there is more -merit in the pen and ink picture of which are -printed a million copies, than in the etching on -your library walls, of which there are only ten.</p> - -<p>Believe that the baths and aqueducts of Rome, -however marvellous, are puerile as feats of -engineering compared with a city floated on -Lake Michigan mud; and learn that while you -drowse over your “standard authors” of today -the work of him who will be the standard author -of tomorrow may be appearing in these despised -pages.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Claude Fayette Bragdon.</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> -<h2 class="nobreak">BUBBLE AND SQUEAK.</h2></div> - - -<p>Let the world wag as it may, the wits must live -by waggery.</p> - -<p> </p> -<p>The optimists who are so comfortably situated -that they can support optimism without any severe -strain upon their imaginations, say, “What -is, is right.” But they fail to tackle the corollary -proposition, “What isn’t, isn’t.”</p> - -<p> </p> -<p>I received a book the other day from one of -the leading publishers for review, and for three -days and nights I have labored with it. It is one -of those dull and dreary affairs, without even the -single redeeming grace of conscious striving egotism, -and it is written by one of the most prominent -members of the New York Scratchback -Club, a man whose name is in everybody’s mouth -in the country. I wrote a scorching review of the -book, in my happiest vein of gory glee; but upon -reflection I shall not print it. This author is too -infernally stupid to deserve so good an “ad.”</p> - -<p> </p> -<p>The poets are not the only sufferers in these -sober strenuous days, in which the beautiful -distractions of idleness are not properly understood -or appreciated. Full many a wag is born -to waste his wit upon the desert air—or the -thick skull of an anthropoid on the “night desk.”</p> - -<p> </p> -<p>It has been suggested by an undiscouraged<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> -friend of humanity that, at the close of the Age -of Consent discussion, a committee should be organized -among the society women who live in -the highly fashionable locality in Boston that is -honored with the presence of Mrs. Helen H. Gardener, -to raise necessary funds to defray the cost -of giving the sources of this lady’s literary inspiration -a good Spring cleaning. He urges, -and with some apparent show of reason, that -after her arduous labors as the historian of -the Age of Consent movement, Mrs. Gardener -cannot wait until spring, and her consent should -be sought at an early date. Mrs. Gardener is -well known as a sort of social tornado in fiction, -though I believe she claims to belong to the Red -Cross or Sanitary school of writers. She is, -anyhow, the head and front of the inodorous infliction -called the Age of Consent agitation, and -the author of that delightfully aromatic literary -confection—you should read it held off in a pair -of tongs—“Is this your son, my Lord?” We -can say with <i>empressement</i>, no, thank God! This -particular kind of pathological fiction is only -possible to a certain haunted, morbid feminine -imagination.</p> - -<p> </p> -<p>Hall Caine tells young authors that when they -are tempted to describe a scene of more than -usual delicacy to refrain from it, if it is not absolutely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> -necessary to the story. What about writing -your story around a delicate situation, as -Shakespeare did in “The Rape of Lucrece”? A -delicate situation, delicately expressed, requires -more talent than an indelicate one indelicately -described.</p> - -<p> </p> -<p>A great many readers of the powerful poem -called “The Wail of the Hack Writer” in this -issue, picturing a mood of revulsion and despair -common enough among all writers who have to -earn a livelihood by the pen, will be surprised in -coming upon the name of the author, Sam Walter -Foss. This is an interesting phase of personality. -This poem reveals a new and serious -personality in a writer already known to a wider -circle of readers than few of us can ever hope to -reach. For years the name of Sam Walter Foss -has been synonymous with the most bubbling -humor and spontaneous, genial fun. One could -guess this man took life smiling from the laugh -in all his work, and his optimistic, large belief -in his fellows. And the superficial reader, -caught with these merry jingles and this good-natured -philosophy, might naturally think that -Mr. Foss was a man who took all life as a joke, -who hated serious books, and never saw the sad -side of life. The optimism of the man is in his -work, but it is not a narrow optimism, and all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> -this light fun is born of a deep and serious interest -in the human drama being played out today. -The man himself is a serious man in all -his ideas and interests in life, and there is a -serious undercurrent of purpose in all his fun -making.</p> - -<p> </p> -<p>Yvette Guilbert, the famous Paris chanteuse, -who is now singing at the Olympia in New -York, is said to give in her repertoire some humorous -songs with more point in them than our -English speaking audiences are accustomed to. -As two thirds of her English speaking audiences -will not be able to thoroughly understand her, -even those who can read and speak French being -unable to follow it closely when sung, it -must be interesting to watch the faces of her -audiences. While Mlle. Guilbert is singing her -sweet ditties of love-lorn maiden’s hopes and -trials, it is ten to one the greater part of her audience -will be imagining all sorts of wicked, depraved -things are being publicly sown in the -hearts of our innocent people. London has pronounced -her songs shocking. We can scarcely expect -Mlle. Guilbert will be much better understood -on this side, for the Anglo-Saxon has rarely -the temperament to catch the play of Gallic humor. -So half the audience will sit and dream in -abandonment of the wicked things wicked people<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> -are reported to do; and those who are so fortunate -as to have wicked thoughts of their own -will think them, and Mlle. Guilbert will have to -bear all their blushes.</p> - -<p> </p> -<p>The <span class="smcap">Fly Leaf</span> appeals to the Young Man -and Young Woman’s sense of humor. It is -time some of us youngsters were allowed to belong -to some generation, and if we do not assert -our right to be <i>now</i>, we shall experience some -difficulty in squeezing into the ranks of the generations -unborn. The old fogies fail to see the -reasonableness of this. If the younger generation -also fails to perceive our right to exist, it -will bring our gray hairs in sorrow to the grave—for -we are but belated boys, after all. This is -a world in which it takes one a long while to -grow up, when one is poor—especially in Grub -Street.</p> - -<p> </p> -<p>When I get so poor that I cannot afford to -buy any more clothes, I intend to dress in <i>Fly -Leaves</i>, as I believe this badge of honorable endeavor -will save me somewhat from the scoffs -of the mob, in a community that holds letters -in the high esteem they are held in Boston. -Then when I am dead and gone ten cities will -contend for the honor of my birth. I never tell -where I was born. It is unwise; for people will -never forgive the impertinence of your being -born among them.</p> - -<p> </p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>All these personal notes are relevant in up-to-date -journalism, because this is an age of confidences; -and not to let the public know all about -one’s private life is to argue one’s self unknown. -I may begin on my autobiography in earnest, in -a little while. I have “Passions” in great number -and variety.</p> - -<p> </p> -<p>To J. W. S.: No, my dear friend, I sympathize -with your ambition, but you cannot bribe the -Editor of the <span class="smcap">Fly Leaf</span> with any such consideration -as a year’s subscription to print your Ode. -We have not yet been tempted, as some of our -popular contemporaries are every month, with -an offer to purchase an edition of fifty thousand -and dine the editor; but conscious virtue inclines -us to repudiate your one dollar and get the -full credit of it with posterity.</p> - -<p> </p> -<p>A young lady writes to me from a western city -and encloses her photograph, which shows her -to be a blooming, chubby-cheeked beauty of -eighteen summers. She says, in her letter, she -is studying very hard and sitting up night after -night until daybreak, reading all the great -authors of our era: E. P. Roe, Edward W. -Bok, Richard Harding Davis and Dr. J. G. Holland, -with the intention of adopting literature as -a career. These are all truly “great masters,” -and their selection shows an unerring judgment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> -in one contemplating a career in <i>American</i> contemporary -literature. I made the mistake of -choosing certain obscure Elizabethans and seventeenth -century Englishmen as my masters; -and so have never got out of Grub Street. A -woman can scarcely offend against the canons -of morality if she models her ideals of fictitious -propriety after the examples of these litterateurs -who have made simpering the grace and distinction -of our epoch. It was unkind of fate to deny -these great minds the innocency of petticoats, -but they have remained wonderfully unspotted -from the world. They have reduced all morality -to etiquette. But I am afraid my young lady -will spoil her beauty with all this strain to rid -her mind of original predilections after the -manner of these “masters,” and she may develop -that shocking severity of countenance, -which is so appallingly rife among our female -moralists in any illustrated book catalogue. All -women are beautiful, of course; but those who -try to look like seers in their photographs usually -look as if life were a perpetual washing day -with them. It seems that scribbling often fatally -undermines geniality in the female temperament, -and indeed most women write novels because -they lack a sense of humor. This severe superciliousness -of our female celebrities, I hold, is a -warning to the New Woman to cultivate flippant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> -male society as much as possible. I warn -my correspondent not to grow a face that appals -young love and stops clocks.</p> - -<p> </p> -<p>The <i>Arena</i> should not hide its light under a -bushel. It should put out a sign, “Worlds reformed -while you wait!”</p> - -<p> </p> -<p>The actress who finds herself too fat to be cast -for the heroine (heroines are always slender) -and has to thin down upon a diet of nothing but -beef tea and hot water with a squeeze of lemon -in it for three months, buys fame almost as -dearly as do the poets. Ambition seems to have -a trick of cheating the stomach; but asceticism -and mortification of the flesh on the stage have -strangely enough made their belated appearance -with the advent of The Woman who Did.</p> - -<p> </p> -<p>The great trouble with human nature is that -it is everywhere. If it were only confined like a -mad dog and rampaged solely in one country or -continent, we could take ideal views of life. -And we could be patriots without being scoundrels.</p> - -<p> </p> -<p>To the sentimental: Please do not forget that -it was Dr. Johnson and not the writer who said -“Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel.”</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">THE LONDON ACADEMY</h2></div> - -<blockquote> - -<p>The Leading Critical Literary Journal of London, -in a long review of “<span class="smcap">Meditations in -Motley</span>,” by <span class="smcap">Walter Blackburn Harte</span>, -says, among other things:</p></blockquote> - - -<p>“When any book of good criticism comes it should be welcomed -and made known for the benefit of the persons who care -for such works. The book under notice is one of these. It is, -so far as I know, the first from the author’s pen; but his writings -are well known, and those who read his present book will, with -some eagerness, await its successor. For it is a book in which -wit and bright, if often satirical, humor are made the vehicle for -no flimsy affectations, but for genuine thought. Mr. Ruskin has -affirmed that the virtue of originality is not newness, but genuineness.</p> - -<p>“In this true sense Mr. Harte’s book is original. Here is -his own thought on several topics, pleasantly displayed, and no -mere echo or second-hand production of the ideas of others. If -Mr. Harte continues to act up to this sentiment, [a long quotation -from the book under consideration] as he does in the present -book, he may not achieve the triumph of twentieth editions, but -he will be a power for good—as every true man of letters is, and -must be in the world. If it were practicable I should be much -disposed to let the author recommend himself by giving copious -quotations from these essays. At his best—that is, in his most -characteristic and seemingly unconscious passages—he reminds -one of Montaigne: the charming inconsequence, the egotism free -from arrogance.”</p> - - - - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Price in Handsome Cloth</span>, $1.25.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>For sale by all Booksellers, or sent Postpaid on receipt of<br /> -Price by 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> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">In Mens Sana, in Corpore<br /> -Sano.</h2></div> - - -<p>Some wicked nurses lull crying, starving children by putting -the rubber bulb of an empty nursing bottle into their mouths. -This fills the babe with evil wind and destroys its judgment, -character, digestion and intellect. The old fashioned popular -periodicals do the same thing for inquiring and curious minds, -seeking nourishment and amusement. They give them a bottle -of windy pap, called <i>nice, pure domestic literature</i>, and the -result is the same as with the poor baby—only aggravated.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Fly Leaf</span> is a robust, masculine, periodical for grown-up, -common sense young men and women. It takes the point -of view of the young man of today in literature and life. It is -new, but sane. Its audacity is integrity of opinion and not mere -eccentricity. It advocates greater freedom in American literature, -and it discusses the aims and tendencies of the new movement -and new writers.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Fly Leaf</span> is young, but not such a cherub that it lacks -wisdom teeth, and those who appreciate waggery are laughing -over its little ironies. It is certain the new babe can live by its -wits very well in a community which appreciates wit as keenly -as does the great American public.</p> - - -<p class="center"> -<span class="large"><b>THE FLY LEAF,</b></span><br /> -<b>269 St. Botolph Street, Boston, Mass.</b></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="transnote"> - -<p class="ph1">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p> - - - <p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p> - - <p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.</p> -</div> - - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Fly Leaf, No. 2, Vol. 1, January -1896, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLY LEAF, JANUARY 1896 *** - -***** This file should be named 62430-h.htm or 62430-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/4/3/62430/ - -Produced by hekula03, David E. 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