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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..44d728b --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #62452 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/62452) diff --git a/old/62452-0.txt b/old/62452-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 019013b..0000000 --- a/old/62452-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1442 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Fly Leaf, No. 3, Vol. 1, February 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. 3, Vol. 1, February 1896 - -Author: Various - -Editor: Walter Blackburn Harte - -Release Date: June 22, 2020 [EBook #62452] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLY LEAF, FEBRUARY 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 is distinctive among all the Bibelots. - --FOOTLIGHTS, PHILADELPHIA. - - - The Fly Leaf - - A Pamphlet Periodical of - the New--the New Man, - New Woman, New Ideas, - Whimsies and Things. - - [Illustration] - - 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. February, 1896. Number - Three. - - - - -Unique and Distinctive in Bibelot Literature. - -THE CRITICS AGREE IN SAYING THE FLY LEAF FILLS A FIELD OF ITS OWN. - - -THE FLY LEAF is distinctive among all the Bibelots.--FOOTLIGHTS, -PHILADELPHIA. - -It is a delightfully keen little swashbuckler.--THE ECHO, Chicago. - -The latest of the Bibelots. In my opinion it is the only one of the -lot, including the “Chap-Book,” “Philistine,” etc., which knows what it -is driving at. The editor of the “Chap-Book” toddles along, following -or attempting to follow, the twists and turns of the public taste--at -least that is what he wrote in a Note not long ago--and the editor of -the “Philistine” curses and swears, and devastates the atmosphere, -trying his best to kill everything. “THE FLY LEAF” at once impressed me -that Mr. Harte knows what he wants, and seriously intends to have it. I -hope he will.--THE NORTH AMERICAN, Philadelphia. - -It will pay any one who wishes to keep up with the literary procession -to peruse this sprightly little periodical.--THE EXAMINER, San -Francisco, Cal. - -That bright little bundle of anecdote, comment, essay, poetry and -fiction, “THE FLY LEAF,” of Boston, comes out in particularly good -style. It gives rich promise of many good things to come.--THE -COMMERCIAL ADVERTISER, New York. - -Number two of Walter Blackburn Harte’s dainty monthly “THE FLY LEAF,” -is out, and filled with the spirit of youth and beauty in literature, -and zealous with culture, taste and faith toward higher ideals, it is -going about doing good. - -Mr. Harte is strong, brilliant and brave as an essayist of the -movement, and is making friends everywhere. The poetry and prose is all -of high merit.--THE BOSTON GLOBE. - -The thing I like about Mr. Harte is his splendid spirit of Americanism, -his optimistic belief in native literature and native writers; his -hatred of all things bordering on toadyism or servile flattery of -foreign gods to the exclusion of home talent. This is the key-note of -THE FLY LEAF, and Mr. Harte will be apt to say some trenchant, candid -and always interesting things in its pages.--THE UNION AND ADVERTISER, -Rochester, N. Y. - -These are a few criticisms of the first two numbers, selected from -a great heap of enthusiastic notices. THE FLY LEAF is promoting a -Campaign for the Young Man in Literature. All the young men and women -in America are discussing its unique and original literature, and -spreading its fame. - - - - -The Fly Leaf - - No. 3. February, 1896. Vol. 1. - - - - -QUATRAINS. - - -TOLSTOI. - - He calls, from the hot road to us, who stray - In shady pleasant woods abroad,-- - Yes, Tolstoi, your path leads to God, - But through the forest there _may_ be a way. - - -IBSEN. - - A cannon shot, not fired to kill, - But to dislodge and make to rise - The decomposing corpse that lies - Beneath life’s surface, smooth and still. - - CLAUDE F. BRAGDON. - - -SUCCESS. - - Without one thought in his wide, empty brain - (For Reason never sowed a seed to grow), - He sits and writes page after page--no strain; - Why? Chaff is cheap and sometimes looks like grain. - - -EUMENIDES. - - All kindred gods have crumbled into dust - Though latest born of that once teeming womb. - Ye yet abide who shall not taste a tomb-- - Of passion, gold, and fame the lashing lust. - - PHILIP BECKER GOETZ. - - - - -A MODEST PROPOSAL FOR THE REHABILITATION OF LETTERS IN THE LITERARY -SHOW. - - -We may take it that the old story of the Tower of Babel symbolizes the -failure of the human mind to transcend the limits of natural knowledge. -It is some old poet’s picture of the aspiring race lifting its bold -head to steal God’s secrets from Heaven, stricken down into the dust, -whence it came and to which it must return, foiled and despairing. But -the babble of a million futile, unprovable human speculations continues -to sway and mock generation after generation of men, wrapt in the -ironies of the world of sense and necessity. So all human thought runs -in cycles, and the latest heir of all the ages but gains the wisdom of -increased doubt. - -Our age raises its Babel of philosophies and creeds, as did the -civilizations that have gone before, and left us but the fantasy of -great and moving names. So our most cherished realities, for which we -all suffer so much, and for which so many heretics suffer the rack -and martyrdom, fade away into the gibes and bogies of tradition. -Ah, how sad is the fantasy of names our freed tongues troll over so -lightly! Let established wisdom learn tolerance in this levity of -today’s knowledge. For those who hold to any idea or ideal, know -the days of martyrdom are not yet over. The old Hebrew picture is as -true of today as when first written. We, too, shall pass away into -the fantasy of history. We, too, shall leave but the grinning skulls -and bare bones of once vital but finally unbelievable religions and -philosophies--precious, priceless scraps of rubbish and litter in the -catacombs of decayed and buried cities. - -But the times show a certain change in spirit. Our Babel of today does -not assail God’s security, for our babble builders do not seek to play -the prophet or the sage so much as to play the clown successfully. -The seer who gives us words of fire and folly in his futile attempt -to cleave body and soul with the sword of thought, at least contrives -to show us that life here can be sweet and beautiful and grand. Those -whose fearful content with the life of sense and show drags us all to -the level of our necessities, make life even more of an irony; for they -deny the intellect and spirit their right of unfettered freedom in the -domain of thought. And when thought is fettered with the appetites, -life, indeed, becomes a very slavery. And half our writers are in -servitude to the Egyptians. Only a few _thinkers_ lie sullen and -idle in the sun--profitless vagabonds, who can only work by whim and -inspiration. - -[Illustration] - -At this end of the century our Babel lacks the genuine inspiration of -ancient prophecy and poetry. It is taken for granted, seemingly, that -as we cannot reach God, it is not worth while to rise in thought above -the mere show of life, and so all the mystery of man is swept out of -our literature and philosophy. We are deafened with a million small -noises of small, soulless, unreal persons. The old stirring voices that -thrilled us with the clamor and sternness of life, are, for the most -part, silenced or muffled, because those who grow fat on the partial -enlightenment of the masses, will not allow any sort of literature to -prosper which, in the words of the Areopagitica, contains “views or -sentiments at all above the level of the vulgar superstition.” The -literature that sprang from the marrow of the intellect, the core of -the heart and life, is out of fashion, is a drug in the market. This -is a day in which mere noise and notoriety completely ousts and worsts -any real thought in every joust of letters. In fact, literature is read -less as letters, in the old sense, than as autobiography of scandalous -and notorious people. Only the sensational in literature can attract -attention. There are lots of good books published every year, but -they steal quietly into the world, and no one knows about them. They -burden the bookseller’s shelves for awhile, and their only chance of -circulation is finally that some whimsical crank may pick them out -of the “remainder” boxes, when their one brief season of undisturbed -respectability on the shelves is over. - -It is with the idea of partially remedying this state of affairs, in -which the odds are so uneven, that I venture to offer a few suggestions -on the advisability of adopting an old and picturesque institution from -a totally different Trade, and adapting it to the needs of contemporary -Literature. This is the explanation of the caption of this paper, which -may be a little perplexing to some unsophisticated readers. I propose -to borrow the main features of the old clothing Fair, which is held -among the Hebrews every Sunday morning in Petticoat Lane, London,--one -of the most picturesque Babels in the world. - -This would even up matters a little. I do not propose any reform, and -I should not dare to mention any of the remarkable modern instances of -success in literature by persons who produce much fiction which is not -literature. They are sufficiently glaring to advertise themselves among -book lovers. But I do want to lead a forlorn hope to re-establish some -sort of social and moral, if not intellectual, equilibrium between poor -handicapped brains and overwhelming _brass_. At the present moment the -calling of literature is the caravan or the refuge of the charlatan, -the demagogue, the weakminded, the social fop, the hysterical and the -notorious. My aim in this modest proposal is simply to remove a few -obsolete superstitions and traditions of literary dignity that, once -swept away, will leave all competitors for fame on the same footing. -Perhaps we may then hope to see the few writers who are marred with a -simple equipment of inspiration and talent enjoy some sort of equality -with those who bring to the conquest of literature the overwhelming -advantages of sex, brass, social authority and money. - -Let us first touch upon certain aspects of criticism and publicity -in the Literary Show. It will then be perfectly clear to the most -prejudiced reader--and I expect prejudice in this wicked world--that -my suggestion of a Sunday Fair for Literature is the most feasible -and dignified expedient that can now be adopted, if any of us are to -continue the struggle for some literary achievement and standard and -some genuine thought in our modern Babel. - -It has always been a question in the mind of the present writer whether -most men, that is, sane men, do not actually know, in their own hearts, -just about what they stand for _absolutely_ in life, or whether saints -and rogues, wise and unwise, we are all deluded about ourselves. -Heine, who wrote with so much charm about himself, and could scarcely -have found a more interesting subject, was of the opinion that one -cannot tell the truth about one’s self; and, since the greater portion -of mankind is of this opinion, autobiography is the most irresistible -form of literature. - -[Illustration] - -But it is unfortunate there is not more division of opinion on -the subject, because, while this view may add to the interest of -autobiography, it weakens its weight and authority; and there are -good reasons for supposing that one of the necessary “short cuts” of -contemporary literature of the near future will be the brief critical -autobiography. - -There is not a mother’s son of us in the whole scribbling guild, -great or small, puffed or starved, can get his fill of praise; for -there are too many of us scribbling in these latter years, and that -man is fortunate who is famous for a whole season. There are but few -who can reasonably hope for a life in the memory of mankind as long -as Mumm’s champagne. It may be there are but few of us deserve it. -Such scraps of comfort as occasionally fall to our lot are almost -invariably disappointing, for our friends are perversely addicted to -flattering us in good, round, general terms, which save thought and -lack positiveness, or else they appreciate us for the very qualities it -is perfectly evident we do not possess in the least degree. But this is -the inevitable result of the production of literature by lightning-like -machinery working day and night. - -All these sugared things which authors crave can only be supplied by -other writers who, aside from the necessity of earning a livelihood, -are plagued with private personal ambitions of their own; and if there -is any sort of drudgery more tedious than the reviewing of other -people’s literature, I should like to know what it is. Those who have -to earn precarious bread by the pen, somehow or other, are so busy -reviewing and scribbling on topical matters that they have absolutely -no time for reading, and so very few writers out of the great multitude -receive more than a few perfunctory words of praise or indifferent -comment, and are then straightway forgotten. With the ever increasing -tide of books, literary criticism tends to become more and more a -mere matter of description and catalogueing, and as this is obviously -inadequate to satisfy all the demands of those who would live in the -public eye, we have latterly seen the development of that interesting -personage, the psychological interviewer. - -Even this does not meet the exigencies of an overcrowded market. The -psychological interviewer is only occupied with those whose names -will help to sell _his_ wares. The secret charm of the psychological -interview, when it is at all well done, is that it enables an author to -supplement the necessarily perfunctory reviewing of the day with his -own keener critical insight into the less obvious excellent qualities -of his work. This done with a fine conscientious egotism and some show -of candor, carries as much weight with liberal and unprejudiced minds -as rare and subtle criticism. In fact, it is autobiography, which the -interviewer breaks up into more or less dramatic dialogue. - -There are still thousands of us who are so obscure and unfortunate as -to be untroubled by the interviewers, and, to make matters worse, are -often tabooed by the critics. But since the calling of letters is no -more restricted to the “deserving” and the “good” than any other, these -also desire that publicity which helps to solve the problem of bread -and butter. And so I predict that the pressure of competition in the -Literary Show, and the exigencies of critical writing, often colored, -if not inspired, by counting-house interests, will soon bring into -current literature what I have here termed the critical autobiography. -In this way we may get much good literature, for the dullest man is -at his best when writing about himself. A man can then be perfectly -independent, and still be heralded in print as one of the potent forces -and geniuses of his day. The plan has some advantages over log-rolling, -which sometimes involves unavoidable and ludicrous derogatory offices, -that embarrass one’s reputation as a wit and a critic of discernment. - -It is also really time that the writers of books learned to take -something of the same vulgar view of them which those who make their -living in dealing in them do, and that is to regard them when finally -out of the brain and put into material shape merely as _merchandise_. -It is this looking upon them as “children” that has made the poets the -spoil of cunning men, and kept them daft and poor. - -The writer’s problem is to reach his fellows, his generation. He is -not, under modern conditions, concerned with posterity any more than -the lawyer or the merchant. As for that, probably few books of this era -will be known by name a hundred years hence; but every man should have -a fair chance of getting a hearing in his own generation. As things -are at present constituted, a thousand obstacles are placed in the way -by other writers in the holy name of morality, style, literary ideals, -and every other ingenious trick one writer can devise as a critic -and literary tipstaff to keep others from dimming the effulgence of -his golden beams. But, pouf! all this anxiety is unnecessary. At -least one-half of our contemporary literature, though it is “boomed” -and bought at impressive figures, is only passable journalism, and, -perhaps, will be thrown aside and forgotten as unreliable data when the -journals of today (such as not being printed on wood pulp paper may -perchance survive) are treasured as the mirror of our semi-barbaric -times. - -[Illustration] - -We are fairly deluged now with cheap Brummagem “literature.” And so I -think my Modest Proposal will appeal to all fair minded persons. Let -us have an open market in literature, and let the best peddler win. -The game of literature as carried on today, is, with a few glorious -exceptions, a purely commercial speculation, an enterprise in trade; -and there is no need to confuse the issues with a lot of babble about -“literary ideals,” and all the rest of it. That is but an artful trick -to embarrass rivals in trade. The howl about morality is another old -trick, but one--thanks to the beauties of human nature--which only -helps to swell the sales of a rival. Literature is now produced to meet -the demands of different markets, on the same principle that governs -the manufacture of other luxuries and commodities. What is the use of -waiting for your rival in trade to announce your excellencies to the -world? Human nature works the same in all trades. Ambition preys upon -and harasses ambition. Only the cynics of Grub Street, who have no -hopes and no ambitions, can be just and impartial critics, and they are -in the pinch of necessity. Log-rolling, too, is an imperfect art; some -fellows’ logs are so _heavy_! - -Let it once be understood that there is no ideal aim or dignity in the -literary market of our day other than to find quick buyers and win the -bubble reputation, and why should any man hesitate to use the methods -of ordinary commerce to advance his own interests? It is a matter of -common sense. - -I suggest in all seriousness this idea of a literary Petticoat-Lane -Sunday Fair as the best way to develop a national literature in -America. And let every man be his own critic, prophet and publisher. It -could be held somewhere off the Bowery--a picturesque and appropriate -place. - -The critical autobiographies on the market would be genuine human -documents and great fun. A collection of them would give our epoch -everlasting fame. With every man peddling his own wares, like the -chapmen of old, the law of the survival of the fittest would probably -operate as effectively, and more convincingly, than under existing -conditions. - - WALTER BLACKBURN HARTE. - - - - -TO M’LLE BOHEMIA. - - - It were not well if long you tarried - Here in my “Bungalow,” - For I’m a man sedate and married;-- - Pick up your skirts and go. - - But stay, I’ll smoke another pipe. - Give you a cigarette? - Well, yes, for lips are cherry-ripe - And with honey dew are wet. - - Are you, my dear, the Yellow Girl - Of all our author folks, - At whom we decent people hurl - Anathemas--and jokes? - - You are a poem or a song-- - A wicked one, they say-- - A bit of color thrown along - A drab old world and gray. - - And every well-turned ankle, dear, - Is joy to all the earth, - Except to us good folks who fear - The smile or dance of mirth. - - But ’twere not well if long you tarried - Here in my den, you know, - For I’m a man sedate and married;-- - Pick up your skirts and go. - - WAITMAN BARBE. - - - - -THE GAMBLERS. - - -The rain splashed in his face, soaked through his garments, ran down -his back and trickled through his wide sleeves in an almost vindictive -manner. But he shambled on indifferently, slowly and heavily, -apparently totally unconscious of physical discomfort. Looking into -that bald face one could not penetrate its placidity, and even the -eyes seemed expressionless. The small, well-shaped hands did not look -as if they were accustomed to manual labor; nevertheless his clothing -consisted of the ordinary blue blouse and pantaloons of a working -Chinaman, and it was a very dilapidated Yankee hat around which he had -wound his queue. The peculiar means by which he prevented the last -mentioned part of his costume from being blown off by the wind and rain -attracted some little attention from the passers-by; but to jocose -remarks and amused smiles he paid no heed. - -Ah Lin was proceeding to a gambling resort, and his thoughts were not -with the scenes and faces about him. - -When he reached his destination, he slipped a key from out of his -sleeve and admitted himself into a large low room furnished with a long -table, a couch and some wooden chairs. Two men sat on the couch, and -about a dozen were grouped around the table--all Chinamen. There was -but one small window in the place, and the day being dull, the gloom -of the room seemed to be made palpable and visible by the light of two -oil lamps. On the window ledge was a pipe, a small lamp and a tiny -porcelain cup full of jellified opium. - -[Illustration] - -One of the Chinamen arose, took the pipe, dipped a pin into the -opium, turned it around until a quantity of the sticky drug adhered -to it, then inserted it into the pipe, held the pipe over the flame -of the lamp, and drew two or three long breaths. Here was peace and a -foretaste of oblivion--a vapor was seen to exhale out of his mouth and -nose. - -Ah Lin walked up to the smoker, and the two held a short confab. - -“Well,” said Ah Lin at length, “I have fifty cents left; with -twenty-five cents I can draw a lot, and with the balance I will see if -I can win half a dollar on a red cord stick.” - -“All right,” returned the smoker, “and I’ll do the same; but first let -us worship the tiger.” - -In a corner of the room on a small table stood a wooden image of a -tiger with wings grasping an immense cash between its paws. - -Ah Lin and Hom Lock lighted some sticks of incense and bowed themselves -before the image--the Chinaman’s gambling god. - -Some one of those who were at the head of the centre table called to Ah -Lin, and tried to prevail upon him to stake some money in a game which -was played by means of a round board with a hole in the centre through -which a slender stick was passed and fastened underneath to a larger -board. The top piece of wood was designed to be moved around like a -wheel; it was marked off into many parts upon which cabalistic figures -were painted. Ah Lin had no inclination to spin the wheel, and turned -to another man who sat near holding three sticks in his hand. Those -three sticks were three lots; three ends projected outwards; three ends -were grasped and hidden by the man’s hand, hanging down from which was -a red tassel or string professedly attached to one of the sticks. The -sport consisted in guessing which stick had the red string. - -Ah Lin ventured twenty-five cents on one of the lots or sticks, but -lost. The head gambler pocketed the twenty-five cents and Ah Lin moved -silently away. If he had won he would have received his quarter back -with another quarter added. - -At the other end of the table was a deep earthen vessel, and around -it were grouped the major part of the men in the room. One man was -tying up small bundles containing sums of money from one cent up to -twenty-five dollars. Each package was marked with a sign word. When his -task was completed, the man cast all the bundles into the vessel, and -in a loud voice announced that all who wished could cast lots and for -twenty-five cents have the chance of making twenty-five dollars. - -A number, including Ah Lin, paid twenty-five cents and marked their -names on a list of signs. Then the vessel and its contents were shaken -up. All in turn were then invited to take at hazard from its portentous -belly, the parcel for which they had staked. As he opened his, Ah Lin’s -face turned grey; it contained but one cent. - -[Illustration] - -“What have you got?” asked Hom Lock, in an excited whisper, leaning -over Ah Lin’s shoulder. “Just one cent, eh? Well, I have the -twenty-five dollars--the Tiger favors me--he’s a great God.” - -There was a crash; the lamps were knocked down and extinguished. Ah Lin -had leapt across the table and was dragging the Gambling God around the -room, striking it repeatedly with a stick. - -“It’s a great God, isn’t it,” he yelled. “See how it likes to be -insulted. Oh, it’s a big God.” - -“It’s a great God,” shouted Hom Lock; there was a knife in his hand; he -pressed close to Ah Lin. - -Ah Lin saw the knife, and something slipped from his sleeve and two -knives gleamed--then disappeared. - -Some one struck a light. The owner of the place picked up the fallen -God and placed it on the table. It calmly looked down upon two dead men. - - SUI SEEN FAR. - - - - -OUR HERITAGE. - - - “Retire within thyself, O mortal Man!” - Was the grand doctrine of the classic age, - From whence has come the imperishable page - Of rarest wisdom that the eye may scan. - The city that Augustus raised--nay, mighty Pan, - And all the wonders penned by bard and sage - Have vanished ’neath the unconquerable rage - Of rival factions since their doom began. - But we who live and look with rev’rent gaze - Across the awful space that marks their course, - May struggle with great odds to gain perforce - This heritage of mind from sundered days: - Or, with hearts athirst, mid barren ways, - Drink of ennobling life from such unfailing source. - - B. F. D. DUNN. - - - - -ONE FAILURE TO FORGET. - - -Two others, both men, had nodded silent assent when Wooler made the -declaration, lightly, that the pleasures of memory must surely pall -before the pleasures of forgetting. - -And presently, when the ladies had gone into the drawing-room, these -three men found themselves looking one another over with that calm -scrutiny in which one wonders who the deuce the other man is. As a -matter of fact, however, these three, John Wooler, Andrew Insgate and -Tom Farlough, knew one another fairly well. Each was merely trying to -gauge the other’s sincerity. - -“She objected, of course,” Wooler went on, as if there had been no -interruption at all, “but then, I expected nothing else. A woman would -always rather remember than forget.” He sipped thoughtfully at his -port. “With us--it is different.” - -At the other end of the table a group of portly, elderly gentlemen were -regaling one another with anecdotal alletria. - -“Do we really mean it?” asked Wooler, “or do we take the appearance of -the thought for sake of its unorthodoxy?” - -“For my part,” said Farlough, fingering his cravat, “I would give much -of my life if I could forget some of it.” - -[Illustration] - -Insgate held his wine glass to the light and gazed at the rich tint of -red within. “Leopardi was right,” he said, “no man would live his life -over again. But--I would begin anew tomorrow if I could wipe out all -the yesterday.” - -The other men had left the head of the table and joined the ladies in -the drawing-room. The butler moved about silently for a few moments and -then left these three alone with their wine, and their thoughts. - -Wooler spoke again. “We are all able to, h’m, take a little for -granted. Our reasons scarcely matter much.” The others nodded. “The -only consideration is that we wish to--forget. Why shouldn’t we try, we -three? We are not bound in any way. Neither wives nor debts stare us in -the face. We have both time and money. Why not try?” - -“Why not?” repeated Insgate. - -“Gentlemen,” said Farlough, smiling, “I would represent the minority -were I to do else than agree with you. Why not?” - -“Very well. From now on, then, we attempt forgetting. Each in his own -way. From time to time we report progress or regress.” - -“Each in his own way! Are there so many ways to forgetfulness? I can -only think of two: work and drink.” - -“Ah, but there is Woman!” - -“True, there is Woman. Strictly speaking, I considered her included -in--however, that is but a quibble! Personally, I have no preference. I -will take what you gentlemen leave.” It was Wooler who said this. - -“Would _you put us upon our_ consciences? No; let Dame Chance take a -hand in dealing. We write the names--so!--and we each draw--so! Mine is -work.” That was Farlough’s luck. - -Insgate’s slip said “Drink.” - -“For me,” said Wooler, “the Woman.” He lifted his glass, laughing -quietly. “I wonder who she is. Well, we shall see.” - -“Where shall we meet again?” - -“And when?” - -“A year from today. In the garden of the Belle-Alliance Theatre in -Berlin. Travel is a necessary obligato.” - -Somewhat solemnly, though with cheerful gestures, they pledged one -another in a silently emptied glass of port. - -And then they sauntered into the drawing-room. - -[Illustration] - - * * * * * - -A year later, Farlough strolled into the Belle-Alliance Theatre. He -looked healthier and stronger; the tired look had left his eyes. He -looked over the theatre lovingly. It had not changed much. Never very -gay, but always cosy. - -They were presenting Lortzing’s ever delightful “Zar und Zimmerman,” -and, while it was by no means an adequate performance, it was decidedly -a pleasant one. - -When the curtain had come down after the first act, Farlough strolled -out into the garden. The place was brilliant with its hundreds of -crystal-clasped lights overhanging the graveled walks. A throng of -Berliners went chattering about. Only a very occasional Englishman or -American came into evidence. - -In the small open air theatre a comedian was giving a lively imitation -of Sarah Bernhardt. - -But nowhere was there a sign of either of those two gentlemen, John -Wooler and Andrew Insgate. - -Farlough turned his steps toward the box office. He made an inquiry. - -The official bowed politely. He handed him two letters. He bowed again -and muttered mechanically, “Gehorsamster Diener!” He was from Vienna. - -Putting the letters into his pocket after a quick scrutiny of the -writing upon each envelope, Farlough returned to the theatre. - -When the last notes had joined the echoes, he had himself driven over -to the _Hotel D’Angleterre_. There he opened the envelopes and read the -two letters. - -The one from Insgate was dated at London. “At this moment,” went the -screed, “I am remembering the matter of our meeting in Berlin. This -is due to unexpected and inexplicable sobriety. As I may not remember -again, I write now. You see, I shall not be there myself. I have -managed to forget nearly all things. I began by trying the liquors of -all civilization. They have succeeded in destroying my memory--except -in such brief lapses as this is. And these are very rare now. By the -time my money and my constitution are gone, I am sure my memory will be -gone also. But as I am a sinner in agony, I swear that God in all his -wisdom and wrath never invented so cruel a torment as this that I have -wrought for myself. I pray that you two may not have succeeded so well.” - -Farlough looked at the cold ink mutely. He pictured once again the -scene at that dinner a year ago: Insgate’s nervous, aristocratic face; -Wooler’s smiling cynicism. - -[Illustration] - -He opened the latter’s missive. This man wrote from San Francisco. -“Absent, John Wooler! Because of a woman. You see, I went the gamut of -the sex. But never succeeded in forgetting until this one came into my -life. When I am with her I forget everything else; when I am away from -her, I remember with tenfold distinctness. So I have found heaven, and -live in hell. For she happens to be another man’s wife.” - -Farlough tore up the two letters slowly and burned the pieces of paper -one by one at the candle by his side. - -“And so,” he thought, looking straight out in front of him, “they have -found the way and I have not. And yet, I have won while they have lost. -For my work is such a pleasure to me that the past has been atoned for -long ago, and none of my memories are tainted by regrets. I am all in -my work, and in it I find the ecstasy of atonement.” - -And then this man who had failed to find the way of forgetfulness, -sought out a railway time table to see how soon he could start back to -his workshop. - - PERCIVAL POLLARD. - - - - -THE STAGE AND ITS CULTURE. - - -Undoubtedly one of the greatest influences of the modern world is the -stage, and one of the problems of modern art is to raise the tone of -the stage. This must of course be done through gaining the sympathy -of the acting profession in intellectual dramatic work. The question -arises in my mind, is this possible? What is the average intellectual -calibre of actors and actresses? I have a suspicion that, as a class, -they are imitative, and but too often destitute of real intellectual -interests. There are a few notable exceptions--Henry Irving, Beerbohm -Tree, Jefferson, Edward S. Willard, Mounet-Sully, Richard Mansfield, -James A. Herne and others. But the ordinary actor and actress, even -the successful and talented ones, so far as I could ever discover, -are too completely absorbed in the narrow world of play-acting, press -criticisms, dresses and the jealousies and cliques of the profession, -to have any leisure or inclination for an interest in the larger and -freer intellectual world outside, to which men in all other callings -have access as the refuge from their occupation. - -I confess I never _knew_ any actor or actress who was addicted to -reading--except the newspapers for the criticisms. But I have heard -that Francis Wilson is not only a bookman but a bibliomaniac, and I -have longed to ask him whether he included among his spoils the first -editions of _American_ authors. I have a notion that even the despised -bibelots of today will be treasures tomorrow. - -It would be interesting to know if some of our leading ladies and -gentlemen in the dramatic profession really spend much of their time in -gaining that intimate acquaintance with life through literature which -would certainly so greatly help their interpretation of character in -the drama. It is almost impossible for us, who have not free access -to the green room, to tell. It is a pity the average writer is so -little in touch and contact with this mimic life that gives him so -much instruction in his art and observation of life. But from the -quality of the literature provided in our contemporary “Footlights,” -of Philadelphia, it begins to look as if the theatrical profession is -sharing with every other class in modern society in the increasing -interest in printer’s ink. “Footlights” is, however, interesting to -all who love the theatre, as well as to the profession, and it is not -altogether restricted to the affairs and doings of the footlights. It -contains especially good criticism of current literature, written in a -vein of independence and vigor, which is another sign that, with the -recruiting of the younger men in journalism and literature, criticism -will again assume its proper importance and character in America. - - JONATHAN PENN. - - - - -ICONOCLASM. - - -I. - - “When Shakespeare died the Drama died.” - This cry - Has echoed down the ages as a truth - None would gainsay, until, today, forsooth, - Like weaklings we all fear to make reply, - But suckle at Tradition’s milkless breast. - O ART! your name to mingle with the dust - Of dead men’s bones, and scarred with sordid rust - Of years, and in a catacomb to rest! - O YOUTH! throw off the shackles of the Past, - It is the Present that is yours alone; - The excellence you seek can never last - If linked to models that today’s outgrown. - - -II. - - How long shall we perpetuate untruth - And teach that Art does not exist today? - That only idols crumbling with decay - Are meet as shrines for eager, suppliant youth? - How long shall we bow down to foreign gods - And worship them with lips, but not with heart? - We are ashamed to recognize our art, - We sneer and call our native writers clods. - But from the prairies of the grander West-- - Free from the ancient gyves that bind and gall-- - Are men and women rising to the call, - Intent on only what is new and best. - The East is dead and buried in the Past, - The West alone can do what work will last! - - JOHN NORTHERN HILLIARD. - - - - -BUBBLE AND SQUEAK. - - -There are lots of things I should like to say in this place about some -of my esteemed contemporaries, but, though not by any means diffident -in the expression of my critical opinions, I daren’t unburden my -deepest thoughts about the performances of some villains I have in -mind. It is not that all the things I _think_ are not strictly within -the bounds of severe veracity, but truth is so unpopular in this -world,--and especially in the literary world. - - -Ex-President Harrison has given damning evidence against himself. -He has publicly declared himself an utterly impossible person for -re-nomination by writing platitudes to the order of “The Ladies Home -Journal” genius. We can enjoy a president who goes off “at half-cock” -on some questions, and we can respect one who goes fishing while the -whole country is anxious about a great national policy, but a president -who writes for “The Ladies Home Journal” is beyond our sense of humor -or pathos. That is the unforgivable sin--to make one’s self supremely -ridiculous. - - -Alfred Austin, the new poet laureate, is reported to be sitting up -night after night, reading his predecessor in the office, carefully, -critically straining and comparing the text with his own. He is -striving to discover in what this “doosid” difference consists. - -It really does strike a person of some sense of humor, and some -tenderness for all human creatures, that at this moment the late Earl -of Dunraven and the newly appointed poet laureate are the two most -pathetic figures in the English-speaking world. - - -A notable departure in good bookmaking is Percival Pollard’s “Cape of -Storms,” a novel in paper covers, with a cover design in colors by -Will H. Bradley, and a title page by John Sloan, which is printed in -a limited edition and sold at a popular price. This is a new thing in -America. Perhaps, however, we are going to adopt the French fashion -of paper covered literature. It will give all our authors a wider -circulation. Pollard’s story is good, racy reading, which means clever -writing. - - -What modern love has lost in sentimentality and romance it has gained -in companionship, depth of feeling and intimacy. The latest phase of -courtship is this: When a young man is in love he no longer sends his -heart’s delight a silly sentimental poem, he sends her a symbolical -Poster. Posters hold some hint of the vagaries and fantasies of the -human heart, as sentimental poetry does not. - -The triumph of modern love is that both sexes are now allowed to be -_human_, and so the old disparity between carnal humanity and cold -and frigid divinity, has been abridged. The Poster has helped in the -promotion of art feeling in the community. It is also an educational -factor in the problem of establishing an equality of common sense -between the sexes, that shall not destroy the witchery of woman and the -eternal attraction of the sexes. - - -A lady journalist, who has a decided taste for the belle-lettres, and -considerable faculty of her own in the art of making life picturesque, -has just apprised me of a very novel scheme of hers in the way of book -making. - -She once had, as is the custom of so many ladies, an ordinary and -inoffensive autograph album. Asking a certain Impressionistic poet for -his autograph one day, she received her book back with a few lines, -in which the poet thanked Heaven he had had a birthday, so that he -had looked upon her beauty and _lived_, in the deeper sense than mere -living. This date disappeared from the album. - -But the incident gave my quick-witted young lady an idea. She bought -a dainty book of manuscript leaves bound in Russia leather. It is now -worth its price in gold, for she has, by flattery and cajolery, and the -fine art of being beautiful, got it filled with sketches from the pens -of some of the leading authors of the day. And the character of the -volume is more unique since the theme of all these fine wits is the -same. The sketches are all prose pastels, inspired by the young lady’s -own personality. - - -After reading Ian Maclaren’s “Beside the Bonnie Briar Bush,” I feel -like following the precedent of the illustrious Horace Greeley and -giving some advice to ambitious wayfarers. The Drumtochty folk are -so uniformly generous, self sacrificing, unselfish, humane and -philanthropic, that I should advise all young men of unsettled -prospects not to turn their gaze westward, but to cross the seas and -settle in Drumtochty. Intellectual enterprises of the most ambitious -and revolutionary character, I observe, are practically encouraged -and prosper there as in no other place on earth that I ever heard of. -Are you a young and poor boy consumed with a desire to fit yourself -for a scholar’s life and easy fortunes? Then start for Drumtochty -without further ado. The blameless farmer folk there have only to be -approached by the Dominie and they will immediately start you in life -and pay all your expenses to a professorial chair. Are you literary? -There never was such another community with the same keen scent for -true imagination and poetry. Oh, it is an ideal hamlet, truly, for the -intellectuals! There are more philanthropists huddled together there in -one small parish than in the rest of Great Britain and the whole United -States. I think even the FLY LEAF would bring in great returns in such -a community. - - -An old lady in a hill-top town in New Hampshire has written to her -local newspaper warning the youth against my corrupting influence -and machinations--and so I am evidently in imminent nearness to the -popularity that attends all corrupters of morals. - -This good lady does not charge me with any actual breaches of morality, -but she detects an irreverence in my temperament and mind that might -lead me to the commission of all the crimes that moral folk find so -much joy in contemplating. There is, she avers, a flippancy in my -view of some established things that might lead to any perversion of -youth. She is sure I am immoral and should be suppressed, although she -can discover no more heinous offence in me than a certain callousness -in regard to the feelings of witless respectables and old fogies. -She objects to the use of that term of opprobrium, and considers it -_indecent_. - -If it could only be proved so--why, hooray! If this rumor of our -immorality can only be carried far and wide enough, it is clear our -fortunes are made. This is the secret of success in contemporary -literature. All the novelists of the day are worrying out this problem: -How to present some new phase of morality that shall contain the -broadest suggestions of immorality. - - - - -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. - - - - -Economists and Politicians - - -Talk and write of the waste of society and the waste of health and the -waste of luxury and poverty. But they never remark upon the equally -disastrous and wanton - -WASTE OF WIT - -Which has for so long been the result of old-fogyism and timorous -commercialism in periodical Literature. If Statistics could be compiled -of the fine wits and humorists and writers of individual talents and -power whose brains and productions are spoiled or altogether suppressed -under the old regime of the Popular Literature for the weak minded they -would be appalling. There is a ruthless waste of good wit in America, -in behalf of good dullness. - -THE FLY LEAF aims to stem this tide of wasted wit. There are ever so -many clever writers in America, though they are seldom heard of. These -Younger Spirits are the backbone of THE FLY LEAF, which will present -the Best and most Individual Literature of the Day--as much as can be -squeezed into a Bibelot. - -It is not quantity but quality we seek to provide. THE FLY LEAF -interests all cultivated independent minds, which can recognize “a good -thing” at sight. It appeals to Thoughtful and Bookish People, and it -will never pander to the Mob that buys its Literature by weight. - -Every issue is the most amusing and Unexpected little Bundle of -Surprises. It is the only Periodical in America that has Wit to waste. -Others have more Cash but no Wit. - -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. - - Archaic or alternate spelling has been retained from the original. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Fly Leaf, No. 3, Vol. 1, February -1896, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLY LEAF, FEBRUARY 1896 *** - -***** This file should be named 62452-0.txt or 62452-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/4/5/62452/ - -Produced by hekula03, David E. 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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - diff --git a/old/62452-0.zip b/old/62452-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 9002dbd..0000000 --- a/old/62452-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/62452-h.zip b/old/62452-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 8ca4277..0000000 --- a/old/62452-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/62452-h/62452-h.htm b/old/62452-h/62452-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 11a056a..0000000 --- a/old/62452-h/62452-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1978 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=us-ascii" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Fly Leaf, No. 3, Vol. 1, February 1896, by Walter Blackburn Harte. - </title> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2{ - text-align: center; - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} -div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} -h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} - -div.titlepage {text-align: center; page-break-before: always; page-break-after: always;} -div.titlepage p {text-align: center; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 2em;} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} - - -.pagenum { - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; -} - - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -.large {font-size: 125%;} - -.ph1 {text-align: center; font-size: large; font-weight: bold;} - - -.gap {padding-left: 5em;} - -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -.figleft { - float: left; - clear: left; - margin-left: 0; - margin-bottom: 1em; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-right: 1em; - padding: 0; - text-align: center; -} - -.figright { - float: right; - clear: right; - margin-left: 1em; - margin-bottom: - 1em; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-right: 0; - padding: 0; - text-align: center; -} - -.poetry-container {text-align: center;} -.poetry {display: inline-block; text-align: left;} -.poetry .verse {text-indent: -2.5em; padding-left: 3em;} -.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} -.poetry .verseright { text-align: right;} -.poetry .indent {text-indent: 1.5em;} -.poetry .indent2 {text-indent: 2.5em;} -.poetry .center {text-align: center;} - - -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:smaller; - padding:0.5em; - margin-bottom:5em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; } - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -Project Gutenberg's The Fly Leaf, No. 3, Vol. 1, February 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. 3, Vol. 1, February 1896 - -Author: Various - -Editor: Walter Blackburn Harte - -Release Date: June 22, 2020 [EBook #62452] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLY LEAF, FEBRUARY 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"> - - - - -<p><span class="smcap">The Fly Leaf</span> is distinctive among all the Bibelots.—<span class="smcap">Footlights, Philadelphia.</span></p> - - -<h1>The Fly Leaf</h1> - -<p class="center">A Pamphlet Periodical of<br /> -the New—the New Man,<br /> -New Woman, New Ideas,<br /> -Whimsies and Things.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_023.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<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. February, 1896. Number Three.</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">Unique and Distinctive in Bibelot -Literature.</h2></div> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">The Critics agree in saying The Fly Leaf fills a field -of its own.</span></p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The Fly Leaf</span> is distinctive among all the Bibelots.—<span class="smcap">Footlights, -Philadelphia.</span></p> - -<p>It is a delightfully keen little swashbuckler.—<span class="smcap">The Echo</span>, -Chicago.</p> - -<p>The latest of the Bibelots. In my opinion it is the only one -of the lot, including the “Chap-Book,” “Philistine,” etc., -which knows what it is driving at. The editor of the “Chap-Book” -toddles along, following or attempting to follow, the -twists and turns of the public taste—at least that is what he -wrote in a Note not long ago—and the editor of the “Philistine” -curses and swears, and devastates the atmosphere, trying his -best to kill everything. “<span class="smcap">The Fly Leaf</span>” at once impressed -me that Mr. Harte knows what he wants, and seriously intends -to have it. I hope he will.—<span class="smcap">The North American</span>, Philadelphia.</p> - -<p>It will pay any one who wishes to keep up with the literary -procession to peruse this sprightly little periodical.—<span class="smcap">The Examiner</span>, -San Francisco, Cal.</p> - -<p>That bright little bundle of anecdote, comment, essay, poetry -and fiction, “<span class="smcap">The Fly Leaf</span>,” of Boston, comes out in particularly -good style. It gives rich promise of many good things -to come.—<span class="smcap">The Commercial Advertiser</span>, New York.</p> - -<p>Number two of Walter Blackburn Harte’s dainty monthly -“<span class="smcap">The Fly Leaf</span>,” is out, and filled with the spirit of youth -and beauty in literature, and zealous with culture, taste and -faith toward higher ideals, it is going about doing good.</p> - -<p>Mr. Harte is strong, brilliant and brave as an essayist of the -movement, and is making friends everywhere. The poetry and -prose is all of high merit.—<span class="smcap">The Boston Globe.</span></p> - -<p>The thing I like about Mr. Harte is his splendid spirit of -Americanism, his optimistic belief in native literature and native -writers; his hatred of all things bordering on toadyism or servile -flattery of foreign gods to the exclusion of home talent. This is -the key-note of <span class="smcap">The Fly Leaf</span>, and Mr. Harte will be apt to -say some trenchant, candid and always interesting things in its -pages.—<span class="smcap">The Union and Advertiser</span>, Rochester, N. Y.</p> - -<p>These are a few criticisms of the first two numbers, selected -from a great heap of enthusiastic notices. <span class="smcap">The Fly Leaf</span> is -promoting a Campaign for the Young Man in Literature. All -the young men and women in America are discussing its unique -and original literature, 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. 3. <span class="gap"> February, 1896.</span><span class="gap"> Vol. 1.</span></p> -<hr class="tb" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">QUATRAINS.</h2></div> - - -<p class="center">TOLSTOI.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">He calls, from the hot road to us, who stray</div> -<div class="indent">In shady pleasant woods abroad,—</div> -<div class="indent">Yes, Tolstoi, your path leads to God,</div> -<div class="verse">But through the forest there <i>may</i> be a way.</div> -</div></div> - - -<p class="center">IBSEN.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">A cannon shot, not fired to kill,</div> -<div class="indent">But to dislodge and make to rise</div> -<div class="indent">The decomposing corpse that lies</div> -<div class="verse">Beneath life’s surface, smooth and still.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verseright"><span class="smcap">Claude F. Bragdon.</span></div> -</div></div></div> - - -<p class="center">SUCCESS.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">Without one thought in his wide, empty brain</div> -<div class="indent">(For Reason never sowed a seed to grow),</div> -<div class="verse">He sits and writes page after page—no strain;</div> -<div class="verse">Why? Chaff is cheap and sometimes looks like grain.</div> -</div></div> - - -<p class="center">EUMENIDES.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">All kindred gods have crumbled into dust</div> -<div class="indent">Though latest born of that once teeming womb.</div> -<div class="indent">Ye yet abide who shall not taste a tomb—</div> -<div class="verse">Of passion, gold, and fame the lashing lust.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verseright"><span class="smcap">Philip Becker Goetz.</span></div> -</div></div></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> -<h2 class="nobreak">A MODEST PROPOSAL FOR THE REHABILITATION<br /> -OF LETTERS IN<br /> -THE LITERARY SHOW.</h2></div> - - -<p>We may take it that the old story of the -Tower of Babel symbolizes the failure of the -human mind to transcend the limits of natural -knowledge. It is some old poet’s picture of the -aspiring race lifting its bold head to steal God’s -secrets from Heaven, stricken down into the -dust, whence it came and to which it must return, -foiled and despairing. But the babble of -a million futile, unprovable human speculations -continues to sway and mock generation after -generation of men, wrapt in the ironies of the -world of sense and necessity. So all human -thought runs in cycles, and the latest heir of all -the ages but gains the wisdom of increased doubt.</p> - -<p>Our age raises its Babel of philosophies and -creeds, as did the civilizations that have gone -before, and left us but the fantasy of great and -moving names. So our most cherished realities, -for which we all suffer so much, and for -which so many heretics suffer the rack and martyrdom, -fade away into the gibes and bogies of -tradition. Ah, how sad is the fantasy of names -our freed tongues troll over so lightly! Let established -wisdom learn tolerance in this levity -of today’s knowledge. For those who hold to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> -any idea or ideal, know the days of martyrdom -are not yet over. The old Hebrew picture is as -true of today as when first written. We, too, -shall pass away into the fantasy of history. -We, too, shall leave but the grinning skulls and -bare bones of once vital but finally unbelievable -religions and philosophies—precious, priceless -scraps of rubbish and litter in the catacombs of -decayed and buried cities.</p> - -<p>But the times show a certain change in spirit. -Our Babel of today does not assail God’s security, -for our babble builders do not seek to -play the prophet or the sage so much as to play -the clown successfully. The seer who gives us -words of fire and folly in his futile attempt to -cleave body and soul with the sword of thought, -at least contrives to show us that life here can -be sweet and beautiful and grand. Those whose -fearful content with the life of sense and show -drags us all to the level of our necessities, make -life even more of an irony; for they deny the -intellect and spirit their right of unfettered freedom -in the domain of thought. And when -thought is fettered with the appetites, life, indeed, -becomes a very slavery. And half our -writers are in servitude to the Egyptians. Only -a few <i>thinkers</i> lie sullen and idle in the sun—profitless -vagabonds, who can only work by -whim and inspiration.</p> - - - -<div class="figleft"><img src="images/i_004.jpg" alt="" /></div> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span>At this end of the century our Babel lacks the -genuine inspiration of ancient prophecy and -poetry. It is taken for granted, seemingly, -that as we cannot reach God, it is not worth -while to rise in thought above the mere -show of life, and so all the mystery of -man is swept out of our literature and philosophy. -We are deafened with a million -small noises of small, soulless, unreal persons. -The old stirring voices that thrilled us with the -clamor and sternness of life, are, for the most -part, silenced or muffled, because those who -grow fat on the partial enlightenment of the -masses, will not allow any sort of literature to -prosper which, in the words of the Areopagitica, -contains “views or sentiments at all above -the level of the vulgar superstition.” The literature -that sprang from the marrow of the intellect, -the core of the heart and life, is out of -fashion, is a drug in the market. This is a -day in which mere noise and notoriety completely -ousts and worsts any real thought in -every joust of letters. In fact, literature is -read less as letters, in the old sense, than as -autobiography of scandalous and notorious people. -Only the sensational in literature can attract -attention. There are lots of good books -published every year, but they steal quietly into -the world, and no one knows about them. They<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> -burden the bookseller’s shelves for awhile, and -their only chance of circulation is finally that -some whimsical crank may pick them out of the -“remainder” boxes, when their one brief season -of undisturbed respectability on the shelves is -over.</p> - -<p>It is with the idea of partially remedying this -state of affairs, in which the odds are so uneven, -that I venture to offer a few suggestions on the -advisability of adopting an old and picturesque -institution from a totally different Trade, and -adapting it to the needs of contemporary Literature. -This is the explanation of the caption of -this paper, which may be a little perplexing to -some unsophisticated readers. I propose to borrow -the main features of the old clothing Fair, -which is held among the Hebrews every Sunday -morning in Petticoat Lane, London,—one of -the most picturesque Babels in the world.</p> - -<p>This would even up matters a little. I do not -propose any reform, and I should not dare to -mention any of the remarkable modern instances -of success in literature by persons who produce -much fiction which is not literature. They are -sufficiently glaring to advertise themselves -among book lovers. But I do want to lead a -forlorn hope to re-establish some sort of social -and moral, if not intellectual, equilibrium between -poor handicapped brains and overwhelming<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> -<i>brass</i>. At the present moment the calling -of literature is the caravan or the refuge of the -charlatan, the demagogue, the weakminded, the -social fop, the hysterical and the notorious. My -aim in this modest proposal is simply to remove -a few obsolete superstitions and traditions of -literary dignity that, once swept away, will leave -all competitors for fame on the same footing. -Perhaps we may then hope to see the few writers -who are marred with a simple equipment of inspiration -and talent enjoy some sort of equality -with those who bring to the conquest of literature -the overwhelming advantages of sex, brass, -social authority and money.</p> - -<p>Let us first touch upon certain aspects of criticism -and publicity in the Literary Show. It -will then be perfectly clear to the most prejudiced -reader—and I expect prejudice in this -wicked world—that my suggestion of a Sunday -Fair for Literature is the most feasible and dignified -expedient that can now be adopted, if any -of us are to continue the struggle for some literary -achievement and standard and some genuine -thought in our modern Babel.</p> - -<p>It has always been a question in the mind of -the present writer whether most men, that is, -sane men, do not actually know, in their own -hearts, just about what they stand for <i>absolutely</i> -in life, or whether saints and rogues, wise and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> -unwise, we are all deluded about ourselves. -Heine, who wrote with so much charm about -himself, and could scarcely have found a more -interesting subject, was of the opinion that one -cannot tell the truth about one’s self; and, since -the greater portion of mankind is of this opinion, -autobiography is the most irresistible form -of literature.</p> - -<div class="figright"><img src="images/i_007.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p>But it is unfortunate there is not more division -of opinion on the subject, because, while -this view may add to the interest of autobiography, -it weakens its weight and authority; and -there are good reasons for supposing that one of -the necessary “short cuts” of contemporary -literature of the near future will be the brief -critical autobiography.</p> - -<p>There is not a mother’s son of us in the whole -scribbling guild, great or small, puffed or -starved, can get his fill of praise; for there are -too many of us scribbling in these latter years, -and that man is fortunate who is famous for a -whole season. There are but few who can reasonably -hope for a life in the memory of mankind -as long as Mumm’s champagne. It may -be there are but few of us deserve it. Such -scraps of comfort as occasionally fall to our lot -are almost invariably disappointing, for our -friends are perversely addicted to flattering us in -good, round, general terms, which save thought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> -and lack positiveness, or else they appreciate us -for the very qualities it is perfectly evident we -do not possess in the least degree. But this is -the inevitable result of the production of literature -by lightning-like machinery working day -and night.</p> - -<p>All these sugared things which authors crave -can only be supplied by other writers who, aside -from the necessity of earning a livelihood, are -plagued with private personal ambitions of their -own; and if there is any sort of drudgery more -tedious than the reviewing of other people’s literature, -I should like to know what it is. Those -who have to earn precarious bread by the pen, -somehow or other, are so busy reviewing and -scribbling on topical matters that they have absolutely -no time for reading, and so very few -writers out of the great multitude receive more -than a few perfunctory words of praise or indifferent -comment, and are then straightway forgotten. -With the ever increasing tide of books, -literary criticism tends to become more and -more a mere matter of description and catalogueing, -and as this is obviously inadequate to satisfy -all the demands of those who would live in -the public eye, we have latterly seen the development -of that interesting personage, the psychological -interviewer.</p> - -<p>Even this does not meet the exigencies of an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> -overcrowded market. The psychological interviewer -is only occupied with those whose names -will help to sell <i>his</i> wares. The secret charm -of the psychological interview, when it is at -all well done, is that it enables an author to supplement -the necessarily perfunctory reviewing -of the day with his own keener critical insight -into the less obvious excellent qualities of his -work. This done with a fine conscientious egotism -and some show of candor, carries as much -weight with liberal and unprejudiced minds as -rare and subtle criticism. In fact, it is autobiography, -which the interviewer breaks up into -more or less dramatic dialogue.</p> - -<p>There are still thousands of us who are so -obscure and unfortunate as to be untroubled by -the interviewers, and, to make matters worse, -are often tabooed by the critics. But since the -calling of letters is no more restricted to the “deserving” -and the “good” than any other, these -also desire that publicity which helps to solve -the problem of bread and butter. And so I -predict that the pressure of competition in -the Literary Show, and the exigencies of critical -writing, often colored, if not inspired, by -counting-house interests, will soon bring into -current literature what I have here termed the -critical autobiography. In this way we may get -much good literature, for the dullest man is at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> -his best when writing about himself. A man -can then be perfectly independent, and still be -heralded in print as one of the potent forces and -geniuses of his day. The plan has some advantages -over log-rolling, which sometimes involves -unavoidable and ludicrous derogatory offices, -that embarrass one’s reputation as a wit and a -critic of discernment.</p> - -<p>It is also really time that the writers of books -learned to take something of the same vulgar -view of them which those who make their living -in dealing in them do, and that is to regard -them when finally out of the brain and put into -material shape merely as <i>merchandise</i>. It is this -looking upon them as “children” that has made -the poets the spoil of cunning men, and kept -them daft and poor.</p> - -<p>The writer’s problem is to reach his fellows, -his generation. He is not, under modern conditions, -concerned with posterity any more than -the lawyer or the merchant. As for that, probably -few books of this era will be known by -name a hundred years hence; but every man -should have a fair chance of getting a hearing -in his own generation. As things are at present -constituted, a thousand obstacles are placed in -the way by other writers in the holy name of -morality, style, literary ideals, and every other -ingenious trick one writer can devise as a critic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> -and literary tipstaff to keep others from dimming -the effulgence of his golden beams. But, -pouf! all this anxiety is unnecessary. At least -one-half of our contemporary literature, though -it is “boomed” and bought at impressive figures, -is only passable journalism, and, perhaps, -will be thrown aside and forgotten as unreliable -data when the journals of today (such as not -being printed on wood pulp paper may perchance -survive) are treasured as the mirror of -our semi-barbaric times.</p> - -<div class="figright"><img src="images/i_011.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p>We are fairly deluged now with cheap Brummagem -“literature.” And so I think my Modest -Proposal will appeal to all fair minded persons. -Let us have an open market in literature, and -let the best peddler win. The game of literature -as carried on today, is, with a few glorious exceptions, -a purely commercial speculation, an enterprise -in trade; and there is no need to confuse -the issues with a lot of babble about “literary -ideals,” and all the rest of it. That is but an -artful trick to embarrass rivals in trade. The -howl about morality is another old trick, but -one—thanks to the beauties of human nature—which -only helps to swell the sales of a rival. -Literature is now produced to meet the demands -of different markets, on the same principle that -governs the manufacture of other luxuries and -commodities. What is the use of waiting for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> -your rival in trade to announce your excellencies -to the world? Human nature works the same -in all trades. Ambition preys upon and harasses -ambition. Only the cynics of Grub Street, who -have no hopes and no ambitions, can be just and -impartial critics, and they are in the pinch of -necessity. Log-rolling, too, is an imperfect art; -some fellows’ logs are so <i>heavy</i>!</p> - -<p>Let it once be understood that there is no -ideal aim or dignity in the literary market of our -day other than to find quick buyers and win -the bubble reputation, and why should any man -hesitate to use the methods of ordinary commerce -to advance his own interests? It is a -matter of common sense.</p> - -<p>I suggest in all seriousness this idea of a literary -Petticoat-Lane Sunday Fair as the best way -to develop a national literature in America. And -let every man be his own critic, prophet and -publisher. It could be held somewhere off the -Bowery—a picturesque and appropriate place.</p> - -<p>The critical autobiographies on the market -would be genuine human documents and great -fun. A collection of them would give our epoch -everlasting fame. With every man peddling his -own wares, like the chapmen of old, the law of -the survival of the fittest would probably operate -as effectively, and more convincingly, than -under existing conditions.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Walter Blackburn Harte.</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> -<h2 class="nobreak">TO M’LLE BOHEMIA.</h2></div> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">It were not well if long you tarried</div> -<div class="indent">Here in my “Bungalow,”</div> -<div class="verse">For I’m a man sedate and married;—</div> -<div class="indent">Pick up your skirts and go.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">But stay, I’ll smoke another pipe.</div> -<div class="indent">Give you a cigarette?</div> -<div class="verse">Well, yes, for lips are cherry-ripe</div> -<div class="indent">And with honey dew are wet.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Are you, my dear, the Yellow Girl</div> -<div class="indent">Of all our author folks,</div> -<div class="verse">At whom we decent people hurl</div> -<div class="indent">Anathemas—and jokes?</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">You are a poem or a song—</div> -<div class="indent">A wicked one, they say—</div> -<div class="verse">A bit of color thrown along</div> -<div class="indent">A drab old world and gray.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">And every well-turned ankle, dear,</div> -<div class="indent">Is joy to all the earth,</div> -<div class="verse">Except to us good folks who fear</div> -<div class="indent">The smile or dance of mirth.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">But ’twere not well if long you tarried</div> -<div class="indent">Here in my den, you know,</div> -<div class="verse">For I’m a man sedate and married;—</div> -<div class="indent">Pick up your skirts and go.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> - -<div class="verseright"><span class="smcap">Waitman Barbe.</span></div> -</div></div></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE GAMBLERS.</h2></div> - - -<p>The rain splashed in his face, soaked through -his garments, ran down his back and trickled -through his wide sleeves in an almost vindictive -manner. But he shambled on indifferently, slowly -and heavily, apparently totally unconscious -of physical discomfort. Looking into that bald -face one could not penetrate its placidity, and -even the eyes seemed expressionless. The small, -well-shaped hands did not look as if they were -accustomed to manual labor; nevertheless his -clothing consisted of the ordinary blue blouse -and pantaloons of a working Chinaman, and it -was a very dilapidated Yankee hat around which -he had wound his queue. The peculiar means by -which he prevented the last mentioned part of -his costume from being blown off by the wind -and rain attracted some little attention from the -passers-by; but to jocose remarks and amused -smiles he paid no heed.</p> - -<p>Ah Lin was proceeding to a gambling resort, -and his thoughts were not with the scenes and -faces about him.</p> - -<p>When he reached his destination, he slipped a -key from out of his sleeve and admitted himself -into a large low room furnished with a long -table, a couch and some wooden chairs. Two -men sat on the couch, and about a dozen were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> -grouped around the table—all Chinamen. There -was but one small window in the place, and the -day being dull, the gloom of the room seemed to -be made palpable and visible by the light of two -oil lamps. On the window ledge was a pipe, a -small lamp and a tiny porcelain cup full of jellified -opium.</p> - -<div class="figright"><img src="images/i_015.jpg" alt="" /></div> - - -<p>One of the Chinamen arose, took the pipe, -dipped a pin into the opium, turned it around -until a quantity of the sticky drug adhered to it, -then inserted it into the pipe, held the pipe over -the flame of the lamp, and drew two or three -long breaths. Here was peace and a foretaste -of oblivion—a vapor was seen to exhale out of -his mouth and nose.</p> - -<p>Ah Lin walked up to the smoker, and the two -held a short confab.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Ah Lin at length, “I have fifty -cents left; with twenty-five cents I can draw a -lot, and with the balance I will see if I can win -half a dollar on a red cord stick.”</p> - -<p>“All right,” returned the smoker, “and I’ll -do the same; but first let us worship the tiger.”</p> - -<p>In a corner of the room on a small table stood -a wooden image of a tiger with wings grasping -an immense cash between its paws.</p> - -<p>Ah Lin and Hom Lock lighted some sticks of -incense and bowed themselves before the image—the -Chinaman’s gambling god.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>Some one of those who were at the head of -the centre table called to Ah Lin, and tried to -prevail upon him to stake some money in a game -which was played by means of a round board -with a hole in the centre through which a slender -stick was passed and fastened underneath to -a larger board. The top piece of wood was designed -to be moved around like a wheel; it was -marked off into many parts upon which cabalistic -figures were painted. Ah Lin had no inclination -to spin the wheel, and turned to another -man who sat near holding three sticks in his -hand. Those three sticks were three lots; three -ends projected outwards; three ends were -grasped and hidden by the man’s hand, hanging -down from which was a red tassel or string professedly -attached to one of the sticks. The -sport consisted in guessing which stick had the -red string.</p> - -<p>Ah Lin ventured twenty-five cents on one of -the lots or sticks, but lost. The head gambler -pocketed the twenty-five cents and Ah Lin -moved silently away. If he had won he would -have received his quarter back with another -quarter added.</p> - -<p>At the other end of the table was a deep -earthen vessel, and around it were grouped the -major part of the men in the room. One man -was tying up small bundles containing sums of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> -money from one cent up to twenty-five dollars. -Each package was marked with a sign word. -When his task was completed, the man cast all -the bundles into the vessel, and in a loud voice -announced that all who wished could cast lots -and for twenty-five cents have the chance of -making twenty-five dollars.</p> - -<div class="figright"><img src="images/i_017.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p>A number, including Ah Lin, paid twenty-five -cents and marked their names on a list of -signs. Then the vessel and its contents were -shaken up. All in turn were then invited to -take at hazard from its portentous belly, the -parcel for which they had staked. As he opened -his, Ah Lin’s face turned grey; it contained but -one cent.</p> - - - -<p>“What have you got?” asked Hom Lock, in -an excited whisper, leaning over Ah Lin’s -shoulder. “Just one cent, eh? Well, I have -the twenty-five dollars—the Tiger favors me—he’s -a great God.”</p> - -<p>There was a crash; the lamps were knocked -down and extinguished. Ah Lin had leapt -across the table and was dragging the Gambling -God around the room, striking it repeatedly with -a stick.</p> - -<p>“It’s a great God, isn’t it,” he yelled. “See -how it likes to be insulted. Oh, it’s a big God.”</p> - -<p>“It’s a great God,” shouted Hom Lock; there -was a knife in his hand; he pressed close to Ah -Lin.</p> - - - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>Ah Lin saw the knife, and something slipped -from his sleeve and two knives gleamed—then -disappeared.</p> - -<p>Some one struck a light. The owner of the -place picked up the fallen God and placed it on -the table. It calmly looked down upon two dead -men.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Sui Seen Far.</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">OUR HERITAGE.</h2></div> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Retire within thyself, O mortal Man!”</div> -<div class="verse">Was the grand doctrine of the classic age,</div> -<div class="verse">From whence has come the imperishable page</div> -<div class="verse">Of rarest wisdom that the eye may scan.</div> -<div class="verse">The city that Augustus raised—nay, mighty Pan,</div> -<div class="verse">And all the wonders penned by bard and sage</div> -<div class="verse">Have vanished ’neath the unconquerable rage</div> -<div class="verse">Of rival factions since their doom began.</div> -<div class="verse">But we who live and look with rev’rent gaze</div> -<div class="verse">Across the awful space that marks their course,</div> -<div class="verse">May struggle with great odds to gain perforce</div> -<div class="verse">This heritage of mind from sundered days:</div> -<div class="verse">Or, with hearts athirst, mid barren ways,</div> -<div class="verse">Drink of ennobling life from such unfailing source.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verseright"><span class="smcap">B. F. D. Dunn.</span></div> -</div></div></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> -<h2 class="nobreak">ONE FAILURE TO FORGET.</h2></div> - - -<p>Two others, both men, had nodded silent assent -when Wooler made the declaration, lightly, -that the pleasures of memory must surely pall -before the pleasures of forgetting.</p> - -<p>And presently, when the ladies had gone into -the drawing-room, these three men found themselves -looking one another over with that calm -scrutiny in which one wonders who the deuce -the other man is. As a matter of fact, however, -these three, John Wooler, Andrew Insgate and -Tom Farlough, knew one another fairly well. -Each was merely trying to gauge the other’s -sincerity.</p> - -<p>“She objected, of course,” Wooler went on, -as if there had been no interruption at all, “but -then, I expected nothing else. A woman would -always rather remember than forget.” He -sipped thoughtfully at his port. “With us—it -is different.”</p> - -<p>At the other end of the table a group of portly, -elderly gentlemen were regaling one another -with anecdotal alletria.</p> - -<p>“Do we really mean it?” asked Wooler, “or -do we take the appearance of the thought for -sake of its unorthodoxy?”</p> - -<div class="figleft"><img src="images/i_020.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p>“For my part,” said Farlough, fingering his -cravat, “I would give much of my life if I could -forget some of it.”</p> - - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>Insgate held his wine glass to the light and -gazed at the rich tint of red within. “Leopardi -was right,” he said, “no man would live his life -over again. But—I would begin anew tomorrow -if I could wipe out all the yesterday.”</p> - -<p>The other men had left the head of the table -and joined the ladies in the drawing-room. The -butler moved about silently for a few moments -and then left these three alone with their wine, -and their thoughts.</p> - -<p>Wooler spoke again. “We are all able to, -h’m, take a little for granted. Our reasons -scarcely matter much.” The others nodded. -“The only consideration is that we wish to—forget. -Why shouldn’t we try, we three? We -are not bound in any way. Neither wives nor -debts stare us in the face. We have both time -and money. Why not try?”</p> - -<p>“Why not?” repeated Insgate.</p> - -<p>“Gentlemen,” said Farlough, smiling, “I -would represent the minority were I to do else -than agree with you. Why not?”</p> - -<p>“Very well. From now on, then, we attempt -forgetting. Each in his own way. From time -to time we report progress or regress.”</p> - -<p>“Each in his own way! Are there so many -ways to forgetfulness? I can only think of two: -work and drink.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, but there is Woman!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>“True, there is Woman. Strictly speaking, I -considered her included in—however, that is -but a quibble! Personally, I have no preference. -I will take what you gentlemen leave.” It was -Wooler who said this.</p> - -<p>“Would <i>you put us upon our</i> consciences? -No; let Dame Chance take a hand in dealing. -We write the names—so!—and we each draw—so! -Mine is work.” That was Farlough’s -luck.</p> - -<div class="figright"><img src="images/i_021.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p>Insgate’s slip said “Drink.”</p> - -<p>“For me,” said Wooler, “the Woman.” He -lifted his glass, laughing quietly. “I wonder -who she is. Well, we shall see.”</p> - -<p>“Where shall we meet again?”</p> - -<p>“And when?”</p> - -<p>“A year from today. In the garden of the -Belle-Alliance Theatre in Berlin. Travel is a -necessary obligato.”</p> - -<p>Somewhat solemnly, though with cheerful -gestures, they pledged one another in a silently -emptied glass of port.</p> - -<p>And then they sauntered into the drawing-room.</p> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>A year later, Farlough strolled into the Belle-Alliance -Theatre. He looked healthier and -stronger; the tired look had left his eyes. He -looked over the theatre lovingly. It had not -changed much. Never very gay, but always cosy.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>They were presenting Lortzing’s ever delightful -“Zar und Zimmerman,” and, while it was -by no means an adequate performance, it was -decidedly a pleasant one.</p> - -<p>When the curtain had come down after the -first act, Farlough strolled out into the garden. -The place was brilliant with its hundreds of -crystal-clasped lights overhanging the graveled -walks. A throng of Berliners went chattering -about. Only a very occasional Englishman or -American came into evidence.</p> - -<p>In the small open air theatre a comedian was -giving a lively imitation of Sarah Bernhardt.</p> - -<p>But nowhere was there a sign of either of -those two gentlemen, John Wooler and Andrew -Insgate.</p> - -<p>Farlough turned his steps toward the box -office. He made an inquiry.</p> - -<p>The official bowed politely. He handed him -two letters. He bowed again and muttered mechanically, -“Gehorsamster Diener!” He was -from Vienna.</p> - -<p>Putting the letters into his pocket after a quick -scrutiny of the writing upon each envelope, -Farlough returned to the theatre.</p> - -<p>When the last notes had joined the echoes, he -had himself driven over to the <i>Hotel D’Angleterre</i>. -There he opened the envelopes and read -the two letters.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>The one from Insgate was dated at London. -“At this moment,” went the screed, “I am remembering -the matter of our meeting in Berlin. -This is due to unexpected and inexplicable sobriety. -As I may not remember again, I write -now. You see, I shall not be there myself. I -have managed to forget nearly all things. I -began by trying the liquors of all civilization. -They have succeeded in destroying my memory—except -in such brief lapses as this is. And -these are very rare now. By the time my money -and my constitution are gone, I am sure my -memory will be gone also. But as I am a sinner -in agony, I swear that God in all his wisdom -and wrath never invented so cruel a torment as -this that I have wrought for myself. I pray -that you two may not have succeeded so well.”</p> - -<div class="figright"><img src="images/i_023.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p>Farlough looked at the cold ink mutely. He -pictured once again the scene at that dinner a -year ago: Insgate’s nervous, aristocratic face; -Wooler’s smiling cynicism.</p> - - - -<p>He opened the latter’s missive. This man -wrote from San Francisco. “Absent, John -Wooler! Because of a woman. You see, I -went the gamut of the sex. But never succeeded -in forgetting until this one came into my life. -When I am with her I forget everything else; -when I am away from her, I remember with -tenfold distinctness. So I have found heaven,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> -and live in hell. For she happens to be another -man’s wife.”</p> - -<p>Farlough tore up the two letters slowly and -burned the pieces of paper one by one at the -candle by his side.</p> - -<p>“And so,” he thought, looking straight out -in front of him, “they have found the way and -I have not. And yet, I have won while they -have lost. For my work is such a pleasure to -me that the past has been atoned for long ago, -and none of my memories are tainted by regrets. -I am all in my work, and in it I find the ecstasy -of atonement.”</p> - -<p>And then this man who had failed to find the -way of forgetfulness, sought out a railway time -table to see how soon he could start back to his -workshop.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Percival Pollard.</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">THE STAGE AND ITS CULTURE.</h2></div> - - -<p>Undoubtedly one of the greatest influences of -the modern world is the stage, and one of the -problems of modern art is to raise the tone of -the stage. This must of course be done through -gaining the sympathy of the acting profession -in intellectual dramatic work. The question -arises in my mind, is this possible? What is -the average intellectual calibre of actors and -actresses? I have a suspicion that, as a class, they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> -are imitative, and but too often destitute of real -intellectual interests. There are a few notable -exceptions—Henry Irving, Beerbohm Tree, -Jefferson, Edward S. Willard, Mounet-Sully, -Richard Mansfield, James A. Herne and others. -But the ordinary actor and actress, even the successful -and talented ones, so far as I could ever -discover, are too completely absorbed in the narrow -world of play-acting, press criticisms, -dresses and the jealousies and cliques of the profession, -to have any leisure or inclination for -an interest in the larger and freer intellectual -world outside, to which men in all other callings -have access as the refuge from their occupation.</p> - -<p>I confess I never <i>knew</i> any actor or actress -who was addicted to reading—except the newspapers -for the criticisms. But I have heard that -Francis Wilson is not only a bookman but a -bibliomaniac, and I have longed to ask him -whether he included among his spoils the first -editions of <i>American</i> authors. I have a notion -that even the despised bibelots of today will be -treasures tomorrow.</p> - -<p>It would be interesting to know if some of our -leading ladies and gentlemen in the dramatic -profession really spend much of their time in -gaining that intimate acquaintance with life -through literature which would certainly so -greatly help their interpretation of character in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> -the drama. It is almost impossible for us, who -have not free access to the green room, to tell. -It is a pity the average writer is so little in touch -and contact with this mimic life that gives him -so much instruction in his art and observation -of life. But from the quality of the literature -provided in our contemporary “Footlights,” of -Philadelphia, it begins to look as if the theatrical -profession is sharing with every other class in -modern society in the increasing interest in -printer’s ink. “Footlights” is, however, interesting -to all who love the theatre, as well as -to the profession, and it is not altogether restricted -to the affairs and doings of the footlights. -It contains especially good criticism -of current literature, written in a vein of independence -and vigor, which is another sign that, -with the recruiting of the younger men in -journalism and literature, criticism will again -assume its proper importance and character in -America.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Jonathan Penn.</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">ICONOCLASM.</h2></div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> - -<div class="center">I.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“When Shakespeare died the Drama died.”</div> -<div class="indent2">This cry</div> -<div class="verse">Has echoed down the ages as a truth</div> -<div class="verse">None would gainsay, until, today, forsooth,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> -<div class="verse">Like weaklings we all fear to make reply,</div> -<div class="verse">But suckle at Tradition’s milkless breast.</div> -<div class="verse">O <span class="smcap">Art</span>! your name to mingle with the dust</div> -<div class="verse">Of dead men’s bones, and scarred with sordid rust</div> -<div class="verse">Of years, and in a catacomb to rest!</div> -<div class="verse">O <span class="smcap">Youth</span>! throw off the shackles of the Past,</div> -<div class="verse">It is the Present that is yours alone;</div> -<div class="verse">The excellence you seek can never last</div> -<div class="verse">If linked to models that today’s outgrown.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="center">II.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">How long shall we perpetuate untruth</div> -<div class="verse">And teach that Art does not exist today?</div> -<div class="verse">That only idols crumbling with decay</div> -<div class="verse">Are meet as shrines for eager, suppliant youth?</div> -<div class="verse">How long shall we bow down to foreign gods</div> -<div class="verse">And worship them with lips, but not with heart?</div> -<div class="verse">We are ashamed to recognize our art,</div> -<div class="verse">We sneer and call our native writers clods.</div> -<div class="verse">But from the prairies of the grander West—</div> -<div class="verse">Free from the ancient gyves that bind and gall—</div> -<div class="verse">Are men and women rising to the call,</div> -<div class="verse">Intent on only what is new and best.</div> -<div class="verse">The East is dead and buried in the Past,</div> -<div class="verse">The West alone can do what work will last!</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verseright"><span class="smcap">John Northern Hilliard.</span></div> -</div></div></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> -<h2 class="nobreak">BUBBLE AND SQUEAK.</h2></div> - - -<p>There are lots of things I should like to say -in this place about some of my esteemed contemporaries, -but, though not by any means diffident -in the expression of my critical opinions, -I daren’t unburden my deepest thoughts about -the performances of some villains I have in -mind. It is not that all the things I <i>think</i> are -not strictly within the bounds of severe veracity, -but truth is so unpopular in this world,—and -especially in the literary world.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Ex-President Harrison has given damning -evidence against himself. He has publicly declared -himself an utterly impossible person for -re-nomination by writing platitudes to the order -of “The Ladies Home Journal” genius. We -can enjoy a president who goes off “at half-cock” -on some questions, and we can respect one -who goes fishing while the whole country is -anxious about a great national policy, but a -president who writes for “The Ladies Home -Journal” is beyond our sense of humor or -pathos. That is the unforgivable sin—to make -one’s self supremely ridiculous.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Alfred Austin, the new poet laureate, is reported -to be sitting up night after night, reading -his predecessor in the office, carefully, critically -straining and comparing the text with his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> -own. He is striving to discover in what this -“doosid” difference consists.</p> - -<p>It really does strike a person of some sense of -humor, and some tenderness for all human -creatures, that at this moment the late Earl of -Dunraven and the newly appointed poet laureate -are the two most pathetic figures in the English-speaking -world.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>A notable departure in good bookmaking is -Percival Pollard’s “Cape of Storms,” a novel in -paper covers, with a cover design in colors by Will -H. Bradley, and a title page by John Sloan, which -is printed in a limited edition and sold at a popular -price. This is a new thing in America. -Perhaps, however, we are going to adopt the -French fashion of paper covered literature. It -will give all our authors a wider circulation. -Pollard’s story is good, racy reading, which -means clever writing.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>What modern love has lost in sentimentality -and romance it has gained in companionship, -depth of feeling and intimacy. The latest phase -of courtship is this: When a young man is in -love he no longer sends his heart’s delight a -silly sentimental poem, he sends her a symbolical -Poster. Posters hold some hint of the vagaries -and fantasies of the human heart, as sentimental -poetry does not.</p> - -<p>The triumph of modern love is that both -sexes are now allowed to be <i>human</i>, and so the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> -old disparity between carnal humanity and cold -and frigid divinity, has been abridged. The -Poster has helped in the promotion of art feeling -in the community. It is also an educational -factor in the problem of establishing an equality -of common sense between the sexes, that shall -not destroy the witchery of woman and the eternal -attraction of the sexes.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>A lady journalist, who has a decided taste for -the belle-lettres, and considerable faculty of her -own in the art of making life picturesque, has -just apprised me of a very novel scheme of hers -in the way of book making.</p> - -<p>She once had, as is the custom of so many -ladies, an ordinary and inoffensive autograph -album. Asking a certain Impressionistic poet -for his autograph one day, she received her book -back with a few lines, in which the poet thanked -Heaven he had had a birthday, so that he had -looked upon her beauty and <i>lived</i>, in the deeper -sense than mere living. This date disappeared -from the album.</p> - -<p>But the incident gave my quick-witted young -lady an idea. She bought a dainty book of -manuscript leaves bound in Russia leather. It -is now worth its price in gold, for she has, by -flattery and cajolery, and the fine art of being -beautiful, got it filled with sketches from the -pens of some of the leading authors of the day. -And the character of the volume is more unique<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> -since the theme of all these fine wits is the -same. The sketches are all prose pastels, inspired -by the young lady’s own personality.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>After reading Ian Maclaren’s “Beside the -Bonnie Briar Bush,” I feel like following the -precedent of the illustrious Horace Greeley and -giving some advice to ambitious wayfarers. The -Drumtochty folk are so uniformly generous, -self sacrificing, unselfish, humane and philanthropic, -that I should advise all young men of -unsettled prospects not to turn their gaze westward, -but to cross the seas and settle in Drumtochty. -Intellectual enterprises of the most -ambitious and revolutionary character, I observe, -are practically encouraged and prosper there as -in no other place on earth that I ever heard of. -Are you a young and poor boy consumed with -a desire to fit yourself for a scholar’s life and -easy fortunes? Then start for Drumtochty -without further ado. The blameless farmer -folk there have only to be approached by the -Dominie and they will immediately start you in -life and pay all your expenses to a professorial -chair. Are you literary? There never was such -another community with the same keen scent -for true imagination and poetry. Oh, it is an -ideal hamlet, truly, for the intellectuals! There -are more philanthropists huddled together there -in one small parish than in the rest of Great -Britain and the whole United States. I think<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> -even the <span class="smcap">Fly Leaf</span> would bring in great returns -in such a community.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>An old lady in a hill-top town in New Hampshire -has written to her local newspaper warning -the youth against my corrupting influence -and machinations—and so I am evidently in -imminent nearness to the popularity that attends -all corrupters of morals.</p> - -<p>This good lady does not charge me with any -actual breaches of morality, but she detects an -irreverence in my temperament and mind that -might lead me to the commission of all the -crimes that moral folk find so much joy in contemplating. -There is, she avers, a flippancy in -my view of some established things that might -lead to any perversion of youth. She is sure I -am immoral and should be suppressed, although -she can discover no more heinous offence in me -than a certain callousness in regard to the feelings -of witless respectables and old fogies. She -objects to the use of that term of opprobrium, -and considers it <i>indecent</i>.</p> - -<p>If it could only be proved so—why, hooray! -If this rumor of our immorality can only be -carried far and wide enough, it is clear our fortunes -are made. This is the secret of success in -contemporary literature. All the novelists of -the day are worrying out this problem: How to -present some new phase of morality that shall -contain the broadest suggestions of immorality.</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">Economists and Politicians</h2></div> - - -<p>Talk and write of the waste of society and the waste of health -and the waste of luxury and poverty. But they never remark -upon the equally disastrous and wanton</p> - -<p class="center"><span class="large"><b>WASTE OF WIT</b></span></p> - -<p>Which has for so long been the result of old-fogyism and timorous -commercialism in periodical Literature. If Statistics could -be compiled of the fine wits and humorists and writers of individual -talents and power whose brains and productions are -spoiled or altogether suppressed under the old regime of the -Popular Literature for the weak minded they would be appalling. -There is a ruthless waste of good wit in America, in behalf of -good dullness.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Fly Leaf</span> aims to stem this tide of wasted wit. There -are ever so many clever writers in America, though they are -seldom heard of. These Younger Spirits are the backbone of -<span class="smcap">The Fly Leaf</span>, which will present the Best and most Individual -Literature of the Day—as much as can be squeezed into a -Bibelot.</p> - -<p>It is not quantity but quality we seek to provide. <span class="smcap">The Fly -Leaf</span> interests all cultivated independent minds, which can -recognize “a good thing” at sight. It appeals to Thoughtful -and Bookish People, and it will never pander to the Mob that -buys its Literature by weight.</p> - -<p>Every issue is the most amusing and Unexpected little Bundle -of Surprises. It is the only Periodical in America that has -Wit to waste. Others have more Cash but no Wit.</p> - - -<p class="center"><span class="large"><b>THE FLY LEAF,</b></span><br /> - -<span class="large"><b>269 St. Botolph Street, Boston, Mass.</b></span></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> - -<p>Archaic or alternate spelling has been retained from the original.</p> -</div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Fly Leaf, No. 3, Vol. 1, February -1896, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLY LEAF, FEBRUARY 1896 *** - -***** This file should be named 62452-h.htm or 62452-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/4/5/62452/ - -Produced by hekula03, David E. 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