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diff --git a/old/67188-0.txt b/old/67188-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 0ba2da8..0000000 --- a/old/67188-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8579 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Powder of Sympathy, by Christopher -Morley - -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 -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Powder of Sympathy - -Author: Christopher Morley - -Illustrator: Walter Jack Duncan - -Release Date: January 17, 2022 [eBook #67188] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Emmanuel Ackerman, Charlie Howard, and the Online - Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This - file was produced from images generously made available by - The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POWDER OF SYMPATHY *** - - - - - -Transcriber’s Note: Italic text is indicated by _underscores_; -boldface is indicated by =equals signs=. - - - - - THE POWDER OF - SYMPATHY - - - - -OTHER BOOKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR - - -_Fiction_ - - PARNASSUS ON WHEELS - THE HAUNTED BOOKSHOP - KATHLEEN - TALES FROM A ROLLTOP DESK - WHERE THE BLUE BEGINS - - -_Essays_ - - SHANDYGAFF - MINCE PIE - PIPEFULS - PLUM PUDDING - TRAVELS IN PHILADELPHIA - - -_Poetry_ - - SONGS FOR A LITTLE HOUSE - THE ROCKING HORSE - HIDE AND SEEK - CHIMNEYSMOKE - TRANSLATIONS FROM THE CHINESE - - - - - THE POWDER OF - SYMPATHY - - BY - CHRISTOPHER MORLEY - - -[Illustration] - - - Strange, when you come to think of - it, that of all the countless folk who - have lived before our time on this planet - not one is known in history or in - legend as having died of laughter. - - --MAX BEERBOHM - - - ILLUSTRATED - BY - WALTER JACK DUNCAN - - - GARDEN CITY NEW YORK - DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY - 1923 - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY - DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY - - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION - INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN - - COPYRIGHT, 1921, 1922, BY THE NEW YORK EVENING POST, INC. - COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY THE OUTLOOK COMPANY - - PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES - AT - THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y. - - _First Edition_ - - - - -[Illustration] - -DEDICATION - -TO FELIX RIESENBERG and FRANKLIN ABBOTT - - -DEAR FELIX, DEAR FRANK:--It is a pleasant circumstance that as one sets -about collecting material for a book, scissoring night after night -among scrapbooks to determine what may or may not be worth revisiting -the glimpses of the press, there comes to mind with perfect naturalness -who should carry the onus of the dedication. For a book is a frail -and human emanation, and has its own instinctive disposition toward a -certain kind of people. These Powders of Sympathy I hopefully sprinkle -in your direction. - -Another good friend warned me seriously, some time ago, against the -danger of being too apologetic in a preface. For, said he, people -always read prefaces and dedications, even if nought else; if you -deprecate, you at once persuade them to the same attitude. And to you -two, of all readers, I need not explain just how these pieces were -written, day by day, out of the pressure and hilarity and contention -of the mind. I have made no attempt to conceal their ephemeral -origin. They were almost all written for a newspaper, and contain -many references to journalism. And, if I may speak my inmost heart, I -have had a sincere hope that they might, in collected form, play some -small part in encouraging the youngest generation of journalists to be -themselves and set things down as they see them. If these powders have -any pharmacal virtue--other than that of Seidlitz--it is likely to be -relative, not absolute. I mean, it is remarkable that they should have -been written at all: remarkable that any newspaper should take the -pains to offer space to speculations of this sort. I have not scrupled, -on occasion, to chaff some of the matters newspapers are supposed to -hold sacred. And it is my privilege, by the way, to say my gratitude -and affection to Mr. Edwin F. Gay, editor of the New York _Evening -Post_, under whose jurisdiction these were written. With the generosity -of the ideal employer he has encouraged my ejaculations even when he -did not agree with them. - -But a columnist (it is frequently said) is not a real Newspaper Man: -he is only a deboshed Editorial Writer, a fallen angel abjected from -the secure heaven of anonymity. That is true. The notable increase, in -recent years, of these creatures, has been held to be a sign that the -papers required more scapegoats, or safety valves through whom readers -might blow off their disrespect. And that by posting these innocent -effigies as decoys, the wicked press might go about its privy misdeeds -with more security, and conspire unobserved with the dangerous minions -of Capital (or Labour, or the Agrarian Bloc). - -However that may be, and unsuspecting whether intended by his scheming -employer as a decoy, or a doormat, or a gargoyle, or a lightning rod -(how is he to know, never having been given instruction of any sort -except to go ahead and write as he pleases?) the columnist pursues -his task and gradually distils a philosophy of his own out of his -duties. Oddly enough, instead of growing more cautious by reason of his -exposure, he becomes almost dangerously candid. He knows that if he -is wrong he will be set right the next morning by a stack of letters -varying in number according to the nature of his indiscretion. If he is -wrong about _shall_ and _will_, he will get five letters of reproof. -If about some nautical nicety, ten letters. If about the Republican -Party, twenty letters. If about food, thirty-two. If about theology -or Ireland, sixty to seventy. In all cases most of these letters will -be wittier and wiser than anything he could have composed himself. -Surely there is no other walk of life in which mistakes are so promptly -retrovolant. - -I have christened these soliloquies after dear old Sir Kenelm Digby’s -famous nostrum, the Powder of Sympathy. But in spite of its amiable -name and properties that powder was not a talcum. Its basis was -vitriol; and I fear that in some of these prescriptions I have mixed -a few acid crystals. It was either Lord Bacon or Don Marquis (two deep -thinkers whose maxims are occasionally confounded in my mind) who told -a story about a dog of low degree who made his reputation by biting a -circus lion--thinking him only another dog, though a large one. Two or -three times herein I have snapped at circus lions; and probably escaped -only because the lion was too proud to return the indenture. Let it -be remembered, though, that often you may love a man even while you -dispute with him. - -But the chief consideration (Frank and Felix) that seems to emerge from -our friendship is that the eager squabbles of critics and littérateurs -are of minor account; that the great thing is to circulate freely in -the surrounding ocean of inexhaustible humanity, enjoying with our -own eyes and ears the gay and tragic richness of life. We have had -expeditions together, not commemorated in print, that have been both -doctrine and delight. The incident of the Five-Dollar Bill we hid in a -certain bookshop will recur to your minds; the day spent in New York -Harbour aboard Tug Number 18, and her skipper’s shrewd, endearing -sagacity. Then consider the Mystery of the House on 71st Street; the -smell of Gorgonzola cheese on a North River pier; the taste of _asti -spumante_; the arguments on the Test of Courage! These are matters it -pleases me to set down, just as a secret among us. And though I am -(you are aware) no partisan of the telephone, there are especially -two voices I have learned to hear with a thrill. They say: “_Hello! -This is Frank_;” or “_Hello! This is Felix!_” And I reply with honest -excitement, for so often those voices are an announcement of Adventure. - -Give me a ring soon. - - CHRISTOPHER MORLEY. - - _New York City, - November 24, 1922._ - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - An Oxford Symbol 1 - - Scapegoats 7 - - To a New Yorker a Hundred Years Hence 12 - - A Call for the Author 16 - - Mr. Pepys’s Christmases 19 - - Children as Copy 25 - - Hail, Kinsprit! 30 - - Round Manhattan Island 33 - - The Unknown Citizen 37 - - Sir Kenelm Digby 42 - - First Impressions of an Amiable Visitor 58 - - In Honorem: Martha Washington 63 - - According to Hoyle 67 - - L. E. W. 71 - - Our Extension Course 75 - - Some Recipes 78 - - Adventures of a Curricular Engineer 82 - - Santayana in the Subway 87 - - Madonna of the Taxis 95 - - Matthew Arnold and Exodontia 99 - - Dame Quickly and the Boilroaster 109 - - Vacationing with De Quincey 114 - - The Spanish Sultry 132 - - What Kind of a Dog? 137 - - A Letter from Gissing 140 - - July 8, 1822 143 - - Midsummer in Salamis 148 - - The Story of Ginger Cubes 153 - - The Editor at the Ball Game 183 - - The Dame Explores Westchester 191 - - The Power and the Glory 197 - - Gissing Joins a Country Club 202 - - Three Stars on the Back Stoop 208 - - A Christmas Card 213 - - Symbols and Paradoxes 218 - - The Return to Town 223 - - Maxims and Minims 228 - - Two Reviews 262 - - Buddha on the L 271 - - Intellectuals and Roughnecks 279 - - The Fun of Writing 288 - - A Christmas Soliloquy 291 - - - - -THE POWDER OF SYMPATHY - - - - -[Illustration] - -AN OXFORD SYMBOL - - -When in October, 1910, we arrived, in a hansom, at the sombre gate -of New College, Oxford; trod for the first time through that most -impressive of all college doorways, hidden in its walled and winding -lane; timidly accosted Old Churchill, the whiskered porter, most -dignitarian and genteel of England’s Perfect Servants; and had our -novice glimpse of that noble Front Quad where the shadow of the -battlemented roof lies patterned across the turf--we were as innocently -hopeful, modestly anxious for learning and eager to do the right thing -in this strange, thrilling environment as ever any young American -who went looking for windmills. No human being (shrewd observers -have remarked) is more beautifully solemn than the ambitious Young -American. And, indeed, no writer has ever attempted to analyze the -shimmering tissue of inchoate excitement and foreboding that fills the -spirit of the juvenile Rhodes Scholar as he first enters his Oxford -college. He arrives with his mind a gentle confusion of hearsay about -Walter Pater, Shelley, boat races, Mr. Gladstone, Tom Brown, the -Scholar Gypsy, and Little Mr. Bouncer. Kansas City or Sheboygan indeed -seem far away as he crosses those quadrangles looking for his rooms. - -But even Oxford, one was perhaps relieved to find, is not all -silver-gray mediæval loveliness. The New Buildings, to which Churchill -directed us, reached through a tunnel and a bastion in a rampart not -much less than a thousand years elderly, were recognizably of the -Rutherford B. Hayes type of edification. Except for the look-off -upon gray walls, pinnacles, and a green tracery of gardens, and the -calculated absence of plumbing (a planned method of preserving monastic -hardiness among light-minded youth), the immense cliff of New Buildings -might well have been a lobe of the old Johns Hopkins or a New York -theological seminary. At the top of four flights we found our pensive -citadel. Papered in blue, upholstered in a gruesome red, with yellow -woodwork, and a fireplace which (we soon learned) was a potent reeker. -It would be cheerful to describe those two rooms in detail, for we -lived in them two years. But what first caught our eye was a little -green pamphlet lying on the red baize tablecloth. It was lettered - - NEW COLLEGE, OXFORD - Information and Regulations - _Revised October, 1910_ - -Our name was written upon it in ink, and we immediately sat down -to study it. Here, we thought, is our passkey to this new world of -loveliness. - -First we found the hours of college chapel. Then, “All Undergraduates -are required to perform Exercises.” In our simplicity we at first -supposed this to be something in the way of compulsory athletics, but -then discovered it to mean intellectual exercises. Fair enough, we -thought. That is what we came for. - -“Undergraduates are required, as a general rule, to be in College or -their Lodgings by 11 p. m., and to send their Strangers out before that -time.... No Undergraduate is allowed to play on any musical instrument -in College rooms except between the hours of 1 and 9 p. m., unless -special leave has been obtained beforehand from the Dean.... No games -are allowed in the College Quadrangles, and no games except bowls in -the Garden.” Excellent, we meditated; this is going to be a serious -career, full attention to the delights of the mind and no interruption -by corybantic triflers. - -“A Term by residence means pernoctation within the University for -six weeks in Michaelmas or in Hilary Term, and for three weeks in -Easter or in Trinity (or Act) Term.”... We felt a little uncertain as -to just what time of year Hilary and Act happened. But we were not -halting, just now, over technicalities. We wanted to imbibe, hastily, -the general spirit and flavour of our new home.... “Every member of -the College is required to deposit Caution-money. Commoners deposit -£30, unless they signify in writing their intention to pay their -current Battels weekly; in this case they deposit £10. An undergraduate -battling terminally cannot withdraw part of his Caution-money and -become a weekly battler without the authority of his parent or -guardian.” We at once decided that it was best to be a weekly battler. -Battling, incidentally, is a word that we believe exists only at Eton -and Oxford; dictionaries tell us that it comes from “an obsolete verb -meaning to fatten.” Sometimes, however, in dispute with the Junior -Bursar, it comes near its more usual sense. We wondered, in our young -American pride, whether we were a Commoner? We were pleased to note, -however, that the alternative classification was not a Lord but a -Scholar. - -We skimmed along through various other instructions. “A fine of 1s. is -charged to the owner of any bicycle not put away before midnight.” The -owner, or the bicycle, we mused? Never mind--we would soon learn. Coals -and faggots, we noted, were variable in price. “The charge for a cold -bath is 2d., for a hot 4d., inclusive of bath-towel.” The duties of a -mysterious person named as the Bedmaker (but always, in actual speech, -the Scout) were punctually outlined. But now we found ourself coming -to Kitchen, Buttery, and Store-Room Tariffs. This, evidently, was the -pulse of the machine. With beating heart we read on, entranced: - - Beer, Mild half-pint 1½ - Beer, Mixed “ 2 - Beer, Strong “ 2½ - Beer, Treble X glass 3 - Beer, Lager pint 6 - Stout half-pint 2 - Cider “ 1½ - -There was something significant, we felt by instinct, in the fact that -Treble X was obtainable only by the glass. Vital stuff, evidently. -Our education was going to come partly in casks, perhaps? In the -Kitchen Tariff we read, gloatingly, magnificent syllables. _Grilled -Sausages and Bacon_, commons, 1/2. _Devilled Kidneys_, commons, 1/. -(A “commons,” we judged, was a large portion; if you wanted a lesser -serving, you ordered a “small commons.”) _Chop with Chips_, 11d. -_Grilled Bones_, 10d. _Kedgeree_, plain or curried, commons, 9d. (Oh -noble kedgeree, so nourishing and inexpensive, when shall we taste your -like again?) Herrings, Bloaters, Kippers, each 3d. (To think that, -then, we thought the Junior Bursar’s tariff was a bit steep.) Jelly, -Compôte of Fruit, Trifle, Pears and Cream. Creams ... commons, 6d. -“Gentlemen’s own birds cooked and served ... one bird, 1/. Two birds, -1/6.” - -We went on, with enlarging appreciation, to the Store Room and Cellar -Tariffs: Syphons, Seltzer or Soda-water, 4½d. Ginger-beer, per bottle, -2d. Cakes: Genoa, Cambridge, Madeira, Milan, Sandringham, School, each -1/. Foolscap, per quire, 10d. Quill Pens, per bundle, 1/6. Cheroots, -Cigars, Tobacco, Cigarettes--and then we found what seemed to be the -crown and cream of our education, LIST OF WINES. - -Port, 4/ per bottle. Pale Sherry, 3/. Marsala, 2/. Madeira, 4/. -Clarets: Bordeaux, 1/6. St. Julien, 2/. Dessert, 4/. Hock or Rhenish -Wine: Marcobrunner, 4/. Niersteiner, 3/. Moselle, 2/6. Burgundy, 2/ and -4/. Pale Brandy, 5/. Scotch Whisky, 4/. Irish Whisky, 4/. Gin, 3/. Rum, -4/. - -It is really too bad to have to compress into a few paragraphs such a -wealth of dreams and memories. We sat there, with our little pamphlet -before us, and looked out at that great panorama of spires and towers. -We have always believed in falling in with our environment. The first -thing we did that afternoon was to go out and buy a corkscrew. We have -it still--our symbol of an Oxford education. - - - - -[Illustration] - -SCAPEGOATS - - -The man who did most (I am secretly convinced) to deprive American -literature of some really fine stuff was Mr. John Wanamaker. It -was in his store, some years ago, that I bought a kind of cot-bed -or couch, which I put in one corner of my workroom and on which it -is my miserable habit to recline when I might be getting at those -magnificent writings I have planned. Every evening I pile up the -cushions and nestle there with _The Gentle Grafter_ or some detective -story (my favourite relaxation), saying to myself: “Just ten minutes of -loafing”.... - -But perhaps Messrs. Strawbridge and Clothier (also of Philadelphia) are -equally at fault. When I wake up, on my Wanamaker divan, it is usually -about 2 A. M. Not too late, even then, for a determined spirit to make -incision on its tasks. But I find myself moving towards a very fine -white-enamelled icebox which I bought from Strawbridge and Clothier in -1918. With that happy faculty of self-persuasion I convince myself it -is only to see whether the pan needs emptying or the doors latching. -But by the time I have scalped a blackberry pie and eroded a platter -of cold macaroni au gratin, of course work of any sort is out of the -question. - -So do the Philistines of this world league themselves cruelly against -the artist, plotting temptation for his carnal deboshed instincts, -joying to see him succumb. Once the habit of yielding is established, -Wanamaker, Strawbridge and Clothier (dark trio of Norns) have it their -own way. Just as surely as robins will be found on a new-mown lawn, -as certainly as bonfire smoke veers all round the brush pile to find -out the eyes of the suburban leaf burner, so inevitably do the Divan -and the Icebox exert their cruel dominion over us when we ought to be -pursuing our lovely and impossible dreams. Wanamaker and Strawbridge -and Clothier have blueprints of the lines of fissure in our frail -velleity. As William Blake might have said: - - Let Flesh once get a lead on Spirit, - It’s hard for Soul to reinherit: - When supper’s laid upon a plate - Mind might as well abdicate. - -But one of the things I think about, just before I drop off to sleep -on that couch, is My Anthology. Like every one else, I have always -had an ambition to compile an anthology of my own; several, in fact. -One of them I call in my own mind _The Book of Uncommon Prayer_, and -imagine it as a kind of secular breviary, including many of those -beautiful passages in literature expressing the spirit of supplication. -This book, however, it will take years to collect; it will be entirely -non-sectarian and so truly religious that many people will be annoyed. -People do not care much for books of real beauty. That anthology edited -by Robert Bridges, for instance--_The Spirit of Man_--how many readers -have taken the trouble to hunt it out? - -But the _Uncommon Prayer Book_ is not the kind of anthology I have in -mind at the moment. What I need is a book that would boil down the best -of all the books I am fond of and condense it into a little bouillon -cube of wisdom. I have always had in mind the possibility that I might -go travelling, or the house might burn down, or I might have to sell my -library, or something of that sort. I should like to have the meat and -essence of my favourites in permanent form, so that wherever I were I -could write to the publisher and get a fresh copy. - -This thought came with renewed emphasis the other day when I was -talking to Vachel Lindsay. He was saying that he had lately been -rereading Swinburne, for the first time in nearly twenty years, and was -grieved to see how the text of the poet had become corrupted in his -memory. He had been misquoting Swinburne for years and years, he said, -and the errors had been growing more and more firmly into his mind. -That led me to think, suppose we had only memory to rely on, how long -would the text of anything we loved remain unblurred? Suppose I were on -a desert island and yearned to solace myself by spouting some of the -sonnets of Shakespeare? How much could I recapture? Honestly, now, and -with no resort to the book on the shelf at my elbow, let me try an old -friend: - - Let me not to the marriage of true minds - Admit impediments. Love is not love - That alters when it alteration finds - Or bends with the remover to remove. - Oh no, it is an ever-fixed mark - That looks on tempests and is never shaken-- - Love is the star to every wandering bark - Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken. - -Then there’s something about a sickle, but I can’t for the life of me -quite get it. Presently I’ll look it up in the book and see how near I -came. - -Before opening the Shakespeare, however, let’s have one more try: - - When to the sessions of sweet silent thought - I summon up remembrance of things past, - I wail the lack of many a thing I sought - ... my dear time’s waste---- - -And all the rest of that sonnet that I can think of is something about -“death’s dateless night.” A pretty poor showing. Of course, I should do -better on a desert island: there would be the wide expanse of shining -sand to walk upon, and I could throw myself into it with more passion -and fury. The secret of remembering poetry is to get a good barytone -start and obliterate the mind of its current freight of trifles. -The metronomic prosody of the surf would help me, no doubt, and the -placid frondage of the breadfruit trees. But even so, the recension -of Shakespeare’s sonnets that I would write down upon slips of bark -would be a very corrupt and stumbling text. Favourite lines would -be scrambled into the wrong sonnets, and the whole thing would be a -pitiful miscarriage of memory. - -The only sagacious conduct of life is to prepare for every possible -emergency. I have taken out life insurance, and fire insurance, and -burglary insurance, and automobile insurance. I have always insured -myself against losing my job by taking care not to work too hard at -it, so I wouldn’t miss it too bitterly if it were suddenly jerked -from under me. But what have I done in the way of Literary Insurance? -Suppose, to-morrow, Adventure should carry me away from these -bookshelves? How pleasant to have a little microcosm of them that I -could take with me! And yet, unless I can shake off the servitude of -those three Philadelphia mandarins, Wanamaker and Strawbridge and -Clothier, I shall never have it. - -When I think of the plays that I would have written if it weren’t for -those three rascals. - - - - -[Illustration] - -TO A NEW YORKER A HUNDRED YEARS HENCE - - -I wonder, old dear, why my mind has lately been going out towards you? -I wonder if you will ever read this? They say that wood-pulp paper -doesn’t last long nowadays. But perhaps some of my grandchildren (with -any luck, there should be some born, say twenty-five years hence) -may, in their years of tottering caducity, come across this scrap of -greeting, yellowed with age. With tenderly cynical waggings of their -faded polls, perhaps they will think back to the tradition of the -quaint vanished creatures who lived and strove in this city in the year -of disgrace, 1921. Poor old granfer (I can hear them say it, with that -pleasing note of pity), I can just remember how he used to prate about -the heyday of his youth. He wrote pieces for some paper, didn’t he? -Comically old-fashioned stuff my governor said; some day I must go to -the library and see if they have any record of it. - -You seem a long way off, this soft September morning, as I sit here -and sneeze (will hay fever still exist in 2021, I wonder?) and listen -to the chime of St. Paul’s ring eleven. Just south of St. Paul’s brown -spire the girders of a great building are going up. Will that building -be there when you read this? What will be the Olympian skyline of -your city? Will poor old Columbia University be so far downtown that -you will be raising money to move it out of the congested slums of -Morningside? Will you look up, as I do now, to the great pale shaft -of Woolworth; to the golden boy with wings above Fulton Street? What -ships with new names will come slowly and grandly up your harbour? What -new green spaces will your street children enjoy? But something of -the city we now love will still abide, I hope, to link our days with -yours. There is little true glory in a city that is always changing. -New stones, new steeples are comely things; but the human heart clings -to places that hold association and reminiscence. That, I suppose, is -the obscure cause of this queer feeling that impels me to send you so -perishable a message. It is the precious unity of mankind in all ages, -the compassion and love felt by the understanding spirit for those, its -resting kinsmen, who once were glad and miserable in these same scenes. -It keeps one aware of that marvellous dark river of human life that -runs, down and down uncountably, to the unexplored seas of Time. - -You seem a long way off, I say--and yet it is but an instant, and you -will be here. Do you know that feeling, I wonder (so characteristic -of our city) that a man has in an elevator bound (let us say) for the -eighteenth floor? He sees 5 and 6 and 7 flit by, and he wonders how he -can ever live through the interminable time that must elapse before he -will get to his stopping place and be about the task of the moment. It -is only a few seconds, but his mind can evolve a whole honeycomb of -mysteries in that flash of dragging time. Then the door slides open -before him and that instantaneous eternity is gone; he is in a new -era. So it is with the race. Even while we try to analyze our present -curiosities, they whiff away and disperse. Before we have time to turn -three times in our chairs, we shall be the grandparents and you will be -smiling at our old-fashioned sentiments. - -But we ask you to look kindly on this our city of wonder, the city of -amazing beauties which is also (to any man of quick imagination) an -actual hell of haste, din, and dishevelment. Perhaps you by this time -will have brought back something of that serenity, that reverence for -thoughtful things, which our generation lost--and hardly knew it had -lost. But even Hell, you must admit, has always had its patriots. There -is nothing that hasn’t--which is one of the most charming oddities of -the race. - -And how we loved this strange, mad city of ours, which we knew in our -hearts was, to the clear eye of reason and the pure, sane vision of -poetry, a bedlam of magical impertinence, a blind byway of monstrous -wretchedness. And yet the blacker it seemed to the lamp of the spirit, -the more we loved it with the troubled eye of flesh. For humanity, -immortal only in misery and mockery, loves the very tangles in which it -has enmeshed itself: with good reason, for they are the mark and sign -of its being. So you will fail, as we have; and you will laugh, as we -have--but not so heartily, we insist; no one has ever laughed the way -your tremulous granfers did, old chap! And you will go on about your -business, as we did, and be just as certain that you and your concerns -are the very climax of human gravity and worth. And will it be any -pleasure to you to know that on a soft September morning a hundred -years ago your affectionate great-grandsire looked cheerfully out of -his lofty kennel window, blew a whiff of smoke, smiled a trifle gravely -upon the familiar panorama, knew (with that antique shrewdness of his) -a hawk from a handsaw, and then went out to lunch? - - - - -[Illustration] - -A CALL FOR THE AUTHOR - - -But who will write me the book about New York that I desire? The more -I think about it, the more astonished I am that no one attempts it. I -don’t mean a novel. I would not admit any plot or woven tissue of story -to come between the reader and my royal heroine, the City herself. Not -to be a coward, should I try to write it myself? It is my secret dream; -but, better, it should be written by some sturdy rogue of a bachelor, -footfree, living in the very heart of the uproar. Some fellow with a -taste and nuance for the vulgar and vivid; a consort of both parsons -and bootleggers; a _Beggar’s Opera_ kind of rascal. I can think of -three men in this city who have magnificent powers for such a book; but -they are getting perhaps a little elderly--yes, they are over forty! -Ginger must be very hot in the mouth of my imagined author. He must be -young (dashed if I don’t think about 32 is the ideal age to write such -a book), but not one of the Extremely Brilliant Young Men. They are too -clever; and they are not lonely enough. For this is a lonely job. It’s -got to be done _solus_, slowly, with an eye only upon the subject. It -has got to show the very tremble and savour of life itself. - -The man who will write this book will not necessarily enjoy it. To get -into the secret of Herself he has got to have a peculiar feeling about -her. For years he must have wrestled with her almost as a personal -antagonist. He must have vowed, since he first saw her imperial skyline -serrated on blue, to make her his own; a mistress worthy of him, and -yet he himself her master. But he must know, in his inward, that in the -end she triumphs, she tramples down mind and heart and nerve. Loveliest -enemy in the world, implacable victor over reason and peace and all the -quieter sanities of the spirit, her mad, intolerable beauty crazes or -silences the sensitive mind that woos her. If you think this is only -fine writing and romantic tall-talk, then you know her only with the -eye, not with the imagination. With good reason, perhaps, her poets -have, for the most part, kept mum. Enough for them to see and cherish -in imagination her little sudden glimpses. A girl, slender, gayly -unconscious of admiration, poises on one foot at the edge of the subway -platform, leaning over to see if the train is coming. That gallant -figure is perhaps something of a symbol of the city’s own soul. - -There must be many who feel about Herself as I do--and, more wisely, -are tacit. There are many whose minds have trembled on the steep sills -of truth, have felt that golden tremble of reality almost within touch, -and rather than mar the half-apprehended fable, have turned troubled -away. But there is such poetry in her, and such fine, glorious animal -gusto--why is there not some determined attempt to set it down, not -with “rhetoricating floscules,” but as it is? Day after day one comes -to the attack; and returning, as the sloping sunlight and fresh country -air flood the dusty red plush of the homeward smoking-car, readmits the -expected defeat. Here is a target for you, O generation of snipers. Let -us have done with pribbles and prabbles. Who is the man who will write -me the book I crave--that vulgar, jocund, carnal, beautiful, rueful -book! - - - - -[Illustration: _Pepys’ House at Brampton_] - -MR. PEPYS’S CHRISTMASES - - -Christmas being the topic, suppose we call upon Mr. Samuel Pepys for -testimony. The imperishable Diarist had as keen a faculty of enjoyment -as any man who ever lived. He wrote one of the world’s greatest love -stories--the story of his own zealous, inquisitive, jocund love of -life. Surely it is not amiss to inquire what record be left as to the -festival of cheer. - -On seven of the nine Christmases in the Diary, Mr. Pepys went to -church--sometimes more than once, though when he went twice he admits -he fell asleep. The music and the ladies’ finery were undoubtedly -part of the attraction. “Very great store of fine women there is in -this church, more than I know anywhere else about us,” is his note for -Christmas, 1664. But in that generously mixed and volatile heart there -was a valve of honest aspiration and piety. One can imagine him sitting -in his pew (on Christmas, 1661, he nearly left the church in a huff -because the verger didn’t come forward to open the pew door for him), -his alert mind giving close attention to the sermon of his favourite -Mr. Mills, busy with sudden resolutions of virtue and industry, yet -happily conscious of any beauty within eyeshot. - -The giving of presents was not a large part of Christmas in those -days. In 1662 Mr. Gauden gave Pepys “a great chine of beef and three -dozen of tongues,” but this had its drawbacks. Pepys had to give five -shillings to the man who brought it and also half a crown to the -porters. Drink and food were the important part of the festival. At -Christmas, 1660, Mr. and Mrs. Pepys, with Tom Pepys as guest, enjoyed -“a good shoulder of mutton and a chicken.” This was a brave Christmas -for Mrs. Pepys--she had “a new mantle.” We must remember that the fair -Elizabeth, though already married five years, was then only twenty -years old. Not all Mrs. Pepys’s Christmases were as merry as that, I -fear. On Christmas, 1663, she was troubled by anxious thoughts---- - - My wife began, I know not whether by design or chance, to - enquire what she should do, if I should by any accident die, to - which I did give her some slight answer, but shall make good - use of it to bring myself to some settlement for her sake. - -Why haven’t the ingenious life insurance advertisers made use of this -telling bit of copy? - -Christmas, 1668, seems to have been poor Mrs. Pepys’s worst Yule, but -perhaps it was only her natural feminine frivolity that caused the -sadness. Samuel says: - - Dinner alone with my wife, who, poor wretch! sat undressed all - day, till 10 at night, altering and lacing of a noble petticoat. - -This noble petticoat was perhaps to be worn at the play they attended -the next day, “Women Pleased.” What a pleasant Christmas card that -scene would make: Mrs. Pepys sitting, négligée, over the niceties of -her needlework, with Samuel beside her “making the boy read to me the -Life of Julius Cæsar.” But we do not “get” (as the current phrase is) -Mrs. Pepys at all if we think of her as merely the irresponsible girl. -For, at Christmas, ’66, we read: - - Lay pretty long in bed, and then rose, leaving my wife desirous - to sleep, having sat up till 4 this morning seeing her maids - make mince-pies. - -Ah, we have no such mince pies nowadays. Mrs. Pepys’s mince pies were -evidently worthy the tradition of that magnificent delicacy, for at -Christmas, 1662, when Elizabeth was ill abed, Samuel records--with an -evident touch of regret--that he had to “send abroad” for one. - - * * * * * - -Which brings us back to the Christmas viands. In 1662, besides the -mince pie from abroad, he “dined by my wife’s bedside with great -content, having a mess of brave plum-porridge and a roasted pullet.” -We are tempted to think 1666 was Samuel’s best Christmas. Parson Mills -made a good sermon. “Then home and dined well on some good ribs of beef -roasted and mince pies; only my wife, brother, and Barker, and plenty -of good wine of my own, and my heart full of true joy.” After dinner -they had a little music; and he spent the evening making a catalogue of -his books (“reducing the names of all my books to an alphabet”), which -is probably the happiest task a man of Pepys’s temperament could enjoy. - -Christmas Eve, 1667, was evidently a cheerful evening. Mr. Pepys -stopped in at the Rose Tavern for some “burnt wine”; walked round -the city in the moonlight, and homeward early in the morning in such -content that “I dropped money in five or six places, which I was -the willinger to do, it being Christmas Day, and so home, and there -find my wife in bed, and Jane and the maid making pies.” The evening -of that Christmas Mrs. Pepys read aloud to him--_The History of the -Drummer of Mr. Mompesson_, apparently a kind of contemporary Phillips -Oppenheim--“a strange story of spies, and worth reading, indeed.” It -was only in 1660 that the Christmas cheer was a little too much for -our Diarist. December 27, 1660, “about the middle of the night I was -very ill--I think with eating and drinking too much--and so I was -forced to call the maid, who pleased my wife and I in her running up -and down so innocently in her smock.” - - * * * * * - -It is painful to this tracker of Mr. Pepys’s vestiges to note that on -Christmas Day, 1662, Bishop Morley at the Chapel Royal “made but a poor -sermon.” The Bishop apparently rebuked the levity of the Court. “It was -worth observing how far they are come from taking the reprehensions of -a Bishop seriously, that they all laugh in the chapel when he reflected -on their ill-actions and courses. He did much press us to joy in these -public days of joy, and to hospitality; but one that stood by whispered -in my ear that the Bishop do not spend one groat to the poor himself.” -In 1665 we fear that Samuel indulged himself in church with some rather -cynical thoughts: - - Saw a wedding in the church, and the young people so merry one - with another; and strange to see what delight we married people - have to see these poor fools decoyed into our condition, every - man and woman gazing and smiling at them. - -One could continue for some space recounting the eupeptic Pepys in his -Christmas merriments--so large an edifice of pleasing conjecture can be -built upon even his slightest notes. One observes, for instance, that -on December 27, 1664, when “my wife and all her folks” came “to make -Christmas gambols,” Samuel left the party and went to bed. This was -very different from his usual habit when there was fun going. He was -annoyed also that on this occasion his wife revelled all night, not -coming to bed until 8 the next morning, “which vexed me a little, but I -believe there was no hurt in it at all, but only mirth.” - -So we take leave of the Christmases of the Pepyses; 1668 is the last -one recorded--the time when Elizabeth stayed at home all day altering -her petticoat. After supper, the boy played some music on the lute, and -Samuel’s mind was “in mighty content.” Let us think kindly of the good -fellow; and not forget that he coined one of the enduring phrases of -English literature--a phrase that is no such ineffective summary of all -the lives of men--_And so to bed_. - - - - -[Illustration] - -CHILDREN AS COPY - - -Titania said: “You haven’t written a poem about the baby yet.” - -It is quite true. She is now thirteen months old, and has not yet -had a poem written about her. Titania considers this deplorable. The -first baby was hardly a week old before all sorts of literary studies -were packing the mails, speeding to such editors as were known to be -prompt pay. (I hope, indeed I hope, you never saw that astounding -essay--published anonymously in _Every Week_ which expired soon -after--called “The Expectant Father,” which was written when the poor -urchin was some twenty-four hours old. It was his first attempt to -earn money for his parent. If any child ever paid his own hospital -bills--C. O. D., as you might say--it was he. I believe in bringing up -my children to be self-supporting.) - -And the second baby was only three weeks old when the first poem about -_her_ was written. - -But here is this third morsel, thirteen months old and no poem yet. -Titania, I say, considers this a kind of insult to the innocent babe. -No, not at all, my dear. I admit that it would be very helpful if H. -(I will call her that, for _baby_ is a word that cannot be repeated in -print very often without all hands growing maudlin; and I don’t like to -use her own name, which seems too personal; just remember, then, that -H. stands for a small brown-eyed creature who is still listed in the -Bureau of Records of the Department of Health [certificate No. 43515, -_anno_ 1920] as _Female Morley_, because when the birth was registered -by the doctor her name had not been decided, and ever since then I -have been too busy to go round to call on Dr. Copeland, the Health -Commissioner, and ask him to have her more specifically enrolled)--I -admit it would be very helpful if she were to turn to and lend a hand -in paying the coal bill by having some verses written about herself. I -have looked at her with admiration every day for these thirteen months, -trying, as one might say, to get some angle on her that would lead to a -poem. She does not seem very angular. - -I insist that my not having written a poem about her is really very -creditable. Titania seems to think that it implies my having become, -in some sense, blasé about children. Again, not so, not so at all. I -must confess that in my enthusiasm I rather made use of the two older -urchins as copy. But H., droll infant that she is, is too subtle for -me. I’ll come to that in a minute. - -I talked all this matter over (being of a cautious turn, and fond -of getting experienced advice) with two eminent author-parents--Mr. -Tom Masson and Mr. Tom Daly--long ago, before Titania and I began -putting on heirs. Both these gentlemen have made a lot of use of their -children in earning, or at any rate gaining, a living. Their advices -coincided. I myself was worried, but Mr. Tom Masson insisted that there -was nothing like having offspring as a source of copy; he said that -he would pay ten cents a word, in _Life_, for anything about the then -shortly arriving urchin. (He said it would be fifteen cents a word if -it was a girl, because girls cost you so much more later on. He has had -experience in that matter, I believe.) Mr. Tom Daly, who has run rather -to boys, said very much the same thing; but he was not in a position to -buy my stuff, so I paid less attention to him. - -But to get back to H. There never was a more enchanting infant. Mr. -Walter de la Mare, who is also an authority, has written me delightful -letters about her, although he has never seen her. But even a prose -letter from a poet like Mr. de la Mare is more valuable, I think, than -an actual poem from most other poets, so darling H. cannot say she -has been neglected. But she is much too delicious for me to be able -to sit down easily and write something that would do her justice. The -night before she was born her mother and I did two things. We went -to Huyler’s for chocolate ice-cream soda, and we read aloud Bernard -Shaw’s autobiography, which is printed in Frank Harris’s _Contemporary -Portraits_. I dislike to bring Mr. Harris into this, for certainly I -can think of no one who has less in common with H., that celestial -nugget. But I have to tell the truth, don’t I? Mr. Harris wrote an -essay about Shaw; and Shaw, feeling that it was not adequate, wrote a -really amusing sketch to show how Harris should have done it. Well, -there is something symbolic about this, for H. is as sweet as anything -Huyler ever compounded; and she is even more enigmatic than Shaw. (I -can see now it should have been Page and Shaw instead of Huyler.) - -But I feel that pretty soon I shall be writing a poem about her. I -have felt it coming for some time. But it has got to _come_; I am not -going to bring it. That shows how I have matured by associating with -H. Sometimes I wish I could hire a really great poet to write about -her. Swinburne might do for the rough draft. “Oh, what a bee-yootiful -babby!” he used to cry when he saw them in their prams up at -Putney--so, I think, Max Beerbohm describes. But I should want to have -his rough draft polished and refined by someone else. I can only think -of Mr. Walter de la Mare. He alone has just the right insight. For -babies thirteen months old--the best age of all--must not be treated -condescendingly, nor fulsomely, nor adoringly, nor sugarishly. William -Blake, if left alone in the room with H., would have understood her. -What an infant, I give you my word! Living with children is largely a -contest of endurance. It is a question of which one can tire the other -out first. (This is a great secret; never before made plain.) Start in -early in the morning, and take things with a rush. If you are strong, -austere, resolute, you may be able to wear them down and exhaust them -by dusk. If you can do so, without prostrating yourself, then you may -get them to bed safely and have a few hours of cheerful lassitude. -But take every possible advantage. Let them run and frolic, yourself -sitting down as much as you can. Favour yourself, and snatch a little -rest while they are not looking. Even so, the chances are you will -crack first. - -This applies to older children; after they gain the use of their limbs -and minds. But H. has not reached that harrowing stage. Placable, wise, -serene, she sits in her crib. She has four teeth (beauties). To hear -her cry is so rare that I hardly know what her voice of sorrow sounds -like. Sometimes, for an instant, she looks a little frightened. Then -I like her best, for I know she is human, and has in her the general -capsule of frailty. - -You may be quite sure of one thing, I shall never print that poem -unless I feel that it comes somewhere near doing her justice. - - - - -[Illustration] - -HAIL, KINSPRIT! - - -The keenest pleasure in life, of course, is to find a Kindred -Spirit--one whose mind glows and teeters with delight at the same queer -things that rouse us to excitement. We have just found one, and yet -we shall never know him, except by his address, which is Y. 1926, the -_Times_, E. C. 4, London. For we are much too busy to write to any one, -even to a Kindred Spirit. - -We will tell you _why_ we feel sure he is a Kindred Spirit; but in -parenthesis, it was Mr. Pearsall Smith who lamented the fact that the -English language contains no satisfactory word for “a person who is -enthusiastic about the same things that you are enthusiastic about.” It -is too grossly clumsy to say _fellow-fan_ or _co-enthusiast_; so Mr. -Smith, a philologist of charming finesse (have you read his little book -_The English Language_ published by Henry Holt?) boldly proposed to -fill the vacancy by coining the word _milver_. This, he said, would be -useful to poets, since there is no rhyme in English for _silver_. - -The word _milver_, alas, leaves us cool, in spite of its usefulness -as a rhyme. It does not strike down in the great subsoil of the -language--the dark deep skein of inherited word-roots from which our -present meanings blossom and put forth. We suggest--without much -thought--a mere contraction. How would _kinsprit_ do? We rather like -the look of it; it has a droll, benign, elvish appearance as we put it -down. A couplet occurs to us-- - - _They pledged their bond with joyful oath-- - A kinsprit passion knit them both._ - -That shows you it could be used as an adjective as well. Come, now, if -we all pull together very likely we can get Messrs. Merriam to put it -in the next edition of Webster: - - =Kinsprit=, _n_ and _a_. (orig. obscure: perh. contracted from - kin[dred] sprit[e])--A fellow-enthusiast, one impassioned with - the same zeal or hobby or enthusiasm. - -The reason why we know that Y. 1926 is a kinsprit is in the following -notice in the _Personal_ column of the London _Times_: - - LOST in Taxi last week, SMALL PORTFOLIO containing colour - diagrams and newspaper print of Lamb’s portrait of Lytton - Strachey. Finder rewarded. Y. 1926, The _Times_, E. C. 4. - -Well, well, we say to ourself: then there is one other person in the -world who felt just as we did about that gloriously entertaining -portrait of Mr. Strachey, and who carried it about with him just -as we did ours, clipped from the _Manchester Guardian_. But we are -luckier than poor Y. 1926, because in an access of enthusiasm we wrote -to Mr. Henry Lamb, the artist, and begged from him a photo-print of -the picture, which is in front of us now. We think that Mr. Alfred -Harcourt, Mr. Strachey’s publisher, should implore the loan of the -canvas for a few months, and have it exhibited in a Fifth Avenue window -where we could all have a good look at it. - -We are consumed with curiosity to know more about Y. 1926--where he -was going in that taxi, and what the colour diagrams were (they sound -interesting) and what are his general comments on life? - - - - -[Illustration] - -ROUND MANHATTAN ISLAND - - -We were talking with an American who had just come back after living -several years in Europe. He expressed with some dismay his resensitized -impression of the furious ugliness and clamour of American life; the -ghastly wastes of rubbish and kindling-wood suburbs fringing our -cities; and suggested that the trouble is that we have little or no -instinctive sense of beauty. - -To which we replied that perhaps the truth of it is that the -American temperament is more likely to see opportunities for beauty -in large things than in small. But we were both talking bosh. Only -an extraordinarily keen and trained philosophic perception--e. g., -a Santayana--can discuss such matters without gibbering. A recent -book on young American intellectualism recurs to us as an example of -the futility of undigested prattle about æsthetics. Even the word -_æsthetics_ itself has come to have a windy savour by reason of much -sophomore talk. - -But, though we have laid by our own copy of that particular book as -a permanent curio in the realm of well-meant gravity, its author was -obeying a sound and praisable instinct in trying to think about these -things--beauty, imagination, the mind’s freedom to create, the meaning -of our civilization. We are all compelled to such an attempt: shallow, -unversed, clumsily intuitive, we grope into them because we are -sincerely hungry to understand. The same wise, brave, gracious spirit -that moved Mr. Montague to write his exquisite book _Disenchantment_ is -tremulously and tentatively alert in thousands of less competent minds. -And we, for our own part, grow just a little impatient with those who -are quick to damn this wildly energetic and thronging civilization -because it shows a poverty of settled, tranquil loveliness. We look out -of our window into this morning where Mrs. Meynell’s “wind of clear -weather” tosses the Post Office flags and the rooftop plumes of steam; -we see the Woolworth pinnacle hanging over our head--and ask, is it -possible that this great spectacle breathes from her towers only the -last enchantments of a muddled age? - -Aristotle remarked that “the flute is not an instrument which has -a good moral effect; it is too exciting.” And very likely New York -civilization falls under the same reproach. But even if it is all -madness, what a gallant raving! You cannot see the beauty in anything -until you love it for its own sake. Take the sightseeing boat round -Manhattan if you want to get a mental synthesis of this strangest of -islands. From a point in the East River off Coenties Slip you will -see those cubed terraces of building rising up and upward, shelves -and ledges of rectangular perspective like the heaven of a modernist -painter. Nor do we deny the madness and horror. Farther up the river -you will see the ragged edges of the city, scows loading their tons of -jetsam and street scourings, wizened piers, grassless parks, all the -pitiful makeshift aquatics of the Harlem region. And yet, all along -that gruesome foreshore, boys--and girls, too--bathing gayly in the -scum-water, flying ragged kites from pier-bollards, merry and naked -on slides of rock or piles of barrels. Only on the three grim islands -of Blackwell, Ward, and Randall will you see any touch of beauty. -There, grass and trees and beds of canna and salvia (the two great -institutional flowers) to soothe the criminal and the mad. When your -mind or your morals or your muscles give way, the city will allow you a -pleasant haven of greenery and air. It is odd to see the broad grounds -of the Children’s Hospital--on Randalls Island, is it?--with no child -in sight; but across the river the vile and scabby shore is thick with -them. And the bases of the Harlem swing-bridges, never trod by any one, -are carefully grassed and flowered. - -So the history of every modern city consists of a painful, slow -retracing of its errors, an attempt to undo painfully and at vast -expense the slattern stupidities it has allowed to accumulate. But to -see only these paradoxes and uglinesses is to see less than the whole. -He cannot have lived very long or thoughtfully with humanity for -neighbour who does not ruefully accept greeds and blindnesses as part -of its ineradicable habit. It takes a strong stretch of the imagination -to grasp this island entire; to see, even in its very squalors and -heedlessnesses, an integral portion of its brave teeming life. You must -love it for what it is before you have a right to love it for what it -may be. We have never been able to think this thing out, but there -seems to us to be some vital essence, some miraculous tremor of human -energy and folly in the whole scene that condones and justifies the -ugliness. It is queer, but the hideous back-lots of the city do not -trouble us so greatly: we have a feeling that they are on their way -towards being something else. We do not praise them, but we feel in an -obscure way they are part of the picture. Zealous passion and movement -always present, to the eye of dispassion, aspects either grotesque -or terrible, according to that eye’s focus. In this ugly hurly-burly -we feel daily (though we cannot define it) that there is a beauty so -overriding that it does not depend on beautiful particulars. And, to -feel that beauty fully, one must discard all hankerings to improve -humanity, or to preach to it, or even understand it--simply (as Uncle -Remus said) “make a great ’miration”--accept it as it thrillingly is, -and admire. - - - - -[Illustration] - -THE UNKNOWN CITIZEN - - -We shall never forget being in Washington when the great celebration -was held in honour of the Unknown Citizen. - -The day was proclaimed a National Fête. On that day the Unknown -Citizen--chosen after long investigation by a secret committee sworn to -silence--arrived at the Union Station. He and his wife had been quietly -lured away from their home on a plausible pretext and then kidnapped -into a gaudy special train, where everything had been explained to -them. Halts had been made at big cities en route for the crowds to pay -homage. - -It would take too long to describe the clever selective process by -which the Citizen had been chosen. Suffice it to say that he was a -typical _homo Americanus_--a worthy and slightly battered creature, who -had raised a family of four children and plugged along at his job and -paid his taxes and cranked his flivver and set up a radio on the roof -and planted sunflowers in the back yard and lent his wife a hand at -the washing and frequently mended the kitchen stove-pipe. He had never -broken open the china pigs containing the children’s money. - -We saw him arrive at the great station in Washington. He was strangely -troubled and anxious, a bit incredulous, too, believing this was all -some sort of put-up job. Also, somewhere on the train he had lost -one of his elastic sleeve-suspenders, and one cuff kept on falling -round his wrist. He walked uneasily along the red velvet carpet and -was greeted by President Harding and the Ambassadors of Foreign -Powers. Mr. Sousa’s band was there, and struck up an uproarious anthem -composed for the occasion. The tactful committee of Daughters of the -American Bourgeoisie had made all arrangements and taken all possible -precautions. It had been feared that perhaps the Citizen’s Wife might -be overcome, and an ambulance was waiting behind potted palms in -case of any emergency. But it is always the unexpected that happens. -It was Senator Lodge, who had been appointed to read the telegrams -from prominent people, who swooned. President Harding, with kindly -readiness, stepped into the breach. As they were handed to him he read -aloud the messages from M. Clemenceau, Mr. Lloyd George, William Allen -White, Samuel Gompers, Dr. Frank Crane, President Ebert, Paul Poiret, -M. Paderewski, M. Venizelos, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and Isaac -Marcosson. Mr. Harding then spoke in the most friendly and charming -way, appraising the value of preserved nationality, the solid virtue of -the Founding Fathers, and the services of the Unknown Citizen to his -country. - -For a moment there was an awkward pause, but the Citizen’s Wife, -evidently a strong-minded woman, nudged him sharply, and the Citizen -tottered forward. Fortunately some New York newspaper men had been -on the train with him, and had written a little speech for him to -deliver. He read it, a bit tremulously. It stated that he was aware -this tribute was not meant for him personally, but for the great body -of middle-class citizenship he had been chosen to represent. There was -great speculation in the audience as to what part of the country the -Citizen came from: his accent was perhaps a trifle Hoosierish, but -wiseacres insisted that his general fixings were plainly Sears-Roebuck -and not identifiable with any section. - -Accompanied by a troop of cavalry and the national colours, the -Unknown Citizen was taken to the Capitol, where Congress, convened -in joint session, awaited to do him honour. He was presented to the -great body by Senator Lodge, who had now completely recovered. After -being introduced, the Citizen stammered a few words of embarrassment. -During the buffet lunch in the lobbies, however, he began to pluck up -heart, for he found the Congressmen very human. He even ventured to -express, very politely, a few sentiments about the bonus, the tariff, -the income tax, the shipping subsidy, and the coal strike. Gathering -confidence, he might have grown almost eloquent over these topics, but -the Senatorial committee, foreseeing trouble, hastened him along to -see the gifts that had been sent from all over the world. They were -all laid out for inspection. Henry Ford had sent a new sedan, with a -self-starter and the arms of the United States gilded on the door. -William Randolph Hearst had sent a bound volume of Arthur Brisbane’s -editorials. The Prince of Wales, perhaps misunderstanding the exact -nature of the ceremony, had sent a solid gold punch bowl engraved _Dieu -et Mon Drought_. The Premier of New Zealand had sent a live kangaroo. -The Bailiff of Angora had sent a large silky goat. Mayor Hylan had sent -a signed photograph of himself wearing overalls. The Shipping Board -had sent a silver flask. But we have not space for the full list of -presents. - -Tea was served at the White House. All the _corps diplomatique_ were -there, and were presented to the Citizen and his Wife. It was a great -afternoon. The Marine Band played in the garden; Senator Borah and -William Jennings Bryan, beginning to see a sort of prickly heat burn -out upon the Unknown Citizen’s forehead, tactfully played a tennis -match to keep the crowd in good humour. Laddie Boy, wagging his tail -vigorously, kept at the Unknown Citizen’s heels and did much to cheer -him. The Unknown Citizen liked Mr. Harding greatly and found him easy -to talk to; but some of the Special Representatives from abroad, such -as Mr. Balfour and M. Tardieu, he found difficult. - -The monument in Potomac Park was dedicated at sunset. After that the -committee on Savoir Faire, observing the wilted collar of the Unknown -Citizen, thought it the truest courtesy to let him escape. We ourself -managed to follow him through the crowds. He and his wife looked -nervously over their shoulders now and then, but they had shaken off -pursuit. At a little stationery store they bought some postcards. Then -they went to the movies. - - - - -[Illustration] - -SIR KENELM DIGBY - -Sir Kenelm Digby, of whose acquaintance all his contemporaries seem to -have been ambitious. - - --Dr. Johnson, _Life of Cowley_. - - -Prohibition, I dare say, is going to make fashionable the private -compilation of just such delightful works as _The Closet of the -Eminently Learned Sir Kenelme Digbie Opened; London, at the Star in -Little Britain, 1669_. Sir Kenelm, “the friend of kings and the special -friend of queens,” crony of such diverse spirits as Bacon, Ben Jonson, -and Oliver Cromwell, kept this notebook of his jocund experiments in -home brewing and cookery. Just as nowadays a man will jot down the -formula of some friend’s shining success in the matter of domestic -chianti, so did the admirable Kenelm record “Sir Thomas Gower’s -Metheglin for Health,” or “My Lord Hollis’ Hydromel,” or “Sir John -Colladon’s Oat-Meal Pap,” or “My Lady Diana Porter’s Scotch Collops;” -and adding, of course, his own particular triumphs--e. g., “Hydromel -as I Made it Weak for the Queen Mother,” “A Good Quaking Bag-Pudding,” -and “To Fatten Young Chickens in a Wonderful Degree.” Sir Kenelm’s -official duty at the court of Charles the First was Gentleman of the -Bed-chamber; but if I had been Charles, I should have transferred him -to the Pantry. - -The _Closet Opened_ (which was not published until after Sir Kenelm’s -death; he was born 1603, died 1665) is the kind of book delightfully -apt for the sad, sagacious, and solitary, for one cannot spend an hour -in it without deriving a lively sense of the opulence and soundness -of life. The affectionate attention Sir Kenelm pays the raisin makes -him seem almost a Volsteadian figure: in his pages that excellent and -powerful fruity capsule plays, perhaps for the first time in history, a -heroic and leading rôle. Consider this: - - -TO MAKE ALE DRINK QUICK - - When small Ale hath wrought sufficiently, draw into bottles; - but first put into every bottle twelve good raisins of the - Sun split and stoned. Then stop up the bottle close and set - it in sand (gravel) or a cold dry Cellar. After a while this - will drink exceedingly quick and pleasant. Likewise take six - Wheat-corns, and bruise them, and put into a bottle of Ale; it - will make it exceeding quick and stronger. - -Kenelm was not only a good eater; he was a devilish good writer. The -fine lusty root of English prose was in him. If this is not true -literature, we know it not: - - -ANOTHER CLOUTED CREAM - - Milk your Cows in the evening about the ordinary hour, and fill - with it a little Kettle about three quarters full, so that - there may be happily two or three Gallons of Milk. Let this - stand thus five or six hours. About twelve a Clock at night - kindle a good fire of Charcoal, and set a large Trivet over it. - When the fire is very clear and quick, and free from all smoak, - set your Kettle of Milk over it upon the Trivet, and have in a - pot by a quart of good Cream ready to put in at the due time; - which must be, when you see the Milk begin to boil simpringly. - Then pour in the Cream in a little stream and low, upon a - place, where you see the milk simper.... - -To simper--a word of sheer genius! There are many such in his recipes. - -We find the raisin again at work in his directions: - - -TO MAKE EXCELLENT MEATHE - - To every quart of Honey, take four quarts of water. Put your - water in a clean Kettle over the fire, and with a stick take - the just measure, how high the water cometh, making a notch, - where the superficies toucheth the stick. As soon as the water - is warm, put in your Honey, and let it boil, skiming it always, - till it be very clean; Then put to every Gallon of water, one - pound of the best Blew-raisins of the Sun, first clean picked - from the stalks, and clean washed. Let them remain in the - boiling Liquor, till they be throughly swollen and soft; Then - take them out, and put them into a Hair-bag, and strain all - the juice and pulp and substance from them in an Apothecaries - Press; which put back into your liquor, and let it boil, till - it be consumed just to the notch you took at first, for the - measure of your water alone. Then let your Liquor run through - a Hair-strainer into an empty Woodden-fat, which must stand - endwise, with the head of the upper-end out; and there let it - remain till the next day, that the liquor be quite cold. Then - Tun it up into a good Barrel, not filled quite full, and let - the bung remain open for six weeks. Then stop it up close, and - drink not of it till after nine months. - - This Meathe is singularly good for a Consumption, Stone, - Gravel, Weak-sight, and many more things. A Chief Burgomaster - of Antwerpe, used for many years to drink no other drink but - this; at Meals and all times, even for pledging of healths. - And though He were an old man he was of an extraordinary vigor - every way, and had every year a Child, had always a great - appetite and good digestion; and yet was not fat. - -One of good Sir Kenelm’s most famous instructions, which has become -fairly well-known, does honour not only to his delicate taste but also -to his religious devotion. It is his advice on the brewing of tea--“The -water is to remain upon it no longer than whiles you can say the -_Miserere_ Psalm very leisurely.” This advice occurs in the recipe - - -TEA WITH EGGS - - The Jesuite that came from China, Ann. 1664, told Mr. Waller, - That there they use sometimes in this manner. To near a pint - of the infusion, take two yolks of new laid-eggs, and beat - them very well with as much fine Sugar as is sufficient for - this quantity of Liquor; when they are very well incorporated, - pour your Tea upon the Eggs and Sugar, and stir them well - together. So drink it hot. This is when you come home from - attending business abroad, and are very hungry, and yet have - not conveniency to eat presently a competent meal. This - presently discusseth and satisfieth all rawness and indigence - of the stomack, flyeth suddainly over the whole body and into - the veins, and strengthenth exceedingly and preserves one a - good while from necessity of eating. Mr. Waller findeth all - those effects of it thus with Eggs. In these parts, He saith, - we let the hot water remain too long soaking upon the Tea, - which makes it extract into itself the earthy parts of the - herb. The water is to remain upon it no longer than whiles you - can say the _Miserere_ Psalm very leisurely. Thus you have only - the spiritual parts of the Tea, which is much more active, - penetrative, and friendly to nature. - -Sometimes, it is true, one suspects Sir Kenelm of a tendency to -gild the lily. In the matter of perfuming his tobacco, this was his -procedure:-- - - Take Balm of Peru half an ounce, seven or eight Drops of Oyl of - Cinamon, Oyl of Cloves five drops, Oyl of Nutmegs, of Thyme, of - Lavender, of Fennel, of Aniseeds (all drawn by distillation) of - each a like quantity, or more or less as you like the Odour, - and would have it strongest; incorporate with these half a dram - of Ambergrease; make all these into a Paste; which keep in a - Box; when you have fill’d your Pipe of Tobacco, put upon it - about the bigness of a Pin’s Head of this Composition. - - It will make the Smoak most pleasantly odoriferous, both to - the Takers, and to them that come into the Room; and ones - Breath will be sweet all the day after. It also comforts the - Head and Brains. - -It is a great temptation to go on quoting these seductive formulæ. I -feel sure that my tenderer readers would relish instructions for the -Beautifying Water or Precious Cosmetick,--for the secret of which -ladies of high degree pursued Sir Kenelm all over Europe. (He does -not include in the _Closet_ any details of the Viper Wine for the -Complection which was said to have caused the death of Lady Digby--a -rather painful scandal at the time.) But I fear to trespass on your -patience. Let me only add that the ambition of the Three Hours for -Lunch Club has long been to hold a DIGBY DINNER, at which all the -dishes will be prepared as nearly as possible according to Sir Kenelm’s -prescriptions. The project offers various perplexities, and might even -have to be consummated at sea, beyond the hundred-fathom curve. But if -it ever comes to pass, the following menu, carefully chosen from Sir -Kenelm’s delicacies, seems to me promising:-- - - Portugal Broth, As It Was Made for the Queen - Sack with Clove Gillyflowers - Sucket of Mallow Stalks - A Herring Pye - A Smoothening Quiddany of Quinces - My Lady Diana Porter’s Scotch Collops - Mead, from the Muscovian Ambassador’s Steward - The Queen Mother’s Hotchpot of Mutton - Pease of the Seedy Buds of Tulips - Boiled Rice in a Pipkin - Marmulate of Pippins - Dr. Bacon’s Julep of Conserve of Red Roses - Excellent Spinage Pasties - Pleasant Cordial Tablets, Which Strengthen Nature - Small Ale for the Stone - A Nourishing Hachy - Plague Water - Marrow Sops with Wine - My Lord of Denbigh’s Almond Marchpane - Sallet of Cold Capon Rosted - My Lady of Portland’s Minced Pyes - The Liquor of Life - A Quaking Bag-Pudding - Metheglin for the Colic - -But I must not mislead you into thinking that Sir Kenelm was merely a -convivial trencherman. His biography as related in the _Encyclopædia -Britannica_ is as diverting as a novel--more so than many. Infant -prodigy, irresistible wooer, privateer, scientist, religious -controversialist, astrologer, and a glorious talker, he made a profound -impression on the life of his time. But, as so often happens, his -name has been carried down to posterity not by the strange laborious -treatise he regarded as his opus maximum, but by his chance association -with one of the great books of all time. When Digby was under -honorable confinement (as a “Popish recusant”) at Winchester House, -Southwark, in 1642, he was busy there with chemical experiment and -the MS. of his _Of Bodies and Mans Soul_ (of which more in a moment). -Apparently they treated political prisoners with more indulgence in -those days. One evening he received a letter from his friend the Earl -of Dorset, urging him to read a book that was making a stir among -the intellectuals. One may think it was perhaps a trifle niggardly -of Dorset merely to have recommended the book. To a friend in jail, -surely he might (and it was just before Christmas) have sent a copy -as a present. But the liberality of the Earl is not to be called in -question: he had made Sir Kenelm at least one startlingly gracious -gift--viz. Lady Digby herself, previously Dorset’s mistress. This oddly -amusing story, or gossip, may be pursued in Aubrey’s _Brief Lives_, -a fascinating book (published by the Oxford Press)--a sort of Social -Register of seventeenth century England. - -“Late as it was” when Sir Kenelm received the letter from his -benefactor and colleague, he sent out at once (mark the high spirit -of the true inquirer; also the sagacity of seventeenth century -booksellers, who kept open at night)-- - - To let you see how the little needle of my Soul is throughly - touched at the great Loadstone of yours, and followeth - suddenly and strongly, which way soever you becken it.... I - sent presently (as late as it was) to _Pauls_ Church-yard, for - this Favourite of yours, _Religio Medici_: which found me in - a condition fit to receive a Blessing; for I was newly gotten - into my Bed. This good natur’d creature I could easily perswade - to be my Bed-fellow, and to wake with me, as long as I had any - edge to entertain my self with the delights I sucked from so - noble a conversation. - -Rarely have the pleasures of reading in bed had such durable result. -The following day he spent in pouring out a long, spirited and -powerful letter to Dorset (75 printed pages) which has become famous as -_Observations upon Religio Medici_, and a few years later was included -as a supplement to that book--where it still remains in most editions. -In this tumbling out of his honourable meditations and excitements, -Sir Kenelm took issue pretty smartly with Dr. Browne on a number of -points, particularly in regard to his own special hobby of Immortality. -He, just as much as the Norwich physician, loved to lose himself in an -Altitudo; but in some cloudlands of airy doctrine Browne seemed to him -too precise. “The dint of Wit,” Digby remarked felicitously of some -theological impasse, “is not forcible enough to dissect such tough -matter.” - -These _Observations_ are of more than casual importance. Dorset, -apparently, took steps (unknown to Digby) to have them published; -and report of this coming blast roused Browne to protest courteously -against “animadversions” based upon the unauthorized and imperfect -version of his book--his own “true and intended Originall” being by -this time in the printer’s hands. Digby had written his observations -without knowing who the author of _Religio_ was. The letters that now -passed between him and Browne are an exhilarating model of controversy -goldenly conducted between gentlemen of the grand manner. “You shall -sufficiently honour me in the vouchsafe of your refute,” writes Browne, -“and I obliege the whole world in the occasion of your Pen.” To which -Digby, avowing that his comments were written without thought of -print and merely as a “private exercitation,” charmingly disclaims -any ambition to enter public argument with so superior a scholar. -“To encounter such a sinewy opposite, or make Animadversions upon so -smart a piece as yours is, requireth such a solid stock and exercise -in school learning. My superficial besprinkling will serve only for -a private letter, or a familiar discourse with Lady auditors. With -longing I expect the comming abroad of the true copy of the Book, -whose false and stoln one hath already given me so much delight.” The -delightful remark about lady auditors causes one to suspect that even -in that day the germ of the lecture passion was moving in circles of -high-spirited females. - -Digby and Browne were evidently kinsprits. They were nearly of an -age; Browne was a physician, and Digby--though many considered him a -mountebank and charlatan--had a genuine scientific zeal for medical -dabblings. His Powder of Sympathy, a nostrum for healing wounds at a -distance, has been a cause of merriment among later generations; but -Sir Kenelm was no fool and I am not at all sure that there wasn’t much -excellent sense in his procedure. The injury itself was washed and -kept under a clean bandage. The Powder of Sympathy was to be prepared -from a paste of vitriol, and the instructions included necessity for -mixing and exposing it in sunshine. Sir Kenelm was quite aware of -the public appetite for hocus-pocus, and surely there was a touch of -anticipatory Christian Science and Coué in his idea of keeping the -patient’s mind off the trouble and giving him this harmless amusement -in the open air. For the sympathetic powder, please note, was never to -be applied to the wound itself, but only to something carrying the -blood of the injured person--a stained bandage, a garment, or even -the weapon with which the damage was done. The injury was left to the -curative progress of Nature. This theory of treating not the wound but -the weapon might well be meditated by literary critics. For instance, -when some toxicated energumen publishes an atrocious book, the best -course to pursue is not to attack the author but to praise Walter de la -Mare or Stella Benson. This may be termed the allopathic principle in -criticism; but few of us are steadfast enough to adhere to it. - -Digby’s _Memoirs_--not published until 1827--exhibit him as the -swashbuckler, and amorist by no means faint. They are amusing enough -but give only a carnal silhouette. Perhaps he did not write the book -himself: there is a vein of burlesque in the narrative that makes me -suspicious. It purports to be an account of Sir Kenelm’s fidelity to -his wife, the lovely Venetia; and we are told that the account was -written under Antonian pressure. Importuned by ladies of much personal -generosity and recklessness, Sir Kenelm austerely retires to a cave and -pens this confession of uxorious loyalty. When you consider that the -relations of Sir Kenelm and Lady Venetia were one of the fashionable -uproars of the day, you begin to guess that the Memoir (in which all -the characters are concealed by romantic pseudonyms) was an elaborate -skit intended for private circulation, probably the work of some -satirical friend. Exactly so, when any great scandal nowadays is riding -on the front pages of the newspapers, do City Room reporters compose -humorous burlesques of the printed “stories,” and these have delightful -currency round the office. - -So you will still find legends in print suggesting that Sir Kenelm -was a blend of Casanova and Dr. Munyon. He has been attributed what -historians used to call “Froude’s disease”--an insufficient curiosity -as to the total of 2 and 2 when added together. But a man whose -memory still makes a page and a half of the _Encyclopædia Britannica_ -such lively reading, must have had more than mere animal spirits in -his make-up. It is easy to find testimony to his potent social and -military accomplishments. But the man himself, his earnest scientific -passions, his valiant speculation on human destinies, does not emerge -from the entries in encyclopædias. For that you must look into his -great book _Two Treatises: The Nature of Bodies, and The Nature of Mans -Soul_ (1658). By the kindness of Mr. Wilbur Macey Stone, generous and -astonishingly Elizabethan explorer of old books, I have an original, -tawny and most aromatic copy of this queer treasure. The title page of -the Second Treatise is endorsed, with a charming use of the aspirates-- - -SAMUEL MELLOR’S BOOK, December 22th 1792. - - _Samuel Mellor his my Name - and Cheshire is my Nation - and Burton is my Dwellings - Place and Christ is my - Salvation - this Book geven - has A Gift to Samuel Mellor_ - -Sir Kenelm dedicates the volume to his son, in a touching and -honourable letter dated “Paris the last of August 1644.” “The calamity -of this time” (he says) “hath bereft me of the ordinary means of -expressing my affection to you; I have been casting about, to find some -other way of doing that in such sort, as you may receive most profit -by it. Therein I soon pitched upon these Considerations; that Parents -owe unto their children, not only material subsistence for their Body, -but much more, spiritual contributions to their better part, their -Mind.” Accordingly, with perfect gravity and that sombre and Latinized -eloquence which was the peculiar gift of his century, he proceeds to -expound in nearly 600 dense pages his observations on what we would -call nowadays physics and psychology. It would be agreeable enough, -if I did not fear to weary you, to copy down some of Sir Kenelm’s -delightful shrewd comments. A few of his section headings will serve to -give an idea of his matter. For instance:-- - - _The experience of burning glasses, and of soultry gloomy - weather, prove light to be fire._ - - _Philosophers ought not to judge of things by the rules of - vulgar people._ - - _The reason why the motion of light is not discerned coming - towards us, and that there is some real tardity in it._ - - _The true sense of the Maxim, that Nature abhorreth from - vacuity._ - - _The loadstone sendeth forth its emanations spherically. - Which are of two kinds: and each kind is strongest in that - hemisphere, through whose polary parts they issue out._ - - _The reason why sometimes the same object appears through the - prism in two places: and in one place more lively, in the other - place more dim._ - - _How the vital spirits sent from the brain, do run to the - intended part of the body without mistake._ - - _Of the rainbow, and how by the colour of any body, we may know - the composition of the body it self._ - - _How things renewed in the fantasie, return with the same - circumstances that they had at first._ - - _Why divers men hate some certain meats, and particularly - cheese._ - -Here, you will agree, was a man who even when he seems naïf, examined -phenomena with his own eyes and with notable sharpness. Delving into -the “crooked narrow cranies & restrayned flexuous rivolets of corporeal -things” was, he insisted, a “difficult & spiny affaire;” he was eager -to avoid “meer Chymeras and wild paradoxes,” hoped that “by strong -abstraction, and by deep retirement into the closet of judgment” he -might win “a favourable doom” from his readers. There is no naïveté so -dangerous as that of underestimating the power of another man’s mind. -Behind some of his fanciful suggestions there is an astonishing agility -of conjecture. On the subject of physiology he is delicious. Hear him -(pared down to stark brevity) on the brain:-- - - We may take notice that it containeth, towards the middle of - its substance, four concavities, as some do count them: but in - truth, these four, are but one great concavity, in which four, - as it were, divers roomes, may be distinguished.... Now, two - rooms of this great concavity, are divided by a little body, - somewhat like a skin, (though more fryable) which of itself is - clear; but there it is somewhat dimmed, by reason that hanging - a little slack, it somewhat shriveleth together: and this, - Anatomists do call _Septum lucidum_, or speculum.... - - This part seemeth to me, to be that and onely that, in which - the fansie or common sense resideth ... it is seated in the - very hollow of the brain; which of necessity must be the place - and receptacle where the species and similitudes of things doe - reside, and where they are moved and tumbled up and down, when - we think of many things. And lastly, the situation we put our - head in, when we think earnestly of any thing, favoureth this - opinion: for then we hang our head forwards, as it were forcing - the specieses to settle towards our forehead, that from thence - they may rebound, and work upon this diaphanous substance. - -But it is in the Second Treatise (“Declaring the Nature and Operations -of Mans Soul; out of which, The Immortality of Reasonable Souls, is -Convinced”) that the darling man rises to really dazzling heights. In -this mystical, ecstatic and penitential essay he (in Burton’s phrase) -rectifies his perturbations. He is no longer channeled in the “crooked -narrow cranies of corporeal things;” he works from withinward and -spirals in happy ether:-- - - To thee then my soul, I now address my speech. For since by - long debate, and toilsom rowing against the impetuous tides - of ignorance, and false apprehensions, which overthrow thy - banks, and hurry thee headlong down the stream, whiles thou - art imprisoned in thy clayie mansion; we have with much ado - arrived to aim at some little attome of thy vast greatness; and - with the hard and tough blows of strict and wary reasoning, we - have strucken out some few sparks of that glorious light, which - invironeth and swelleth thee: it is high time, I should retire - my self out of the turbulent and slippery field of eager strife - and litigious disputation, to make my accounts with thee; where - no outward noise may distract us, nor any way intermeddle - between us, excepting onely that eternal verity, which by thee - shineth upon my faint and gloomy eyes.... Existence is that - which comprehendeth all things: and if God be not comprehended - in it, thereby it is, that he is incomprehensible of us: and - he is not comprehended in it, because himself is it.... Which - way soever I look, I lose my sight, in seeing an infinity round - about me: Length without points: Breadth without Lines: Depth - without any surface. All content, all pleasure, all restless - rest, all an unquietness and transport of delight, all an - extasie of fruition. - -So don’t let any one tell you that Sir Kenelm was only a seventeenth -century epicure and bootlegger. - - - - -[Illustration] - -FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF AN AMIABLE VISITOR - - -We thought of telling you about the things that most interested a -British friend of ours during the first hours of his first visit to -this country. - -Perhaps first of all we should give you an inkling of what kind of chap -he is. He’s a Welshman, an Oxford man, served in the war as a captain -in the Highland Light Infantry, was awarded the Military Cross, is now -in the wholesale tobacco business, is an ardent reader, and we daren’t -mention his name. He’s over here to study conditions in the world of -tobacco. - -We went down the bay and boarded the _Baltic_ in the Narrows. We stood -with our friend on what a landsman might call the roof while the ship -came up the harbour. We pointed out Liberty, as she emerged from the -sunlit wintry haze. At first glimpse, coming in from sea, she has -rather a forbidding mien--her gesture seems one of warning. Then, as -you come nearer, she seems to be holding up a cocktail shaker. But we -promised to give our friend’s impressions, not our own. - -The first things he wanted to have pointed out to him were the -Woolworth Tower and the Brooklyn Bridge. Brooklyn engaged his fancy -more than the Jersey shore--probably on account of the Walt Whitman -tradition. “I have rather a feeling for Whitman,” he said. He was quiet -as we passed the long profile of downtown skyscrapers, but we saw that -he was inwardly meditating. He wanted to know about all the water tanks -on top of the buildings, especially on the Jersey side. “You people -seem very keen about water,” he said. He was hugely pleased with the -way the tugs got the _Baltic_ into her berth. - -He wondered whether, before landing, we had better dispose of a little -toddy he had in his pocket flask. He had heard that if any usquebaugh -were found, the officials would confiscate the flask. We agreed that it -would be better not to take any chances on this matter. He was greatly -surprised and delighted with the rapidity and courtesy of the customs -examination. We got away from the pier with no more trouble, he said, -than we would have had in arriving at a railway terminal in London. - -We took a taxi, bound for Penn. Station, and then decided to prolong -the ride by going down Fifth Avenue to Washington Square, and up again. -He remarked that the street paving near the docks was no better than it -is in Liverpool. He was charmed by the chauffeur’s air of camaraderie. -The latter, hearing through the open window that this was an exploring -expedition, began offering most friendly suggestions as to nice long -rides we might take, to Central Park, for instance. “Take him to see -the skaters, he’ll enjoy that,” said the chauffeur. This friendly -informality on the part of brakemen, soda jerkers, cab drivers, ticket -choppers, shop girls, and all such public servants delighted him. - -Madison Square appealed to him, for he is an admirer of O. Henry. -“That’s where the old tramps sit on the benches, isn’t it?” he said. He -was anxious to see a “surface car,” for he had read about them in _The -Four Million_. The L did not seem to interest him so much. In a drug -store, he was excited by the little whirling instrument that mixed our -“frosted chocolate.” The lighting, spaciousness, and attractive display -in the department stores tickled him. The Penn. Station gave him -extraordinary pleasure. Chiefly, we thought, he was struck by a general -spaciousness and lack of hurry everywhere, in the traffic, in the -shops, etc. When we asked him what he wanted to see, he said, “I want -to see some of you _hustling_.” We looked everywhere, but could find -no one hustling. Like a candid observer, however, he noticed one thing -which is not beneath the attention of any student of human manners. -“Your people have rather a fine line in legs,” he said. - -We pointed proudly to the Public Library (but could not bear to tell -him that the City has again cut its appropriation for buying new -books). He praised the large windows at the backs of the taxicabs, -making it possible to see what was going on behind the car. In Madison -Square he was particularly delighted by Diana, who seemed just then to -be aiming her gilded arrow at the pale, low-swimming daylight moon. -He asked us whether we thought he should subscribe to the _Saturday -Evening Post_ and the _Literary Digest_. Both these journals, in some -way or other, had come prominently to his attention at his home in -Cheshire. _Harper’s_ and _The Century_, he said, he frequently reads. - -He thought it was a bit unfair of the advertisers (this was in the Long -Island train) to take advantage of public attention by issuing a card -with the announcement NOTICE TO PASSENGERS, looking very like official -information, which turned out to be a chewing gum ad. We told him about -the card in the subway which says PASSENGERS CHANGE HERE and then adds -“to ---- Union Suits.” This amused him, but we could see that he didn’t -think it quite sporting. He was highly diverted by the little signs at -the subway ticket booths--_Sing Out How Many_ and _The Voice with the -Smile Wins_. He was quite startled to learn that the author of Trivia -(one of his favourite books) is an American. He was pleased by the -informality of the Long Island conductor, who, seeing a lady friend -among the passengers, sat down with her between stations and had a -social chat. - -Standing at the front of a subway train as it roared through the -tunnel from Brooklyn seemed to give him innocent happiness. Again he -commented, in the downtown region, on the general air of order and -good management in the conduct of the traffic. He could see none of -the brutal scurry that he had been taught to expect. Going up the -Woolworth Tower was the greatest adventure of these few hours. This, -we think, he will not soon forget. He was greatly pleased, being -himself a householder, with the American kitchen. He thought it very -well planned. Jericho cider he praised without reserve. A revolving -apparatus for airing clothes in the back garden pleased him mightily. -Delightful fellow, blessings upon him! - -It is visits such as his that add to the stock of true international -understanding. - - - - -[Illustration] - -IN HONOREM: MARTHA WASHINGTON - - -An American figure of national consequence has passed away from -the scene of her many glories. We refer to Martha Washington, the -Independence Hall cat. - -When we worked in the old Philadelphia _Ledger_ office, and paragraphs -were scarce, we had an unfailing recourse. We would go over to the -State House (as they call it in its home town), descend to the cool -delightful old cellar underneath the hall, and call on Fred Eckersberg, -the engineer. We would see Martha sleeking herself on the flagstones -by the cellar steps (she was the blackest cat we ever knew, giving off -an almost purple lustre in hot sunlight) or perhaps we would have -to search her out among the coal bins where she was fixing a layette -for the next batch of kittens. In any case, Martha having been duly -admired, Fred Eckersberg would gladly talk about her and tell us what -were the latest adventures of her historic life. Which was always -good copy, for Fred, having been on friendly terms with Philadelphia -reporters for many years, knew the kind of anecdotes that would please -them. One of Fred’s unconscious triumphs was the time he told us of -his perplexity about ringing in the New Year in the Independence Hall -belfry. It was about Christmas time, 1919. “Last January,” he said, “I -rang One-Nine-One-Nine to welcome in the New Year. But what am I going -to do this time? How can I ring One-Nine-Two-Nought?” We told him we -saw no way out of it but to start early in the afternoon of New Year’s -Eve and ring the whole One Thousand Nine Hundred and Twenty tolls. - -We could say a good deal about Martha Washington: her kittens are -surely the most noble in the land, charter members of the Colonial -Felines of America, all born in the Hall, directly underneath the lobby -where the Bell stands. When the most famous brood of all were swaddled, -four fine jetty daughters born in November, 1918, Fred christened them -Victory, Freedom, Liberty, and Independence. He paid us the greatest -compliment of our life by offering us Victory, but at that time we were -living in a small apartment in the city and we didn’t think it would be -a sufficiently dignified home for such a kitten, who deserved nothing -less than a residence on the Main Line (Oh, Philadelphia!), with -scrapple made on the premises. - -But it is time to get down to the point of our story. Martha has left -the Hall. Poor Fred, in his bereavement, has taken pen in hand. We can -see him, sitting at his desk down there in the ancient cellar, with all -his emblems, souvenirs, and clippings posted up above him and an oblong -of gold-and-green brightness shining down through the doorway from the -leafy sunshine of the Square. We can see him talking it over with his -comrades “the boys”--the State House carpenter and the gardeners, as -they sit at their lunch in the cellar. There is the empty saucer, dry -and dusty now; in the good old days Fred always brought in a little -bottle of milk every morning for Martha. And this is what Fred writes -us, word for word: - - PHILA Aug 3, 21. - - DEAR FRIEND: I thought I would write you a few lines to let - you know that I am still at the Hall but the Black cat is - gone--without a press agent Martha just became a cat the boys - miss her as we had a bag of grass seed the mice got in and they - have to hang their lunch on a string but we have a pair of - Robbins that sing in the square they would not be long there if - Martha was strolling around. We kept one of her kittens when I - was on my vacation it was sent to the Morris Refuge with one of - the men, on a Friday the next day he got a yellow slip (good - bye). Lot of people ask me about her and a Friend of yours left - this card: _Dear friend It looks as if Martha is going to have - a family--Will you save me two kittens if they are black like - their ma!_ But she did not have a black kitten so he did not - get one. - - She left them for a few days came back when they were sent - away this was what got her in wrong, but when a fight between - two Thomas cats on the lawn was pulled off Martha’s doom was - sealed. She had the same sleek black coat the same bright eyes - but she was in wrong with our Superintendant so I called up and - had a boy from the cat home call for her they said it would - cost 50 cents so I left the cents and the job of putting her in - the basket to one of the men, but her picture is still on the - wall. - - We are making changes and repairs about the buildings if the - tower would interest you would be pleased to take you up when - over in Phila had a party from New York up and they said they - knew you. - - The old janitor lived in the tower because he had to ring the - bell for fires funerals and most everything that went on they - tell me one son was born there he had three children, the - rafter alongside the open fireplace is burned and we found some - old shoes worn by children under the floor, and some bones we - thought ment a Crime but upon investigation turned out to be - soup bones from Sheep Legs. This is about all. Your Friend - - FRED ECKERSBERG - Engineer, Independence Hall. - - - - -[Illustration] - -ACCORDING TO HOYLE - - -“If it be true” (remarks old John Mistletoe, in his little known _Life -of Edmund Hoyle_) “that a happy life leaves behind it little material -for the biographer, and only those whose careers have been marked by -the pangs of ambition and the wearinesses of achievement offer maxims -for the moralist, then there is little to be said of Edmund Hoyle. And -yet it is odd that a man whose name has become proverbial, who lived to -the age of close upon a century (1672–1769), and who standardized and -codified the chief social amusement of his age into an etiquette which -remained unchanged for six generations--it is odd, I say, that this -great peaceful benefactor has left so slight a trace in biographical -annals. For I ask you, which of Hoyle’s contemporaries conferred a -more placable and sedentary boon upon the world than he?” - -“Hoyle” (continues Mr. Mistletoe) “was a man of very speechless humour. -It was his wont to say that he had been lured into the study and -metaphysic of whist because it was a silent game. As is well known, -the game was originally called _whisk_; it was Mr. Hoyle who, by his -continual utterance of the imperative and hushing monosyllable _Whist!_ -when gaming with those whose tongues were apt to wag irrelevantly, -caused the diversion, at first only in sport, and then in genuine -earnest, to be rechristened. It was a sight not to be forgotten, by -contemporary account, to see the Master (as he was known) sitting -down at the Three Pigeons tavern for his afternoon rubber. The -mornings he spent in tutoring wealthy ladies in the rudiments of the -fashionable game, this being the chief source of his income. He was -very particular, moreover, as to the standing and rank of his pupils; -he was much in demand, and could afford to take only such students -as satisfied his fastidious taste for youth and beauty. In fact, he -anticipated the doctrine announced many years later by John Keats, who -remarked, ‘I intend henceforth to have nothing to do with the society -of ladies unless they be handsome. You lose time to no purpose.’ - -“It was, I repeat, an agreeable spectacle to witness the Master -driving up to the Three Pigeons about the hour of (as we would now -say) luncheon, in his white hackney coach with his emblem--the Ace -of Hearts--blazoned on the panel. Before the gaming began he would -always take a leisurely meal; indeed, it was his habit to say that no -gentleman would ever spend less than three hours at the table. One -of his humours was to insist that warm weather was dangerous to his -constitution, and that in summer it was desirable to eat sparingly -and with deliberation. On days that had, as someone has put it, the -humidity of Uriah Heep, this was an example of his menu, which I have -found filed in the old papers kept in the vaults of the Three Pigeons: - - _Service to Mr. Edmund Hoyle, this 28th July 1730, on acct_: - - _A capon broth, with toasted bread_ - - _A flagon of small ale_ - - _Fricassee of sweetbreads, with currant jelly_ - - _A flask of cool Canary_ - - _Rosted wild ducks, with cheesecake and parsnips_ - - _A jugg of malmsey, from the special butt_ - - _A sallet of shrimpes and candyed cherries_ - - _A hot rabbit pye, with buttered pease and a pottle of mulled - claret_ - - _Rhubarbe pasty, with barley wine to ease Mr. Hoyle’s digestions_ - - _Plague water for the hott weather_ - -“Having done suitable homage to this judicious nourishment” (Mr. -Mistletoe proceeds), “Mr. Hoyle would have brought to him his own yard -of clay, which he would leisurely fill with the best pure Virginia -leaf, gazing about him the while upon the impatient faces of his -friends who were anxious to get to the cards. ‘Never indulge the carnal -appetites immoderately in hot weather,’ he would say, blowing out a -long blue whiff into the cool twilight of the old taproom, panelled in -magnificent dark walnut. This was the last word uttered, for when the -Master took his seat at the card table no man dared speak. A sacred -quiet filled the place as he reached for the pasteboards and deftly -cut for the deal, tossing back his lace cuffs over his lean yellowish -wrists, the colour (he was something bilious) of old piano keys. The -rest was silence, with only the fall of the cards and the occasional -clink of a bottle when Mr. Hoyle refilled his vase of Burgundy, which -he always drank while gaming. A life of abstemious control, he said, -was needful for one who must keep his wits alert.” - - - - -[Illustration] - -L. E. W. - - -We are continually obtaining new and piercing glimpses into human life -and character. We are now able to assert, without fear of rebuttal, -that even men of unblemished intellect and lofty, serene understanding -have always some particular point of frailty at which morals, virtue, -and integrity collapse in a dark confusion of spiritual wreckage. - -Reconsidering the above sentence it seems to need a little -clarification. We shall have to explain what we mean, and can only do -so by referring, with painful verity, to the Leading Editorial Writer. - -L. E. W. came into our kennel yesterday morning and saw lying on our -desk a newly published detective novel that a publisher had sent us. -“Oh,” he said, “What’s this?” and began looking it over. We were rather -busy at the moment, and paid no particular heed, but looked up a -minute later to see him slipping out of our hutch with the book under -his arm. - -“Here!” we cried, “what are you doing with that book?” - -“I’m going to read it,” he said, with bland composure. - -“Nothing doing,” we asserted sternly. “We began to read that in the -subway this morning, and we’re just getting interested in it. You’ll -have to wait until we’ve finished it.” - -“But you can’t read it in the office,” he said; “you’re too busy.” - -“So are you,” we replied; “but we’re going to read it to-night; after -an exhausting day we shall need an innocent diversion of that sort.” - -We did not think of it at the time, but we now remember that there was -a curious evasive lustre in his eye. We wish we could make it plain -to you how this person, generally a highly cultivated and responsible -citizen, occasionally exhibits himself as naïvely unscrupulous, in a -way so charming and unashamed that, with lesser men than ourself, he -successfully gets away with it. - -A little later in the day, again comes L. E. W. into our nook. He -looks about in an absent-minded way, giving much the appearance of the -_animula vagula blandula_ the Roman emperor told about. He made one or -two random remarks, and seemed to be pretending that he had intended -to say something important but had forgotten what it was. We may say -that we penetrated his game immediately. We kept an eye on him, and as -soon as he had retired we took the detective story and put several -newspapers on top of it. - -But after all, one cannot sit around the office all day watching the -book one is saving for evening reading. By and by we had to go out to -lunch, and thought no more of the matter until 5 o’clock. Then, hastily -gathering our effects for the trek uptown, we looked for the novel. It -was gone. - -We could not quite believe it, at first. We thought we must have -mislaid it somewhere on top of our desk. We rummaged briskly. No sign -of it. With a sudden vile suspicion we ran to L. E. W.’s room. He was -gone, too. - -Well, we had to console ourself on the ride uptown by reading something -else; but you know how it is--when you have set your heart on finishing -a particular story.... - -This morning L. E. W. has just come into our coop, with his usual -enigmatic smile, and laid the book before us. We assailed him with -bitter reproach and contumely. But we made no impression on him. There -is some mysterious knot of villainy in his bosom that leads him to -believe that any detective story left within his reach.... Of course it -is true that writing Leading Editorials for a number of years may well -undermine a man’s character. But that is what we mean when we say that -even men of unblemished intellect and lofty, serene understanding have -always some particular point of frailty at which morals, virtue, and -integrity collapse in a dark confusion of spiritual wreckage. - -We haven’t mentioned the title of the book, because L. E. W. says it -isn’t much good. But we are not certain whether that is not just his -quaint way of trying to minify the gruesomeness of his offence. It is a -perverted form of conscience: he thinks that if he tells us the book is -punk we will not regret that our reading was brutally postponed. But we -are going to tell him that he missed a trick there. It would have been -much more in line with the delightful humour for which he is famous if -he had said: “It’s a great yarn. You ought to read it.” - - - - -[Illustration] - -OUR EXTENSION COURSE - - -This has been a pleasantly serene quiet morning in the office, and -we have been sitting here tenderly educating ourself by studying the -catalogue of University Extension Courses given at Columbia. We may not -have admitted it before, but we are rather ambitious, and find a great -deal in this fasciculus that appeals to our necessities. - -Among the courses we should like to enroll in, first we come to -_Business e163--Personnel methods for office executives_ (Fee $24). -This would be highly advantageous to us, to teach us how to get along -tactfully with office boys, proof-readers, leading editorial writers, -and sudden, unexpected telephone calls. We look somewhat wistfully -upon _Business e13--Advertising Display and Mechanics, and Business -e17--Salesmanship_. (“The student is given a grounding in the -principles of selling and practice in the presentation of a selling -proposition from its inception in the customer’s mind throughout its -development and final consummation as a sale.”) But the course for -us, austerely denying ourself the lectures on _Advanced Advertising -Writing_, is _Business e19-20--Sales promotion_ (Fee $24). This -“includes a thorough study of merchandising, direction of a sales -force, methods of breaking down sales resistance.” It specializes in -“dealer helps” and regards “consumer advertising” as only secondary. We -agree. - -The Graduate Courses in Psychology of Advertising and Selling we feel -are probably too advanced for us. - -So we pass eagerly on to literary topics. _English elf-2f_ has an -agreeably elvish sound--_Advanced short story writing_; but it’s a bit -expensive (Fee $48. We might not get that much for the story after we -had written it.). _Juvenile story writing_ is only $32; but we elect -_English e3f-4f--Play Production_. The fee for that is only $24, -which shows you how much money a lot of theatrical managers waste; -moreover, it is held in the Attic of Hamilton Hall, which sounds very -jolly. The Attic playwrights were always pretty good. And certainly -we must have _English e11-12--Public speaking_, which is only $16, -and gives us “drill in breathing, articulation, gesture and reading -aloud, after-dinner speaking; how to stir the emotions and move to -action.” Philosophy, of course, must not be neglected: we rather like -the look of _Philosophy e135--Radical, conservative, and reactionary -tendencies in present-day morals_, which seems to cover the ground. -(Fee $24.) _Photoplay composition e3--Advanced course_ “deals with -the finer phases of character delineation” (Fee $24) and ought to be a -pleasant relaxation, for “Scenario editors and directors will address -the students from time to time.” _Physical education eY1-Y2--Swimming_ -($16) will very happily conclude that part of our course. - -A great need in our life would obviously be filled by _Secretarial -Correspondence e2--Letter writing_ (Fee $24). This studies the methods -adopted by “Huxley, Lanier, Lowell, Henry James, William James, Mark -Twain, Cicero, Pliny the Younger, and the letter writers of the World -War” in dealing with their correspondence. But we are anxious to get -on to even more congenial subjects. _Cookery e3L--General Principles -of cookery and their application. Lectures and laboratory work_ (Fee -$30) appeals to us. Also _Cookery 41xL--Principles of candy making_ -($10) and _Cookery e75L--Large quantity cookery_ (Fee $30). The only -difficulty here is that the costume required for laboratory courses -in cooking is “white cotton clothing, plain skirt; tailored waist; -plain white collar; long plain white apron with bib.” That presents -difficulties. - -We thought that we had outlined a very full curriculum for ourself, -but then we see that our old friend Professor Roger Loomis is giving a -course (_English eB10_) on _Argumentative writing_, “planned especially -for those interested in the writing of editorials and controversial -articles.” That certainly we must also have (Fee $24). - -The total seems to be $270, and certainly the excitement sounds well -worth it. - - - - -[Illustration] - -SOME RECIPES - - -I. MULLED CIDER - -On a clear, cold afternoon towards the end of October go to the Cider -Mill at Jericho, Long Island, and obtain a gallon jug of cider. - -Take this home and put in a cool place in the cellar, away from -observation. Cider is rather a bold and forward beverage: ever since -Eden was first established in an apple orchard the fruit has been -tainted with a secret capsule of sin: it is well to let the jug work -(in the fine old brewmaster’s sense of that word) in private, where its -conduct need not be a source of scandal. - -Drive the cork in as tightly as possible; but, since Man is no match -for Nature, it will not be possible to prevent its extrusion. The -best way to deal with this problem is to keep chained in the cellar a -trained Cider Hound, a breed of dog known only on the North Shore of -Long Island. This is an animal which, by long instruction, has been -taught to howl when he hears the whoop of a cider cork blown out by -accumulating gases. When the dog howls hasten to the cellar, restopper -the jug, fondle the animal, and give him a small piece of Roquefort -cheese to keep him keen. - -Continue this process until the cider has worked for five days--not -longer, or you may (like Faust) unchain dark forces with which you -cannot cope. At the end of the Fifth Day release the animal and carry -the jug upstairs. - -Late that night, after the family has retired, pour a pint of cider -into a saucepan and heat it--preferably over the glowing logs of a wood -fire--until it steams. Then stir in three tablespoons of granulated -sugar. Do not be startled by the violence of the foaming and hissing -that ensues--this is only Nature at her inscrutable tasks of making -life puzzling for dogmatists. - -Into the steaming sweetened cider pour as much brandy from the family -medicine chest as you think you can spare. If brandy is not obtainable, -whiskey will serve. If whiskey is not obtainable, invite some friend -who has recently made a transatlantic voyage and ask him to breathe -gently upon the saucepan while it is heating. - -Serve the beverage hot, and, while drinking, utter any toast or -sentiment that is a favourite in your family. Reckon quantities at the -rate of not more than one pint per person. Mulled cider is recommended -during years of coal shortage, when the house may be chilly; but it is -not to be trifled with save by the most hardy. - -Before retiring walk three times round the house and try to name all -the constellations. If you don’t know the names, give them new ones. -This quiets the pulse. - -(_P. S.--This is an old recipe, swallowed down through several -generations, which accounts for some of its anachronisms._) - - -II. STEWED RHUBARB - -Early in the spring buy a rhubarb root on Vesey Street. The root -itself, an uncouth, gnarled object, is not beautiful, but it bears -small red and yellow shoots that are highly decorative, like little -Spanish flags. - -This root must be planted in a churchyard, preferably Episcopalian, -which gives the rhubarb a pleasantly Athanasian flavour, much esteemed -by connoisseurs. We specially recommend St. Paul’s churchyard, partly -because the high buildings round about keep the sharp winds of early -spring away from the tender sprouts, but also because the pleasant hum -of young women reading Keable and Ruby M. Ayres aloud at lunch time on -the benches encourages the plant and hastens its growth. - -The stalks must not be picked prematurely. Wait until they are a -brilliant red. The best way to get this right is to test them with a -leather-bound copy of one of Kipling’s books, in that scarlet leather -edition. When the stalks are exactly the same colour as _Stalky & Co._, -pick them. - -Take them home, wash them, cut them into cylindrical lengths, and have -them stewed in the usual manner. - - -III. HAGGIS AND BAGPIPES - -Haggis should always be served with bagpipes. The reason for this will -be explained later. - -In our recipes we always try to give the easiest way in which our -favourite dishes may be attained. The easiest way to enjoy Haggis is -to enlist the assistance of a number of Scotsmen, who by tradition, -training, temperament, and centuries of romantic strife have fitted -themselves to prepare and eat this sovereign piece of resistance. - -Make friends, therefore, with as many prominent local Scots as -possible. Season the mixture by adding a few directors of some -well-known Scottish steamship companies. These friendships must be -cultivated gently and cannot be unduly hurried. Subscribe to the -_Caledonian_ or some other Scottish-American magazine. Eventually, if -all goes well, you may be invited to a dinner of the Caledonian Club or -the St. Andrews Society, or a luncheon on an Anchor Line steamship. At -this dinner The Haggis will be served. - -The bagpipes are for the purpose of muffling any metaphysical argument -that may arise round the tables, and also to drown out any stories that -begin “There was a man frae Aberdeen----” - -Do not ask your neighbour at table why it is that the pipes always -play the same tune. If you do, you will not be invited again. It is -better to garnish the occasion with a few carefully chosen Scottish -phrases--such as _’Tis a braw day the day_; _I’ll no can keep that -appointment for three o’clock_; _Let the world gang tapsalteerie_; -_Whaur’s Wullie Shaksper noo?_ - - - - -[Illustration] - -ADVENTURES OF A CURRICULAR ENGINEER - - -Having made up our mind to become an engineer, we thought it would be -a mistake not to take advantage of all possible aid. We were passing -the corner of Church and Fulton streets just now when we saw, in -a drugstore, a fair young lady sitting in the window conducting a -demonstration of Violet Rays. She wore a most appealing expression, -held in her hand a glass tube with a bulbous end which was filled with -pale blue electrical excitement, and was displaying various placards -inviting the public to enjoy a free treatment of the Violet Ray. This -Ray, her placards said, confers all imaginable pleasures and animations -upon the user. It subdues inflammations and tumescences; it imparts the -vigorous glow of health and beauty; it dispels lethargy and that Omar -Khayyám kind of feeling that we get on a warm day in spring; it confers -(so we gathered) all the benefits of Pelmanism without having to read -George Creel’s little essays. - -A large crowd of loitering gentry stood at the window watching the lady -who was applying the Violet Ray to her own person and getting more -seemly every moment. But none of them, self-satisfied chaps apparently, -seemed eager to try the effect of the sparks when she pushed them -towards the pane. But we, in our humility, feeling the need of greater -ambition and resoluteness, offered our hand to the thunder-stone and -absorbed as much of the life-giving current as she was willing to give -away. We felt sure, somehow, that the Violet Ray would help us in -learning to understand our new self-propelled vehicle. (We have to call -it that, for to call it a _car_ is a little too imposing; and to call -it a flivver is a little too degraded; besides, it isn’t. Hereafter we -shall call her by her given name, which is Dame Quickly.) - -Our first adventures with Dame Quickly, by the way, were not devoid -of excitement. One who on his second day as a curricular engineer, -navigates the main roads of Long Island on Decoration Day may be said -to be a daring soul. Titania, who was with us, says that our publisher -passed by in his limousine and looked annoyed because we did not -acknowledge his friendly gesture; but, indeed, all the concentrated -powers of our retinal system were focussed upon the highway, and even -if he docks our royalties for rudeness we cannot help it. We noticed, -however, that the drivers who overhauled us as we prowled cautiously -along had a way of looking sideways at us in a fixed, not exactly -hostile, but at any rate curious gaze, as though to reassure themselves -as to what kind of person this was. We remained bland and undismayed, -for we are still a driver without spirit; we will give any man as much -of the road as he wants; we have no sense of humiliation, nor any -competitive lust. Any collisions that Dame Quickly suffers will occur -only in her rearward parts. - -Oyster Bay, we aver, is a dangerous place to be on the afternoon of -Decoration Day. We reached that amiable town around two hours post -meridiem, exceedingly hungry from our anxieties en route. As we -unobtrusively trundled along the main street our general nervousness -was not allayed by the spectacle of a motor fire engine rushing towards -us at full speed. Our general idea was to attract as little attention -as possible, so we made a bashful détour among back ways. To our -horror, there was another fire engine, also roaring along at a furious -pace. The whole town of Oyster Bay is burning up, was our thought; -however, that is a small matter compared to getting this vehicle to a -safe place where we can eat lunch and at the same time watch her with -a paternal eye. (Our neighbour in Salamis had said something about new -cars getting stolen, and we had a dreadful vision of being trailed -along the highways by an experienced crook who would get away with Dame -Quickly if we left her unwatched for five minutes.) But every time we -approached the main street, trying to slip in unobserved, either a man -on a motor bike would rush up and shout something quite unintelligible -or else we would hear the roar of another fire engine dashing about. -Gradually we divined that a number of Long Island fire departments were -having their annual competition; but the fact that it was only a game, -and not a real fire, made things worse. No fire engine would go to a -real fire with the furious zest with which those fellows sped up and -down the street. So, chivvied about by fire engines and cops, we had to -take lunch at the only place we could approach unobserved, a very small -hash-house which, since we cannot praise, we will not mention. - -However, we had cause, later, to be grateful to these fire engines -that had so terrified us. For, after some delightful rambling by blue -watersides and under green colonnades of ancient trees, we found -ourselves endeavouring to shake off the pursuing traffic on a remote -and hilly byroad. We shall not go into the why and how of this matter, -but the fact is that at one moment the honourable and shining Dame -Quickly might have been seen docilely purring along the road; and -then, a few minutes later, she was insecurely suspended half over the -slope of a steep ravine, quite immovable. The curricular engineer -wrung his hands. This, he asserted, is the End. With beaded brow he -made some amateurish play with logs of wood that he found in that -solitary woodland; but the back wheels of the beautiful, the lovely, -the spirited Dame Quickly only revolved grindingly in the sand, and her -commodious form hung inert, not to say in peril. Then did the engineer -realize that, even on such short acquaintance, he loved her already; -and the thought of intrusting her sweet body to the harsh hands of an -alien garage man was poisonous. And if we leave her to go back to a -garage, we thought, the earth will give; she will plunge to her doom. -Titania, we think, prayed. - -And then, gods from the machine, here came the Glen Cove Fire -Department, some twenty strong, merrily speeding past. What they were -doing up this bosky bypath we did not halt to inquire. The hand of -Providence, patently, was at work. When the hand of Providence appears, -one does not stop to inquire into its palmistry. We laid, bashfully, -our case before these great-hearted lads. With a shout they seized our -dear Mrs. Quickly; strong arms and gallant hearts of Glen Cove bore her -up the perilous precipice; she stood again on level roadway, catching -the sun on her noble enamel. The task accomplished, the Glen Cove Fire -Department, with their two red engines behind them, looked humorously -at us and seemed tacitly to inquire how any sane man would get into -such a position. We said, sheepishly, a word of explanation. They -roared with laughter. - - - - -[Illustration] - -SANTAYANA IN THE SUBWAY - - -To confess one’s self to have had a seizure of pure happiness is, by -one theory, to admit one’s self a boob. - -And yet we do not know when we have been more happy--in our own secret -definition of that state--than when we set off for the subway yesterday -noon-time. A more timid or more subtle spirit, perhaps, would not dare -the envy of the gods by mentioning it. A fig for the gods! - -For, in the first place, that clear pearly light, the patchwork of sun -and shadow down the harsh channel of Broadway, the close embrace of -wintry air (so dartingly cold that it seemed to enfold and surround one -as water does the bather) and the great Singer tower lifting above -the cliffs in a tender wash of blue--these were enough of themselves -to make one lively. Again, we were bound uptown on an errand of pure -generosity, to turn over to a publisher the MS. of a book written by a -friend of ours, which we believe to be a fine book. Further, we even -considered it possible that the publisher might buy our lunch. - -We went down into the subway, and clanked through the turnstile. The -thought occurred to us that it seems pretty poor sportsmanship to make -merry--as some of the papers have been doing--over the fact that many -people have devised ways of bilking the turnstiles. We suppose we shall -be accused of having been bought with mickle gold, but we must admit -that we have never had any hankering to cheat the subway. There are -many corporations we would cheat without a qualm, but the subway is -not one of them. It gives us more for a nickel--not only in the way of -transportation, but also privacy, mental relaxation, and scrutiny of -the human scene--than anything else we know. - -We stood in the subway express, about to open a book. We noticed, -sitting a little farther along, a young woman whose hat interested -us. It was pierced in front by a pin of silver and brilliants, zigzag -in shape, representing (we supposed) a bolt of lightning. It was -emblematic, we opined, of high-spirited humanity itself, that toys with -lightning in more ways than one. This of itself, while valuable for -meditation, was not the cause of our happiness. We had a book with us, -a book that we have wanted to read for some time. We began to read it. - -It was not necessary to travel more than a few lines to be perfectly -happy. Why were we happy? We could write many pages to try to explain -it to you, and even then should probably fail. This is what we read: - - About the middle of the nineteenth century, in the quiet - sunshine of provincial prosperity, New England had an Indian - summer of the mind; and an agreeable reflective literature - showed how brilliant that russet and yellow season could be. - There were poets, historians, orators, preachers, most of - whom had studied foreign literatures and had travelled; they - demurely kept up with the times; they were universal humanists. - But it was all a harvest of leaves; these worthies had an - expurgated and barren conception of life; theirs was the purity - of sweet old age. Sometimes they made attempts to rejuvenate - their minds by broaching native subjects; they wished to prove - how much matter for poetry the new world supplied, and they - wrote “Rip van Winkle,” “Hia----” - -That was exactly the first page, as we read it; we needed to go no -further to have cause for complete and unblemished satisfaction. -There was the kind of writing that we understand, that speaks to us. -There, barring the fact that Rip was not written in New England, was -that exact, humorous, and telling use of every word--“_demurely_ kept -up with the times”; “the purity of sweet old age”--if you don’t get -pleasure out of that sort of thing, then there is no use trying to -labour it in. And there, in every line and syllable, was exactly what -we had expected to find--a genuine Intellect speaking, and not a pseudo -and jejuvenile “Young Intellectual.” There were urbanity, charm, the -word well-weighed, the strong, reticulated thought. To go into private -minutiæ, we even had additional pleasure from the fact that the usage -of the semicolons (a matter of great delight to some enthusiasts) -conformed to our own private sense of felicity. And we gazed about the -car in a tranquil ecstasy. - -The book was George Santayana’s _Character and Opinion in the United -States_. - -We said to ourself, in a kind of anger (for truly a certain ingredient -of anger is necessary for complete happiness; a zealous espousal -of what one believes to be worth while carries with it the most -cheerful flush of irritation towards those who have not, one thinks, -sufficiently espoused it)--we said, Why is it that no one has hitherto -driven in upon our mind that this book (published a year ago) is -one that we could not possibly get along without? Why is it that -our admirable colleague L. E. W., from whom we borrowed it, did not -long ago come and sit on our desk and talk to us, endlessly, calmly, -suasively, about it and about? - -We went on reading, and stood there in as perfectly felicitous an -absorption as we have ever enjoyed. We could have said to that golden -instant, as Mephistopheles promised Faust he would be able to say, -“Verweile doch, du bist so schön!” We had committed Grand Larceny. -We had achieved what the news headlines daily describe as a “Daring -Robbery.” We had stolen, from uncajolable and endless Time, a Perfect -Moment. - -We see you smile gravely, and perhaps pityingly, at our simplicity. -Never mind. We shall never forget the mood of serene peacefulness and -cheer in which we then turned to Mr. Santayana’s preface and began to -read: - - Civilization is perhaps approaching one of those long - winters that overtake it from time to time. Romantic - Christendom--picturesque, passionate, unhappy episode--may be - coming to an end. Such a catastrophe would be no reason for - despair.... - -Ah, we said to ourself, that is the kind of writing that makes us truly -happy! - - * * * * * - -We cannot remember when we have marvelled more truly at the pregnancy, -the wit, and the exquisite under-piercing insight of any book. We -should like to ask those competent to speak--certainly we ourself are -not competent; and it is the sheerest bumptiousness for us even to -offer an opinion on a book so consummately wise and lovely--whether -there has ever been written any more thrillingly potent examination -of a whole civilization? In a book so packed and rifted with gold one -knows not where to start quoting; but almost at random we seize this -passage--not by any means one of the subtlest, but it will serve to -begin with: - - ... The American is imaginative; for where life is intense, - imagination is intense also. Were he not imaginative he - would not live so much in the future. But his imagination is - practical, and the future it forecasts is immediate; it works - with the clearest and least ambiguous terms known to his - experience, in terms of number, measure, contrivance, economy, - and speed. He is an idealist working on matter. Understanding - as he does the material potentialities of things, he is - successful in invention, conservative in reform, and quick in - emergencies. All his life he jumps into the train after it has - started and jumps out before it has stopped; and he never once - gets left behind, or breaks a leg. - -Or, if you prefer, consider this: - - That philosophers should be professors is an accident, - and almost an anomaly. Free reflection about everything - is a habit to be imitated, but not a subject to expound; - and an original system, if the philosopher has one, is - something dark, perilous, untested, and not ripe to be - taught, nor is there much danger that any one will learn - it. The genuine philosopher--as Royce liked to say, quoting - the Upanishads--wanders alone like the rhinoceros.... If - philosophers must earn their living and not beg (which some - of them have thought more consonant with their vocation), it - would be safer for them to polish lenses like Spinoza, or to - sit in a black skull-cap and white beard at the door of some - unfrequented museum, selling the catalogues and taking in the - umbrellas; these innocent ways of earning their breadcard in - the future republic would not prejudice their meditations - and would keep their eyes fixed, without undue affection, on - a characteristic bit of that real world which it is their - business to understand.... At best, the true philosopher can - fulfil his mission very imperfectly, which is to pilot himself - or at most a few voluntary companions who may find themselves - in the same boat. It is not easy for him to shout, or address a - crowd; he must be silent for long seasons; for he is watching - stars that move slowly and in courses that it is possible - though difficult to foresee, and he is crushing all things in - his heart as a winepress until his life and their secret flow - out together. - -You understand (don’t you?) that we do not necessarily recommend -Santayana for _you_. As we grow, painfully, in sagacity, we realize the -absurdity of recommending anything to anybody. We are simply saying -that for us he fulfils (both in what we agree with and what we dissent -from) most of the requirements of our private conception of beauty and -happiness. - -It is a book that quickens the mind. Continuing it on the train, as -the smoking car spins through those green Long Island meadows, we look -round on our fellow travellers with renewed amazement. Somehow it gives -us a strange pleasure to see them immersed in the _Evening Journal_ or -the _Evening World_, those grotesque monuments of human frailty. How -damnable it would be if they were all reading Santayana. How we should -hate them! We know that all humanity are precious fools, and ourself -the most arrant of the lot; but we like them that way. It adds to the -cheerful comedy of the scene. - -Certainly you would have said that two names that sound something -alike are at opposite ends of the intellectual spectrum--Santayana -and Pollyanna. And yet, oddly enough, the thought has come to us that -the foundations of the two philosophies interlock. Santayana’s method -of extracting happiness from life; his perfection of cool, tender, -smiling, grave, cruel, and imperturbable resignation; the exquisitely -sophisticated contentment of his solitude, flight from needless buzbuz, -reverie in places haunted by old association; his noble ridicule of -destiny--all this brings to a reasonably sophisticated mind the same -kind of heavenly refreshment and sense of truth that simpler people -find in literature of the Pollyanna sort. - -We vented this tentative idea to some colleagues of ours, and they -leapt upon us with shouts of anger and contradiction. - -Yet we think there is something in it. There is no way of assessing -the operations of other people’s minds. But we are inclined to think -that very possibly the pure happiness we experience in Mr. Santayana’s -calm, humorous, disillusioned, and poetic reveries is not essentially -different from the cheerful exaltation some young woman feels reading -either of the Mrs. Porters in the Y. W. C. A. - - - - -[Illustration] - -MADONNA OF THE TAXIS - - -Speaking of commuting, the Long Island Railroad owes us $7, and we are -wondering how long it will take us to collect it. - -The incident, tragic as it was, will prove a lesson to us never again -to be unfaithful to our beloved Brooklyn. - -On Wednesday evening we had to decide whether we would take the train -for Salamis from the Penn. Station or from Brooklyn. We decided we -would take it from Penn. Station, because we were without reading -matter, and knew that at Penn. Station we could stop in at the bookshop -in the Arcade and get something to amuse us en route. All began -merrily. We got to the station at 9 o’clock, bought an Everyman edition -of Kit Marlowe’s plays, and, well supplied with tobacco, we set sail -on the 9:10 vehicle. How excellent are the resources of civilization, -said we to ourself, as we retraced the sorrows of Dr. Faustus. Here -we are, we cried, sitting at ease in a brilliantly lighted smoker -reading “Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight,” and -in fifty minutes we will greet again the shabby but well-loved station -at Salamis. We even meditated writing a little verse in Marlowe’s own -vein, to be called “The Passionate Long Islander to His Love”: - - Come live with me and be my love - And we will all the pleasures prove - That Patchogue, Speonk, Hempstead fields, - Ronkonkoma or Yaphank yields. - -At this moment, which was 9:15, and just issuing from the tunnel, the -train stopped, all lights went out, and we sat gazing at the dreary -dormitory of Pullman cars in Long Island City. - -For thirty-six minutes we sat so. Occasionally there would be the sound -of a heavy sigh, a long-drawn suspiration of some mentally troubled -commuter whose feels (in the language of Opal Whiteley) were not -satisfaction feels; but commuters are a tested and toughened lot. The -time lagged heavily and darkly by, but there was no shrill outcry, no -futile beating of the breast. One shining thought there was to console, -and the conductor ratified it (we asked him ourself). “Oh, yes,” he -said, “the Oyster Bay connection waits for this train at Jamaica.” We -envisaged the picture of that battered and faithful old Oyster Bay -loco, waiting patiently for its lovers along the windy platform, and we -were heartened. - -But when we got to Jamaica, the old harridan steam train had gone. - -Then, indeed, hearts were broken. Then there was scudding to and fro, -and voices raised in menace and imprecation. The next train to Oyster -Bay, said the officials, leaves at 12:10. The mourners gathered in -little groups, drawn by their several affinities. Those who yearned -for Garden City formed one posse. Those who yearned for Babylon and -Bayshore, another. But, let it proudly be said, the Oyster Bay group -were the loudest in outcry, the angriest in mood. We have a pride of -our own on the Oyster Bay branch. (“Cut was the branch that might have -gone full straight.”) In Salamis alone, Gen. Pershing is living there, -and Dorothy Gish visits sometimes. Are we to be trifled with? Off -went the Oyster Bay contingent, some twenty angry, to see the Station -Master. Words were passed, without avail. - -We ourself are a realist at such moments. We saw that the Station -Master held no balm for the sufferers. We fled from the brutal scene. -Downstairs one taxi, the only one, was just embarking a passenger and -wheeling off. For an instant (we confess it) our nerve was shaken. We -screamed, and there was in that scream the dreadful keening note of a -lioness balked of her whelps or a commuter ravished of his train. Ha! -the taxi halted. It was, strangely enough, a lady chauffeur, and tender -of heart. No man chauffeur would have halted at such a time, but this -madonna of taxi drivers had a bosom of pity. Her fare, already in situ, -was bound for Garden City. They agreed to take us along, and after -Garden City had been made she would steer for Salamis. - -O Lady Taxi Driver of Jamaica, a benison befall thee. The wind roared -stiffly across the plains, and the small henry made leeway. The small -henry scuttled like a dog, half sideways, nosing several points upward -into the gale in order to pursue a straight course. The other passenger -was plainly a Man of Large Affairs, sunk in a generous melancholy. -There was little talk. We sat, or, when the roadway required it, leaped -aloft like striking trout. Garden City was duly reached, and then, -by and by, the woody glens of Salamis Heights. The fare we paid our -saviour was $7. We did not grudge it her. She has a seven-year-old -boy, and all day she keeps house, all night she runs her taxi. But, in -candour, we think the railroad owes us that $7. It has ever been held a -point of honour that the Oyster Bay train shall wait for its children. -When there are only two after-dinner trains, that seems not much to ask. - -If we had gone from Brooklyn, all would have been well. - - - - -[Illustration] - -MATTHEW ARNOLD AND EXODONTIA - - -I - -This year (1922) brings the centennial of Matthew Arnold’s birth. -Except for a few of his more important poems, we confess to an -affectionate ignorance about Arnold. Of course, we remember taking -notes during a number of lectures about him when we were at college; -a few catchwords about culture and anarchy; sweetness and light; -seeing life steadily and seeing it whole; Barbarians, Philistines, and -Populace--a few faded buntings of this sort flutter rather dingily from -the halliards of our memory; and we remember that he had exceptionally -fine whiskers. We used to speculate, in the jejune manner of youth, -as to whether Matt, as Rugby boy and Oxford undergraduate, was not -a rather amusing contrast to the robust Tom Brown whom his father -made famous. But, as you will see, Arnold has never been more than an -interesting and gracious wraith in our mind. Those of his essays that -we were told to reread we have forgotten, or else (more likely) we -never opened. - -But rambling not long ago in the cellar of Mr. Mendoza’s bookshop -on Ann Street we found, with a shock of excitement, a little book -published in Boston in 1888, called _Civilization in the United States: -First and Last Impressions of America_, by Matthew Arnold. We wondered -whether this little book had ever been perused by any of the vigorous -skeptics who published a recent large volume with the same title. They -made, as far as we can recall, no allusion to it. Yet they would have -found in it much nourishing meat. - -Matthew Arnold’s analysis of American life is interesting to read -now. Much of his estimate he would certainly wish to revise. We -forget just when it was that he travelled over here--in the 80’s, we -suppose--but his general comment was that American civilization was not -_interesting_. He used the word in a very special sense, apparently; -he explains it by mentioning the sense of beauty and the sense of -distinction. He found American life lacking in charm and in those -elements of beauty which appeal to the tranquil and more reflective -emotions. It is entertaining--in view of later developments--to hear -him say that “the American cities have hardly anything to please a -trained or a natural sense for beauty ... where the Americans succeed -best in their architecture--in that art so indicative and educative of -a people’s sense for beauty--is in the fashion of their villa-cottages -in wood.” One cannot help putting a little covey of exclamation marks -in the margin at that point. Those “villa-cottages in wood” of the -1880’s are now the jest and rapidly vanishing pox of our suburbs. -Even to Abraham Lincoln, by the way, he denies “distinction.” He -says, “shrewd, sagacious, humorous, honest, courageous, firm; a man -with qualities deserving the most sincere esteem and praise, but he -has not distinction.” We have read somewhere (it is an unforgettable -crumb of human oddity) that Arnold was chiefly interested in Lincoln’s -assassination because the murderer shouted in Latin as he leapt on the -stage. - -There is much that might be said about a point of view so sincere, so -sympathetic, so bravely honest, and yet so lacking in some qualities -of imagination as that we seem to find in Arnold’s book. But what we -want to quote is a portion of his comment on the American newspapers. -Perhaps it is more nearly true still--and, since Northcliffe, more -nearly true of British newspapers also--than any other part of his -remarks. But we wish to quote it without either assent or denial. He -wrote: - - You must have lived amongst their newspapers to know what they - are. If I relate some of my own experiences, it is because - these will give a clear enough notion of what the newspapers - over there are, and one remembers more definitely what has - happened to oneself. Soon after arriving in Boston I opened a - Boston newspaper and came upon a column headed: “Tickings.” - By _tickings_ we are to understand news conveyed through the - tickings of the telegraph. The first “ticking” was: “Matthew - Arnold is sixty-two years old”--an age, I must just say in - passing, which I had not then reached. The second “ticking” - was: “Wales says, Mary is a darling”; the meaning being that - the Prince of Wales expressed great admiration for Miss Mary - Anderson. This was at Boston, the American Athens. I proceeded - to Chicago. An evening paper was given me soon after I arrived; - I opened it, and found under a large-type heading, “_We have - seen him arrive_,” the following picture of myself: “He has - harsh features, supercilious manners, parts his hair down the - middle, wears a single eyeglass and ill-fitting clothes.” - Notwithstanding this rather unfavourable introduction, I was - most kindly and hospitably received at Chicago. It happened - that I had a letter for Mr. Medill, an elderly gentleman of - Scotch descent, the editor of the chief newspaper in those - parts, the Chicago _Tribune_. I called on him, and we conversed - amicably together. Some time afterwards, when I had gone back - to England, a New York paper published a criticism of Chicago - and its people, purporting to have been contributed by me to - the _Pall Mall Gazette_ over here. It was a poor hoax, but many - people were taken in and were excusably angry, Mr. Medill of - the Chicago _Tribune_ amongst the number. A friend telegraphed - to me to know if I had written the criticism. I, of course, - instantly telegraphed back that I had not written a syllable - of it. Then a Chicago paper is sent to me; and what I have the - pleasure of reading, as the result of my contradiction, is - this: “Arnold denies; Mr. Medill refuses to accept Arnold’s - disclaimer; says Arnold is a cur.” - -There were California boosters even then, we note. Arnold quotes a -Coast newspaper which called all Easterners “the unhappy denizens of -a forbidding clime,” and added: “The time will surely come when all -roads will lead to California. Here will be the home of art, science, -literature, and profound knowledge.” - - -II - -You probably thought (and justly) that we cut off Matthew Arnold -rather abruptly yesterday. Well, we did; but there’s always a reason -for everything. We had to hurry uptown, by order of Dr. James Kendall -Burgess, the philosophical dentist, to call on Dr. Hillel Feldman for -some exodontia. In the old days, we dare say, it would have been called -having a tooth pulled, but we like the word exodontia much better. - -Now, since we have always been candid with our clients, we will admit -that we were a bit nervous. Of course, we knew that these operations -rarely turn out fatally; but still, we could see, as soon as we got -into that medical office building at 616 Madison Avenue, that we -were out of our element. Everywhere there were trained nurses in -uniform--going about on “errands of mercy,” we supposed. There was -one near the elevator downstairs; there was another in the corridor -upstairs; and the soothing, tender way they asked what we wanted made -us, somehow, even more conscious of the painful nature of our errand. - -However, another of our habits came somewhat to our rescue when we -found ourself sitting in Dr. Feldman’s chair. We are timid, we admit; -but we are also inquisitive and like to know the details of what’s -going on. We could see right away that Dr. Feldman is a tactful man, -for he keeps his instruments under a neat little napkin so that you -don’t have a chance to be alarmed by all those interesting gouges and -pincers. Dr. Feldman immediately pierced our jaw with some stuff he -called novocaine, and then, quite as though this was a very commonplace -proceeding, began to chat leisurely. “You know,” he said, “a fellow -can’t read your things in the paper just for a laugh. Those other -fellows’ columns, you can read them and get some fun out of it; but -your stuff, you have to read carefully and wade through a long slab to -see what it’s all about.” - -“Yes,” we said, “we’re like you, Doctor. We believe in giving our -patients discipline--making them suffer.” - -Now, of course, we said this hoping to give Dr. Feldman a chance to say -right away, “Oh, I’m not going to make you suffer. This won’t hurt a -bit.” - -He didn’t say it, however. He chuckled in a way that seemed to us -a trifle threatening. We hastened to appease him by saying some -complimentary things about his shining, complicated apparatuses. To our -displeasure we found that our jaw now had a numb and frozen feeling, so -that we could not talk properly. We could only mumble. - -The calm, genial way in which Dr. Feldman sized us up as we sat there -with our jaw getting more and more queer--a curious sensation of -mingled freezing and heat--reassured us a little. “Does the novocaine -make perspiration come out on your forehead like that?” he asked, with -a sort of intellectual curiosity. “No, no,” we hastened to say, out of -the other side of our mouth. “We’ve been hurrying to get here, Doctor. -Didn’t want to keep you waiting.” That was true; but we were afraid -he would think we were scared. He began to toy gently with the corner -of the napkin on his instrument stand. We were tremendously eager -to see what kind of tools he had concealed there. But he outwitted -us. He suddenly uttered the excellent words we had been hoping for. -“This’ll be absolutely painless,” he said, and then with great gusto -and alacrity he sprang upon us. There was a sound rather like grinding -out a stone that is imbedded in a frozen pond. It was very interesting. -We think the adverb _absolutely_ perhaps was a trifle too strong: -perhaps a precisian in words might substitute _almost_; but at any rate -our sense of excitement far outweighed any small twinges. By the time -we thought that he was getting well started, “That’s all,” he said. -“Perhaps you’d better have a little stimulant.” - -Well, naturally, by this time we felt that Dr. Feldman was one of -the best friends we had ever had. We shook his hand warmly and -assured him we wouldn’t have missed the adventure for anything. Then -we went to browse for a few minutes in the second-hand bookshops -on Fifty-ninth Street to think it over. We called on Mr. Mitchell -Kennerley at the Anderson Galleries. As our jaw was still very much -frostbitten, we couldn’t talk very clearly, and we had to hold our -pipe in an unaccustomed corner of our mouth. We fear he misunderstood -our condition; but he was too polite to say so. Our mind went back to -Matthew Arnold. - -Matthew Arnold, as we were saying, complained that American -civilization was not _interesting_. A silly thing to say, it seems to -us. He meant, evidently, that it did not supply the kind of interest -to which he was accustomed, or for which he yearned. For surely, to -any one ready to lay aside preconceptions, _interesting_ is exactly -what American life has always been. We reflected that the one word we -instinctively used in explaining to Dr. Feldman how we had enjoyed our -visit to him was just that--_interesting_. We feel that if Arnold had -been a little more courageously imaginative he might have felt the -same way about America. It may very truly have troubled some of his -sensitive nerves; it may have caused him terror and shuddering; it may -have seemed violent and tragic; but surely he might have seen that it -was a teeming laboratory of life and amazement. We believe, by the way, -that it was 1883 when he was first here; for we have just noticed in -Mendoza’s bookshop a copy of Arnold’s poems autographed by him for a -lady, and dated 1883. It was an American edition, so probably he signed -it while in this country. - -Mr. Arnold’s comments on American newspapers, we should like to add, -were perhaps just a little scarce in humour. It is all very well to -stand aghast at the jocular irreverence of much newspaper writing; -but evidently it never occurred to Arnold that much of it is not mere -vulgarity but expresses a national sense of gusto and hilarity that is -far from a bad thing. - -We cannot resist concluding this too brief excursus by quoting a letter -which came to us from a mysterious correspondent--whom we know only by -the initials N. O. N. P. It seems to us the most charming portrait of -Arnold that we have ever seen. N. O. N. P. wrote: - - There is no art to read the mind’s construction in the face; - but it is possible to see the correspondence, after the cypher - has been well de-coded. Matthew Arnold--a plain face--a - plain brow--dark hair, parted exactly in the middle--and - cheek whiskers! A long nose, slightly thick, and drooping--a - wide plaster of mouth, firm but highly sensitive--a six-foot - stature and slim build--a scholastic figure and face and - cut--tutorial, perhaps; and in that plain face the expression - of _im_pression--that is, the visible result of sensitiveness. - Every pre-natal and post-natal fineness of his rarely fine, - high, sincere mind pervaded the texture of his countenance and - gave its stamp of authentic quality to render nugatory anything - that might seem superficially to counteract the inherent - integrity. Superficially, it might have seemed (perhaps) a smug - face or a supercilious one; not inwardly. Inward daintiness - might have been there, as there certainly was fastidiousness, - if not a frigidity. But a warm heart corresponded to that - mouth, which was thick without seeming sensual, and back of - that face was a just, a clear, a steady mind, a heat for right - and truth, a manly spirit with a manly intellect, a manly sense - of clean beauty--and with whatever æsthetic narrowings (if - they existed), a broad, direct, noble simplicity and humanity. - I hope he will verily have his reward, for in his brave, - unwhining, spotless life, he did most valuable, intelligent - drudgery for his bread; and out of a beautiful gift composed - the loftiest, simplest, broadest, gravest, most reserved and - felt, and perhaps most musical and moving poem (as pure poem) - of his generation--_Sohrab and Rustum_. It lacks all the - prettinesses of his contemporaries, but is the sole product of - his time, in “The Grand Style”--this, however, being of course - only the individual opinion of the present commenter. - -If a man, one hundred years after his birth, still evokes such graceful -and pensive homage, he has evidently some durable claim upon our -hearts. Ever since our teens we have wondered what _Sohrab and Rustum_ -was about and why it was always assigned as required study for College -Entrance. Now we intend to read it. - - - - -[Illustration] - -DAME QUICKLY AND THE BOILROASTER - - -Something had happened to Dame Quickly’s storage battery, and all -the amperes seemed to have escaped. An extremely friendly and -cheerful young man came up from Fred Seaman’s garage, with mysterious -medical-looking instruments, to grant a consultation. In the course of -the chat he remarked, “If you once ride in a _Boilroaster_ car, you’ll -never be satisfied with any other.” - -His energetic hands were at that moment deep in our loved Dame -Quickly’s mechanisms; she was wholly at his mercy; naturally we did not -feel like contradicting him or saying anything tactless. We wondered, -but only privately, whether the fact that Fred Seaman is the local -agent for the _Boilroaster_ had anything to do with this comment? Or -perhaps, we thought to ourself, our friend the battery expert really -is a convinced enthusiast for the _Boilroaster_, and felt that way -about it before he took a job at Fred Seaman’s establishment? We were -sorry that William James was dead, for we felt that the author of _The -Will to Believe_ would be the man to whom to submit this philosophical -problem. We were puzzled, because only a few days earlier another man -had said to us (with an equal accent of decisiveness and conviction) -that he would rather have a Dame Quickly than any _Boilroaster_ ever -made. “They stand up better than any of ’em,” he had said. Suddenly -it occurred to us how useful it would be if there were some kind of -spiritual gauge--like the hydrometer our friend was plunging into -the cells of the Dame’s battery--which one could dip into a man’s -mind to test the intellectual mixture of his remarks; to evaluate the -proportions of those various liquids (the strong acid of self-interest, -the mild distilled water of candour, etc.) which electrify his mental -ignition. - -Well, how about the _Boilroaster_, we said--(searching for a technical -term that would show him we are a practical man)--Do they stand up? - -He suggested that we get into his own _Boilroaster_, which stood -grandly overshining the dusty Dame (reminding us of those pictures -where a silhouette of the new _Majestic_ is placed behind a little -picture of the _Teutonic_ or some other humble ship of older days) and -take a run around Salamis while he tinkered with the battery. - -Oh, no, we said nervously. Dame Quickly is the only car we know how to -run, and besides the gear shift is different in the _Boilroaster_; we -might get confused and have to come all the way home in reverse, which -would be bad for our reputation in the village. - -Have you ever ridden in the _Boilroaster_? he asked. - -Yes, we said--Fred Seaman took us over to Locust Valley the other -evening. (Suddenly a horrid thought struck us. We had thought that Fred -had given us that lift over to Locust Valley just in the goodness of -his heart. But now we wondered----) - -When he left, he put in our hand a handsome book all about the -_Boilroaster_. That, we felt, was the first step in breaking down our -“sales resistance,” as they say in the _Business e19 Course_ up at -Columbia. - -We’ve been reading that book, and we want to say that the chaps -who write that sort of literature are cunning fellows, and masters -of a very insinuating prose style. They begin with a very pretty -frontispiece of a _Boilroaster_ car standing, all alone and -dazzling-new, in a magnificent landscape of snow-clad peaks and clear -lakes. How the _Boilroaster_ got way up there (evidently somewhere near -Banff) without any one driving her, and without even a speck of dust on -her fenders, is a mystery. But there she is. Perhaps the man who drove -her all those miles from the nearest distributing agency is at the bar -of the C. P. R. Hotel, off behind those pine forests. - -All the highbrow critics will tell you that the truly great writers -are lovers of Beauty. Well, the anonymous author of the _Boilroaster_ -book is as keen a champion of Beauty as any one we ever heard of. And -not only beauty, but refinement, too. There are two whole pages giving -little pictures of “refinements.” This is a book, we think, that could -be put in the hands of the young without any hesitation. In fact, -that is just where we did put it, for the urchin is cutting out the -pictures of _Boilroasters_ at this very minute. The whole trend of -Advertising nowadays (we wonder if they mention this in the lectures on -Advertising Psychology up at Columbia) is to give delight to children. -We would hate to tell the Cunard Line and the International Mercantile -Marine Company how many of their folders our juveniles have scissored -up with shouts of delight. - -The _Boilroaster_ book is going to be a lesson to us. We don’t know -if we will ever own a _Boilroaster_, but we are certain that before -we do we have got to spruce up and be a bit more genteel. At present, -we would be a bit of anticlimax riding in a car like that. There is -“new beauty in its double bevel body line.” We want to look a bit -more streamline ourself before we go in for one. There are “massive -head lamps, graceful cowl lights, the louvres are more in number and -their edges show a smart touch of gold.” There is “a courtesy light -illuminating the left side of the car,” and a ventilator in the cowl. -We don’t know exactly what the cowl is, or the louvres, or at any rate -we’ve never discovered them in Dame Quickly. - -Just as we are writing this, we see a headline in the papers (in -the _Evening Post_, to be accurate) about Sir Charles Higham, who -“Sees Advertising as a Great Moral Force.” We know of no writer who -has a more solid appreciation of moral forces than the author of -our _Boilroaster_ brochure. What he has to say about “sheer merit,” -“sound principles,” “elimination of waste,” “combination of beauty and -utility,” “superiority and refinement,” “good taste” and “harmony of -colour” makes this work a genuine essay in æsthetics. Moreover, we -like his rational eclecticism. When the car has a 126-inch wheelbase, -it makes it very easy riding and gives it charming “roadability.” -When it has a 119-inch wheelbase, it “gives a short turning radius -which makes it remarkably easy to handle.” Even in the least details, -our author has an eye for loveliness. He confesses himself struck by -“the attractive grouping of instruments on the dash, which emphasizes -_Boilroaster_ individuality.” The upholstery, he says, is “restful.” -The folding seat for the extra passenger is “in reality a comfortable -chair.” And when we learn that the opalescent dome and corner lamps -“provide enough light for reading,” our only regret is that he doesn’t -add a suggested list of readings for tenants of a _Boilroaster_ -Enormous Eight. - -Unhappily space is lacking to tell you in detail what a competent and -winning fellow this author is. In the scientific portions of the work -he rivals Fabre--in regard to the clutch, he says “the driven member is -a single spider rotating between two rings.” His passion for elegance, -comfort, simplicity, and economy has never been surpassed--no, not by -Plato or Walter Pater. The only drawback about his essay is that we -feel we could never live up to the vehicle he describes. - - - - -[Illustration] - -VACATIONING WITH DE QUINCEY - - -I - -Having severed our telephone wire and instructed the office boys to -tell all callers that we are out at lunch, we look forward to a happy -summer. We are going to begin enjoying ourself by systematically -exploring the books in the library of the _Evening Post_. On a top -shelf, well sprinkled with dust, we have found the excellent collected -edition of De Quincey, in fourteen volumes, edited by David Masson. It -is true that the first four volumes seem to have disappeared; but even -if we begin at Volume V we calculate we shall find enough to keep us -entertained for some time. - -After we have finished De Quincey we are going to tackle P. T. Barnum’s -_Struggles and Triumphs_, a book that has long tempted us. We think -kindly of the Founding Fathers of the _Post_ for having assembled all -these interesting volumes for our pleasure. - -We have begun De Quincey with Volume V--_Biographies and Biographic -Sketches_. Some of this--particularly the Joan of Arc--has a faintly -familiar taste: perhaps we were made to read it at school. But we -do not think we ever read before the magnificent essay on Charles -Lamb. There is a long interpolated passage about Joan of Arc which -does not seem to have anything to do with Lamb. Perhaps the _North -British Review_ (in which the essay first appeared in 1848) paid its -contributors on a space basis. But, ejecting this parenthesis, it is -certainly noble stuff. Moreover, it is interesting to note that at the -time De Quincey wrote, Lamb was by no means established on the pinnacle -of security as a permanent brightness in our literature. De Quincey -writes as though consciously contradicting some opposition. It seems -odd to hear him speak of people who “regard him [Lamb] with the old -hostility and the old scorn.” - -We had intended not to introduce any quotations, for in this very -volume De Quincey makes some stinging remarks about people who pad out -their copy by interlarding material from stronger fists. But indeed the -following passage seems to us so near the top of prose felicity that we -lapse from grace: - - In regard to wine, Lamb and myself had the same habit, viz., - to take a great deal _during_ dinner, none _after_ it. - Consequently, as Miss Lamb (who drank only water) retired - almost with the dinner itself, nothing remained for men of our - principles, the rigour of which we had illustrated by taking - rather too much of old port before the cloth was drawn, except - talking; amœbean colloquy, or, in Dr. Johnson’s phrase, a - dialogue of “brisk reciprocation.” But this was impossible; - over Lamb, at this period of his life, there passed regularly, - after taking wine, a brief eclipse of sleep. It descended - upon him as softly as a shadow. In a gross person, laden with - superfluous flesh, and sleeping heavily, this would have been - disagreeable; but in Lamb, thin even to meagreness, spare and - wiry as an Arab of the desert or as Thomas Aquinas wasted by - scholastic vigils, the affection of sleep seemed rather a - network of aërial gossamer than of earthly cobweb--more like - a golden haze falling upon him gently from the heavens than a - cloud exhaling upwards from the flesh. Motionless in his chair - as a bust, breathing so gently as scarcely to seem certainly - alive, he presented the image of repose midway between life and - death, like the repose of sculpture; and, to one who knew his - history, a repose affectingly contrasting with the calamities - and internal storms of his life. - -De Quincey’s essay on Lamb, like so many of the great critiques of the -early nineteenth century, was originally written as a book review. We -like to imagine what a _Blackwood_ or _Edinburgh_ reviewer would have -said if the editor (in the manner of to-day) had told him to deal with -a volume in 500 or 1,000 words. The nineteenth century reviewer took a -spacious view of his job. Of this particular essay, which purported to -be a notice of Talfourd’s _Final Memorials of Charles Lamb_ (1848), De -Quincey said (very nobly): - - Liberated from this casual office of throwing light upon a - book, raised to its grander station of a solemn deposition to - the moral capacities of man in conflict with calamity--viewed - as a return made into the chanceries of heaven upon an issue - directed from that court to try the amount of power lodged in - a poor desolate pair of human creatures for facing the very - anarchy of storms--this obscure life of the two Lambs, brother - and sister (for the two lives were one life), rises into - grandeur that is not paralleled once in a generation. - -Of course, De Quincey was a celestial kind of reviewer. Not even opium -could make most of us write like that. Also he had the right idea about -dealing with correspondence and accumulated papers. He used to live in -one set of lodgings until the mass of miscellaneous matter filled the -room. Then he would move to other quarters, leaving the pile in charge -of the landlady. He always took care not to inform her of the new -address. - -There is a great deal more to be said about this Volume V, but we must -skip along. (There is no reason, you know, why you shouldn’t look up -the book for yourself.) We will just be generous enough to pass on De -Quincey’s anecdote about how Coleridge first became a great reader. -Coleridge, as a child, was going down the Strand in a day dream, -imagining himself swimming the Hellespont. Moving his hands as though -swimming, he happened to touch a gentleman’s pocket. The latter thought -him a young pickpocket. “What! so young and yet so wicked?” The boy, -terrified, sobbed a denial, and explained that he had been imagining -himself as Leander. The gentleman was so pleased that he gave him a -subscription to a circulating library. - -The next volume of De Quincey that we intend to study is X, in which we -find _Letters to a Young Man Whose Education Has Been Neglected_. We -are rather stricken to note that these were addressed to a young man -who was exactly the same age as ourself. - -The first of these letters was evidently in the nature of a Christmas -present to the young gentleman, known to us only as Mr. M. It is dated -December 24, 1824. Whether Mr. M. was an actual person and drew this -letter from his stocking on Christmas morning we are not informed. -Our own conjecture is that he was as mythical as his sister-in-lore -Miss M., of Walter de la Mare’s _Memoirs of a Midget_. Somehow there -is a humorous lack of reality in the way De Quincey introduces him. -Mr. M. is in possession of “great opulence, unclouded reputation, and -freedom from unhappy connexions.” Also he had “the priceless blessing -of unfluctuating health.” And yet he exhibited “a general dejection.” -This, a young lady of seventeen told De Quincey, “was well known to -arise from an unfortunate attachment in early life.” But finally De -Quincey exhumed the truth. Mr. M. had been defrauded of education. And -Mr. M.’s first inquiry is whether at his present age of 32 it would be -worth his while to go to college. - -No, indeed, is De Quincey’s unhesitant reply. Mr. M. would be 12 -or 14 years older than his fellow-students, which would make their -association “mutually burthensome.” And as for the value of college -lectures-- - - These whether public or private, are surely the very worst - modes of acquiring any sort of accurate knowledge, and are just - as much inferior to a good book on the same subject as that - book hastily read aloud, and then immediately withdrawn, would - be inferior to the same book left in your possession, and open - at any hour to be consulted, retraced, collated, and in the - fullest sense studied. - -It appears that the dejected young man, despite--or perhaps on account -of--his lack of education, nourished a secret desire to be a writer. He -had been reading Coleridge’s _Biographia Literaria_, particularly the -chapter called _An Affectionate Exhortation to Those Who in Early Life -Feel Themselves Disposed to Become Authors_. According to De Quincey, -Mr. M. asks his opinion on Coleridge’s views of this topic. Alas! -now we are more convinced than ever that Mr. M. is only a phantom: -unquestionably De Quincey, the canny super-journalist, wafted him from -the opium flagon as an ingenious target for some anti-Coleridge banter. -His chaff directed at Coleridge is gorgeous enough. It is double-decked -chaff, too; for he not only affectionately twits his fellow opium-eater -_in propria persona_, but introduces for discussion an anonymous -“eminent living Englishman,” who is plainly also Coleridge. He compares -C. with Leibnitz for his combination of fine mind with a physique of -equine robustness. This passage somehow causes us to chuckle aloud-- - - They were centaurs--heroic intellects with brutal capacities of - body. What partiality in nature! In general, a man has reason - to think himself well off in the great lottery of this life if - he draws the prize of a healthy stomach without a mind; or the - prize of a fine intellect with a crazy stomach; but that any - man should draw both is truly astonishing. - -The first letter concludes with a charmingly humorous discussion of the -problem (valid now as then) how a man of letters may get any creative -work done and at the same time keep his wife and children happy. - - -II - -Old Bill Barron, up in the composing room, asks us when we are going to -take our Vacation. We are taking it now, we reply, reading De Quincey. -Certainly we can’t imagine why any one with as pleasing a job as ours -should have any right to go off on holiday. There are so many people -in this town who have to spend their time reading the new books: we -are going to enjoy ourself by dipping into the old ones. With one -exception. We have found, in the office of the _Literary Review_, and -immediately made off with, _L’Extravagante Personnalité de Jacques -Casanova_, by Joseph Le Gras (Paris: Bernard Grasset). We read the -first sentence-- - - Emporté dans une berline confortable, dont les coffres sont - abondamment pourvus de viandes, de pâtés et de vins; une femme - sur les genoux, une autre parfois à ses côtés qui se frotte - amoureusement à lui; vêtu de riches vêtements, le jabot et les - manchettes enjolivés de fines dentelles, les goussets garnis - de montres précieuses, le ventre chatouillé de breloques, - les doigts étincelants de bagues, les poches tintant d’or et - le mollet caressé dans la soie; réclamant à grand bruit les - meilleurs chevaux aux relais, la plus belle chambre dans les - auberges, jetant sa bourse à l’hôtelier et repartant au milieu - des révérences et des courbettes; tel nous apparaît, en une - attitude un peu conventionelle, l’aventurier Casanova au temps - de sa splendeur. - -That, of course, is one way of taking a Vacation. We remember, with a -small behind-the-arras chuckle, one of Pearsall Smith’s _Trivia_ called -“Lord Arden,” which deliciously hits off the buried Casanova in all of -us. At any rate, we shall read this book about Extravagant Jack. - -But we must get back to De Quincey, or you’ll think we are purposely -avoiding the topic. We hardly know where to resume our prattle about -this glorious creature. Perhaps the first thing to note is an advisable -shift in viewpoint. Nowadays we are all introduced to De Quincey at -school, so his name comes to us with a peculiar mixture of sublimity -and painful awe--for we learn that he was a wicked opium eater. We -do not realize that a number of his contemporaries regarded him as a -low-down dog of a journalist. Southey, for instance, called him “one of -the greatest scoundrels living,” and urged Hartley Coleridge to go to -Edinburgh with a strong cudgel and give De Quincey a public drubbing -as “a base betrayer of the hospitable social hearth.” What was the -cause of this peevishness? Why, of course, the _Reminiscences of the -English Lake Poets_, a book whose social indiscretion is exceeded -only by its magnificently fecund humour; told, like all De Quincey’s -waggishness, with a rich sonorous volubility and luxurious plenitude of -verbal skill. There is a subtle wickedness of amusement in the apparent -solemnity of De Quincey’s polysyllables. The indignation caused -latterly by such books as Margot Asquith’s was nothing compared to the -anger of the Lake Poets when they found their innocent privacies laid -bare by the Opium Eater’s pen. The Lakers took themselves as seriously -as groups of humanitarians always do. And they were quite right. -Francis Thompson complains that Milton never forgot he was Milton--“but -we must admit it was worth remembering.” Yet the domestic affairs of -Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Southey were indeed irresistibly comic. -We have not forgotten that Hartley Coleridge, whose childhood was so -charmingly enshrined in a poem by Wordsworth-- - - Thou fairy voyager, that dost float - In such clear water that thy boat - May rather seem - To brood on air than on an earthly stream-- - -also floated in liquids more ruddy. He was removed from his fellowship -at Oxford on the charge of drinking too much--which must have been a -very great deal in the Oxford of those days. - -_Reminiscences of the Lake Poets_ is the kind of book (Boswell’s _Tour -to the Hebrides_ is another) that causes indignation to the victims, -but intense delight to posterity. Posterity always has the best of us, -anyhow. The anecdote of Coleridge’s father and the protruding shirt -has always seemed to us one of the most disgracefully amusing minutiæ -in literature--and yet even now, after a hundred years of sanctity, -we are not sure whether we ought to reprint it. Well, you can buy -_Reminiscences of the Lake Poets_ in the Everyman Series. - -The next thing to be said about De Quincey is that he would have been -a glorious editor for one of Mr. Hearst’s newspapers. He wrote a -good deal better than Mr. Arthur Brisbane; but he had the same acute -instinct as to what the public is really interested in. We believe it -was James L. Ford who described the Hearstian doctrine of newspaper -policy as “Plenty of crime and plenty of underclothes.” De Quincey was -a glutton for crime. Did you know that he lost his job as editor of the -_Westmoreland Gazette_ because for sixteen months he filled its columns -mainly with news of local lawbreaking? His employers did not appreciate -genius. His instinct was absolutely sound. In spite of the disclaimers -of refined people, crime news, when written not merely vulgarly but -with earnestness and art, is one of the most valuable features of any -journal. If we were running a newspaper we would begin by scouring the -press clubs for a young De Quincey. - -He had, we say, the newspaper man’s instinct. Writing of the appalling -Williams murders in 1811, he complains that though the outrage was -committed shortly after midnight on Sunday morning, nothing reached the -papers until Monday. “To have met the public demand for details on the -Sunday, which might so easily have been done by cancelling a couple -of dull columns and substituting a circumstantial narrative ... would -have made a small fortune. By proper handbills dispersed through all -quarters of the infinite metropolis, 250,000 extra copies might have -been sold.” - -This occurs in the postscript to _Murder as One of the Fine Arts_. In -that immortal essay itself the macabre humour and the sledge-hammer -impact of irony are probably a bit too grim and a bit (also) -too learned and crushing for the gentler sort of reader. But the -postscript, dated 1854, is the kind of horrific febrifuge that turns -the heart to an Eskimo patty. We suggest that you try reading it -aloud to a house party if you want to see blenching and shudders. The -ultimate tribute to any writing of the narrative kind is to read it -perpetually running ahead, in a horrid tension of eagerness, meanwhile -holding one’s proper “place” with a finger until one can force the eye -back to pursue a methodical course. We ourself read that postscript -thus, late at night in a lonely country house; and, by a noble -summation of horror, Gissing began to growl and bristle as we reached -the climax. We should hate to admit with what paltry quaverings we went -forth into the night, where the trees were smoke-colour in a pallid -moonglow, to see what was amiss. It was only a wandering dog prowling -about. But for a few moments we had felt certain that our harmless -Salamis Estates were thickly ambushed with assassins. It then required -a trip to the icebox, and a considerable infare upon a very ammoniac -Roquefort cheese, to restore tranquillity. - - -III - -But we were talking about De Quincey. Yesterday was by no means a -day wasted, for we got our amiable friend Franklin Abbott into our -clutches, made him take a note of _Reminiscences of the English Lake -Poets_ (in the Everyman Series, we repeat) and insisted to him that -for a man of genteel tastes this is one of the most entertaining -works ever printed. And also by mere chance, which so often disposes -the bright fragments of life into a ruddy and high-spirited pattern, -we stopped in at a bookshop on Church Street just to say howdy to the -eccentric Raymond Halsey. Happening to remark that it is now just a -hundred years since the _Confessions of an English Opium-Eater_ was -published, Raymond disappeared with a rabbit-like scuttling motion; was -heard digging among shelves at the rear, and returned with the smile of -one who thinks he foresees a sale. It was a first edition of the _Opium -Eater_ with the magical imprint of Taylor & Hessey. Was there ever a -more sacred name among publishers? We don’t need to remind you they -were Keats’s publishers, too. “Only fifty dollars,” said Raymond, but -it was lunch time and we had to leave. - -In the dark rear chamber of a Cedar Street tavern, in that corner -underneath the photographs of the “Cheshire Cheese,” something happened -that seemed to us almost as pretty as anything published by the -vanished Taylor & Hessey. Frank spied an old friend of his, a fellow -Pittsburger, and the latter halted at our table on his way out. We -complimented him upon the fine bronze patina of his countenance, to -which he replied that he had been salmon fishing. “You know,” he said, -“there are only three salmon-flies that I care a continental for,” and -from his pocket he drew a small pink envelope. With a tender hand he -slid its contents onto the board. “There they are,” he said. His voice -seemed to change. “Dusty Miller, Durham Ranger, and Jock Scott.” The -little feathery trinkets, glowing with dainty treacheries, lay there -on the ale-bleached wood. Certainly it seemed to us there was poetry -in that moment. “I go to Bingham, Maine,” he said, “and drive eighteen -miles up the Kennebec.” (A small postern door opened gently upon -another world.) “Old So-and-so is waiting at the station. He’s always -there. I could leave to-night; he’d be sure to be there when the train -got in.” - -We had a perfectly vivid picture of old So-and-so waiting at the -Bingham station. Yes, we could see him. Then the postern door closed, -gently but definitely, with that strong pneumatic piston that is -attached to all our doors. - -We were saying, however, that De Quincey’s _Reminiscences of the Lake -Poets_ caused great indignation among the Grasmere coterie. This was -due not to any malice in De Quincey’s manner of writing, which was -affectionate and admiring throughout. It was due to something far more -painful than malice--the calm, detailed, candid, and minute dissection -of their lives. There was truly something astoundingly clinical in this -microscopy. For instance, to take the case of Wordsworth’s household, -these are some of the comments De Quincey makes: - - (1) That Mrs. Wordsworth--whose charm and simplicity he - adores--was cross-eyed. - - (2) That Dorothy--Wordsworth’s sister--was a fervid and noble - character, but stammered and was ungraceful. - - (3) That Wordsworth’s appearance grew less attractive with - advancing age. - - (4) That his legs were very ill-shapen and “were pointedly - condemned by all female connoisseurs in legs.” And that his - shoulders were drooping and narrow. - - (5) “The mouth, and the whole circumjacencies of the mouth, - composed the strongest feature in Wordsworth’s face.” In fact, - they reminded De Quincey of Milton. - - (6) That he aged very rapidly--when thirty-nine he was taken to - be over sixty. - - (7) That his brother John, a sea captain, had lost his ship - while drunk. - - (8) That Wordsworth cannot have been amiable as a child. - - (9) That the only time Wordsworth was drunk was as an - undergraduate at Cambridge on visiting the rooms once occupied - by Milton. - - (10) That he had not the temperament ever to be an attractive - wooer, and that it was “perplexing” that he had ever married. - - (11) That he had had astonishing good luck in financial matters. - - (12) That the Wordsworth menage was excessively plain and - severe in simplicity. - - (13) That Wordsworth and Southey did not really like each other. - - (14) That Wordsworth treated books very barbarously, and used - to cut the pages with a butter-smeared knife. - - (15) That Wordsworth’s library was meagre and insignificant - compared to Southey’s. - -These are only a few of De Quincey’s remarks, digested to their naked -gist; by which they lose all the amusing complexity of comment wherein -they are folded. But the précis will suffice to show that, whether -consciously or not, they were exactly calculated to wound, with very -deep incision, the most delicate sensibilities of an austere, somewhat -humourless and extremely self-regarding man. - - -IV - -On the 13th of February, 1848, De Quincey received a letter asking -him to contribute a writing of some sort for an “album,” to be sold -at a Ladies’ Bazaar. This was to be held in March of that year, for -the benefit of the Library of the Glasgow Athenæum, and the ladies -begged him to reply by “return of post.” This incident in itself sounds -contemporary enough to give us a fellow feeling with De Quincey. - -He had nothing available to send to the bazaar, but there was one -unfailing resource--his bathtub. Let him describe it: - - In my study I have a bath, large enough to swim in, provided - the swimmer, not being an ambitious man, is content with going - ahead to the extent of three inches at the utmost. This bath, - having been superseded (as regards its original purpose) by a - better, has yielded a secondary service to me as a reservoir - for my MSS. Filled to the brim it is by papers of all sorts - and sizes. Every paper written _by_ me, _to_ me, _for_ me, - _of_ or _concerning_ me, and, finally, _against_ me, is to be - found, after an impossible search, in this capacious repertory. - Those papers, by the way, that come under the last (or hostile) - subdivision are chiefly composed by shoemakers and tailors--an - affectionate class of men, who stick by one to the last like - pitch-plasters. - -De Quincey decided that the only thing to do was to draw something at -random from the bathtub for the ladies’ album. Accordingly, he made -a little ceremony of it. “Three young ladies, haters of everything -unfair,” were called in as referees; and a young man to do the actual -dipping. There were to be four dips into the tub, and, for some reason -not quite clear to us, the young man was made to attire himself in a -new potato-sack, with holes cut for his legs and only his right arm -free. It would have been more to the purpose, we should have thought, -to blindfold him; but he was instructed to dip at random, holding his -face “at right angles to the bath.” He was to be allowed one minute -to rummage at random among “the billowy ocean of papers,” and at -the command _Haul Up!_ was to come forth with whatever his fingers -approved. Before the ceremony began a glass of wine was brought. De -Quincey proposed the health of the ladies of the Athenæum, and pledged -his honour that whatever MS. should be dredged up would be sent off -to the bazaar. And this, he protested, though somewhere buried in the -bath there lay a paper which he valued as equal to the half of his -possessions. - -But he was compelled to depart from the strict rigour of his scheme. -For let us see what the young man discovered in the bathtub. The first -dip brought up a letter still unopened. It proved to be a dinner -invitation for the 15th of February. De Quincey was congratulating -himself on the success of his raffle, which had thus enabled him to -answer this letter without irreparable breach of manners, when the -young lady referees discovered that the letter was four years old. - -Number 2 was a “dun.” The young man was, to De Quincey’s dismay, -dredging in a portion of the tub rich in overdue bills. “It is true,” -he says, “that I had myself long remarked that part of the channel -to be dangerously infested with duns. In searching for literary or -philosophic paper, it would often happen for an hour together that I -brought up little else than variegated specimens of the dun.” And so -Number 3 was also a dun. - -Number 4 turned out “a lecture addressed to myself by an ultra-moral -friend--a lecture on procrastination, and not badly written.” And -this also De Quincey refused to allow to be sent to the Athenæum. So -everything hinged on the fifth and extra dip, which was committed to -one of the young ladies. She blushed rosily (De Quincey assures us) at -the responsibility, and earnestly “ploitered” among the papers for full -five minutes. “She contended that she knew, by intuition, the sort of -paper on which duns were written: and, whatever else might come up, -she was resolved it should not be a dun.” “Don’t be too sure,” said De -Quincey; but when the paper was finally drawn out it was a blank sheet. - -This, the referees maintained, was a judgment on De Quincey, and -meant that he should use the empty page to begin a new and original -contribution for the ladies of Glasgow. Which he did, and turned out -a little essay, suggested by their recent sport, on _Sortilege and -Astrology_. We have tried to read it, but so far without success. - -We are interested to note that others besides ourself have been -turning back to De Quincey. In a recent _Fortnightly Review_ there -is an article by H. M. Paull, sound enough in its observations, but -grievously lacking in style. Mr. Paull, moreover, seems to us to shoot -too far when he says that “to modern readers De Quincey’s efforts -to be sprightly only cause annoyance.” It is true that sometimes -his astonishing verbosity and his passion for footnotes outrun a -hasty temper; but for our part we find something notably odd and -agreeable in his queer, preposterous humour. His habit of calling -great men familiarly by their first names--Dr. Johnson is “Sam,” and -even the learned and ancient Josephus becomes “Joe,” and Thomas à -Kempis “Tom”--is deplored by Mr. Paull; but this habit, we fear, has -been inherited by columnists, and we had better not defend it too -vigorously. The bathtub anecdote, which we have pared down until it -loses most of its gusto, is, in the original, not devoid of humour. -(Volume XIII of the collected works.) - -And De Quincey’s ramified and rambling way of narrative offers -surprising delights in unexpected parentheses. For instance, in the -_Opium Eater_ he happens to mention a murder that had been committed -on Hounslow Heath. “The name of the murdered person was Steele, and -he was the owner of a lavender plantation in that neighbourhood.” A -lavender plantation! There is a fragrant circumstance for the mind of -a poet to dwell on. Think of the chance immortality of the unlucky -Steele--deathless now, because (poor devil) he was murdered and had a -lavender plantation. - - - - -[Illustration] - -THE SPANISH SULTRY - - -Turning up masterpieces of unintentional humour is a pleasant diversion -of most writers. Everyone has his own favourites--on this side Atlantic -many students vouch for _The Balsam Groves of Grandfather Mountain_ (by -Shepherd M. Dugger) as the most amusing book written in America; in -Britain a few diligent explorers beat the drum for _Irene Iddesleigh_, -a novel written by Mrs. Amanda McKittrick Ros (of Belfast). Neither of -these books, unhappily, is easy to lay hand upon. But as a possible -competitor, how do you like _The Spanish Sultry_, by Ambrose Dargason -(Harrisburg, 1905)? We have no copy, but once we took down some -extracts. - -Mr. Dargason’s hero was a window-glass merchant “whose nature was as -transparent and reflective as the goods he throve in.” This merchant’s -name was Wilbert Vocks; after his retirement from merchandise he spent -his time in travelling about looking for a suitable wife to inherit his -fortune. Unhappily, his inherent caution always caused him to sheer off -just when the reader was expecting the happy nuptials. The scene on the -park bench in Harrisburg, one moony evening, is a favourite of ours: - - In the anæmic brightness of the crescendo moon Frederica’s eyes - were gilded with the splendor of her sex’s softest charms. They - were frosted bulbs of allure, and Wilbert trenched delicately - upon her French-shod toes as a symbol of hardy waxing - tenderness. - - “Oh, Mr. Vocks,” said she, the beautiful coamings of her orbs - brimming over with cheer, “how many equinoxes will hereafter - wax and wane, search through this garden, but for one in vain.” - - “You are quoting the Rubaiyat,” said he, “but with indifferent - adhesion to the text.” - - “Adhesion,” she replied, “was never one of my frailties,” and a - trifle peaked [sic] withdrew to the distant angle of the iron - settee. - - Wilbert’s momentary harshness had already dissipated and he - regretted this intrusion of pedantic nicety upon the moonlit - promise of their double entente. “I bespeak a rapproachment,” - he gallantly murmured and, sliding deftly along the parallel - rods of metal subforming the trysting bench, found himself - chilled by coming en rapport with a section of the seat not - warmed by humane contact. - - “But you must not reproach me,” she taunted shyly. “It is too - plain that you were not brought up in Harrisburg, where men - speak chivalrously to women and good breeding is a native - filament of the tender air.” - - “Probably you are cold on that hitherto unfrequented segment - of iron slatting,” he said, shrivelling his inward tremolo by - an affection of stern brusque. “Why not slide over this way a - little, and chivalry commends my sheltering you from the sharp - fidgetings of frost which, however commendable to coal dealers, - betray the softer passions to gooseflesh and eventual snivel.” - - Womanly, without further quibble, she responded, and the beauty - of that unsophisticated face was shielded soon from external - examination by the protective polygon of his arm and elbow. It - was a generous moment, and in harmony with all the higher laws - of human sentiment. - -The delighted reader might be pardoned for thinking that in this -idyllic scene the restless affections of Mr. Vocks had found -satisfaction. But Frederica, after several evenings of intellectual -interchange, proved too shallow for his deep-laden mind. As Mr. -Dargason put it (his taste for oddly mixed nautical metaphors was -rather extreme): - - He grounded upon the shoals of her mentality and, after - striving vainly to warp off into deeper areas of thought and - sentiment, was forced to broach his cargo of affection upon - the outgoing tides. Only thus, by careening and jettisoning - his rich hatches of emotional freight, and scudding forth - under bare poles and jury rigging, was he able to win clear - to the open sea of freedom, escaping the lee shores of an - uncongenial union. The bright occulting lamps of her eyes shone - like desperate beacons, but he remembered that lighthouses - are intended not to allure the cautious mariner, but to warn - him away. He reefed his binnacle gravely, and with only an - aching heart throbbing in the empty hatches of his personality - determined henceforward to steer by the unquestionable stars of - intuition. Her soundings were too easily fathomed. In a word, - she was not deep enough. - -To quiet his melancholy, Mr. Vocks returns into the busy world of -trade. We have not space for very full quotation, but his discussion -with his business associates is worth a brief extract: - - As surely as my name is Wilbert Vocks (he said), I intend that - this business shall be conducted in accord with all principles - of integrity and without demurrage to trickery. I have been - allowed by fortune to make a frugal and circumstantial - inspection of the general laws and accidents of life, and it - is my conviction that by exploring the estuaries of remorse no - bill of lading was ever brought to consummation. My rudder is - uncompromisingly turned to the favoring gales of expedience, - and we will sail a vigorous course into the latitudes of - magnetism. - -In this admirable resolution Mr. Vocks was strengthened by his partner -(Mr. Henry Shingle), who is described as “a thrifty man the colour of a -glass of light beer, bleached brown by an open-air youth in Monongahela -County, but surmounted spiritually by the bright bubbles of aspiration -and elasticity. His clothes were neat and his habits orderly; of his -meditative components it is not necessary to surmise. He had not made -a habit of thinking profoundly, for he knew that any thought he might -have could easily be rebutted by more carefully trained men; therefore -he spared himself the embarrassment of argument. His management of the -Sales Department, however, was not to be criticized.” - -We wish we had taken the trouble to copy out more of _The Spanish -Sultry_ while we were about it. The Sultry herself was the lady to -whom Mr. Vocks finally succumbed: she caused the fracture of the -window-glass business. As the author put it: “Hers was not the clear -transparence of Mr. Vocks’s glassy nature; she was stained with violent -and ominous colours, and through the panes of her vehement character -there burst downpours of scarlet and lavender trouble.” - - - - -[Illustration] - -WHAT KIND OF A DOG? - - -“What kind of a dog is he?” said the Sea Cliff veterinary over the -phone. - -We must confess we were stumped. All we could say was that he is--Oh, -well just a kind of a dog. We didn’t like to say that he is a Synthetic -Hound, and that his full name is Haphazard Gissing I. We didn’t like -to admit, at any rate over the telephone, that one of his grandmothers -may have been a dachshund and that certainly one of his brothers-in-law -is an Airedale. But at any rate it was fixed that we should take our -excellent Gissing over to the kennels to be boarded while we were in -the city. - -Gissing’s behaviour was odd. He seemed, in some inscrutable way, to -suspect that something was going to happen. The night before his -departure he disappeared, and was away all night--saying good-by to -his cronies, we suppose. When we came home early in the afternoon -to convoy him to Sea Cliff he was nowhere to be found. But about -suppertime he turned up, looking more haggard and disreputable than -ever. There was a fresh scar on his face, and he was very hungry. He -ate his supper hurriedly, with no dignity at all. As soon as he heard -the rattle of his chain his spirits went very low. - -But the admirable creature was docile. Dogs are profoundly religious -at heart: they put their trust in their deities. Unlike cats, who are -determined atheists and fight to the last against fate, dogs accept -calmly what they see is ordered by the gods. Gissing hopped into -Dame Quickly without protest and sat in silence during the ride. His -nose was unusually cold, but then that may have been only the winter -evening. He had somewhat the bearing of one who is going to the dentist. - -Dog fanciers are always baffled and set at naught when they see -Gissing. But the Sea Cliff veterinarian made the most penetrating -remark when we arrived. He is accustomed, indeed, to dogs of high -degree--such dogs as are favoured by the North Shore of Long Island, -and Gissing was rather a shock to him. After a long look, “What is -his name?” he said. “Gissing,” we replied, with just a little of that -embarrassment we always feel when such questions are asked; for it -is generally shown in the manner of the inquirer that Gissing is an -unusual name, particularly for a dog who looks as though he ought to be -called Rover. So we said, perhaps a little defiantly, “Gissing.” But -the Doctor misunderstood it. “Guessing!” he said dubiously, and looked -again at the abashed quadruped. “That’s because he keeps you guessing -what breed he is.” - -It amuses us the more to have Gissing staying there, associating with -the lordly dogs of Long Islanders who are spending the snow season -in Florida, because we feel that it is rather like sending a child -to a fashionable boarding school. It is probably useless as far as -education is concerned, but it ought to be an interesting experience, -and he may pick up a little polish. Gissing may make friends with some -influential dogs who will be of help to him in future life; who knows? -It is expensive, we admit; but since we paid nothing for him in the -first place, and have used him liberally for copy, we feel that we -owe Gissing this opportunity to improve himself. At any rate, he has -promised to write us a letter from time to time, and we shall see how -he gets on. - - - - -[Illustration] - -A LETTER FROM GISSING - - - SEA CLIFF, L. I., February 13. - -Dear Friend, I thought that as to-morrow is Valentine’s Day I had -better send you a line to report progress and to wish you my respectful -greeting. This Dr. R with whom I am living is a fine man and he smells -good to me I heard him say something about a Dog Show being on in -New York now and I thought I ought to tell you what the old veterans -in this veterinary hotel say, they say not to go to any such show -because those things there are not Regular Dogs, not Red Blooded He -Dogs not Dogs as you might say with the Bark On. Of course at first -it was a bit hard for me here being as I am a self-made dog so to say -and not accustomed to associate with pedigree folks and I rather wish -you would send me a new collar, that old strap is about wore out and -to tell you the truth there is a little Airedale flapper in the next -cage that I would like to make an impression on, some of the boys have -those collars that are studded with brass spikes and look mighty fine -don’t forget my size is 16. As I was saying, at first things were a -bit unpleasant, there is a big collie who looked me over the first -morning I was here and said “Ye men, how do they get that way? Who let -this mutt in here among cultivated animals?” Well, I wasn’t going to -stand for that stuff, so I talked right back to him and asked him if -he had ever been in print, but I didn’t get it across very big because -he was so ignorant he didn’t seem to realize what it means to have -been written up right along in the _Evening Post_. By the way, I get -kennel-sick for the old paper, out here they all read the sensational -sheets and I wish you would tell the Circulation Manager to put me -down for a two-months’ subscription. All the other fellows here gave -me the razz when I told them my name, Gissing, what kind of a name is -that for a dog they said? I told them I was named after a Writer but -none of the roughnecks ever heard of him. But I noticed right away -that the little Airedale kid was interested, she seems to have some -imagination her name is Mistress Zephine IV and I understand that the -Airedales are a very fine family. I told her that it had been suggested -by some that I had some Airedale in me too, and she laughed and looked -a bit scandalized. Either you are an Airedale or you aren’t, she said; -there’s no half and half measures. Live and learn, I told her. Anyway -she and I go out for a walk together with one of the men every morning, -and I have got her quite interested in books, she has promised to write -me when she gets home and tell what kind of books her master reads. -When you write, send me a cake of flea soap, I want to make myself -solid with this dame. There is a whole lot I could write about, but -this is just to say that You are my Valentine. These dogs here all have -three-barrelled names so I will sign myself in full, - - Your affectionate dog, - HAPHAZARD GISSING I. - -P. S. Please write right away and tell me what is the name of your -publisher, I want to give one of your books to Zephine, when I told -her you were a Writer she wouldn’t believe it, I am talking you up big -all the time here, but it is hard work to get away with it because -appearances are against us; never mind, some day we will knock them -cold; and what is the name of your car, one of these fellows here -says he rides around in a Rolls Royce and I told him yours was a Dame -Quickly and he says there isn’t any such boat, it’s an imported car I -told him. Yes, he says, imported from Detroit; never mind, I’ve got -them all guessing, they’re all keen to see what kind of a guy you are, -I told them the story about the old trousers, I guess it was a mistake. - - H. G. I. - - - - -[Illustration] - -JULY 8, 1822 - - -It is to-day a hundred years since that sultry afternoon when Edward -John Trelawny, aboard Byron’s schooner-yacht _Bolivar_, fretted -anxiously in Leghorn Harbour and watched the threatening sky. The -thunderstorm that broke about half-past six lasted only twenty minutes, -but it was long enough to drown both Shelley and his friend Williams, -very haphazard yachtsmen, who had set off a few hours earlier in their -small craft. It was only some foolish red tape about quarantine that -had prevented Trelawny from convoying them in the _Bolivar_; in which -case, probably, that dauntless and all-competent adventurer could -have saved them. He was already dubious of their navigating skill. -So, if there is any comfort in the thought, one may conclude that -Shelley--though of course doomed to some tragic end, for skylarks do -not die in nests--was partly the victim of that invincible social and -bureaucratic stupidity against which he had always nobly chafed. - -Those of our clients who care to devote this week-end to some -meditation on Shelley and what he still means to us can well begin -with Professor Firkins’s excellent essay. Mr. Firkins, with his usual -clarity, lays pen upon a number of considerations that have always -occurred to Shelley’s readers, but are not often carefully thought out. -For our own part, we also have a mind to reread Francis Thompson’s -essay, which remains in our memory as a prismatic dazzle of metaphor. -But there are two items which, if our high-spirited clients have not -read, they should certainly take steps to meditate. Hogg’s description -of Shelley at Oxford is as lovely a picture of youthful genius as one -is likely to find: and Trelawny’s _Recollections of the Last Days of -Shelley and Byron_ gives the other panel of the portrait. It is surely -not often that chance bequeaths us such sympathetic observers for both -beginning and end of a great life. And then, of course, it is not -impossible for our clients to recruit their imaginations by reading -some of Shelley himself. If your hearts are what we like to think they -are, you may - - Rise like Lions after slumber - In unvanquishable number. - -But, for information about Shelley, Trelawny is the darling of all -hearts. There is something indescribably manly in his rough, cheery, -potent narrative, with its amazing vigour and humour. “As a general -rule,” says he, “it is wise to avoid writers whose works amuse or -delight you, for when you see them they will delight you no more.” -But Shelley, he adds, was a grand exception to this very wise rule. -One could happily spread several pages with excerpts from his -good-humoured, observant companionship with Shelley and Byron. But, -to commemorate the date now here, we intend to copy out part of his -description of the burning of Shelley’s body on the Italian coast. Fine -and gruesome as it is, we cannot help believing it not well enough -known among those younger clients whom we daily cudgel towards virtue. -Trelawny says: - - The lonely and grand scenery that surrounded us so exactly - harmonized with Shelley’s genius that I could imagine his - spirit soaring over us. The sea was before us ... not a human - dwelling was in sight. As I thought of the delight Shelley felt - in such scenes of loneliness and grandeur whilst living, I felt - we were no better than a herd of wolves or a pack of wild dogs, - in tearing out his battered and naked body from the pure yellow - sand that lay so lightly over it, to drag him back to the light - of day; but the dead have no voice, nor had I power to check - the sacrilege.... Even Byron was silent and thoughtful. We - were startled and drawn together by a dull hollow sound that - followed the blow of a mattock; the iron had struck a skull, - and the body was soon uncovered. Lime had been strewn upon it; - this, or decomposition, had the effect of staining it of a - dark and ghastly indigo color. Byron asked me to preserve the - skull for him; but remembering that he had formerly used one - as a drinking-cup, I was determined Shelley’s should not be so - profaned. The limbs did not separate from the trunk, as in the - case of Williams’s body, so that the corpse was removed entire - into the furnace. I had taken the precaution of having more and - larger pieces of timber, in consequence of my experience of - the day before of the difficulty of consuming a corpse in the - open air with our apparatus. After the fire was well kindled we - repeated the ceremony of the previous day; and more wine was - poured over Shelley’s dead body than he had consumed during his - life. This with the oil and salt made the yellow flames glisten - and quiver. The heat from the sun and fire was so intense that - the atmosphere was tremulous and wavy. The corpse fell open and - the heart was laid bare. The frontal bone of the skull, where - it had been struck with the mattock, fell off; and, as the back - of the head rested on the red-hot bottom bars of the furnace, - the brains literally seethed, bubbled, and boiled as in a - cauldron, for a very long time. - - Byron could not face this scene; he withdrew to the beach and - swam off to the _Bolivar_. Leigh Hunt remained in the carriage. - The fire was so fierce as to produce a white heat on the iron, - and to reduce its contents to grey ashes. The only portions - that were not consumed were some fragments of bones, the - jaw, and the skull, but what surprised us all, was that the - heart remained entire. In snatching this relic from the fiery - furnace, my hand was severely burnt; and had any one seen me do - the act I should have been put into quarantine. - - After cooling the iron machine in the sea, I collected the - human ashes and placed them in a box, which I took on board the - _Bolivar_. - -There are those still living who have shaken the hard, quick hand -that snatched Shelley’s heart from the coals. Sir Sidney Colvin, for -instance, who tells much about Trelawny in his _Memories and Notes of -Persons and Places_. And ghastly as the above account may seem to -those of tender sensibility, the parable it implies is too rich to be -omitted. Lo! were they not words of Shelley’s that winged the greatest -popular success in recent fiction?[A] And, though lulled long ago by -the blue Mediterranean-- - -that burning, reckless heart survives to us little corrupted by -time--survives as a symbol of poetic energy superior to the common -routines of life. “Mighty meat for little guests, when the heart of -Shelley was laid in the cemetery of Caius Cestius!” - - [A] If Winter Comes. - - The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, - Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams-- - - - - -[Illustration] - -MIDSUMMER IN SALAMIS - - -In midsummer the morning walk to the station is one long snuff of green -and gold. On the winding stony lane through the Estates, before you -reach the straight highway to the railroad, it is a continual sharp -intake through the nostrils, an attempt to savour and identify the -rich, moist smells of early day. That tangle of woodland we would like -to call by the good old English word _spinney_, if only to haul in an -equally ancient pun. It is in the spinney that you get the top of the -morning. Dew is on the darkening blackberries. Little gauzy cobwebs are -spread everywhere on grass and bushes, suggesting handkerchiefs dropped -by revelling midnight dryads. The little handkerchiefs are all very -soppy--do the dryads suffer from hay fever? As you emerge onto the -straight station road, it is comforting if you see, not far away, some -commuter whose time-sense is reliable trudging not too far ahead. When -that long perspective is empty anxiety fills the breast. Across the -level Long Island plain come occasional musical whistles from trains on -the other line--the Westbury branch. But the practiced commuter knows -his own whistle and alarms not at alien shrillings. - -In midsummer the subaltern life around us is grown lusty. The spider -is in his heyday and cannot be denied. Even indoors he shrewdly -penetrates. Looking for a book along the shelves, our eye was caught -by the hasty climb of one small spinner, who had been hanging on his -airy cord apparently also scanning the titles. To the top of the case -he retired, beyond reach. We wish him luck and hope no domestic besom -may find him. The young lumpish robins that used to flutter heavily -across the road, easily within grasp, fat paunches of feathers upon -incapable wings--these are now strong of flight and cat-safe. The young -rabbits with whom our woods are crowded no longer stand curiously in -the roadway almost until our foot is on them. They too are maturing and -have learned wise suspicion. The mole nightly increases his meandering -subway, which looks like a zigzagging varicose vein on the surface of -the lawn. And Gissing, untaught by menace or thrashing, every night -buffets down more of the phlox plants so carefully set out by Titania, -in his caperings with a roving Airedale from no one knows where. Only -the pond noises seem to have lessened in vitality. The frogs are -growing cynical, perhaps. In the sylvester midnight--thanks to Mr. -C. E. Montague for that pretty phrase--they utter only an occasional -disillusioned twangle, like the pluck of a loose bass string. - -But there are signs that the Salamis Estates, so long a rustic Nirvana, -are going to fall under the hand of civilization. Which will, one -doubts not, have its advantages. It will be helpful to have gas to cook -with; and sidewalks are enjoyable for baby carriages and velocipedes. -But we shall never forget the happy Salamis Estates as they still -are--the lonely roads through virgin woods; the little hidden lakes; -the old abandoned orchard buried in overgrowth of vines and forest; -solitude and sanctuary. It is our darling old horror of a Salamis -railway station that has spared us the evils of “development.” The -casual passenger looking out on that gruesome pagoda of claret-coloured -brick and the huddle of wooden shacks around it, can only think of -Salamis as a place damned and forgotten. When some of our neighbours -grunt about that station we think inwardly of it with affection. It has -spared us much. There are some people, of course, who really like to -live in an artificed toy park like Nassau Boulevard or Garden City. We -were raised on the books of Mayne Reid and Du Chaillu; we are for the -jungle. - -Yet we would not admit impediments to progress, if it does not rob our -rustic Eden of all its wilderness charm. And anyhow progress is coming -willynil. Actually, in the past six months, we have seen several houses -built on the outskirts of our region. The new Methodist kirk, though -apparently halted temporarily while our good dominy raises some more -funds, is already shoulder-high. Another church, years ago foundered -to the status of a saloon, now does brisking business as garage. The -little empty lodge at the entrance to the Estates, where we vote on -election days, will some day be a tea-room, we suspect. It is ideal -for that purpose, with its big open fireplace. In fact, we have heard -influential Salamites say that it could be had almost rent-free by some -really refined lady as a pekoe-saloon. Those who move the destinies of -the Estates think that a nice tea-room there would help the tone of -the neighbourhood. We pass this information on to ambitious ladies, on -condition we are allowed to have three lumps and an extra pat of butter. - -It is all very interesting, because we are going to have a unique -opportunity to see exactly how civilization works. We have watched -new signboards go up at the front and back entrances to the Estates. -Not long ago a hundred thousand people might have gone by and never -known our little world was there. We study the new board of a -Mortgage Company announcing Desirable Plots. Yes, we can see a plot. -Civilization is plotting to take us under its wing. We are going to -have a good look at this thing they call civilization and see how it -goes about it. Five years from now will we be able to see cows being -driven home from their daily pasture near our Green Escape? We are not -blind to omens. Just as lightning glimmers even through eyelids closed -in bed, so behind the leafy screen of our still scatheless sanctum we -can see the bright eyes of Real Estate men blazing in the sky. Well -... there are compensations. Our title is clean and clear, and our -second mortgage sticks to us closer than a shinplaster. Wait till they -try to buy us out; we’ll get some of our own back. - -So we meditate, partly as poet and partly as Man of Affairs, as we -walk homeward up the hill. The singing peanut-wagon of George Vlachos, -steaming its thin, pensive tune, comes clopping wearily down the road, -the white horse shambling a bit after a long day on the highways. FRESH -ROSTED PEANUTS, CANDY, ICE CREAM, says the legend. We note the pile of -fresh shingles beside the little house going up near the station; we -sniff the tang of mortar where our good friend Mr. Corliss will next -year be preaching the word of God in his new steeple-house (as George -Fox would have called it). We wonder where the Salamis Heights movie -will be, when it comes? That, and an occasional street-lamp up in our -tangled knolls, will make it easier to keep servants, very likely. And -think of having gas to cook with instead of those oil stoves.... Yes, -perhaps civilization will have merits. - - - - -[Illustration] - -THE STORY OF GINGER CUBES - - -I - -[_A letter from the Proprietor of the Ginger Cubes to his Advertising -Manager, who is ill in hospital._] - -DEAR RUSSELL: When I heard that you had been taken to the hospital with -a badly dislocated sense of proportion and exhaustion of the adjective -secretions, I was worried. The doctor said that you were suffering -from a severe attack of deprecation and under-statement, and I feared -that would mean you would be quite unfit to help me in the forthcoming -campaign for Ginger Cubes. But I hear now that a few weeks of silence -and relaxation will bring you round. I have ordered the _Police -Gazette_ and _The Nation_ to be sent you. Each in its own way is highly -entertaining. - -In our last conference, just before you were taken ill, you tried with -your usual energy and bullheaded vitality to persuade me to say a word -about the Ginger Cubes at the Paperhangers Convention. You made a great -deal of the point that this would be a vast gathering, and that it -would be excellent business for me to give them a “message.” - -I ask you to meditate this thought: give me a small group of folks -who are more or less interested in the same sort of thing that I am, -and I will “talk my head off.” But speaking to large, miscellaneous -audiences, many of whom are only incubating there to pass away the time -until the theatres open, is my idea of loss of compression. - -We have appropriated a fine promotion budget for the Ginger Cubes, -but I am holding up any action until I can argue the situation with -you. About newspaper advertising, for instance--I want your opinion as -to the papers which are read (1) most carefully, (2) by the class of -people to whom the Ginger Cubes are likely to appeal, (3) at the time -of day when their minds (and palates) are receptive--i. e., morning or -evening? For instance, do you think that people will be likely to be -tempted by the Cubes in the morning, just after breakfast? I think not. -I believe that the evening, in that faintness and debility that are -supposed to attack office-workers on their way home (especially in the -subway) is the psychological zero hour for the Ginger Cubes. - -Miss Balboa, to whom I am dictating this, says that she never noticed -any sign of weakness or lack of energy in the evening rush on the -subway. I believe it is worth while to get the feminine reaction on -this matter before we make any decisions. One thing I have always -regretted about you as an Advertising Manager is that you are -not married. Wives are often very helpful in these questions of -merchandising strategy. But perhaps you can question some of the nurses -at the hospital and get their reaction. - -In regard to these mediums, the question of circulation does not -cut any ice in my cynical and querulous mind. It is not a matter of -circulation, but of penetration, that excites me. - -The chemical laboratory reports that the Cubes will positively have a -soothing and tonic effect upon the digestive organs, and that we are -justified in saying so. Unfortunately they say that the Cubes cannot -possibly be of any value in combating “pyorrhea,” so we cannot go -riding on the other folks’ toothpaste copy. For your amusement, I have -thought up this slogan: - - +---------------------+ - | WHY NOT INVEST IN | - | A NEW INTESTINE? | - | | - | TRY GINGER CUBES | - +---------------------+ - -Which is probably too startling. But anyhow, when we have decided, I -wish our copy to be Cumulative, Concise, and Continuous. Then, ho for -the Ginger Cubes! - - Yours, - NICHOLAS RIBSTONE, - President The Ginger Cubes Corporation. - - N.R./D.B. - - -II - -[_A letter from the Proprietor of the Ginger Cubes to his Advertising -Manager, who is ill in hospital._] - -DEAR RUSSELL: I am glad to hear from Dr. Nichevo that you are doing -well. He reports that in your delirium you had visions of nothing but -full page insertions, so I realize that you must have been a very sick -man. I am glad you are coming out of it. The Doctor says that a little -quiet meditation on business problems will help to bring you back to -“normalcy.” - -So you might think this over. I have just been telling the boys at -our conference this morning that I want our advertising matter for -the Ginger Cubes to be distinguished. I’ve been much impressed, for -instance, by those ads that Childs restaurants have been running for -some time, in which they make use of historians, philosophers, poets, -and what not, to introduce the topic of food. I am wondering whether, -in your extensive reading, you have come across any literature in which -Ginger or Cubes have been written about in a pleasing, sentimental -strain? Miss Balboa thinks that Shakespeare said something about Ginger -being “hot in the mouth,” but I am a little afraid of that word hot. -How about - - +--------------------------+ - |THESE CUBES FROM THE SOUTH| - | ARE WARM IN THE MOUTH | - +--------------------------+ - -What I want you to do is tell me what the resources of literature are -in the way of quotations about Ginger. - -Some of the boys are much taken by a suggestion that has come in from -the Gray Matter Advertising Agency, who somehow got wind of our plans. -Mr. Gray, the Psychology Director of Gray Matter Agency, wants us to -mark the cubes with little spots of white sugar, so that they look like -dice. Here’s the joker: he wants us to pack them in little boxes in -which half the cubes will be marked as five-spots and half as deuces, -using the slogan, They Always Turn Up Seven. - -That seems to me a bit complicated, but I must admit that I’m rather -struck by the idea of advertising the Cubes as Digestive Dice. I’m -having the idea of marking them with sugar spots looked into, to see -what it will cost. I visualize a subway poster showing the cubes -tumbling out of a dice shaker, with the words Throw These for Good -Health. Do you think that is too distinctly masculine an appeal? But -think of getting this idea across to the lunching public, of always -carrying a box of the Ginger Cubes in their vest pocket (we could have -the box shaped like a little dice-shaker, hey?), they can use them to -throw for who is to pay the check, and then eat them. Can you put that -thought in twelve words? - -What a pity that neither of us is married, and has no wife to fall -back on for advice in this delicate matter. Miss Balboa, my new -stenographer, thinks that women would not be attracted by this gambling -note; she says that women are born Dutch-treaters, and do not fall for -the idea of settling the lunch-check by mere chance. Please see what -the hospital nurses think about this. - -This man Gray, from the Gray Matter Agency, is a whirlwind. He has shot -in some suggestive layouts for car-cards that make my head spin. These -are some of his aspirations-- - - +-----------------------+ - | DIGESTIVE DICE | - |MEAN LUCK FOR THE LIVER| - | TRY GINGER CUBES | - +-----------------------+ - - +-----------------------+ - |FOR A CHEW IN THE TUBES| - | CHOOSE GINGER CUBES | - +-----------------------+ - -And he has doped out a map showing the whole digestive apparatus laid -out like a subway system, and the Ginger Cubes keep traffic moving. - -All this seems to me a bit too unconventional, although I confess I am -amused by the originality. Tell me what your reaction is. I’m sending -you some of the Cubes to distribute among the nurses. - - Yours, - NICHOLAS RIBSTONE, - President The Ginger Cubes Corporation. - - N.R./D.B. - - -III - -[_A letter from Miss Candida Cumnor, one of the nurses at the -Hippocrates Hospital, to Mr. Nicholas Ribstone, President of the Ginger -Cubes Corporation._] - -DEAR MR. RIBSTONE: Poor Mr. Russell is still very weak, and has not -been able to write to you himself. Dr. Nichevo says that he has never -seen a more interesting case of complete exhaustion of the salesmanship -glands. He thinks that the patient must have been under a very severe -strain for a long time preceding the breakdown. I gathered from what -Mr. Russell said in his period of delirium that he had been trying -to sell by mail order a complete set of Tolstoy’s works, but by some -mistake had bought the wrong mailing list from one of the houses that -deal in such things. They gave him a list of members of the Ku Klux -Klan, and the returns on his effort were so disheartening that it broke -him all up. He was very queer for a while. But one delusion helped a -great deal. He had a fixed idea that the temperature chart at the end -of his bed was a sales graph, and the more peaks there were in it the -better he was pleased, for he thought that at last the K. K. K. were -beginning to fall for Tolstoy. - -At any rate, he is much better now, and asks me to write to you for -him. I must say that I think you picked a fine Advertising Manager for -your Ginger Cubes: I have never seen such an enthusiastic fellow. The -specimen drawings for car cards that you sent him are pinned up on a -screen beside the bed, and he hardly takes his eyes off them. He has -had all the nurses in the ward munching the Ginger Cubes, or Digestive -Dice as he likes to call them, and is asking me to make a note of their -opinions. He says he plans an interesting lay-out under the caption - - COMMENTS OF THE MEDICAL PROFESSION - ON THE GINGER CUBES - -I must admit that I find the Cubes very tasty and refreshing. - -To show you that he is really picking up, I will tell you that this -morning he asked me to send out to the nearest newsstand for a number -of magazines and papers, which he has been looking through with close -attention. - -But I must not deceive you. In spite of his enthusiasm he is still very -weak, and it will take a lot of building up before his merchandising -centres are up to par. It would do no harm if you were to send him some -stimulating books to read, such as Orison Swett Marden or Dr. Crane. - -By the way, Mr. Ribstone, someone in your office has made a mistake -in addressing letters to this hospital, the name of which is not -Hypocrites but Hippocrates; the spelling is nearly the same but the -pronunciation is different, after the name of a famous doctor of old -times. Now I must draw to an end, for the patient needs attention; this -is a long letter but he wanted you to know all about him. - - Yours sincerely, - CANDIDA CUMNOR. - - -IV - -[_A telegram from the National Drug Novelties Company to Nicholas -Ribstone._] - - Chicago, April 11, 1922. - -Hear interesting rumour about new lozenge Ginger Cubes to be marketed -by you would you consider entrance of outside capital in this venture -or sell outright trade name formula and goodwill. Believe you have a -winner. - - EDWARD GARTENBAUM, - President National Drug Novelties. - - -V - -[_A telegram from Nicholas Ribstone, president of the Ginger Cubes -Corporation, to Edward Gartenbaum of the National Drug Novelties -Company._] - -Decline discuss selling interest in Ginger Cubes distribution plans -perfected watch our smoke. - - RIBSTONE. - - -VI - -[_A memorandum sent to heads of departments of the National Drug -Novelties Company, Chicago._] - - OFFICE BULLETIN No. 38946 (Series B). - - Minutes of Conference Held in Directors’ Room, April 12. - -Mr. Gartenbaum reported that he had had a telegram from Ribstone -declining assistance in financing the Ginger Cubes. Mr. Gartenbaum -thought the matter important enough to warrant calling the directors -together. Was it possible that Ribstone had access to new sources of -capital hitherto unemployed in the drug trade? This seemed unlikely in -view of their own recent canvass. Mr. G. asked Mr. O’Keefe, who had -just come back from New York, whether he had been able to find out -anything definite about the plans for Ginger Cubes. - -Mr. O’Keefe said that he had found the trade greatly interested in the -rumours that had been current. It was said everywhere that Ribstone -had got hold of a formula that was a knockout, and that the Ginger -Cubes had caused more talk in pharmacist and confectionery circles than -anything since the Smith Brothers sold their razors. He had not been -able to get any very definite dope about the distribution plans, but -it was common talk that Ribstone intended to spend half a million in -the New York newspapers. He had heard that the Gray Matter Advertising -Agency was to handle the account. Mr. O’Keefe said that Mr. Gray was an -old friend of his, but going to Gray’s office to inquire he found the -reception room so choked with solicitors from the newspapers that he -did not wait. - -Mr. Oldham asked if this man Ribstone had had previous experience in -the drug specialty line which would warrant their believing he could -make a go of the so-called Ginger Cubes. - -Mr. Gartenbaum said that Ribstone had had no experience in that field, -so far as he knew, but that he was a very clever merchandiser and had -done big things with the Ribstone Memory Course several years ago. - -Professor Devonshire of the laboratory department was called upon -to ask if he had any idea what the formula of the Ginger Cubes -might be, and whether it could be easily duplicated or improved. -Professor Devonshire said that, speaking as a chemist, ginger had many -possibilities as a popular drug staple, that its principal constituents -are starch, volatile oil, and resin; that it has carminative and -purgative values, especially for dyspepsia and flatulence, and is -helpful for seasickness, headache, and toothache. He said that as soon -as the Cubes themselves were on the market he could analyze them and -suggest a variation in the formula. - -Mr. O’Keefe said that he had tried to get hold of some of the Cubes, -but that they were being carefully kept under cover. He believed that -Ribstone’s plans were still in the air until his advertising man, -Russell, was out of hospital. - -Mr. Gartenbaum asked if Mr. Russell was in hospital because he had been -trying some of the Ginger Cubes. - -Mr. Oldham said that he had been greatly impressed by the amount of -gossip in the trade about the Ginger Cubes, but he believed the value -of the thing lay not in any unique formula but in the cleverness of the -name Ginger Cubes, and particularly the additional name Digestive Dice. - -Mr. Gartenbaum agreed and submitted it to the meeting that it would be -well worth while to ride on Ribstone’s effort by putting out a similar -product with an equally catchy name. He instanced the way Eskimo Pie -was followed immediately by a dozen imitations, all very nearly as -successful. - -Mr. Sombre of the Promotion Department asked if Mr. Gartenbaum had -thought of any name as appealing as Ginger Cubes. - -Mr. Gartenbaum admitted he hadn’t, but said that his mind was working -on this matter and the only thing he had thought of so far was Ginger -Blocks. - -Mr. Sombre said he thought that was too similar to Ginger Cubes and -might mean legal proceedings. - -Mr. O’Keefe suggested Tingling Squares. - -After a good deal of discussion, Mr. Gartenbaum adjourned the -meeting, ordering these minutes to be sent confidentially to heads -of departments. Another conference to be held to-morrow at which -suggestions for a rival name would be brought in. - - By E. K. R., - Stenographer. - - -VII - -[_A letter from Allan Russell, Advertising Manager of the Ginger Cubes -Corporation, to Nicholas Ribstone._] - - Hippocrates Hospital, April 14. - -DEAR BOSS, I’m still a bit seedy but am getting better every minute -thanks to the care these “good people” have taken of me. This is my -first letter and it will have to be short. Just wanted to say that if -you still need an assistant in the office I’d like to recommend Miss -Cumnor, one of the nurses here, who has been taking care of me. She is -tired of the nursing job and wants to get into a “business position.” -Certainly she’s a mighty capable girl and her medical knowledge would -be of great value to us in marketing the Cubes. She is 23 years old and -ambitious. - -I’ll be out of here pretty soon now, I hope, and am keen to get into -the thick of the fight for the good old Cubes. - - Yours always - RUSSELL. - - -VIII - -[_A letter from Nicholas Ribstone to Allan Russell._] - -Ginger Cubes Corporation - - Nicholas Ribstone, President. - Theodore Carbo, Vice-President. - Arthur MacCready, Treasurer. - Simon Haggard, Secretary. - Allan Russell, Advertising Mgr. - - Executive Offices - 2216 Duane Street - New York - - Cable Address: Gincubes - - April 14, 1922. - -DEAR RUSSELL: Here are our letterheads. How do you like them? I am -sending some to the hospital so you can use them for any letters you -may need to write. Show them to the nurses and get their reaction. The -more they circulate, the better. - -This is just to tell you that I am going out of town for a little rest -over the week-end. We have got things pretty well lined up so far. I -shall be glad when you get back so we can visit together for I want -your advice. You understand advertising men better than I do, I guess. -To me, a great deal of their jargon is a mystery. What, for instance, -do you think of the enclosed one that has just come to me from the Gray -Matter Agency? Does it mean anything? - -Miss Balboa, by the way, is somewhat upset by a remark made by your -Miss Cumnor, about our error in spelling the name of the Hospital. -I’m afraid the mistake was due to my wrong pronunciation, which she -misunderstood. - - As ever, - NICHOLAS RIBSTONE. - - N.R./D.B. - (Encl.) - - -IX - -[_Enclosure, sent by Mr. Ribstone to Mr. Russell, being a letter from -the Gray Matter Advertising Agency._] - -MY DEAR MR. RIBSTONE: Obviously you intend, ultimately at any rate, to -have a nation-wide, or even world-wide, distribution for the Ginger -Cubes. You are going to need a large merchandising staff. I wish to -enlist your interest in our newly created Department of Salesmanizing. -Let us train your representatives before they go on the road, and -instil into the personnel just those qualities of enthusiasm and -confidence that go to make not mere salesmen, but Ambassadors of -Commerce. - -I solicit the pleasure of convincing you on this topic; in the meantime -let me briefly state the nutshell of our theory. - -In our Salesmanizing School, which is really a kind of Graduate -College of the Selling Arts, we seek to drive out from the student -all negative and minus thoughts, ideas of possible failure, business -depression, etc., and to substitute robust energizing concepts, -positive and plus in their nature. Many a man has come to us doubtful -about his own selling abilities, doubtful about the general condition -of trade, doubtful about economics and literature and even theology. -When they leave us, after a three weeks’ course under Mr. Harvey K. -Tidaholm, they have pronounced convictions. - -You wish to have your product--the Ginger Cubes--marketed swiftly, -cleanly, universally. There are four steps in this process. The -commodity must be - - (1) Institutionalized - (2) Publicized - (3) Distributionized - (4) Internationalized - -To bring this about, your representative personnel must be - - (a) Humanized } - (b) Stabilized } = SALESMANIZED - (c) Energized } - -It is on such matters as these that Consumer Preference and Dealer -Convictionability are based. - -I should like very much to have our Mr. Harvey K. Tidaholm discuss this -matter with you. I know that your reaction will be enthusiastic. - - Yours faithfully, - GEO. W. GRAY, - Technical Director, Gray Matter Advertising Service. - - -X - -[_A letter from Nicholas Ribstone to George W. Gray._] - -DEAR MR. GRAY: I am just leaving town for a few days rest. All -decisions have been postponized until my advertising manager returns. -He is now hospitalized. I will confer with you as soon as I am -re-urbanized. - - Yours truly, - (Signed, in absence, with rubber stamp.) - NICHOLAS RIBSTONE. - - N.R./D.B. - - -XI - -[_An article in LOZENGE AND PASTILLE, the weekly trade journal of the -throat tablet trade._] - - THE VALUE OF THE CUBICAL FORM FOR MEDICATED CANDIES - - BY BEN F. MENTHOL, - - Secretary of National Lozenge Men’s Chamber of Commerce. - -A great deal of talk has been roused in lozenge circles by the -formation of the Ginger Cubes Corporation, to manufacture and -distribute a new product called the Ginger Cubes. Mr. Nicholas -Ribstone, the head of the enterprise, while reticent as to details, -admits that he hopes to spring a surprise on the world of bronchial -tablets and breath-perfumers. We understand that the Ginger Cubes, -while more in the general nature of a confection than a medical -preparation, are based on a careful pharmacal formula, and will go -before the public on an appeal at least partly therapeutic. - -But what interests us is, that Mr. Ribstone’s venture again brings up -the necessity of standardizing the shape of the medicated sweet, if -lozenge men are ever to get back to genuine prosperity. At present the -lozenge and jujube world is in a state of wild disorder and lack of -intelligent coöperation. Post-war deflation has not been followed by -anything constructive. Lozenge men are cutting one another’s throats -instead of healing the public’s. Mr. Ribstone, unconsciously, has put -his finger on a vital spot in the lozenge industry. - -Hitherto the trade has manufactured its products mainly in four shapes: - - (1) Square tablet - (2) Round tablet - (3) Spherical - (4) Oval - -It will be evident, however, that for close packing and neat -appearance, the cube is undoubtedly an attractive shape. It is well -worth consideration on the part of the trade whether a general adoption -of the cube would not be advantageous. Moreover, a great economy -could be effected by standardizing cartons and containers. How can -the present debilitating fluctuations be ironed out while the whole -industry is proceeding on a basis of mere individualism? We do not wish -to disparage competition, which is the life of trade, but to advocate -a higher form of coöperating competition. The lozenge trade owes it -as a duty to humanity to take its part in the general stabilizing -and soothing movement. The inflamed throat of Commerce can never be -healed until lozenge men get together. There is no reason why the -breath-sweetener clique should be so jealous of the digestive wing, -both suspicious of larynx and bronchial men. We hope that at the -convention in June these matters can be taken up and constructively -dealt with. - - -XII - -[_A letter from Mr. Gray of the Gray Matter Advertising Agency to -Nicholas Ribstone, proprietor of the Ginger Cubes._] - -MY DEAR MR. RIBSTONE: I do not wish to seem too insistent, but I am -so interested in the success of the Ginger Cubes that I feel it is my -duty to inform you of the tested methods in which prosperity has been -attained by other manufacturers. - -I am so confident of your eventually deciding to place your advertising -account in our hands that I went ahead last week and had our Laboratory -of Merchandising Survey conduct a preliminary clinic in the local -field. Of course, you understand that you are not obligated in any -way; but I felt that this was the most useful mode of helping you to -envisage your problem. - -Just a word about our Merchandising Survey work, which is headed by Mr. -Henry W. Geniall. Mr. Geniall is a man who knows how to talk to dealers -in their own language; he is a born sales engineer. He began selling -in 1892 and has never stopped; though now he sells service instead of -commodities. He is the author of a book which has run through fifteen -editions, including the Scandinavian, entitled _How to Meet and -Dominate Your Fellow Men_, an autographed copy of which I am having -forwarded to you. - -The principle of our Merchandising Survey is to conduct a preliminary -investigation of markets, in a representative field and on the highest -plane of detached observation. Our Merchandising Surveyors are not -to be confused with the street men employed by the less professional -agencies. Most of them are college graduates; they are so tactful and -genteel that they are welcomed by the dealers as valuable counsellors -and coöperators; very often they are asked to stay to supper. - -The survey we conducted shows conclusively that there is going to be a -big market for Ginger Cubes if they are well publicized. We drew up the -inclosed printed blank and questionnaired 100 druggists in the uptown -section, just as a preliminary test. I have selected the inclosed at -random from the returns, to show you the kind of thing. The others are -being bound in a folder, which I will have much pleasure to lay before -you on your return to the office, together with a tabulated analysis. - -It is a pleasure to be able to put at your disposal all the resources -of Gray Matter Service. - - Faithfully yours, - GEO. W. GRAY. - - Technical Director, Gray Matter Advertising Service. - - -XIII - -[_Confidential Report of an interview with a druggist by a -Merchandising Surveyor from the Gray Matter Advertising Agency._] - - -INTERVIEW - - _Name_--Higgly-Piggly Drug Store. - - _Address_--673 Sunnyside Ave. - - _Type of Store_--Chain. - - _Party Interviewed_--J. K. Liquorice, Mgr. - - _Subject of Interview_--Ginger Cubes Canvass. - - _Approachtalk Used_--General Coöperation No. 3, as per Mr. - Geniall’s suggestion. - - * * * * * - - _What Brands of the following Does Dealer Sell_--(List in order - of popularity): - - _Throat Tablets_--Roko, Southern Soothers, Tussicules. - _Cough Drops_--Lady Larynx, Lotos Cone. - _Confectionery Laxatives_--Sugar Chew, Cascarilla. - _Appetizer Lozenges_--Paprika Pastilles, Curlicues. - _Digestive Tablets_--Stowaways, Cul de Sacs. - _Medicated Candies_--Sweeto, Spicy Chiplets, Candoids. - _Breath Purifiers_--Balmozone, Pineapple Hints, Clover Slices. - -_To What Does Dealer Attribute Success of These Best Sellers?_ -Newspaper Advertising. - -_Does He Push Any Particular Brands? If so, Which?_ No Answer. - -_What Methods of Manufacturers’ Promotion Produces Best Result for the -Dealer?_ Newspaper Advertising. - -_What per cent. of his customers suffer from Sore Throat?_ Ten per -cent. in winter. - -_What per cent. from bad digestion?_ No answer. - -_What per cent. from cacopneumonia (bad breath)?_ No answer. - -_What per cent. prefer a doctor’s prescription to a patent medicine?_ -Fifty per cent. - -_What Does Dealer think of prospects of Ginger Cubes?_ Excellent; -thinks name very “catchy.” - -_Does Dealer approve the subtitle “Digestive Dice”?_ Yes. - -_Will He Use Window Display Material?_ Sure. - -_General Remarks_--Dealer suggests we investigate what effect the -Ginger Cubes will have on smokers’ tongue; says ginger bites the tongue -after smoking, would not have percentage of ginger too powerful. - -_Name of Surveyor_--Richmond Brown. - -_Analyzed by_ Henry W. Geniall. - - -XIV - -[_A letter from Allan Russell, Advertising Manager of the Ginger Cubes -Corporation, to his employer, Mr. Nicholas Ribstone._] - - Hippocrates Hospital, April 18. - -DEAR BOSS: This is just to say that I am so much better I expect to get -out of here in a few days, and hope to be back “on the job” next week. -Dr. Nichevo says that I have made surprising progress and thinks it -is due to Miss Cumnor’s fine care. She is certainly some nurse. She -and I have gone over those papers you sent me, from the Gray Matter -people, very carefully. Miss Cumnor’s reaction is that we ought to go -slow about signing up with them. She thinks, and I am inclined to agree -with her, that they talk tripe. By the way, you didn’t reply to my -suggestion about our giving her a job in the office. She is certainly a -remarkable woman. - - Yours always, - RUSSELL. - - -XV - -[_A letter from Mr. Nicholas Ribstone to his secretary, Miss Daisy -Balboa._] - - Kill Kare Kountry Klub, - Wayanda, Conn., April 18. - -DEAR MISS BALBOA: I have decided to stay here a few days longer for -the fishing. Nothing much can be done in the office until Mr. Russell -returns, and it just happens that one of the big drug jobbers is -staying at this place and it will do no harm for me to get to know him -in a social way. Thanks for telling me about the Gray Matter portfolio. -I am interested to know that you are impressed by their enthusiasm. But -every one is enthusiastic when they go out fishing for a big one. - -Look here, instead of mailing the Gray Matter stuff, why not run up -here with it yourself? I will get you a reservation at the Bonhomie -Inn, which is near this club, and then we can go over the papers -together. There’s a train that leaves Grand Central at 4:20. The -little change would do you good, and there are several matters on which -I wish to get your reaction. - - Sincerely yours, - NICHOLAS RIBSTONE. - - -XVI - -[_A letter from Miss Balboa to Mr. Russell._] - -DEAR MR. RUSSELL: Mr. Ribstone is still away, but I am going up to the -country this afternoon to take him some papers, including your letter -of yesterday. We’ll all be mighty glad to see you when you get back. - - Faithfully yours, - DAISY BALBOA. - - -XVII - -[_A letter from Mr. Gray, of Gray Matter Service, to Mr. Ribstone, -proprietor of the Ginger Cubes._] - -MY DEAR MR. RIBSTONE: I was glad to get your note from Kill Kare -Kountry Klub, and to hear that you have been taking a few days’ -recreation. You will return, I am confident, much refreshed and eager -to take up the problems that confront us. - -I have been a little disappointed at not getting a definite -authorization from you to go ahead with our plans. We have had -tentative advances from other possible clients in this same general -field, but I have put them off, desiring not to take on any accounts -that might possibly conflict with the Ginger Cubes. To be perfectly -frank, the thing that has appealed to me about Ginger Cubes is the -bully opportunity for public service in a big way, and the chance to -institutionalize a product whose possibilities have filled the members -of our organization with unusual enthusiasm. - -Ever since we first began talking institutional advertising for Ginger -Cubes, a real thought impression has been epitomizing itself in my -mind, and our Department of Cumulative Service has been giving the -matter special study and analytical constructive investigation. We have -been going right back to fundamentals on this proposition, studying the -different sides of the problem along all its different angles. It will -indeed be a source of satisfaction if we are accorded the opportunity -to work with you. Our Mr. Geniall was saying in conference yesterday, -“I am convinced I would rather be associated with the Ginger Cubes -Corporation than any other company I know of, because what I have heard -of the quality of men that make up that organization and the quality -of service they would expect convinces me it would be an educative -experience to coöperate with that firm. The product-attributes of their -Ginger Cubes fill me with enthusiasm, and I feel that if they were our -clients we could work for them as personal friends, and not in any -cold-blooded businesslike fashion.” - -That is the way we want you, Mr. Ribstone, to feel towards our -organization. - -It is not our desire to merely build a number of advertisements which -may be combined together in a more or less connected series by some -such device as art treatment. Art is all very well as a handmaiden of -advertising, but for a monumental campaign you need the inspiration of -a Big Idea, a genuinely dominating thought that will clarionize every -piece of copy and tie the whole together in a culminating increment of -public consciousness. - -Advertising is either Product-Advertising or Institutional-Advertising. -The functions of the first are obvious-- - - A. Function is to sell product - - B. Means of accomplishment are - - (1) Directly presenting the product to the market - - (2) Urging the market to accept the product - -But Institutional-Advertising is far more psychological. Here enters -the supreme function of the merchandising arts, to create consumer -“good-will.” This may be defined as encouraging consumer-benevolence, -that is, educating the public to a sense of subjective interest in the -entire business, and a conscious awareness of benefit therefrom. A -feeling of friendly satisfaction engendered by Knowledge, Understanding -and Appreciation is the inception of this consumer-benevolence. - -The various factors that jointly and severally enter into these great -merchandising truths I will not insist upon. But it would give me -great satisfaction if you and Mr. Russell would meet the members of -our organization and talk the whole matter over frankly and fully. Mr. -Russell and your good self and the writer ought to get together in the -near future for a long, serious talk on the whole proposition. We could -not do nearly so well for you if our headquarters were not in New York, -where we can have daily intimate conference with your organization -headquarters. Our psychological director for the Chicago Territory, -Mr. Alfred Ampere, has been so stimulated by what he has heard of your -plans, that he wires me asking to be transferred to New York if our -proposition goes through. I am inclined to favour appointing him as -chief contact man, so that he could be summoned at any time within -twenty minutes if a conference were called. - -The objectives are all clearly defined, and we are ready to go to work. -This is simply to assure you of my own personal appreciation of the -splendid energy and fighting spirit your organization exhibits, and -to hope that from the very inception of the Ginger Cubes we may be -accorded an opportunity to coöperate in the public educationalization -which is the real satisfaction of the advertising profession. - - Cordially yours, - GEO. W. GRAY. - - Technical Director, Gray Matter Advertising Agency. - - -XVIII - -[_Story in the New York Lens, April 23, written by the star humorous -reporter._] - - CUPID COMES TO DOCTORS’ AID - - HOSPITAL ROMANCE CULMINATES IN PATIENT WEDDING PRETTY NURSE - -Allan Russell, advertising man, left Hippocrates Hospital yesterday -afternoon, completely cured of a stubborn case of nervous debility -that at first puzzled the doctors. With him, in a taxicab, was Miss -Candida Cumnor, one of the nurses, still in her uniform. They went -to the Little Church Around the Corner and were married. After the -ceremony, Mrs. Russell took her husband’s temperature with a clinical -thermometer. It was Centigrade A, or whatever the normal reading is. -She did not test his pulse, which was probably excusably fluttered. -Even a hardened reporter, who horned in on this story by accident, was -stirred by the sight of the bride in her crisp white linen. She has -golden-bronzy hair and indigo eyes, or they looked that way in the -twilight of the church. But what’s the use? She is now Mrs. Russell. - -During Mr. Russell’s illness Miss Candida had charge of the case. She -sympathized with his business problem--Dr. Nichevo, the Hippocrates -expert on nervous mechanics, said that he had been run down by -too constant intercourse with advertising agencies. She took his -temperature soothingly with that cold little glass tube. But what she -took away with one hand she gave back with the other. When her palm -floated like a water-lily across his commerce-heated brow his mind grew -calm, but his heart was caloric. As he became stronger she assisted him -with advertising layouts which were spread on the bed, and they pored -over them together. Why is it, we wonder, that reporters never have -time to be taken ill? - -Mr. Russell is Advertising Manager of the Ginger Cubes Corporation. He -and his wife expect to spend their honeymoon hunting an apartment. - -“Cupid is the best doctor,” said Mr. Russell as they left the church. -“I intend to keep the thermometer as a souvenir.” - - -XIX - -[_A letter from Nicholas Ribstone, proprietor of the Ginger Cubes, to -Allan Russell._] - - Bonhomie Inn, April 23. - -DEAR RUSSELL: Forgive my delay in writing, but I have exciting news for -you. Miss Balboa and I have decided to get married. You know that I -have always felt we laboured under a handicap in not being able to get -disinterested feminine reaction on the Cubes. Miss Balboa’s excellent -sense will be a great help. I dare say you will be surprised--I am, -myself. I had thought I was too old to become a Benedictine, but Miss -Balboa has quite carried me off my feet. I must not be sentimental, -however. We are going to be married here, to-morrow, very quietly. - -I should have written to you before about Miss Cumnor. I thought rather -well of your suggestion, but Miss Balboa has convinced me that it is -better not to add to our staff just now, at any rate until we get -things going. - -I’m sending this to the office, as I guess you have left the hospital -by now. Mr. and Mrs. Nicholas Ribstone will be back in a few days. - - Yours always, - NICHOLAS RIBSTONE. - - -XX - -[_Another letter from Mr. Ribstone._] - - Bonhomie Inn, April 24. - -DEAR RUSSELL: Just got your wire. Congratulations. It reaches me on -the brink of the altar myself. My Lord, man, you should have tipped me -off beforehand. It wasn’t necessary for both of us to get married in -order to get wifely reactions on the Cubes. If I had known sooner--but -anyhow, it’s all arranged now. - -Miss Balboa has just about convinced me that we will do well to accept -Gray Matter’s proposition. I wish I could consult you about this. -Perhaps you had better get in touch with Gray and have the papers ready -for signing when I get to the office. - -We can exchange wedding presents later on. At the moment I’m too -flustered to know just what happens next. - - Yours, from the jumping-off place, - NICHOLAS RIBSTONE. - - -XXI - -[_A letter from Allan Russell to an old friend, known to us only as -Bob._] - -DEAR BOB: There’s the devil to pay in this office. I’ve just heard that -old Ribstone has married Miss Balboa, his stenographer, in order to get -her unbiassed reactions on business. Now I know very well that Candida -and Mrs. Balboa-Ribstone will never get on together. This Balboa -person, for instance, has argued old Rib into believing that the Gray -Matter stuff is real. Candida doesn’t fall for it, says it’s the bunk. -I won’t go on as Ad. Mgr. if Ribstone accepts the Gray Matter contract. -I just want to ask you if there’s anything in your office that I could -take a hand in. You know my experience and qualifications. Let me have -a line. - - Yrs. in haste, - A. R. - - -XXII - -[_An editorial in LOZENGE AND PASTILLE._] - -We hear that Nicholas Ribstone, of the Ginger Cubes Corporation, has -sold out his entire interest in the much-touted Cubes to the National -Drug Novelties Company. This comes as quite a surprise to the trade, -as no specialty in recent years had aroused so much advance interest -as the Ginger Cubes. The figure paid by National Drug Novelties for -the formula, stock in hand, and jobbing contracts already arranged, is -said to be half a million dollars. We await with interest to hear just -how Gartenbaum and his associates will develop this property. In the -meantime the affair suggests some meditations on the desirability of -guarding the medicated confectionery industry against the machinations -of mere adventurers and speculators. - - (Walk, Not Run, - to Nearest Exit) - - - - -[Illustration] - -THE EDITOR AT THE BALL GAME - -(WORLD’S SERIES OPENING, 1922) - - -At the Polo Grounds yesterday $119,000 worth of baseball was played. -Of that, however, only a meagre $60,000 or so went to the players. We -wonder how much the accumulated sports writers got for writing about -it. They are the real plutocrats of professional athletics. - -We have long intimated our inflexible determination to learn how to -be a sports writer--or, as he is usually called, a Scribe. This is -to announce progress. We are getting promoted steadily. In the 1920 -World’s Series we were high up in the stand. At the Dempsey-Carpentier -liquidation we were not more than a parasang from the ring. We broke -into the press box at the 1921 World’s Series, but only in the rearward -allotments assigned to correspondents from Harrisburg and Des Moines. - -But our stuff is beginning to be appreciated. We are gaining. Yesterday -we found ourself actually below the sacred barrier--in the Second Row, -right behind the Big Fellows. Down there we were positively almost on -social terms (if we had ventured to speak to them) with chaps like Bill -McGeehan and Grant Rice and Damon Runyon and Ring Lardner. Well, there -are a lot of climbers in the world of sporting literature. - -One incident amused us. We heard a man say, “Which one is Damon -Runyon?” “Over there,” said another, pointing. The first, probably -hoping to wangle some sort of prestige, made for Mr. Runyon. “Hullo, -Damon!” he cried genially. “Remember me?” - -It must have been Pythias. - -So far we have only been allowed to shoot in a little preliminary -patter--what managing editors call “human interest stuff.” When the -actual game starts they take the wire away from us, quite rightly, -and turn it over to the experts. But, being inexorably ambitious, we -sit down now, after the game is over, to tell you exactly how we saw -it. Because we had a unique opportunity to study a great journalist -and see exactly how it’s done. It was just our good luck, sitting in -the second row. The second sees better than the first--it’s higher. -You have to use your knee for writing desk, and you have to pull up -your haunches every few minutes to let by the baseball editor of the -Topeka _Clarion_ on his way back to Harry Stevens’s Gratis Tiffin for -another platter of salad. But the second row gave us our much needed -opportunity to watch the leaders of our craft. - -It was just before the game began. The plump lady in white tights (a -little too opulent to be Miss Kellermann, but evidently a diva of some -sort) was about to begin the walking race around the bases against the -athletic-looking man. She won, by the way--what a commutrix she would -make. Suddenly we recognized a very Famous Editor climbing into the -seat directly in front of us. He was followed by two earnest young men. -One of these respectfully placed a Noiseless typewriter in front of the -Editor, and spread out a thick pile of copy paper. - -This young man had shell spectacles and truncated side-whiskers. Both -young men were plainly experts, and were there to tell the Editor the -fine points of what was happening. The Famous Editor’s job was to whale -it out on the Noiseless, with that personal touch that has made him (it -has been said) the most successful American newspaper man. - -This, we said to ourself, is going to be better than any Course in -Journalism. - -We admired the Editor for the competent businesslike way he went to -work. He wasted no time in talking. After one intent glance round -through very brightly polished spectacles, he began to tick--to “file,” -as we professionals say. Already, evidently, he felt the famous -“reactions” coming to him. He looked so charmingly scholarly, like some -well-loved college professor, we could not help feeling it was just a -little sad to see him taking all this so seriously. He never paused to -enjoy the scene (it really is a great sight, you know), but pattered -along on the keys like a well-trained engine. - -The two young men fed him facts; with austere and faintly indignant -docility he turned these into the well-known pseudo-philosophic -comment. It was beautifully efficacious. The shining, well-tended -typewriter, the plentiful supply of smooth yellow paper, the ribbon -printing off a clear blue, these were right under our eyes; we couldn’t -help seeing the story rolling out though most of the time we averted -our eyes in a kind of shame. It seemed like studying the nakedness of a -fine mind. - -“Jack Dempsey’s coming in,” said the young man. Or, “Babe Ruth at bat.” -The Editor was too busy to look up often. One flash of those observant -(and always faintly embittered, we thought) eyes could take in enough -to keep the mind revolving through many words. “I’ll take them, and -correct the typographical errors,” remarked young Shellspecs, gathering -up the Editor’s first page. Thereafter the Editor passed over his story -in “takes” and young Shellspecs copyread it with a blue pencil. Once -the Editor said, a little tartly: “Don’t change the punctuation.” From -Shellspecs the pages went smoothly to the silent telegraph operator who -sat between them. - -Our mind--if we must be honest--was somewhat divided between admiration -and pity. Here, indeed, is slavery, we said to ourself, watching the -great man bent over his work. Babe Ruth came to the plate. Judge -Landis is named after a mountain, but Ruth looks like one. There -was pleasant dramatic quality in the scene: the burly, gray figure -swinging its bat, the agile and dangerous-looking Mr. Nehf winding up -for delivery, the twirl of revolving arms against a green background, -the flashing, airy swim of the ball, the turbine circling of the bat, -the STRIKE sign floating silently upon the distant scoreboard ... -but did the Editor have time to savour all this? Not he! One quick -wistful peer upward through those clear lenses, he was back again on -his keyboard--the Noiseless keyboard carrying words to the noisiest of -papers. - -And yet, we had to insist, here was also genius of a sort. The -swiftness with which he translated it all into a rude, bright picture! -But he was going too consciously on high, we thought. Proletarianizing -it, fitting the scene into his own particular scheme of thinking, -instead of genuinely puzzling out its suggestions. He was honest enough -to admit that the game itself was mostly rather dull--and in so far he -was much above most of the Sporting Writers, those high-spirited lads -who come back from a quite peaceable game and lead you to believe that -there have been scenes of thunder and earthquake. - -But, like most of us, he tended to exaggerate those things he -had decided upon beforehand. He made much of the roaring of the -crowd--which, after all, was not violent as crowds go; and he wrote -cheerily of the bitterness of hatred manifested towards the umpires, -the deadly glances of players questioning close decisions. He seemed -to view these matters through a pupil dilated with intellectual -belladonna (if that’s what belladonna does). - -He wrote something about the perfect happiness of the small boy who -was the Giant mascot. Heaven, he said, would have to be mighty good to -be better than this for that urchin. But to us the boy seemed totally -calm, even sombre. What does baseball mean to him? More interesting, -and more exact, we thought, would have been to note the fluctuating -sounds of the spectators; a constant rhythm of sound and silence--the -hush as the pitcher winds up, the mixed surge of comment as the -ball flicks across, the sudden unanimous outcry at some dramatic -stroke. Or the ironical cadenced clapping and stamping that break out -spontaneously at certain recognized moments of suspense. - -But the Editor was going strong, and we felt a kind of admiring -affection for him as we saw him so true to form. He picked reactions -out of the ether, hit them square on the nose, and whaled them to -Shellspecs. Shellspecs recorded faultless assists, zooming them in to -Western Union. - -In the third inning the Editor hoisted a paragraph clean over the heads -of the bleachers by quoting the Bible. Mr. Bush, the red-sleeved Yankee -pitcher, was at bat and lifted a midfield fly. Bancroft made a superb -tergiversating catch going at full speed. It was beautifully done. - -For the second time, we thought, history has been made in America by -a Bancroft. “The human body is a wonderful machine,” ticked the busy -Editor. We watched Mr. Bancroft more carefully after that. A small -agile fellow, there was much comeliness in the angle of his trunk and -hips as he leaned forward over the plate, preparing for the ball. - -In the fourth inning the Editor was already at page 13 of his copy. -The young man with truncated side-whiskers then drew the rebuke for -inserting commas into the story. The other young man, sitting behind, -kept volleying bits of Inside Stuff. Scott came to bat. “This fellow,” -said Inside Stuff, “is known as the Little Iron Man; he’s played in one -thousand consecutive games.” This was faithfully relayed to the Editor -by Shellspecs, and went into the story. But the Editor changed it to -“almost a thousand.” This pleased us, for we also felt a bit skeptical -about that item. - -By this time, having noted the quickness of the Editor at -“reactionizing,” we were very keen to get something of our own into his -story. An airplane came over. Inside Stuff announced that the plane was -taking pictures to be delivered in Cleveland in time for the morning -papers. How he knew this, we can’t guess--very likely he didn’t. -This also faithful Shellspecs passed on. The plane was a big silvery -beauty--we remarked, loudly, to our neighbour that she looked as though -made of aluminum. A moment later the Editor, having handed a page to -Shellspecs, said: “Add that the plane was aluminum.” Shellspecs wrote -down in blue pencil: “It’s an aluminum flying machine.” But we mustn’t -be unjust. Very likely the Editor got the reaction just as we did. It -was fairly obvious. - -Sixth Inning--The Editor hit a hot twisting paragraph to the outposts -of his syndicate, but troubled Shellspecs by saying--Mr. Whitey Witt’s -name having been mentioned--“Is he a Yankee or a Giant?” “He’s an -albino, has pink eyes,” volunteered indefatigable Inside Stuff. The -flying keys caught it and in it went, somewhat philosophized: “Lack of -pigment in hair, skin, and retina seems not to diminish his power.” -Inside Stuff: “It’s the beginning of the Seventh and they’re all -stretching. It’s the usual thing.” But no stretching for the Editor. He -goes on and on. Twenty pages now. When his assistants put a fact just -where he likes it his quick mind knocks it for five million circulation. - -“Stengel, considered a very old man in baseball,” says the cheery -mentor. “He’s thirty-one years old.” To none of these suggestions does -the Editor make any comment. He wastes no words--orally, at least. He -knows what he wants--sifts it instanter. - -We left at the end of the Eighth. The Editor was still going strong. He -didn’t see the game, but we think he was happy in his own way. - -We hope we haven’t seemed too impertinent. We want to be a Scribe--not -a Pharisee. But our interest in the profession is greater than our -regard for any merely individual sanctity. We’ve given you a faithful -picture of what has been called supreme success in journalism. Take -a good look at it, you students of newspapers, and see how you like -it. We’ll tell you a secret. It’s pretty easy, if that’s the sort of -thing you hanker for. In a way, it’s rather thrilling. But (between -ourselves) it’s also a Warning. - - - - -[Illustration] - -THE DAME EXPLORES WESTCHESTER - - -We fear that the Salamis dealer in cigars, newspapers, and ice -cream cones thinks we are a low-spirited fellow. For ten days or so -preceding the Fourth of July he urged us every day not to forget to -buy our supply of firecrackers from him. Finally he grew so insistent -that we had to tell him the truth. We don’t believe in firecrackers -for small children, we told him. Well, how about some nice rockets, -balloons, Roman candles? he cried. No, we said firmly; Mr. Mackay, up -on Harbour Hill, shoots off about five thousand dollars’ worth of very -lovely fireworks every Fourth of July evening for the pleasure of the -villagers; why should we attempt vainly to compete? - -But of course, something had to be done to celebrate the Fourth. It -would be only just, we thought, to have an adventure that would give -pleasure to Dame Quickly, who has given us more innocent cheer than -any one else during the past year. Besides, she had just attained the -dignity of having travelled more than 8,000 miles. Excepting for two -or three tentative and brief excursions upon Manhattan, she had never -been off Long Island. We had heard, from time to time, that across -the Sound there lay a region of mystery and heyday called Westchester -County--a land supposed to be more aristocratic and splendid than -anything our lowly Paumanok could show. A land, they said, flowing -with gasolene and Eskimo Pie. But, in our timid and non-temerarious -disposition we had never ventured. The ferry from Sea Cliff to New -Rochelle ceased running during the war and has never resumed. The -ferry from Oyster Bay to Greenwich--well, we had once made inquiry as -to the prices; 25 cents per foot, measured over all, for the vehicle -alone, to say nothing of the fare for the occupants. But, then, we had -heard rumour of a humbler craft plying between College Point and The -Bronx. This, we had an instinctive prompting, would be the caper. We -determined to make the attempt. - -No one has yet (so far as we know) properly uttered the fine poetry -of a car that feels herself turned loose for the day upon unknown -paths. That strong, rigorous hum underneath the bonnet, the intelligent -questing look of her hood as it goes snouting along the road--these are -potent mystery. The Younger Generation, duly caparisoned for either -shine or rain, were installed, and ejaculated innocent defiance. Two -small and quite useless wooden rabbits accompanied them, emblems of -fortune and also of the Occupational Therapy Society (from whom they -were purchased). The Urchin and Urchiness were hopeful of storm; they -enjoy seeing a parent hustle to rig up the curtains. Some day we shall -fool them by getting a sedan. We have a name already chosen for her. -She will be Diana of the Crossways. The Microcosm, still too young to -care what happens to her, was a nugget of plump, regardless cheer. -Titania wore her khaki breeks, which are astoundingly comely. This had -all the earmarks of a Foray against Relentless Destiny. - -So, without hap--save for two grievous motor-bikers near Willets Point, -who had jammed their clutch and halted the Dame to beg the borrow of a -screwdriver--the equipage proceeded mildly to College Point. Here there -was secret applause when the official said that only 50 cents would be -necessary. That excellent ancient vessel the _Steinway_ was already -waiting. The Dame, with an air of skittish enterprise, trundled aboard. -Befitting a boat of such orchestral name, a person with the word -_Musician_ embroidered on his cap played a powerful concertina. Already -it seemed a literary excursion, for the chauffeur, studying his map, -learned that not far away was a region of The Bronx called Casanova. -Let this be a reminder, he said to himself, to read the frequently but -enigmatically commended memoirs of De Seingalt. The chevalier himself, -it is said, was once reduced to playing a fiddle in a cabaret: perhaps -this concertina person is also a virtuoso of quality in an ad interim -embarrassment. In the brass bowl ingeniously affixed to the machine of -melody the chauffeur contributed a nickel as cautious largesse to Art. - -On such occasions, adventuring in little-known parts of this great -panorama of surprise known as New York, we reflect sadly on our own -lack of enterprise in exploring its grim hilarities. Indeed we always -intend to spend all our time on the streets, where we are endlessly -happy and entertained; it is only a lack-lustre and empty resolution -towards answering letters that brings us to the office. By this time, -however, the _Steinway_ had reached Clason Point, and with a keen sense -of excitement we set forth to examine new lands and strange. - -The first thing to do was to lay in some lunch. On Westchester Avenue -our eye was caught by the sign _Bible & Son, Undertakers and Real -Estate_; right next door was a meritorious-looking delicatessen shop, -which we invaded. The young man in charge was much pleased. All his -family had gone away for a three days’ holiday and had left him to run -the store; the Fourth was proving shockingly tranquil, he said; he was -so gratified by getting our trade that he gave us a bottle opener for -the near-beer. We thought we were doing very well in our purchasing -when Titania entered and revised it, saying that sardines would not -do for the Younger Generation. Turning north at a venture, we found -the Williamsbridge Road, where lunch was enjoyed beside a damp, quiet -woodland. - -But it was after lunch, when we turned into the Boston Post Road, -that the real thrills began. On that famous highway Dame Quickly -seemed to feel herself really in swell company. But we were glad we -had not attempted it in our freshman days as a driver. Off in the -distance we could see Long Island, a quiet, blue profile: how calm it -looked. A vast vanload of elated coloured folk, packed ecstatically -on lurching camp stools, groaned uphill on low gear. All subsequent -traffic was stalled by this vehicle’s sudden halt, and we found an -impulsive flivver browsing along our fender. We began to wonder whether -Westchester was as élite as they had told us. We were startled, also, -by the number of kennels offering chows and those animals called -Pekingese. We were glad Gissing had not accompanied us: we fear his -hardy, vulgar soul would have scoffed. - -New Rochelle seemed an almost unnecessarily large town; much larger -than Long Islanders are used to. Larchmont is evidently very civilized. -In Mamaroneck, when we sought the waterfront, we found ourself -embarrassingly arriving at the front door of a private mansion. On such -occasions Dame Quickly, who is really a very noble creature, looks -suddenly paltry and shameful. We turned towards home, though we were -sorry to leave the view of the rocks called SCOTCH CAPS. These appealed -to all our instincts as a printer. And by the way: the low tide seems -to go much lower over there than it does along Paumanok. Real estate -men, we are told, always take care to bring their clients out that way -at high water. - -Titania had an eagerness to see Neptune Avenue in New Rochelle, where -she had lived as an urchin. She hadn’t been there for more than twenty -years and said it was much changed. Trying to discover which had been -the house, we found one for sale, and the door yielded to pressure. -Inside, in an empty room, was a gilt sword blazoned with emblems of the -Knights of Pythias or the Knights Templars or something of that sort. -Somehow this seemed like an ideal setting for a humorous mystery story. -We hoped that a crime had been committed; and yet the sword was very -blunt. - -We are still a confirmed Long Islander. - - - - -[Illustration] - -THE POWER AND THE GLORY - - -Dear old Dr. Johnson used to pray to be delivered from “vacillation -and vagrancy of mind, mental vellications and revulsions.” These -are also our most painful infirmity. The conflict of ambitions in -the mind is no easy problem. When one considers the career of a man -like Lord Northcliffe it is fairly evident that he knew more or less -clearly what he wanted, and went after it. He wanted to be a Great -Newspaper Proprietor, and he wanted to be a figure behind the scenes -(but the scenes need not be too opaque) in politics. He succeeded very -powerfully in all this, as competent and dogged men do when they have -a clearly defined objective. And in order to succeed in this manner, -it is fairly plain that he did not mind failure in the other realms of -life. Poetry, peaceful privacy, philosophy, and all the other pensive -pleasures that begin with a p, he was content (we imagine) to ignore. - -This business of making up one’s mind among the various ambitions -that an exciting planet offers is highly perplexing. There is one -part of our mind that hankers only for seclusion, rambling by lonely -watersides, and plenty of ink and paper. There is another unregenerate -lobe of our brain that would find a life of important trivial -bustling like Northcliffe’s highly diverting and agreeable. It must -be interesting (we sometimes ponder) to have a steam yacht, play golf -with Premiers, talk choppily and brusquely over the telephone to a -hireling Editor, and persuade oneself that the great laws of life are -coming to heel very nicely. There is no doubt about it, the business of -being a Public Figure probably has in it a great deal of exhilarating -excitement that keeps the mind from brooding and painful activity. - -We were interested to read in one of the papers not long ago a piece -about how a conscientious young man of wealth is studying to fit -himself for “public life”--which means, presumably, politics. It would -be profitable to hear a discussion from the local magi as to what -constitutes the best training for a political career. Aristotle made -some comment--didn’t he?--about educating a special class of public -servants--we must look it up in the _Politics_. We cannot rid ourself -of the idea that the most important feature of such a training would -be a considerable period of travel, to instil into the mind of the -intending statesman that no one country has any monopoly of wisdom, -humour, scenery, or good cooking. We have been much struck by the fact -that since the war young graduates of British universities who would -in earlier times have made their Grand Tour on the mainland of Europe -have been trooping hither in astonishing numbers to have a look at the -American scene. It has evidently penetrated the mind of the British -political-minded classes that social phenomena over here are important -and interesting enough to merit observation. - -Almost every reasonably high-minded young man has, we suppose, thought -at one time or another about the duty of going into politics--and then, -if he has any tincture of sensitiveness, has sheered off in alarm after -seeing the dreadful antics that the ambitious underling has to perform. -He has seen, perhaps, a current event movie of an Assistant Secretary -of the Navy marching gayly in a parade of The Elks at Atlantic City; -or, driving quietly past a Long Island picnic glade, has noticed a -gathering in motor trucks--Greenpoint Nest No. 653, Fraternal Order -of Owls--being harangued, preliminary to hot dogs and Eskimo Pie, by -a perspiring young man in white flannel trousers who hopes for a job -as Assemblyman. Do not misunderstand us: we are not mocking these -necessary small jobs at the foot of the political ladder. They have to -be done, and it is only right that they should be done by those zealous -fellows who can get some fun out of them. The life of politics, which -we study with increasing amazement, must be an exhausting and exciting -one, very foreign to the placid instincts of the philosophic observer. -The latter, if he is wise, will restrain his impulse to mock, and will -try to preserve that mood of affectionate scrutiny which is the only -permanently valuable attitude towards human affairs. But sometimes he -will think that newspaper men ought to be drafted, by an occasional -compulsory legislation, into Government service. After several years -of unrebuked privilege to snap and snigger at public men the tables -ought to be turned. Some of us who show, in our unmolested kennels, -such sweet untested wisdom, might well be hounded out to take a share -in the difficult, damnable business of making the machinery go. But the -electorate need not be alarmed. There is no real danger. At the first -tread on the stair the editor would be out by the window. - -But we were speaking of Lord Northcliffe. We have never made a careful -study of his career, but oddly enough we have always had a sort of -sneaking affection for the man himself while regarding that type of -person in general as extremely mischievous. We do not care at all for -these people who accumulate newspapers much as they would a number of -suits of clothes, and who hire editors to traipse round the world with -them as a kind of subservient mouthpiece. We are being told by all the -papers that Northcliffe “wielded terrific power.” Well, in a way, we -suppose he did; but it was a power that dealt mainly in ephemeral and -unimportant things. Even his greatest triumph, the Premiership of Lloyd -George, he could not permanently control. It was one of the oddities of -coincidence that on the day of Northcliffe’s death a cable dispatch -comes in telling us that four of Mr. George’s goats have won prizes at -a goat show. Mr. George has a goat farm, it appears. If it would not -seem heartless, we should say that Lord Northcliffe died rather than -have to read Mr. Lloyd George’s memoirs. He had a great spirit and a -huge ambition; but we cannot see in his career any evidence that Public -Life and power necessarily develop the finer and more sensitive parts -of man. - - - - -[Illustration] - -GISSING JOINS A COUNTRY CLUB - - -A number of our clients have been asking for news of Haphazard Gissing, -the Synthetic Dog. Since we have always been so candid with our -patrons, we shall have to tell the unvarnished story of the latest -surprising chapter in that romantic animal’s career. - -We say it with reluctance, and we say it with unfeigned sadness: we -have had to deport Gissing. Admirable creature though he was, active, -agile (you should have seen him play catch with a rubber ball), -sonorous at night when he suspected alien footstep, highly intelligent -and not devoid of a rude houndish comeliness--with all these gifts, -he was not congenial among children. We do not know whether it was -due to some dark strain of philosophy in him that rendered him too -introspective to understand the ways of juveniles, or whether it was a -blend of hot cavalier jealousy--at any rate, he never seemed able to -unbend properly among the extremely young. The terror that he inspired -in icemen and tinsmiths could be countenanced, but when he bristled and -showed his teeth at neighbouring children something had to be done. -It was the familiar problem of literature and life: here is an amiable -creature, well beloved, possessed (by some kink of breeding) with an -unexorcisable deviltry. We can leave it at that, and not harmonize the -theme with sentimental arpeggios. - -Of course the first thing to be done was to find a good home for the -exile. We consulted Dr. Rothaug, the kindly veterinarian of Sea Cliff, -at whose establishment Gissing took a cultural course last winter. Dr. -Rothaug told us of a farmer in that pretty suburb of Glen Cove which -is miscalled _Skunk’s Misery_, who was said to be looking for a fierce -watch-dog to guard his chickens. Thither we went, and found the farmer -milking at a barn on the lonely hillside. But just the night before -he had been given a tramp collie. We liked the look of the farm at -Skunk’s Misery; it was the kind of place where Gissing would have been -well content, but the farmer said that one dog was enough. That night, -very late, we let Gissing indoors, and shared a Last Supper with him -at the icebox. Perhaps we shall remember that he seemed just a little -surprised at the beef-bone and the arrowroot biscuits spread with -Roquefort cheese. Well, we said to ourself defensively, he was always -fond of Roquefort; there’s only a scrap of it left; and very likely -he’ll never taste it again. - -We refuse to be stampeded into any sentiment about this matter; we -always thought that Gissing, as he matured, was developing a touch -of the Thomas Hardy fatalism; he would be annoyed if we tried to -over-dramatize this incident. - -The next day the whole family was mustered to pay parting honours; all -hands were embarked in Dame Quickly; the condemned dog ate a hearty -breakfast, and with a bight of clothesline about his neck was escorted -to the chariot, his long unused hawser having vanished since the Urchin -used it to moor a full-rigged ship to a neighbouring sapling. By this -time the victim had suspected something amiss; his deeply stricken -cider-coloured eye was painfully interrogative. The Dame, however, -seemed to us a trifle heartless. Off she went, her cylinders drumming -with their usual alacritous smoothness. To a wedding or a funeral, -all one to her. Gissing, now probably reviewing inwardly the tale of -his errors (there must have been many of which we are ignorant: we -never did know where he went on those long daily expeditions) was (we -are pleased to record it) too honourable to attempt any insincere -repentances. He kept climbing into the laps of his guardians, but the -ironist insists that this was not all affection, but rather that the -vibration of the floorboards tickled his pads. There was an occasional -secret caress, both given and taken, but we know our clients are too -stiff in the bosom to want to hear about such matters. The younger -generation, in the back seat, were eager to see the country club that -Gissing was going to join. So had the matter been explained to them. - -Across those autumn-tinted fields of central Long Island--all -colours of pink and fawn and panther with the weathered shrivelling -corn-shocks like old ghost-Indian tepees, and the pumpkins bright in -the stubble--we proceeded to the Bide-a-Wee Home, which lies tucked -away in the woods near Wantagh. This place had been to us only a name, -and indeed we knew not exactly what to expect. Great was our pleasure -to find a charming old farmhouse with great barns and outhouses, and -an immediate clamour from hundreds of dogs running gayly in fenced -inclosures, and lesser dogs, both hale and cripple, about the yard. -Gissing hopped out blithely: his tail lifted sharply over his back, -feathering downward as it curved: the warm October air, one supposes, -came to him sharply barbed with the aromas of innumerable congenials. -He was very much alive, and walked nimbly on cushion toes. Holding the -rope, we walked among the barns, saluted by prodigious applause from -all sides. Even an inclosure full of cats showed gracious interest. The -conclusion drawn by the Younger Generation was that Gissing’s friends -were glad to see him. Then came a genial curator, Gissing was led to a -wire gate, and introduced into an orchard plot among about thirty more -or less his own size. There was a good deal of bristling and growling, -but he stood his ground calmly while a dozen or so of his new clubmates -inquired into his credentials. - -We had been somewhat troubled by the signboard of the Bide-a-Wee, which -calls itself a _Home for Friendless Animals_. We wished to impress -upon the curator that Gissing was far from friendless, but we soon -found that the legend on the board was inaccurate. Many very well-loved -animals go there, for one reason or another; the organization tries -to find a suitable home for all the beasts in its care; the name -and characteristics of each are entered in a ledger when it arrives, -and, if he so desires, the previous owner is notified when the animal -goes to its new home. We were pleased to learn also that much of the -broken bread from the Waldorf and Vanderbilt Hotels is shipped out to -the Bide-a-Wee; so, if you are lunching there and don’t finish your -roll, perhaps Gissing will get it. (He is particularly fond of the -crescent-shaped ones, with little black specks on them.) The Home is -supported by voluntary contribution. In the record book we inscribed -Gissing’s biography very briefly: - - GISSING: _origin doubtful: two years old: has always had a good - home. A fine watch-dog, but not good with children._ - -We would have liked to go on, for much more might have been said. We -would have liked to tell the friendly curator that this very week -(by the quaint irony of circumstance) a book is to be published of -which Gissing--somewhat transformed--is the hero. But we thought it -best not to mention this, lest it get around among the other members -and they taunt Gissing about it. We were happy to leave him in so -congenial and friendly a home. And if any of our clients happen to -need a good dog for a lonely country place--a dog who is perhaps too -intellectual and excitable for children, but a tocsin of excellent -acoustic strength--there you’ll find him. He has promised to write to -the Urchiness, provided she eats her cereal a little faster. - -As we left, Gissing was standing on his hind legs looking through the -fence. He wailed just a little. It would be less than justice (to both -sides) not to admit it. Like Milton’s hero leaving the Garden, “a few -natural tears he shed, but dried them soon.” As the friendly curator -said, “By to-morrow he’ll think he’s lived here all his life.” On the -way home, there being more room in the Dame, a supply of cider was laid -in for consolation. Last night it seemed just a little strange to visit -the icebox all alone. To-morrow, perhaps, we shall take lunch at the -Waldorf. - - - - -[Illustration] - -THREE STARS ON THE BACK STOOP - - -Before starting on our new notebook we have been looking over the old -one. We are painfully astonished to see so many interesting ideas that -we never turned to account. - -We see no reason for being ashamed of using a memorandum book to jot -down casual excitements in the mind. If you are really interested in -what goes on inside your head, that is the only possible way to keep -track of those flittermice of thought. Astronomers spend much time -examining the Great Nebula in Orion, and other pinches of star dust -that circumspangle the universe. It is equally important to scrutinize -those dim patches of mental shining where, once in a while, one -suspects the phosphorescent emergence of Truth. Unhappily, most of -the ideas jotted down for sonnets and meditations never get anything -done to them. They lie there unexercised, and once a year or so, when -we run through the pile of old notebooks just to cheer ourself up, we -are newly gratified to see how many occasions for thought the world -suggests. Often, however, we aren’t quite certain just what we meant. -For instance, scattered through our now discarded memoranda we find the -following cryptic entries: - - _The army of unalterable bunk._ - - _Prayers for newspaper men._ - - _Nesting season for mares._ - - _Who wrote the line “A rose-red city half as old as time”?_ - - _The current fetiches, taboos, and hokums are as hard to expel - from the mind as the deboshed melody of some vulgar popular - song._ - - _As a child, the phrase “civil engineer” puzzled me--the - civility or civics of engineering I could not comprehend._ - - _It’s a mistake to conclude that the result of an action was - necessarily included in the purpose: i. e. Effects overlap - Causes, e. g. The Tariff._ - - _If every day we are surrounded by astonishment and unexpected - adventures in the actual realm, why may it not also be true in - the spiritual?_ - - _Kipling is the kind of man who, after half a dozen visits to - the dentist, would have been able to write a story filled with - accurate technical details of dental science._ - - _Sign on Italian restaurant on Park Place_: IF YOUR WIFE CAN’T - COOK DON’T DIVORCE HER--KEEP HER AS A PET, AND EAT HERE. - - _Sign on a Manicure Parlour_: SPECIAL ATTENTION PAID TO OTHER - GIRLS’ FELLOWS. - - _Potboiling--the crackling of a crown of thorns under a pot._ - - _Biography is impossible. There’s no such thing._ - -Well, the preceding items, lifted more or less at random from one of -these notebooks, are sufficient to explain the sense of mystification -with which one examines old memoranda. And yet one always hopes that -he may chance upon some germ of thought which is worth the fun of -expanding it. It reminds us rather of the Janitor Emeritus of the -_Post_, an elderly and pensive darkness, who has a fixed idea that some -day he is going to find something precious in the various rubbish of -the office, and is to be seen gravely poking into baskets and canisters -of jetsam in the hope of motion picture magazines, tobacco, and -detective stories. - -But among these fugitive and sudden scribbles we did find one notation -that brings back to us more or less clearly what we had in mind. It was -written thus: _People in N. Y. no rooted sense of place._ - -We had been thinking of the curious life of those who dwell in city -apartments. We are a great lover of apartments every now and then, for -a briefly adventurous term; and certainly every one who has read Simeon -Strunsky’s admirable book _Bellshazzar Court_ will have realized how -fecund with human episode these great, dense barracks are. But there -can be no good life for very long unless one has an opportunity to -plant feet on actual soil; to be close witness of earth’s colours and -seasons; to be able (sovereign pleasure of all) to go out at night and -make the circuit of one’s terrain and recognize a few stars. There are -three stars, for instance, that we see (at certain seasons) from the -back stoop when we visit the icebox towards midnight. We suspect them -of being the trio known as Orion’s Belt. Anyhow, part of our pleasure -in life is to notice them occasionally and know that they are still -there, or _were_ still there when those agile beams left them to -vibrate across all the light-years between us. - -Orion’s Belt, by the way, seems to be a Sam Browne, for it is tilted up -diagonally. We will show you exactly what his starry girth looks like, -so you can recognize it:-- - - * - - * - - * - -The simple and sensuous pleasures of place are not so easy to enjoy -in the city. There is a feeling of unreality, of human and mechanical -interposition, when you are snugly nested in a niche of a stone cliff -fifteen stories high. Something stands between you and the realization -of earth. That something may be fine, comfortable, reassuring, it may -be highly stimulant for the mind; but there is also a loss to the -spirit. It is a loss not to be able to see exactly how Nature tints her -tapestry curtain of gold and bronze, behind which she quietly shifts -the scenes for the next act; and then suddenly the curtain is shredded -away; the landscape widens and is transvisible to the eye; going out on -the porch at night you find the trees full not of leaves but stars. - -This is a large topic: we can only hint at it. Science, criticism, -ethics, these are urbane. Poetry and religion are rustic. Poetry -particularly--whether the writing or the reading of it--thrives -best where there is silence and the foundation on earth. The solid -satisfaction of visiting one’s own cellar and the brightness of one’s -own furnace grate, actually set down inside the shell of earth’s crust; -of knowing one’s own chimney shaft open topward to the sky; the fall -of autumn acorns rattling on the roof--are sentiments felt rather than -understood. But from that quiet fertility of feeling understanding -grows gradually. You must be quiet with things before you can love -them; and you must love them before you can write about them. - -But very likely these fragmentary ideas are true only for those who -believe them. It is a way ideas have. - - - - -[Illustration] - -A CHRISTMAS CARD - -[_December, 1921_] - - -As the Christmas season approaches, it sits heavily upon our mind that -there are some to whom we should like to say a word of respectful -admiration. First of these is Woodrow Wilson. This, you may think, is -a gesture both irrelevant and impertinent on our part. We cannot help -it. We feel, as the Friends say, a “concern.” The conjunction of the -Christmas month, the Conference on Limitation of Armaments, the hopes -and memories of all honest men, Mr. Wilson’s coming birthday, makes the -occasion irresistible. There are some things that must be said. - -Woodrow Wilson has found the peace he sought. Never before, perhaps, -did a public man enjoy such posthumous privilege in his own lifetime. -He has joined (in Melville’s noble phrase) “the choice hidden handful -of the divine inert.” This phrase requires scrutiny. The divinity -is not ascribed to Mr. Wilson, but to inertia. Silence, thought, -withdrawal from the maddening struggles of mankind--these are divine; -these are godlike. If there were ever any doubt as to his having -qualities of true greatness, consider the patience and decency of his -present silence. It is a silence, one feels, not of bitterness but of -honourable dignity. - -Sometimes, tucked away in the papers, one finds a single line or so -that gives us more to ponder than all the rest of the day’s news. Such -an item was the following, quoted lately by Mr. Tumulty as having been -said by Mr. Wilson to one of his advisers at the Paris Conference: - - “M. Clemenceau called me a pro-German and abruptly left the - room.” - -They said this man was impatient and stubborn. Yet he endured insult -calmly in the pursuit of his strangely hoped-for peace. - -The post-Armistice career of Mr. Wilson has been called a tragedy. We -do not see it so. The Paris Conference--it is easy to see it now--was -foredoomed to a certain measure of failure. On sand one puts up a tent, -not a house. Moreover, in so far as that Conference is concerned, Mr. -Wilson has suffered a double fatality. He has never spoken candidly -for himself; he has been unfortunate in those who have spoken for him. -It has been the habit of those naïf and loyally affectionate souls who -have been closest to him to assure us of his subtlety and quicksilver -craft. We cannot see it. He has seemed to us, always, a man of genuine -simplicity--what would have been called, at one time, a _righteous_ man. - -It is an odd thing that when you say a character is rooted in -simplicity and piety some will conclude that you are sneering. His -character is a great character. Those influences which shake and -unsettle men’s fibre more than anything else it has endured in full -measure--adulation and hatred. The anger and mockery which were -lavished upon Wilson are interesting to contemplate. But, so far -as one can see, they did not trouble that stubborn zeal. There was -a Cromwellian grimness and singleness of heart in his battle with -Europe. You remember what Cromwell said (if Carlyle can be trusted as a -reporter)-- - - “Would we have Peace without a Worm, lay we Foundations of - Justice and Righteousness.” - -For that he struggled, burdening himself beyond human strength. For -that he compromised, as all men do. For that he incurred the malice of -all aspirants--both the pure and the impure. - -It is amazing to remember the power and depth of that malice. In a -perverse way, it is almost encouraging to remember it: it proves so -excellently that this earth is still the fallen star, the cindered -Eden, in which merely human failings incur more than human angers. What -a gruesome life that of politics must be! And yet when, in our recent -history, were more positive virtues and high-minded hopes brought into -the muddled ferment of national politics? Do you remember how this man -lay at death’s door for many silent months, and how ill suppressed -were the satisfaction and the sneer? What was his crime? We used to -wonder. Only that he had believed the world was ripe for some strokes -of simplicity and unselfishness. - -Little by little the minds of fair-hearted men are returning to -realization and gratitude. There is nothing now accomplished, or even -accomplishable, in matters of international dealing, that Woodrow -Wilson was not fighting for three years ago. The granolithic minds -of the old stand-patters and the luxurious sniffs of young, hot -doctrinaires formed for a while a quaint partnership of scorn. Nor -would we ourself deny that there were many things to lament. But -the world still waits for a competent, understanding, and judicial -expression of Woodrow Wilson’s service to men. It was not a perfect -service, for it was marred by necessary mortal blunders and qualms. -For that perhaps we reverence it the more. And when the just tribute -comes, perhaps it will come from the hand of some great writer to whom -the puerilities of partisan squabble fade into their deserved shadow; -to whom the humour and the pathos will be evident; and most evident of -all, the dignity and austerity of a great human hope, frustrated and -postponed, but an addition to the honour of the race. Perhaps it will -come from the hand of some great dramatist, with the dramatist’s art -that can revive great figures, great moments; can purge the occasion -of what was merely peevish and fortuitous, and remind us of truths and -visions we lost in the hurly-burly of the time. - -It is sheer selfishness on our part to hope that some such expression -may come soon. We are jealous for the credit of this generation. We -are proud to have lived in days when men suffered so hideously and -yet did and said and wrote great things. We would like it to be said -of this generation that it recognized greatness in its own time. That -would be an honourable thing to be able to say. Have we erected, from -our imagination, a figure that is not really there? We think not. And -so, with humility and hesitation, but impelled by a motive we cannot -resist, we would like to say to Woodrow Wilson that there are many who -gratefully wish him Merry Christmas. - - - - -[Illustration] - -SYMBOLS AND PARADOXES - - -We always suspected, after reading _The Flying Inn_, that G. K. -Chesterton is fond of dogs. And now, reading his book, _The New -Jerusalem_ (which is full of very gorgeous matter), we learn that at -his home in Beaconsfield he is host to both a dog (called “Winkle”) and -a donkey (called “Trotsky”). Very genial is his picture of the start of -his pilgrimage to Palestine and his last farewell to these beasts: - - The reader will learn with surprise that my first feeling - of fellowship went out to the dog; I am well aware that I - lay open my guard to a lunge of wit.... He jumped about me, - barking like a small battery, under the impression that I was - going for a walk; but I could not, alas, take him with me on a - stroll to Palestine.... The dog’s very lawlessness is but an - extravagance of loyalty; he will go mad with joy three times - on the same day at going out for a walk down the same road. We - hear strangely little of the real merits of animals; and one - of them surely is this innocence of all boredom; perhaps such - simplicity is the absence of sin. I have some sense myself - of the sacred duty of surprise; and the need of seeing the - old road as a new road. But I cannot claim that whenever I go - out for a walk with my family and friends, I rush in front of - them volleying vociferous shouts of happiness; or even leap - up round them attempting to lick their faces. It is in this - power of beginning again with energy upon familiar and homely - things that the dog is really the eternal type of the Western - civilization. - -The only thing that bothers us in this: If it had occurred to G. K. C. -to prove that the scraper on his doorstep, or the radish growing in -the garden, was the “eternal type” of Western civilization, would he -not have made out an equally agreeable and convincing case for it? In -fact, only a few steps away from his home, he came to the crossroads -(and well we remember that crossroads, and the pub thereby--which is -it, Mr. Chesterton: the _Saracen’s Head_, or the _Royal White Hart_?) -and there decided that they were the symbol of civilization which had -lost its way. And then, a few minutes later (in the train, we suppose) -the glorious creature was noticing the heavy clouds that lay over the -landscape, and decided that _they_ were the emblem of our civilization. -It takes a good deal of agility to pursue our pilgrim through this -book, for every olive tree, signboard, sunset, gateway, proves to be a -magnificent symbol of some spiritual gorgeousness. - -We were sorry that Mr. Chesterton, when leaving Beaconsfield, did -not find some symbolism in a thing which impressed us when we went -pilgriming in those parts. Edmund Burke lived there at one time, and -we remember reading in some guide-book that his home was “bounded in -front by a ha-ha.” We thought to ourself at that time, how excellently -symbolic it would have been if G. K. C. had bounded his own house in -the same way. In fact, we often went along his road to listen for it. - -There was another bit of symbolism that used to impress us (it is -surprising how quickly one can pick up the habit of symbolizing) when -we dallied around Beaconsfield. That was that Edmund Waller is buried -under the big walnut tree in the churchyard: - - _Edmundi Waller hic jacet - id quantum morti cessit_ - -And we thought it pleasant that Mr. Chesterton should have settled -in the village sacred to the poet who wrote the loveliest poem ever -written on girth--or, rather, on slenderness. You remember, of course, -his “On a Girdle.” - -The average person dearly loves a label--also a libel: and Mr. -Chesterton’s gnomes--which are sometimes nuggets, sometimes merely -nugæ, but always golden--are ticketed as “paradoxes” by those who have -small inkling of what a paradox really is. The best definition was that -of Don Marquis, our happiest native contemporary practitioner in this -art, when he said that if the positive and negative poles of a truth -are bent until they meet (or approach) a spark flashes across. - -The paradox is the oldest outcry of the philosopher on contemplating -the absurdity of the world. Originally a paradox was simply a -surprise--a statement contrary to generally accepted opinion, and -very likely untrue. As Hamlet said: “This was sometime a paradox, but -now the time gives it proof.” But latterly we do not grant the virtue -of paradox unless the epigram fulfils a double requirement: it must -_seem_ absurd; it must _be_ true, or at any rate true enough to give -the mind a sense of cheerful satisfaction. Its essence is that of -surprise--which is the essence of humour. - -The intellectual growth of humanity is shown by its increasing -tolerance of the paradox. The greatest of all Paradoxers was crucified. -Every true paradox is a little parable of human fallibility. A parabola -is a conic section; a parable, one might say, is a comic section. - -Mr. Chesterton once, in a delightful essay called “Christmas,” said -something that lingers in our mind as an exhibition of the paradox both -in its strength and weakness. He wrote: - - It is not uncommon nowadays for the insane extremes in reality - to meet. Thus I have always felt that brutal Imperialism and - Tolstoian nonresistance were not only not opposite, but were - the same thing. They are the same contemptible thought that - conquest cannot be resisted, looked at from the two standpoints - of the conqueror and the conquered. Thus again teetotalism and - the really degraded gin-selling and dram-drinking have exactly - the same moral philosophy. They are both based on the idea that - fermented liquor is not a drink, but a drug. - -Now a moment’s thought will show the reader that while these two -paradoxes are equal in wit, they are not equal in truth. The second -is gloriously true; the first, delightfully acute as it is, begs the -question. For the Tolstoian will retort that he does not maintain -that conquest cannot be resisted; but that, on the contrary, it _is_ -resisted and defeated by passive oppugnance. - -The paradox holds the mirror up to nature, but it is not a plane -mirror. It dignifies human nature by assuming that the mind is capable -of viewing itself in the refraction of absurdity. Thoughtless people -speak of the paradox as a reduction to absurdity. That is not so. There -are some subjects that have to be elevated to absurdity. - -In conclusion: it is a dangerous tool. It must be gingerly handled lest -it become--like the pun--a mere verbicide. And towards the fair sex, -beware of paradoxes. They esteem but rarely its prankish tooth. Was -not Hamlet’s downfall--and his betrothed’s also--occasioned when he -practiced paradoxes on Ophelia? - - - - -[Illustration] - -THE RETURN TO TOWN - - -It was with somewhat a heavy heart that we prepared to leave Salamis -for the winter. Yet inscrutable lust of adventure spurred us on; -the city, also, is the place for work. In the country one is too -comfortable, and there are too many distractions. Either cider, or -stars, or the blue sparkle of the furnace fire--all these require -frequent attentions. But it was hard to part with Long Island’s charms -in November, loveliest of months. The copper-coloured woods, the -chrysanthemums, the brisk walk to the morning train, the yellow crackle -of logs in the chimney, the chill dry whisper of the neighbouring belt -of trees heard at midnight from an airy veranda--these are some of the -excitements we shall miss. Most of all, perhaps, that stony little -unlit lane, traversed in pitch darkness towards supper time, until, -coming clear of the trees, you open up the Dipper, sprawled low across -the northern sky. - -It was hard, too, to leave Salamis just when its winter season of -innocent gayeties was commencing. You would hardly believe how much -is going on! Did you know that that deathless old railroad station is -being (as they say of ships) reconditioned? And there’s going to be -a drug store in Salamis Heights. The new Methodist church is nearly -finished--and, most glamorous of all, we now have an actual tea-room at -the entrance to the Salamis Estates. When you are motoring out that way -you can see if we don’t speak the truth. In another five years, most -likely, we shall have street lights along our lonely wood road to Green -Escape--and pavements--and gas to cook with. But there never will be -quite as many fairies in the woods as there have been these past three -years. - -But, perhaps fortunately, the day set for moving into town was wet and -drizzly. And the labour of piling into Dame Quickly various baggages, -hampers, toys, a go-cart, and the component railings, girders, rods, -springs and mattresses of two cribs was lively enough to oust from the -mind any pangs of mere sentiment. The mind of one who has accomplished -that task, in shirt-sleeves under a dripping weather, is heated -enough to make him ready for any sort of adventurous foray. The Dame, -also, grossly overloaded, and travelling smartly on greasy ways, was -skiddish. As is ever our fortune, we found the road through Astoria -torn up for repairs. This involved a circuit along a most horrible -bypath, where our ill-adjusted freight leaped crazily with every -lurch, go-cart and mattresses descended on our neck, and the violence -of the bumping caused the crib-girders to burst through the rear of -the Dame’s canopy. Also we incurred, and probably deserved, a stern -rebuke from a gigantic policeman on Second Avenue. To tell the truth, -in a downshoot of rain and peering desperately through a streaming -wind-shield, we did not know he was a policeman at first. We thought he -was an L pillar. - -Yet, when both voyages were safely accomplished--one for the baggage, -and one for the household: it would be harder to say which lading was -the tighter squeeze--what an exhilaration to move once more in the city -of our adoring. It is true that we began by making an immediate enemy -in the apartment house, for, as we were quite innocently taking a trunk -upstairs in the elevator, assisted by the cheerful elderly attendant, a -lady living in the same house entered by chance and burst into violent -reproach because _her_ baggage had had to go aloft in the freight -elevator. She accused the attendant of favouritism; to which he, quite -placidly, explained that this particular baggage had been delivered at -the front door in a private car. This compliment to the Dame pleased -us, but knowing nothing of the rules, and being wet and pensive, we -pretended to be an expressman and said naught. The only other shock -was when we took the Dame to a neighbouring garage to recuperate for a -few days. (We were glad, then, it had been raining, for the well-loved -vehicle looked very sleek and shiny, and it was too dark for the garage -man to notice the holes in her top. We wouldn’t want him to sneer at -her, and his garage, we observed, was full of very handsome cars.) When -he said it would cost the Dame $1.50 a night to live there we were a -little horrified. That, we reflected, was what we used to pay ourself -at the old Continental Hotel in Philly, the inn where the Prince of -Wales (the old one) and Dickens and Lincoln and others stayed. We now -look with greater and greater astonishment at all the cars we see in -New York. How can any one afford to keep them? - -We were dispatched to do some hasty marketing, in time for supper. -We made off to our favourite shopping street--Amsterdam Avenue. -Delightedly we gazed into those alluring windows. In a dairy, a young -lady of dark and appealing loveliness made us welcome. When we ordered -milk and laid in a stock of groceries, making it plain to her (by -consulting a list) that we were speaking on behalf of the head of the -house, she urged us to advise Titania to open an account. Money she -seemed loath to accept: it could all be paid for at the end of the -month, she said. It is well to shop referring perplexedly to a little -list. This proves that you are an humble, honest paterfamilias, acting -only under orders. To such credit is always lavish, and fair milkmaids -generously tender. - -Various tradesmen in that neighbourhood were surprised, in the tail end -of a wet and depressing day, by unexpected increments of traffic. “Just -nick the bone?” inquired the butcher, when, from our list, we read him -the item about rib lamb chops. “Yes, just nick the bone,” we assented, -not being very definite on the subject. We were interested in admiring -the thick sawdust on the floor, very pleasant to slide the foot upon. -The laundry man was just closing when we arrived with our bundle. -“Here’s a new customer for you,” we announced. Whatever private sorrows -he has were erased from his manly forehead. He told us that he also -does tailoring. Cleaning and pressing, he insisted. We had a private -feeling, a little shameful, that he hasn’t got as good a customer as he -imagines. Next door to the tailor, by the way, and right opposite the -apartment house, is a carpenter who advertises his skill at bookshelves. - -How different it is from Salamis nights. Hanging out of the kitchen -window (having gone to the rear of the apartment to see what the -icebox is like: it’s a beauty)--instead of Orion’s Belt and the dry -rustle of the trees, we see those steep walls of lighted windows, -discreetly blinded, hear sudden shrills of music from above and below. -Just through the wall, as we lie abed, we can hear the queer droning -whine of the elevator; through the open window, the clang of trolleys -on Broadway. Hunting through the books that belong in the furnished -apartment, after startling ourself by reading Mr. D. H. Lawrence’s -poems called _Look! We Have Come Through!_ we found an old Conan -Doyle--always our favourite bedtime author. _The Adventures of Gerard_, -indeed, and we are going to have a go at it immediately. - -Yes, it’s very different from Salamis; but Adventure is everywhere, and -we like to take things as we find them. We have never been anywhere -yet, whether in the steerage of the _Mauretania_ or in a private -lunch-room at the Bankers’ Club, where there wasn’t more amusement than -we deserved. - - - - -[Illustration] - -MAXIMS AND MINIMS - - -KINSPRITS - -You know how it is: there are books that magically convey a secret -subtle intimation that _you_ are the only reader who has ever, will -ever, wholly grasp their elusive wit and charm. So it is with certain -people. I think of my friend Pausanias. He is quiet, shy; he makes his -points so demurely, so quaintly, that you sometimes think, sadly, of -all the occult little japes he may be making in the weeks that elapse -when you don’t see him ... and no one, perhaps, “gets” them. Folly, of -course--and yet I have seen his eye widen and brighten as it caught -mine across the dinner table, and I knew that he and I, secretly, -had both caught some faint, delicious savour of absurdity and human -queerness--something that no one else there (I strongly believed it) -had quite so sharply tasted. Yes, you can catch his eye--no word is -necessary. Just a slow, enjoying, gentle grin. Across the great clamour -of blurb and bunk, across the huge muddle of beauty, weariness, and -frustration that makes up our daily life--I am always catching his eye. - - -JOURNALISM AND LITERATURE - -Art is the only human power that can make life stand still. Each of -us, desperately clutching his identity amid the impalpable onward pour -of Time and Thought, finds only in art--and chiefly in written art--a -means to halt that ceaseless cruel drift. Literature was invented to -halt life, to hold it still for us to examine and admire. - -Here you may see the essential distinction between literature and -journalism. For journalism was devised to hurry life on even faster, -to give the already whirling wheel an insane accelerating fillip. -Journalism is, actually, a pastime; literature, a stoptime. I refer, -of course, not to the journalism of facts, which is a department of -government rather than of letters; but to the journalism of fancy. In -great books life (however troubled and violent in itself) stands pure -and unvexed, unfretted by time and interruption. - -There are many schools of journalism; for journalism, being only a -hasty knack, can readily be taught. There are no schools of literature, -for that is born in your own hearts only, and by manifold joys and -disgusts. If it is in you, you shall know; the disease will grow more -and more potent. If it is in you, you shall be dedicated to misery -unguessed by the easy minds beside you. A great poet spoke of hovering -between two worlds, one dead, one powerless to be born. That shall be -your mental lot. You shall realize, more and more, that the bustling -cheery life of the general is, in some seizures, dead to your spirit: -and yet that new brave world of imagination, which travails in your -heart, can never quite come to paper. Would you know the mood and -emotion that move behind literature, read Arnold’s _Scholar Gipsy_. I -love journalism and honour it; but it must be added that it inhabits a -different world from literature, and does not even faintly understand -the language that literature speaks. - - -HOBBES - -There are some famous books which are the delight of scholars but -hardly at all known to the amateur reader. Of such, we think of Thomas -Hobbes’ _Leviathan_. It is so nobly sagacious and entertaining that -with a little trouble spent on rephrasing his stuff and giving it -snappy captions we could probably sell it to a long chain of newspapers -and enter into competition with the Syndicated Spinozas who prey upon -the public appetite for aphorisms. - -Hobbes’ wisdom is of the shrewd and nipping sort. If we had to choose -but one passage, to show a seventeenth-century mind at its best, we -should pluck his remarks on Laughter--famous indeed, but probably -little known to casual readers. See the clear stream of the mind -flowing in a channel of granite prose:-- - - Sudden glory is the passion which maketh those grimaces called - laughter; and is caused either by some sudden act of their own - that pleaseth them, or by the apprehension of some deformed - thing in another by comparison whereof they suddenly applaud - themselves. And it is incident most to them that are conscious - of the fewest abilities in themselves: who are forced to keep - themselves in their own favour by observing the imperfections - of other men. And therefore much laughter at the defects of - others is a sign of pusillanimity. For of great minds one of - the proper works is to help and free others from scorn, and - compare themselves only with the most able. - - On the contrary, sudden dejection is the passion that causeth - weeping, and is caused by such accidents as suddenly take - away some vehement hope or some prop of their power; and - they are most subject to it that rely principally on helps - external, such as are women and children. Therefore some weep - for the loss of friends, others for their unkindness, others - for the sudden stop made to their thoughts of revenge by - reconciliation. But in all cases, both laughter and weeping are - sudden motions, custom taking them both away. For no man laughs - at old jests, or weeps for an old calamity. - - The vain-glory which consisteth in the feigning or supposing of - abilities in ourselves which we know are not is most incident - to young men, and nourished by the histories or fictions - of gallant persons, and is corrected oftentimes by age and - employment. - - -LADIES AT THE PHONE - -There is a certain department store on the slope of Murray Hill which -has in it a gallery much frequented by ladies for meeting their -friends. Once in a while we have an appointment there to wait for -Titania, and always we find it an entertaining corner of the world. -Along one side of the gallery is a long line of telephone booths, and -we know nothing more amusing than to stroll past the glass doors, with -apparently abstracted and meditative air, to watch the faces of the -fair captives within. How admirable a contrivance is the feminine face -for reflecting the emotions! Some you will see talking animatedly, -with bright colour, sparkling eyes, every appearance of mirth and -merry cheer. Others are waiting, all anguish and grievance, for some -dilatory connection; their small brows heavy with perplexity. Often -it seems to be necessary, for some mysterious sharing of secrets or -shopping plans, for two ladies to occupy the same booth at a time; how -they do it we cannot guess; but they sit demurely squeezed upon one -another and their faces appear side by side, both apparently talking at -once into the receiver. Through the glass pane this offers a curious -sight, apparently a lady with two heads; muffled by the barrier, shrill -squeaks and conjectures are dimly heard. There are ladies, generous -of physique, who find it hard enough to press in singly; when they -seek to arise they are held tightly by the cage and a great wrench and -backing outward are necessary. Particularly on a Saturday, shortly -before matinée time, are these lively creatures full of animation and -derring-do. A gay and vivid panorama of human frailty, only surpassed -in quaint absurdity by a similar row of men in the phone booths of a -large cigar store. - - * * * * * - - -OF STREET CLEANING - -(_By Our Own Lord Bacon_) - -Snow is a deposit fair in itself, but a shrewd thing in a city. -Where ways be crowded and traffic insisteth, let there be alacrity -and stirring on the part of the city servants, lest the public have -occasion of murmuring. Of streets which need purifying, there be three -kinds: as Broadway, which is treacle; Fifth Avenue, syrup; and uptown, -which is soup and all manner of beastliness. So also of snow there -be three sorts, the dry and powdery; the wet and slushy, liquefying -soon; the granular and sleety, whereof the latter adhereth long and -occasioneth sudden prostrations, unwholesome to human dignity but -opportunity of sport to the vulgar. When men are checked in their -desires to pass to and fro without let or stoppage, then must the -prince be wary to reason with the commuters, who being ever great -self-lovers, _sui amantes sine rivali_, are like to be disproportionate -in outcry. And for the most part, the subway will be still current, -but small praise accrueth thereto from citizens, sudden cattle in -protest but tardy to acknowledge favour. This is not handsome. Of the -surface cars I will not speak; let them be, for the occasion, as though -they existed not. For though there be some talk about revival of the -service when the Broadway slot be picked and scalded by hand, yet is -this but vaunting and idle boast. There is no impediment in the streets -but may be wrought out by resolute labour. Of block parties, flame -throwers, tractors, steam-ploughs and other ingenuities, I like them -not. These be but toys. Let men toil with wit and will, by pick and -shovel and horse-cart. This is best for the public. - - * * * * * - - -DR. OSLER - -“In seventy or eighty years” (said Thomas Browne, M. D.) “a man may -have a deep Gust of the World, know what it is, what it can afford, -and what ’tis to have been a Man. Such a latitude of years may hold a -considerable corner in the general Map of Time.” - -Surely no modern thinker has taken a deeper gust of life or pondered -more charitably over the difficult problems of the race than Sir -William Osler, a true follower and kinsprit of the wise physician of -Norwich. “The Old Humanities and the New Science,” his last public -address (given in Oxford, May 16, 1919), was the capsheaf of that -long series of writings and speakings in which Dr. Osler unlocked his -generous, humane heart and gave inspiring counsel to his fellows. - -It was an occasion that even the most severe brevity must describe -as of happy import. Osler, a physician and a man of science, had -been honoured by the presidency of the Classical Association, Great -Britain’s most distinguished gathering of the men who have made the -culture of the antique world their touchstone in life. And Dr. Osler, -himself a keen classical student, did not permit himself merely -gracious and suave messages. Pleading for a new bridal of science and -the classics, in that delightful and urbane chaff which he knew so well -to administer, he pointed out the barrenness of the tradition that -has made the famous “More Humane Letters” of Oxford entirely neglect -the workings and winnings of the science that has transformed the -world. Dr. Osler, in his great career, perhaps never spoke with more -convincing persuasion than when he pointed out that even in their own -province of the classical tongues the modern humanists have passed over -the scientific work of the ancients, as for instance in Aristotle and -Lucretius. - -Among men who err and are baffled, but still blunder eagerly and -hopefully in the magnificent richness of the natural world, there arise -ever and again such figures as Osler’s, a pride and a consolation to -their comrades. Men, alas! are slow in finding the treasures that lie -close about them. Dr. Osler’s essays are too little known among general -readers. His all-embracing humanity, his mind packed with wisdom and -beauty, his humour and his sagacious and persistent method in the -conduct of a crowded life, make him a figure exceptionally helpful to -contemplate. This last of his essays needs to be read not only by all -educators, but by all who have any rational ideals of life, and who -need, every now and then, to surmount the troubled stream of quotidian -affairs and focus their visions more clearly. - -No sensible man doubts that, if haste and confusion and greed do -not overcome us, the world should stand to-day on the sill of a new -Renaissance, a new empire of the mind, in which the old foolish -antagonism of science and the so-called “humanities” will be only a -vain and dusty rumour. What are “liberal” studies, one may ask? Why, -surely, studies that _liberate_--that set the spirit free from the -oppression of sordid and small motives, that stir and urge it toward -generous achievement and the assistance of misfortune. When did letters -arrogate to themselves the heavenly adjective _belles?_ Are there not -the _belles sciences_ also? And is the biplane now soaring over the -olive-shining Hudson any less lovely than the most precious sonnet ever -anchored and flattened in persisting ink? - -This essay of Dr. Osler’s shows one the pulse and heartbeat of modern -science, the tender spirit of idealism that urges so much of the -technical investigation of our time. In Dr. Osler, as in hundreds -of other scientists less known and perhaps less gifted in public -utterance, there is the union of the two Hippocratic ideals which the -great Canadian physician laid before himself as his guides in life--the -union of _philanthropia_ and _philotechnia_--a love of humanity joined -to a love of his craft. - -To infect the average man with the spirit of the humanities, Dr. Osler -said, is the highest aim of education. And this brilliant address -of his is a crowning instance of the way in which, in his mind, -the practical service of science was beautified by the liberal and -imperishable spirit of classical thought. - - * * * * * - - -THE MOST EXCITING BOOK - -We have just been reading what we honestly believe is the most -fascinating book in the world. It is, we must confess, very much in -the vein of this modern realism, because it is written in a terse, -staccato, and even abrupt style, although always well balanced. The -general effect, we admit, is depressing, though that may be only -our own personal reaction, because the plot is one with which we -are intimately familiar. Every now and then the action rises to a -climax when we think it is going to end happily after all; but then -something always occurs to sadden us. Occasionally it gives us moments -of gruesome suspense, followed by flashes of temporary optimism. The -general technique is distinctly that of the grieving Russian prose -writers, for the total effect is gloomy and grim. The critics have had -nothing to say about this book, but for us it has cumulating interest. - - * * * * * - -We find we forgot to mention the title of the above volume, which is -issued in very handy format, bound in limp brown leather. We mean, of -course, our bank book. - - * * * * * - - -A SUGGESTION - -We have been looking over the catalogue of Coventry Patmore’s library, -issued by Everard Meynell at “The Serendipity Shop,” London. The -following note interested us; some of our vigorous readers, now that -the wooing season is toward, may find in it a gentle technical hint: - - Patmore told Dr. Garnett that during his courtship, wishing to - be sure that a congeniality of taste existed between himself - and Emily Andrews, he lent her Emerson’s Essays, asking her to - mark the passages that most struck her, and on getting the book - back was delighted to find that the marks were those which he - would have made for himself. - -According to Mr. Meynell’s catalogue, the copy of Emerson referred -to is inscribed, in Patmore’s hand: “Emily Andrews, June 24, 1847.” -Emerson’s efficacy in the rôle of Cupid may be judged from the fact -that the two were married September 11, 1847. - -One wonders if Patmore applied the same test before his two subsequent -marriages (1864, 1881). - - * * * * * - - -ADVICE TO YOUNG WRITERS - -A gentleman asks us to give some advice to young men intending to enter -journalism. Well, we would say, get a job as a sporting writer. That is -where the real fun lies. Being a sporting writer is hot stuff; it keeps -you out in the open air, you are respected and even admired by the -least easily impressionable classes, such as policemen, car conductors, -and office boys; you have immense fun inventing new ways of saying -things (which is the groundwork of good literature), get a great many -free meals, have your expenses paid, meet people who have high-powered -cars and put them at your disposal, and your lightest word is deemed -important enough to be put on a telegraph wire and flashed to the -office for an EXTRA. If you write about such minor matters as war and -peace, poetry, books, or the beauty of this, that, and the other, -you will be hidden demurely away on an inside page and there is no -particular hurry about it. - -The other day at the Polo Grounds we noticed a hard-boiled fan -leaving the stand after the game. As he passed out onto the field he -suddenly saw the gang of reporters finishing up their stories and the -instruments clattering beside them. “Gee,” he cried, “look at all the -writers!” And with a real awe he turned to his companion and said: -“Their stuff goes all over the world.” - -We contend that Joseph Conrad, Thomas Hardy, James Branch Cabell, Joe -Hergesheimer, Bernard Shaw, Rudyard Kipling, and Lord Dunsany, sitting -side by side on a bench writing short stories for a wager, would not -have elicited such a gust of reverent admiration from our friend. - -We are not joking. You can have more fun, and get better paid for it, -as a sporting reporter than in any other newspaper job. And there is in -it a bigger opportunity for men of real originality. - - * * * * * - - -A GREAT REPORTER - -We have been reading--for the first time, we blush to admit--the -_Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides_, in the magnificent ten-volume -edition of Boswell published by Gabriel Wells. It is the ideal book -for reading on the train, and causes us to reassert that Jamie -was one of the world’s greatest reporters. If we were running a -newspaper we would give a copy of this book to every man on the news -staff. Professor Tinker in his introduction calls it “perhaps the -sprightliest book of travels in the language.” Indeed, this is Boswell -_in excelsis_, and it warms us to note the magnificent zest and gusto -and triumphant happiness that peep between all his paragraphs. Happy, -happy man, he had his adored Doctor to himself; he had him, at last, -actually in Scotland; they were on holiday together! “Master of the -Hebridean Revels,” Tinker charmingly calls him. What an immortal touch -is this, of the somewhat baffled Mrs. Boswell, who must have thought -the expedition a perverse absurdity. This is on the day Johnson and -Boswell left Edinburgh-- - - She did not seem quite easy when we left her; but away we went! - -Perfect, perfect--even down to the exclamation point. - -We have not got very far in the Tour--only some fifty pages--but we -are drowned deep in the engulfing humour and fecund humanity of the -book. What an appetite for life, what a glorious naïf curiosity! What a -columnist Boswell would have made! He quotes Johnson to this effect-- - - I love anecdotes. I fancy mankind may come, in time, to - write all aphoristically, except in narrative; grow weary of - preparation, and connection, and illustration, and all those - arts by which a big book is made. - -Boswell, with superb dramatic instinct, unconsciously adopted the most -triumphant subtlety of manœuvre. He put himself in the posture of a -boob in order to draw out the characteristic good things of the great -men he admired. He fished passionately for human oddity, and used any -bait at all that was to hand--even himself. To see the two together -on Boswell’s artfully contrived stage--Scotland, which he knew would -elicit the Doctor’s most genuine humours, prejudices, shrewd manly -observations--and in the bright light of a junketing adventure--ah, -here is a bellyful of art. What a pair: the subtle simpleton, the -simple-minded sage! - - * * * * * - - -AN UNFAIR ADVANTAGE - -Of course, it’s the oldest spoof in the world; and also it isn’t quite -fair; but we felt that (for private reasons) we owed it to ourself to -chaff a certain publisher friend. So we diligently typed out the first -dozen or so of Shakespeare’s sonnets, and, making use of a borrowed -name and address kindly lent us by a colleague, submitted them to the -publisher. - -We accompanied them by a pseudonymous letter which we truly think was -something of a work of art, it was so amiably true to the sort of thing -that publishers are accustomed to receive. We explained that these were -the first of a series of 154 sonnets, and added that though many of our -friends thought them good, we feared their affectionate partiality. We -were submitting only a few, we said, in the hope of frank criticism -from a great publishing house. If we were lucky enough to have them -accepted the rest would be forthcoming; and the volume (we hoped) would -be bound in red leather with very wide margins and a blank page at -the front for autographing. And a good deal more innocent and hopeful -meditation. - -We had to wait some time for the reply--and had even begun to fear that -the publisher had spotted our jape. But no--here is the answer that -came: - - We are sorry that after a careful consideration of your - “Sonnets” we cannot make a proposal for publication. We fear - that we are lacking in a real enough enthusiasm to push the - book as it must be pushed to bring about any success. - - We regret, too, that we cannot comply with your request to - criticise the work, but it is against our policy to offer - criticism on material which we cannot accept for publication. - We handle so many manuscripts that we could not do the work - justice, and then, too, we are diffident about offering - suggestions when you may find a publisher who will like your - work just as it stands. In general, however, we may say that, - so far as we can judge, we thought that the work was not up to - standard. - - Thank you for giving us the opportunity of considering your - manuscript. It is being returned to you by mail. - -We now lay this before a candid world and ask our friend how much -blackmail we can get out of him to refrain from publishing his identity? - -Yet we admit it wasn’t quite fair. A knowledge of Shakespeare’s Sonnets -is no necessary equipment for successful publishing. And some of them, -if you are taken unawares, do sound a bit preposterous. - - * * * * * - - -CARAWAY SEEDS - -It seemed to us that we saw a deep significance in the fact, told -by Lytton Strachey in his _Queen Victoria_, that the Queen’s pious -governess, Lehzen, was a fanatic about caraway seeds. Mr. Strachey says: - - Her passion for caraway seeds, for instance, was - uncontrollable. Little bags of them came over to her from - Hanover, and she sprinkled them on her bread and butter, her - cabbage, and even her roast beef. - -Surely throughout the whole Victorian era the attentive observer -can discern the faint but pungent musk of the mild, bland, uncandid -caraway. We ourself, in our early youth, crossed the trail of that seed -more than once, in small cakes and patties, and instinctively revolted -from it. If there is any emblem symbolic of the Victorian age, perhaps -it is the caraway seed, a thing that Greenwich Village, we dare say, -has never encountered even in its most enterprising tea-room. The -kingdom of Victoria, we suggest, was like a grain of caraway seed; -but it became a tree so vast that the fowls of the air lodged in the -branches thereof. - - * * * * * - - -BLUNT’S DIARIES - -We have a fear that the two volumes of Wilfrid Scawen Blunt’s -Diaries--published here last year by Alfred Knopf--are not as widely -known as they should be. This is natural, for the two big volumes are -expensive, but they are a mine of most interesting material. They are a -liberal education in the truth _quot homines tot sententiæ_--in other -words, that there are infinite matters of difference among honourable -men. - -Blunt was a gallant dissenter and whole-hearted skeptic about -civilization. Of course these aristocratic rebels, who have never had -to pass through the gruelling discipline of middle-class life; who have -always been free to travel, to ramble about to witty week-end parties -at country houses, ride blooded horses, sit up all night drinking -port wine and talking brilliantly with Cabinet Ministers, have (or so -it seems to us) a fairly easy time compared to the humdrum plod who -wambles through a stiff continuous stint of hard work and still keeps -a bit of rebellion in his heart. And of course, since Blunt condemned -almost everything in European politics throughout his lifetime, one -begins to suspect that he was almost too pernickety. Of the unnumbered -British statesmen whom he roasted, not all can have been either fools -or knaves. The law of average forbids. But a protestant of that sort is -a magnificently healthy and useful person to have about. He had a habit -of assuming that Egypt, India, Ireland, Turkey, Germany, were always -right, and England necessarily wrong. When a country has a number of -citizens like that and regards them affectionately, it is a sign that -it is beginning to grow up. One of Blunt’s remarks to Margot Asquith is -worth remembering: “There is nothing so demoralizing for a country as -to put people in prison for their opinions.” - -But the casual reader ought to have a go at Blunt’s Diaries because -they are a rich deposit of pithy human anecdote. We see him, at the age -of sixty-six or thereabouts, attending a performance of Hippolytus, -translated by Murray. “At the end of it we were all moved to tears, and -I got up and did what I never did before in a theatre, shouted for the -author, whether for Euripides or Gilbert Murray I hardly knew.” With -Coquelin père he goes to have lunch with Margot Asquith. Her little -daughter, twelve years old (now, of course, Princess Bibesco, whose -short stories are well worth your reading), dressed in a Velasquez -costume, was called on to recite poems. “Coquelin good-naturedly -suggested that ‘perhaps Mademoiselle would be shy,’ but Margot would -not hear of it. ‘There is no shyness,’ she said, ‘in this family.’” Any -lover of the human comedy will find intense joy in Blunt’s comments -on Edward VII, for instance. When his antipathies were aroused, Blunt -lived up to his name. Roosevelt’s speech in Cairo in 1910 praising -British rule in Egypt was a red rag to the elderly skeptic, who -considered that Britain had no business anywhere on earth outside -her own island. His comment in his journal was: “He is a buffoon of -the lowest American type, and roused the fury of young Egypt to the -boiling point ... he is now at Paris airing his fooleries, and is to -go to Berlin, a kind of mad dog roaming the world.” It is quaint that -the humanitarians and intense lovers of their kind are always the most -brutal in attack upon those with whom they disagree. - -There are also innumerable snapshots of men of letters in mufti. -Rossetti, for instance, throwing a cup of tea at Meredith’s face. Most -of Meredith, Blunt found unreadable. His picture of Francis Thompson’s -last days is unforgettable. For our own part we find particular -amusement in the little sideviews of Hilaire Belloc--a neighbour in -Sussex in the later years. It is disconcerting to learn that Belloc’s -horse “Monster,” of whom the hilarious Hilaire speaks so highly in a -number of essays, is “a very ancient mare which he rides in blinkers. -He is no great horseman.” Belloc coming to picnic with a bottle of wine -in his pocket; Belloc out-talking Alfred Austin, Arthur Balfour, and -indeed everyone else; Belloc wondering if he would be given a peerage; -Belloc groaning because he has sworn off liquor during Lent, and -Belloc delightfully and extremely wrong in the days just preceding the -war--insisting that Germany was unprepared and afraid of France--these -are the sort of things that cannot by any stretch of exaggeration be -called malicious tattle; they are the genial byplay of civilization -that keeps us reminded that those we love and admire may be not less -absurd than ourselves. - -There is much real beauty in the book, too. Blunt was a poet of very -considerable charm, and a little story told by a former schoolmate -of his seems rather characteristic. When a child he used to keep -caterpillars in paper boxes; but he always pricked holes in the lids -in the form of the constellations--so that the imprisoned caterpillars -might think they were still out of doors and could see the stars. - -It’s a queer thing. Those caterpillars, somehow or other, make us think -of newspaper men. - - * * * * * - - -GENIUS - -Occasionally we have fired off a culverin or two in honour of Stella -Benson, that remarkably agile and humorous creature, who is, with May -Sinclair and “Elizabeth,” one of our favourite female novelists. So we -are particularly pleased to have F. H. P. recall to us a passage about -the Dog David, in _Living Alone_: - - David Blessing Brown, a dog of independent yet loving habit, - had spent about four-fifths of his life in the Brown family. - He was three years old and though ineligible for military - service made a point of wearing khaki about his face and in a - symmetrical heart-shaped spot near his tail. To Sarah Brown he - was the Question and the Answer, his presence was a constant - playtime for her mind; so well was he loved that he seemed to - her to move in a little mist and glamour of love.... - - I believe that Sarah Brown had loved the Dog David so much that - she had given him a soul. Certainly other dogs did not care for - him. David said that they had found out that his second name - was Blessing and that they laughed at him for it. His face was - seamed with the scars of their laughing. But I know that the - enmity had a more fundamental reason than that. I know that - when men speak with the tongues of angels they are shunned and - hated by men, and so I think that when dogs approach humanity - too nearly they are banished from the love of their own kind. - -If you do not recognize, even in that little random passage, the -curious quality of Stella Benson’s talent, then we fear (brave friends) -we can never agree about literature. In her writing we always seem to -see that special and bewildering richness that we prize most of all; -something that does not lie in any particular nicety or adornment of -words, but in an underrunning flavour and queer subtlety of meaning. Is -there any subject in the world more trite, more shopworn, and defaced -by acres of blab than Dogs and their relations to mankind? There is -not. And yet see how Stella Benson, without one pompous or pretentious -word, and with a humour both mocking and tender, has not only said -something new, but something which, as soon as it is said, becomes old, -because it is permanent. That is what, in lieu of a better word, we are -inclined to call genius, and we have never read a page of Miss Benson’s -work which did not show it. - - * * * * * - - -EMBARRASSMENTS - -Among our numerous embarrassments we don’t know any more painful -than being compelled, the other day, to expose our theory of rolltop -housekeeping to an insurance man. Old Henry Sonneborn, Jr., of -Philadelphia (who is, let us explain, the only insurance man with whom -we ever do business) came over to arrange some alterations in our -complicated scheme of “protection.” But he caught us unawares, and when -he wanted to see some of our receipts we had to go hunting through our -desk while he was sitting right there watching us. - -We explained our theory. Now, Henry, we said, there are only three -places where that missing receipt can possibly be. It may be in one of -the pigeonholes that run due east of the foc’s’le of the desk. If it -isn’t there, it will be in the right-hand front corner of the principal -drawer, where we put things while waiting for a chance to file them. If -it isn’t there, it will be in the tin tobacco box that we keep hidden -under the unanswered letters. We feared that Henry would think us very -unbusinesslike, but he was polite and kind, as always. - -We went through the drawer first. Henry was a bit disconcerted to find -it so dusty; and so were we. We found a clay pipe that we hadn’t seen -for a long time; we found some foreign stamps that we have been saving -to send to a small boy in Philadelphia. We tried with these to distract -Henry’s attention from the object of search. We asked him if his little -boy was a stamp collector. But Henry kept bringing us back to the -receipt, which was necessary for some reason. He said he needed that -receipt to complete some scheme he had for reducing our overhead; the -best authorities on finance, he said, are agreed that no man has any -_right_ to attempt to save money before he is 40; no, he should put it -into insurance. We tried to keep Henry talking while we were scuffling -about through the back of the desk. We thought that perhaps the receipt -would turn up unexpectedly; we didn’t want him to notice that we were -looking in parts of the desk where we had explained it could not -possibly be. - -Damnation, Henry, we said; it isn’t our fault that this desk is in -such a mess; we have the most orderly instincts, but our clients keep -dumping stuff on us so fast that we can’t ever catch up with it. - -It was a queer coincidence, we thought, that when we went out to lunch -that day we noticed at 56 Wall Street a tablet in honour of Morris -Robinson, who “established on this spot the business of modern life -insurance.” He was a Canadian, the tablet says. We’re glad he wasn’t an -American. - -In the meantime we are going to have another look through those -pigeonholes. - - * * * * * - - -AN IDEA - -We do not often spend time thinking up ways of surprising humanity with -kindness; yet when we stand in line at the bank while a queue of merry -merchants ahead of us are drawing out huge payroll sums which take -about five minutes each to be counted and recounted, a blithe thought -comes our way. It is this: On some Saturday morning, when banking -traffic is particularly heavy, we will gather half a dozen friends of -ours who have nothing to do. We will go round to the bank and stand in -line, all seven of us. As we draw nearer and nearer to the window we -will watch the anguished faces of those behind, despairingly counting -the number of people that still stand between them and the cherished -teller. Then just as the first of our seven gets up to the window we -will all slip deftly away and enjoy ourselves by watching the joyous -elation of the man who thought himself eighth in line and now finds -himself next to the grill. All down the impatient throng passes a -tremor of surprised pleasure. Then we will move on to the next bank and -do the same thing. - - * * * * * - - -ALGEBRA FOR URCHINS - -We wish we weren’t so rusty in our mathematics. One of our favourite -projects has always been to write an algebra book for the use of the -Urchin when he gets a little older. This algebra would be in the form -of a story in which the problems would be introduced naturally into the -movement of the tale, and each one would be (if we could persuade him -to do it) illustrated by Fontaine Fox. - -The problems, moreover, would deal with facts and topics familiar to -the Urchin. One problem, for instance, would run something as follows: - -Riding in Dame Quickly along the North Hempstead turnpike, the Urchin -notices that a man is walking on the sidewalk but at just such a pace -that a telephone pole prevents him from being recognized. Attempting to -see who the pedestrian is, and foiled by the fact that the simultaneous -motions of Dame Quickly and the man on the sidewalk keep the pole -constantly in the line of sight, the Urchin becomes interested in the -problem. He notes that the speedometer indicates 22 miles an hour. -He persuades his father to stop the car and measure the width of the -road and the sidewalk. Dame Quickly stops opposite the pole and the -measurements are taken. It is 24 feet from the Dame to the pole. The -line along which the man was walking, down the middle of the sidewalk, -was three feet from the pole. How fast was the man walking?[B] - - [B] The answer, if you care to work it out, seems to be 2¾ - miles per hour. - - * * * * * - - -A MODEST SCAFFOLD FOR PHILOSOPHERS - -We have been meditating on the dissimilar conduct of cats and dogs, -since we added a kitten (named _Pepys_) to our household roster. - -The dog, plainly, is a boob, for he tries so hard to please and -ingratiate the Masters of the Event, his deities. Whereas the cat, -while calmly recognizing the paramountcy of the gods, goes ahead in -every way within his power to circumvent and outwit their control. The -dog, poor honest simpleton, shows his genuine and unselfish affection -for his deities; the cat never makes up to them unless he wants -something from them, or feels that a little friendly caressing would -be agreeable. The cat is 100 per cent. pro-feline. The dog, we reckon, -is at least 30 per cent. pro-human. You open the back door. If the -cat wants to go abroad, he will streak through without an instant’s -hesitation; but the dog will wait, politely, until he is sure whether -you wish him to go out. Question, then, for philosophic ruminators--Do -not the domestic gods secretly respect the cat a little more because -they know he is inwardly hostile and contemptuous and a perfect ego? A -whole rationale of heaven and hell may be quizzed out of this matter. - - * * * * * - - -ICI ON PARLE - -We have been considerably humiliated lately by the fact that although -we once studied French with some persistence, and enjoy nothing more -than reading such demi-gods as the chrysostom Bourget (a celestial -ironist far too little known in this country)--humiliated, we repeat, -that our spoken French is so appalling. Lately, as the surprising -result of an advt. in the _Herald_, Titania landed an elderly female -French cook who speaks no word of English. And if you speak French no -better than we do, figure to yourself the complexities of trying to -explain to Celeste the workings of a kerosene water-heater (we have -no gas in the rustic Salamis Estates) while Titania (whose French is -better than ours) stands by squeaking with cruel mirth. Comme ça: - - Voyez vous, Celeste, l’huile--comment dit-on en français le - liquide?--le petrole? Ah, oui--eh bien, le petrole entre par - là, dans le petit cylindre, vous prenez moi, hein?--et donc on - place le cylindre comme ça--mais pas comme ça, comprenez?--et - donc le petrole marche (quand le--comment appelle-t-on le - _wick_? le petit toile ici--le mèche? ah oui!--quand le - mèche est en ordre laborieux--telle quelle ce n’est pas - maintenant)--_ye gods, Titania, give me a hand with this - explanation_--le petrole marche en haut--mais voyez vous, ceci - n’est pas un mèche honnete-à-dieu; c’est d’asbeste; on place le - soi-disant mèche--(le _burner_ on dit en anglais) comme ainsi - ici bas, et donc on allume une allumette et vous directez le - feu par ici, par là, et après le feu s’eteint vous reallumez - avec patience. Du patience, toujours, avec ces poêles à - l’huile,--et prenez garde, ne replacez pas ces cylindres à - flamme auparavant que le feu a monté, et exhibite quelque - vitalité, vous voyez? - - Eh bien; en une heure peut-etre vous rattrapez de l’eau - chaud, si le feu n’evanouie pas et le _backdoor_--la porte - de derrière--n’est pas ouverte et le vent ne siffle pas trop - forte.... - - CELESTE: Ah oui, Monsieur, c’est bien simple! - - * * * * * - - -ASTONISHMENT - -One of the most astounding scenes in the local panorama of human oddity -is a news-stand at one of the big terminals when the homeward-bound -commuters are buying their evening papers. Those who believe there is -no hustle in New York might contemplate that spectacle--the continual -patter of hurried people scampering up to the counter to seize a paper, -throw down their money, and bound away. Indeed, if you stand for a -while near the news-stand and watch, you will gradually become aware -that there is something pathologic about the matter; that the great -mass of newspaper readers crave and swallow their daily potion much as -they would a familiar drug or anodyne. The absolute definiteness of -the traffic is another curious feature: the news dealer can tell you, -almost to a figure, how many of each paper he will sell each evening. -As the commuters hurry up to the counter, you will never see them -hesitate, ponder, and ask themselves, “Well, which paper shall I read -to-night?” No; they grab the usual sheet, and off they go. - - * * * * * - - -SPIDERS - -We wrote[C] something about the spider’s “struts and cantilevers,” -and were gently chaffed by some friendly correspondents. Well, the -spider is not only a marvellous engineer, he also seems a persistent -patriot. There is one on our front lawn who still celebrates the -Spanish-American war. Every morning, among the sun-sparkled shrubbery, -we find he has erected a dewey arch. - - [C] You can refer, if you insist, to a book called _Plum - Pudding_. - -One of the most exciting things we know is a series of dainty models at -the Natural History Museum in New York, showing the various stages in -a spider’s web. Did you know, for instance, that often a preliminary -spiral is blocked in, to hold the web together during construction? -This is afterward carefully removed to make room for the sticky spiral -which does the fly-catching. So at any rate we remember the Museum’s -models. If you find being stricken with astonishments a pleasing -humiliation, the Museum is the place to visit. We always think to -ourself, how old Sir Kenelm Digby would have enjoyed it. - -Then, of course, you mustn’t omit to read Fabre’s glorious _Life of the -Spider_. The microscopic Archimedes can much more than mere tenuous -trusses and gossamer girders. M. Fabre tells us that the triumph of -the spider’s unconscious art (for the creature works divinely, without -reason or calculation) is the logarithmic spiral. So if by chance you -have ever fallen into that meanest absurdity of the unthinking and -asserted that “Mathematics is uninteresting,” consider Fabre’s words:-- - - Geometry, that is to say, the science of harmony in space, - presides over everything. We find it in the arrangement of the - scales of a fir-cone, as in the arrangement of an Epeira’s - lime-snare; we find it in the spiral of a Snail-shell, in the - chaplet of a Spider’s thread, as in the orbit of a planet; - it is everywhere, as perfect in the world of atoms as in the - world of immensities. And this universal geometry tells us of a - Universal Geometrician, whose divine compass has measured all - things. - -The mathematician, let us add for our own part, is the greatest of -poets, the greatest of priests. - -But a study of M. Fabre’s magnificent books will not necessarily add -consolations to the Pollyanna brand of religious thought. You will -find, in his discussion of the appalling married life of insects, -gruesome considerations which will furnish merriment to the cynic -and painful grief to the old-fashioned. M. Maeterlinck says, in his -eloquent preface to _The Life of the Spider_: - - Nothing equals the marriage of the Green Grasshopper, of which - I cannot speak here, for it is doubtful whether even the Latin - language possesses the words needed to describe it as it should - be described. - -The fiercest realist yet produced by the younger generations of Chicago -and Greenwich Village is a mere trifler compared to the immortal Fabre. - - * * * * * - - -PERNICIOUSNESS OF MR. LEAR - -We are rather startled to find, on beginning to read Edward Lear’s -immortal _Nonsense Books_ to our Archurchin, that liquor plays a -considerable rôle in his waggishness. This phase of Lear’s works we -had quite forgotten, although it may have played a subtle part in -undermining our character when young. But what are we to do, we ask, -when, in reading aloud we come upon such distressing testaments as this: - - B was a Bottle blue, - which was not very small; - Papa he filled it full of beer, - And then he drank it all. - -Or this: - - There was an Old Man with an Owl, - Who continued to bother and howl; - He sat on a rail, and imbibed bitter ale, - Which refreshed that Old Man and his Owl. - -Or this: - - There was an old person of Sheen, - Whose expression was calm and serene; - He sate in the water, and drank bottled porter, - That placid old person of Sheen. - -Now, of course, in reading these passages we can improvise variations: -we can say that Papa’s blue bottle was filled with tea; we can -substitute “ginger ale” for “bitter ale”; we can make the old person -of Sheen sit in the porter and drink bottled water; but before very -long our audience will begin to read the book for himself, and when he -finds that we have implanted a false version in his mind there will be -a swift succession of logical inquiries. The Old Soak’s problem is far -easier: _his_ sons are grown up and become “revenooers”; their minds -were long since formed on this topic. But what is the comparatively -Young Soak to do in the matter of explaining literature to his -offspring? - -Only in one place, as far as we can see, does Mr. Lear refer to drink -with any tinge of moral or reprobatory feeling. Thus: - - Twas a tumbler full - Of Punch all hot and good; - Papa he drank it up, when in - The middle of a wood. - -We shall have to lean heavily upon that cautionary stanza in reading to -the Urchin. We will not try to bias him, of course; but by grave and -solemn repetition surely the idea will pierce his meninges--that no -matter how excellent the libation, it must be performed in secret and -far from scrutiny. - - -THE SEDAN - -Not long ago, in the garage at Salamis run by our friend Fred Seaman, -we were admiring and examining a very beautiful sedan. Not that we -had any idea of ever abandoning our cherished Dame Quickly, who means -more to us than any other vehicle ever will or can. But, just in a -contemplative spirit, and as a frustrated lover of luxury, we were -admiring this sedan, and saying to ourself that if we were a person of -wealth and standing that would be just about the kind of car we would -like to own. And we gazed entranced at its opulent upholstery, its -cut-glass carnation-vase, its little 8-day clock, cigar-holder, and all -the other gauds and trinkets. Just in idle curiosity we inquired the -price. Then we went over the hill to our home. - -A day or so later a cheerful Polish friend of ours, who is so kind as -to call for the washing weekly, and who used to do odd jobs round our -estate, and with whom we boarded our admirable cat _Pepys_ while we -were in town, called at our house. Titania had always represented this -person to us as being in the last agony of financial dissolution and a -worthy object of charity. - -“I want to show you my new boat,” said he. - -We thought at first that he meant an actual boat, down in the harbour, -and were interested. But he pointed out to the front of the house. -There was the very sedan we had admired. He insisted on our going down -to listen to the engine. “Paid all cash for it,” he said proudly. - -When we see a large, glimmering limousine pass us on the road, -hereafter, we shall always wonder whether it is some thrifty washerman -and his family. - - -BAD VERSE - -Really thoroughly bad verse (as Mr. Hilaire Belloc pointed out in an -essay) has a magic and an attraction all its own. It has (he said) -“something of the poignant and removed from common experience which -you get also in poetry. Great pits strike one with horror, as do the -mountains with their sublimity.” - -A philosophic friend of ours, whose dolorous task it is to examine -manuscripts for a large publishing house, sent us the other day a -collection of verses that had been submitted to his firm. We have had -considerable diversion in examining them; though compositions of this -sort lead one also to melancholy. It is sad to think that the accident -of rhyme, which has been the occasion of so much verbal loveliness, has -also been responsible for so many atrocities. - -We shall not say who wrote the verses in question, except that he lives -in a Southern State, but we will quote a few stanzas from a poem called -“Love’s Progress.” After several pages describing the sorrows of a pair -of lovers, we arrive at this: - - They broke to break their breaking breach, - Which both have caused, because of each - Failing to procure, or reach, - The longing goal they did beseech. - - They sought to seek their seeking truth, - Which all do crave, and never boot; - They kept their cadence to a flute, - Which only wisdom seeks to mute. - - They slid to slide their sliding sleigh - Toward goals, but met a fray; - And, striking, struck the striking broil; - And found themselves to winds a spoil. - - They swung to swing their swinging life - To higher spheres and lusty fife; - But flung against the sturdy cliff, - And sunk beneath the brutal grief. - - They shed their shedding tears in vain, - Fruitless as the dismal rain; - And pined their pine, and pined it more; - And reaped their crop they sowed to store. - - Defying fies have they defied; - Lying lies have they belied; - Brisky thought did both deride; - Happy hope had both denied! - -You see how low rhyme can bring a man. - -Of the following, our friend the publisher’s reader observes: “Alas, -poor Henley--’twas an excellent fellow: I knew him well!” - - -I Am - - I am the tutor of my mind; - I am the pastor of my soul; - All that pass, I leave behind, - And focus straight upon my goal. - -Until we read that we felt sorry for the author; but indeed it takes -him out of the sphere of charity. - - - - -[Illustration] - -TWO REVIEWS - - -I - -(New York _Evening Post_, July, 1922) - -It is curious that the agencies for letting people know about the -things that really matter are so feeble and ineffective. There was -published in England, last February, a book called _Disenchantment_, -by C. E. Montague. It seems to us perhaps the first book we have seen -that tells truth about the war, tells it beautifully, with a power and -humour and tenderness that are palpable on every page. Five months have -elapsed, and yet we have heard no word as to its being published over -here. Worse still, we learn that more than one New York publisher, -after reading the book, reluctantly declined it. Sometimes one fears -that publishers are not unerring judges of what we all desire to read. - -What does a man need to do to deserve well of his generation? Suppose -he had written a book that with quiet dignity and restraint summed up -the “ardours and endurances” of earth’s greatest crisis; a book that -showed sane and sweet knowledge of our poor, frail, tough, bedevilled -human nature; a book so delicately and firmly written that the manner -of it was no less potent than the matter; a book that dealt with -furious subjects calmly; that reviewed passion and misery with reason -and candour; a book that was bitter where bitterness was needed, but -with the bitterness of antiseptic. C. E. Montague has written such a -book. And even though it may be bad manners to speak about it publicly -before it has been published here, we venture do so in the hope of -speeding its coming. To confess a personal incident, when we were half -way through it we encountered one of our friends who is a sagacious -devourer of books. “What’s worth reading?” he said. “Sit down at your -desk and let me dictate a letter to you,” we replied. With admirable -docility this fine creature obeyed. We happened to know that he has -an account at Brentano’s, so we dictated thus: “Brentano’s, New -York. Gentlemen: Please order for me from Chatto & Windus, London, -three copies of _Disenchantment_, by C. E. Montague, and charge to -my account.” We watched carefully while our friend signed his name, -addressed and stamped the envelope, and dropped it down the chute. - -By the time we had read him half a page of the book he had already -decided to whom he would give his two extra copies. He will never -regret the transaction, we swear. - -We are anxious to put a brake on ourself in speaking of this book: if -we tried to tell you how deeply moving and true we found it, you might -be alarmed. We admit that we came to it favourably prejudiced, for Mr. -Montague’s name has been honourable to us ever since we read his novel -_The Morning’s War_, published in 1913. We had heard, also, of his -gallant record in the war: that in spite of his age (born in 1867), and -an occupation (he is one of the editors of the Manchester _Guardian_) -that many found a full excuse for non-combatancy, he enlisted as a -private in 1914, rose through the ranks to a captain’s commission, and -was three times mentioned in dispatches. We also knew (from _Who’s -Who_) that his recreation was mountaineering, and that he had been -awarded a medal “for saving life from drowning.” But we found in this -book so much more than we had imagined possible that we are at a loss -to describe it. It is the kind of book that, like its author, “saves -life from drowning.” It may save some foundering reason from the dark -tide of cynicism and disorder that is the natural result of the war -years. Even if we only persuaded every newspaper man in America to read -this book, we would have done a good stroke of achievement. It is a -book peculiarly necessary for journalists to meditate. - -It is very plain that the world to-day has a bad case of acid mouth, -and Mr. Montague’s book (to use a very humble metaphor) is a kind of -litmus paper that shows the extent of our palate’s embitterment. His -reminiscent synopsis of the war’s moods and its increasing disillusions -and perplexities is the first account that seems to us to fit in with -those troubled, enigmatic, and fragmentary confessions that one hears -from those who saw the trouble from the under side; who are not always -very articulate, but spasmodically ejaculate that “The war didn’t -get into the papers.” The book deals with the greatest topic of our -age in a spirit of commensurate greatness. Of course we think we can -guess why some American publishers have been timid about it. In this -country we have not been anywhere nearly so close to the war as Britain -was. The war was still bullish with us when it suddenly ended. As a -nation, we had not been in it long enough to feel that infernal douche -of skepticism. England has been far, far more bitterly disillusioned. -The war left us economically troubled, but spiritually much the same. -The old bunkums, one suspects, still pass current here as they do not -any longer in England. And perhaps this book, conceived in suffering -and weariness, can be relished only by those who have been more deeply -immersed in horror than most of us. Even in England, we hear, its sale -has not been very large. - -For, after all, humanity has an uncanny instinct to avoid truth as -long as it can. As we read this book of Mr. Montague’s we had a sudden -vision of it selling as well as H. G. Wells does--passing from hand to -hand, quoted, sermonized, becoming the fashionable topic of the season. -It even made our beloved Santayana seem dim and pale, in a way; for it -is so close and actual to our present moods and troubles. But then, -with a sigh, we abandoned that vision. Why, if this book were really -seized upon, gloried in as it deserves to be, if its eloquent humour -and generous brave spirit were really acclaimed.... No, we can’t quite -see it! The book is too beautiful, too true. - - -II - -(New York _Herald_, October, 1922) - -They don’t come very often, the books that speak so generously and -beautifully to the inner certainties of the mind. And when they do, it -is desirable not to do them dishonour by words too clumsy or sweeping. - -But that Mr. Montague’s _Disenchantment_ has come to us in just the -way that it has is a curiously mixed satisfaction and disappointment -to the present reviewer. Satisfaction, in that for the past several -years I have been saying to every publisher who was going abroad: “Why -the devil do you go only to London and nowhere else? Are you aware -that there are very exciting centres of literary activity in Glasgow, -Edinburgh, Manchester, Birmingham--all sorts of places outside London. -Some day” (I kept saying to publishers) “one of the great books will -bob up a long way from London. You might remember, for instance, -Stevenson and Barrie. Now when you are in England why don’t you go to -call on Mr. Montague at the Manchester _Guardian_? He’d know what was -going on. Very likely he could tell you of someone who was writing a -fine book--someone London wouldn’t know about.” - -I take no particular credit for saying this: it was obviousness itself -to any one who had noticed Mr. Montague’s earlier books. But the -publishers, with their stereotyped habit of calling on a few literary -agents in London, and thinking they have then done their possible, paid -no attention. One of the odd things about publishers is that they have -so little adventurous spirit about spooring for the really fine stuff. - -Well, the book, quietly written and published, turned out to be by -Mr. Montague himself. Half a year went by, but we in America heard -nothing about it. There are always wide and well-polished alleys for -the transmission of information amusing or trivial. Comparatively -unimportant news spins along the parquet floor, and a crash resounds -like that of tenpins tumbling. But humanity, probably with a wise -instinct, averts its ear from matters that require meditation. The -American publishers, seriatim, had their look at the sheets of -_Disenchantment_. All apparently agreed that it was magnificent, but -with their cheery assumption of knowledge as to what we want to read -opined that it was too British or too full of intricate allusion or too -much about the war, of which we were asserted to be weary. Or that the -British publisher was asking an unwarrantable price for it; that only -a few readers here would appreciate it; that it would be impossible to -come clear on the expense. - -These are all sound, sagacious reasonings. The one thing our publisher -friends did not realize was that it is by publishing, every now and -then, a book of this sort that they save their souls. It is an honour -to put such a book on one’s list, even if it should prove presently -unprofitable. - -_Disenchantment_ is an enchanting book. It is an _Anatomy of -Melancholy_ in the exact sense. It is a spiritual history of the -war: a penetrating, intellectual, richly allusive, wise, sober, and -compassionate study of that slow process of disintegrating certainty -that marked every mind capable of independent action. People who have -never read it probably imagine that the _Anatomy of Melancholy_ is -a dismal and grievous work. It is, however, one of the most richly -amusing of all books; and it is only fair to say (accepting the danger -of being misconceived) that Mr. Montague’s delicious humour makes -_Disenchantment_ one of the most witty of contemporary writings. For -war, after all, is a human institution and subject to the complexity of -all planetary matters. It has, in Mr. Robert Nichols’s great phrase, -its ardours and endurances; also its selfishnesses, stupidities, and -laughters. It is not to be supposed that men who are pompous and silly -and hilarious and craven in business, book reviewing, education and -theology will be otherwise when they go to war. - -So Mr. Montague, in anatomizing the melancholy that has fallen upon -the world, employs, with perfect skill and perfect restraint, every -shaft in the quiver of a literary artist. The old devil of herd-poison -lingers among us yet: there will be some simple spirits who will think -this book bitter, some who will think it blasphemous; some who will -maintain that it plays into the hand of Apollyon (whose residence, -they will probably insist, is somewhere along Unter den Linden). But -there will also be some, and not few I think, who will see in this -book the breadth and burning spirit of one who has long gone beyond -the conception of war as a merely national matter; who looks upon it -as a movement of tragedy among men where the innocent suffer no less -outrage than the guilty. And yet even those who may find Mr. Montague’s -disrobing of official frailty almost too disturbing will take pleasure -in the beauty of his text. Let no one prate to you of the luxuriant -splendour of some of our accredited stylists. The deity of prose moves -in Mr. Montague’s pages. His savoury marrow of allusion--Shakespeare, -for instance, has become part of his actual thinking tissue--will be -undigested by some unpracticed readers. He will be, we might say, -shrimp to the sundry; but no harm will ensue: the casual reader will -merely pay Manchester compliment for what belongs first to Stratford. -And Mr. Montague deserves all the compliment that is possible in an -uncourtly world. - -This book could only have been written by a man who has been through -the scorching and weariness. Its simplicity, its calm, temperate -understanding of human weakness, the optical vividness of its narrative -passages, the generous sympathy that moulds even its ironies--these are -the possession of experience. And it occurs to me to ponder the courage -and fortitude of one who could sit down, in the sobriety of retrospect, -to write a book recalling beauties and sufferings that most of us would -have been glad to let slide into the discard of memory. There could -have been only one motive, and only one sustaining power, potent enough -to carry the hand through so bitter a task. A love of humanity and a -generous hope of humanity’s increase of sanely innocent happiness -could beget a book as noble as this; no other emotion could avail. - -And still the troubled reviewer feels--this being three months after -his reading of the book, and no mere snapped off opinion--that he has -not done justice to the subject. For this book is not merely one of -the noblest passages of political writing that he knows of, and not -merely one of the most clearly and beautifully moving exhibitions of -honest thinking. It is a book that is sanative and antitoxic for the -present time. He is a shallow observer indeed who does not see, in the -post-bellum world, muddy currents of cynicism and discontent; revulsive -twitchings, literature no less jangled than politics. Mr. Montague does -not disenchant us from any enchantments that were worth keeping. Except -the politicians and the ultra-parsonical parsons, we had slipped their -leash long ago. He offers a lucid enlarging mirror of truth and sense -in which a thoughtful reader may see enlarged and brightly snuffed the -small sooty flame of his own natural candle, as William Penn called the -inward spirit. He magics us for the moment by his charm and the lovely -humanity of his vision into thinking that we, too, can, if we will, be -just, liberal, and humane. - - - - -[Illustration] - -BUDDHA ON THE L - - -In Frank Shay’s bookshop we found _A Buddhist Catechism_, by Subhadra -Bhikshu. We have never known much about the Buddha--so little, in fact, -that we thought that was his name. (His name was Prince Siddhartha -Gotama.) But we have always felt that he was a kinsprit. - -We opened the book at random and the first thing we saw was: - - 95. _Did not the Buddha give us any information concerning the - first beginning and ultimate destiny of the Universe?_ - - No; - -96. _Did he know nothing about it?_ - - He knew, but he taught us nothing. - -There was a subtlety about that that pleased us greatly. It reminded -us of a Chinese mandarin of our acquaintance who says that the -universe was Dictated but not Signed. Immediately we forked out $1.25 -to Frank Shay and took the book. Frank was so pleased to sell a book -(business is said to be at a very meagre pulse in Greenwich Village in -midsummer) that he at once responded by buying our lunch. We retorted -generously enough by buying a copy of Anatole France’s _L’Ile des -Pingouins_, which we have been hearing about for ten years or so. We -were interested to note that our copy is the “Cent Quatre-Vingt-Sixième -Edition.” Considering the book was published only fourteen years ago, -that seems good progress. - -Coming back downtown on the L we went at Buddha hard and with great -satisfaction. We learned that Buddha is not a name but means a state -of mind, or Enlightenment. We learned the answers to the following -questions: - - 129. _Why has the upright and just man often so much to suffer - here on earth?_ - - 130. _How is it that the wicked and unjust man often enjoys - pleasures and honours?_ - - 118. _What is a meritorious action?_ - - 109. _Why is not a layman able to reach Nirvana?_ - -We can hear you clamouring to know the answers to these exciting -questions; they are right here before us; but our duty is not to solve -problems, only to propound them. - -But you must get it clearly in your minds that the Buddha is not a God. -The Buddhist Catechism expressly rejects “a personal God-Creator,” -and “distinctly denies the doctrine of a creation out of nothing. -Everything owes its origin and development to its own inherent -vitalism, or, what comes to the same, its own will to live.” The Buddha -was not a God, but “a man far superior to ordinary men, one of a series -of self-enlightened sublime Buddhas, who appear at long intervals in -the world, and are morally and spiritually so superior to erring, -suffering mankind, that to the childlike conceptions of the multitude -they appear as Gods or Messiahs.” - -This is all tremendously exciting and leads to many pure and thrilling -speculations that are much too honourable to pursue here. They would -get us into horrible trouble, we feel sure. Indeed we are not at all -certain whether both Frank Shay and ourself are not already subject -to possible legal duress for vending and discussing so dangerous -a book. But a noble analogy occurs to us which we venture with -humility. Charley Chaplin is a great comedian. But the simple-minded -drama critics are not content to leave it at that. They will have it -(although it is now _vieux jeu_) that he is really a Great Tragic -Artist. And so the tradition will go down to posterity that he was -a Secret Hamlet, an Edgar Poe in clown’s trousers. Charley himself, -finding that his intellectual disciples insist upon this, perhaps -acquiesces in the idea. Only by doing so, he may feel, can he get his -stuff across. - -It is really very astonishing; at this moment our Employer brings in -to us a letter he has had from a publisher, which begins: - - _Do you agree with me that there is a need for a book on the - fundamentals of public opinion, for a book that will endeavor - to define the new profession of public relations counsel, its - scope and its functions and its relations specifically to the - press and to the public generally?_ - -A Public Relations Counsel, of course, is simply the post-war name -for a Press Agent. But we mustn’t be ribald. The press agent, if -conscientious, may contribute a valuable function. We ourself have -worked as a free-lance Press Agent for George Fox, Sir Thomas Browne, -Herman Melville, Thoreau, Lao-Tse, Pearsall Smith, and various -other people who have seemed to us to have the Right Idea. But one -of the troubles is that there have been (and always will be) a lot -of unauthorized Public Relations Counsels who get the ear of the -crowd and limn upon the great canvas of the public a portrait of the -Prophet which is very different from what that poor dreamer himself -may have wished. Even the humblest of authors has frequently cursed -the publisher’s man who writes the copy for his book-jacket. If you -want a really pregnant speculation, weigh in your mind how many Public -Relations Counsels there have been in the world of religion, and how -amazingly they have interpreted and toned down the simple dissolvents -of the founders of their creeds. - -C. E. Montague, in _Disenchantment_, puts it beautifully: - - Ever since those disconcerting bombs [i. e., _the words of - Christ_] were originally thrown courageous divines and laymen - have been rushing in to pick them up and throw them away, - combining as well as they could an air of respect for the - thrower with tender care for the mental ease of congregations - occupied generally in making money and occasionally in making - war. Yet there they lie, miraculously permanent and disturbing, - as if just thrown. Now and then one will go off, with seismic - results, in the mind of some St. Francis or Tolstoy. - -The Buddha, sitting under his Bo Tree (_ficus religiosa_--and it is -fairly obvious why so many philosophers have chosen fig trees to sit -under; a really lusty fig will bear, according to the New International -Encyclopædia, three crops of fruit in a season, thus keeping the -eremite well fed; and a fig, L. E. W. says, is what he doesn’t give for -the ideas of rival magi) is to us an enviable vision. We wonder how his -meditations would have fared if there had been a telephone at the foot -of the tree. - -The only drawback, as far as we are concerned, to becoming a Buddhist -is the vow to abstain from intoxicating liquors. In this respect the -Western religions seem to us more liberal. We have meditated long and -earnestly on the subject and still have never been able to understand -why an occasional exhilarating drink should be contrary to any wise -man’s ethic. Indeed, if Nirvana (or Perfect Release from Struggle) is -the object of life, we have seen it well attained by three or four -juleps or Tom-and-Jerries. The lay Buddhist has to take five vows; -the Bhikshus (or Brotherhood of the Elect) take ten. Some of these -additional vows required of the Bhikshu are: - - _I vow and promise not to eat food at unseasonable times--that - is, after the midday meal._ - - _I vow and promise not to dance, sing light songs, frequent - public amusements, and, in short, to avoid worldly dissipation - of every kind._ - - _I vow and promise not to wear any kind of ornament, nor to use - any scents or perfumes, and, in short, to avoid whatever tends - to vanity._ - - _I promise and vow to give up the use of soft bedding and to - sleep on a hard, low couch._ - -These, we admit, present some difficulties. Frequenting “public -amusements” offers too many opportunities for quibble. In one sense -every possible mingling with the world is a public amusement. If there -is anything more amusing than a smoking car full of men or a Broadway -pavement at lunch time we don’t know what it could be. Sleeping on -a hard, low couch is easy enough--we can sleep anywhere with equal -satisfaction, even on the floor. The queer thing that we always notice -about every kind of moral code is that, sooner or later, it begins to -lose sight of the distinction between essentials and non-essentials. -Such matters as intoxicating drink and public amusements should not -be (for the Western philosopher) subject to prescriptive legislation. -The individual may very rightly impose restraints upon himself in -non-essential matters; but to lay them upon him from above is to -stultify the whole purport of ethics--which, if we understand it, is -to encourage and develop a worthy personal will. And the Buddhist -Catechism recognizes this in a very potent phrase--“Every one of us -must become his own redeemer.” - -But Buddhism seems to have a firm grasp on one very essential and -valuable idea, which is comparatively rare among religions. Thus the -Catechism: - - 43. _Does Buddhism teach its followers to hate, despise, or - persecute non-believers?_ - - Quite the reverse. It teaches us to love all men as brethren, - without distinction of race, nationality, or creed; to respect - the convictions of men of other beliefs, and to be careful - to avoid all religious controversy. The Buddhist religion is - imbued with the purest spirit of perfect toleration. Even where - dominant, it has never oppressed or persecuted non-believers, - and its success has never been attended with bloodshed. - The true Buddhist does not feel hatred, but only pity and - compassion for him who will not acknowledge or listen to the - truth, to his own loss and injury only. - -Of course, all forms of human attempt to unscrew the inscrutable -are fascinating and full of interest. The Westerner, however, is -a bit troubled when he finds “Love of life on earth” listed among -the “ten fetters” which, according to the Buddha, prevent the soul -from receiving full freedom and enlightenment. That seems, to our -earth-bound and muddied conceptions, a shabby doctrine. Even the most -timid tincture of good manners suggests that a life so exciting, -so amusing, so painful, so perplexing, and so variously endowed -with unearned beauty and amazement deserves at least a courteous -gratefulness on our part. Mr. C. E. Montague (if you will allow us to -quote him once more), explains what we mean: - - Among the mind’s powers is one that comes of itself to many - children and artists. It need not be lost, to the end of his - days, by any one who has ever had it. This is the power of - taking delight in a thing, or rather in anything, everything, - not as a means to some other end, but just because it is what - it is.... A child in the full health of his mind will put his - hand flat on the summer turf, feel it, and give a little shiver - of private glee at the elastic firmness of the globe. He is not - thinking how well it will do for some game or to feed sheep - upon.... No matter what the things may be, no matter what they - are good or no good for, there they are, each with a thrilling - unique look and feel of its own, like a face; the iron - astringently cool under its paint, the painted wood familiarly - warmer, the clod crumbling enchantingly down in the hands, with - its little dry smell of the sun and of hot nettles; each common - thing a personality marked by delicious differences. - -It is this sensuous cheerfulness in mere living, apparently, that the -Buddhist would have us cast away. You remember Rupert Brooke’s fine -poem _The Great Lover_. Western students may be pardoned for wondering -whether “Love of life on earth,” whatever that life’s miseries, ills, -and absurdities, is not too precious to be tossed lightly aside. - - - - -[Illustration] - -INTELLECTUALS AND ROUGHNECKS - - -I - -We look forward with keen interest to reading _Civilization in the -United States_, the work of thirty-three independent observers -commenting upon various phases of the American scene. So far we have -only glanced into it, and have already found much that looks as though -it needed contradiction. It is obviously going to be a gloomy book, -rather strongly flavoured with intellectual ammonia. Of course, it is -a healthy thing that some of our Intellectuals are so depressed about -America. It is a good thing for a nation, as it is for an individual, -occasionally to go home at night cursing itself for being a boob, a -numbskull, and a mental flounder. But we feel about some of our Extreme -Intellectuals as we do about the Physical Culture restaurants. The -people in these restaurants eat nothing but vitamines and plasms and -protose; they live in an atmosphere of carefully planned Scandinavian -hygiene; yet most of them look mysteriously pallid. And some of our -most Conscientious Brows, in spite of leading lives of carefully -regulated meditation, don’t seem any too robust in the region of the -wits. - -However, we shall study this book with care. It contains articles by a -number of people whom we admire specially. What we have been wondering -is whether among its rather acid comments it gives any panoramic -picture of the America we see daily and admire--an America which, in -spite of comical simplicities and tragic misdirections of energy, -seems to us, in vitality, curiosity, and surprising beauty, the most -thrilling experiment of the human race. - -In one article in this book we find the following: - - Everything in our society tends to check the growth of the - spirit and to shatter the confidence of the individual - in himself. Considered with reference to its higher - manifestations, life itself has been thus far, in modern - America, a failure. Of this the failure of our literature is - merely emblematic. Mr. Mencken, who shares this belief, urges - that the only hope of a change for the better lies in the - development of a native aristocracy that will stand between - the writer and the public, supporting him, appreciating him, - forming as it were a _cordon sanitaire_ between the individual - and the mob. - -Well, our confidence in ourself is not yet wholly shattered, in spite -of the grinding horror of American life. We feel confident enough -to venture that this theory is dubious. Greatness in literature does -not need to be protected from the insanitary infection of the mob. -How Charles Dickens would have roared at such a timid little bluesock -doctrine! Great writers do not need any clique of private appreciators -or supporters. They are not produced by plaintive patter about ideals -and the pride of the “artist.” They arise haphazard, and they carry -in them an anger, an energy, and a fecundity that deny all classroom -rules. And the mob, heaven help us! is the ground and source of their -strength and their happiness. Nothing can “check the growth of their -spirit,” because the spirit is big enough to turn everything to its own -inscrutable account. You might as well say that Shakespeare couldn’t -write great plays because the typewriter hadn’t been invented. - -Of course, if by “a native aristocracy that will stand between the -writer and the public,” we are to understand an efficient service of -tactful office boys and mendacious telephone girls to keep the chance -caller from cutting the mortal artery of Time, we applaud. But we fear -that is not meant. - -When we get weary of upstage comments about literature we go aloft and -have a talk to the fellows in the composing room (who, by the way, are -all reading _Moby Dick_ nowadays). There is no priggishness in their -criticism. They have the sound, sober, sincere instinct--as when one of -them tells us, with magnificent insight, that _Moby Dick_ is “Hamlet -stuff.” When professional connoisseurs can teach us as much as the -composing room can about the human values that lie behind literature, -then we will mend our manners. - -The more we think about it, the more we are staggered by the statement -that American life “tends to check the growth of the spirit.” To us -the exact opposite seems true. American life as we see it all round us -seems to be crying aloud for a spirit great enough to grasp and express -it. It seems the most prodigious and stimulating material that any -writer ever had for his contemplation. It is a perpetual challenge to -the imagination--a challenge that hardly any one since Whitman has been -great enough, or daring enough, to deal with; but to say that it stunts -the spirit can only be valid as a personal opinion. It is to say that a -hungry man going into a restaurant loses his appetite. - - -II - -We have ventured a little further into _Civilization in the United -States_ (which someone has said should really be called “Civilization -between Fourteenth Street and Washington Square”) and, to tell -the truth, we are astounded. This time we are astounded by the -extraordinary mellow gravity of the Young Intellectual. It is sad, by -the way, that the editor of the volume is actually not much younger -than ourself; but indeed he makes us feel immeasurably aged and -decadent. - -There are, of course, admirable things in the book. Mr. Mencken is at -his best in his attack upon Congressional mediocrity. Messrs. Macy, Van -Loon, Lardner, and Ernest Boyd carry us with them, as they very often -do. Mr. Henry Longan Stuart’s “As an Englishman Sees It” is the most -quietly pregnant of the essays we have read. But we must confess that -when the editor (Mr. Harold Stearns) writes on “The Intellectual Life” -he leaves us puzzled and unhappy. - -Perhaps Professor Colby’s contribution on “Humour” affords a clue. At -first we did not quite “get” it; we did not realize that Mr. Colby -was having his little joke at the expense of some of the masculine -Hermiones who met fortnightly (so Mr. Stearns assures us) at the -editor’s home “to clarify their individual fields, and contribute -towards the advance of intellectual life in America.” After reading -the appalling solemnities of Mr. Stearns’s Preface we realize how -charmingly Mr. Colby is (as becomes a veteran) chaffing the young -pyrophags. He remarks that the “upper literary class” in America is -utterly devoid of humour. This intramural stab he must have meditated -at one of those fortnightly meetings while the chairman was remarking -that “the most moving and pathetic fact in the social life of America -to-day is emotional and æsthetic starvation.” - -When young men of thirty or so begin to talk about “contributing to -the advance of intellectual life in America” they should do it with a -smile. Otherwise someone else will have to do the smiling for them. - -Consider the weight of the Great Problems faced by the editor of -_Civilization in America_ at those fortnightly meetings, while (let us -hope) the elder members, such as Jack Macy and Professor Colby, smiled -a trifle wanly-- - - ... “These larger points of policy were decided by common - agreement or, on occasion, by majority vote, and to the end I - settled no important question without consultation with as many - members of the group as I could approach within the limited - time we had agreed to have this volume in the hands of the - publisher. But with the extension of the scope of the book, the - negotiations with the publisher, and the mass of complexities - and details that are inevitable in so difficult an enterprise, - the authority to decide specific questions and the usual - editorial powers were delegated as a matter of convenience to - me, aided by a committee of three.” - -But you must read that Preface entire, to get the full humour of -the matter, to get the self-destroying seriousness of the Young -Intellectual. It ought to be reprinted as a pamphlet for the warning -of college students. Consider the syntax of the first sentence quoted -above, as a “contribution to intellectual life in America.” For our -own part, after reading that Preface we couldn’t help turning to the -quiet and modest little prefaces of some of the great books, e. g., -_Leviathan_ and _Religio Medici_. - -We must not be ill humoured. The editor of the volume, we are told, -has made his own contribution to the intellectual life in America by -leaving for Paris as soon as the proofs were corrected. He is perhaps -a victim of that oldest of American sophomore superstitions--the idea -that Paris is the only city of the world where men of letters may enjoy -true freedom of the body and the spirit. Mr. Stearns has for some time -been threatening that the sterility and coarseness of American life -will drive our sensitive young men overseas. Well, the rest of us -must shuffle along as best we can, and see what we can do with this -poor tawdry civilization of ours. And incidentally, as a gesture of -divorce from American crassness, going to Paris and taking a job on the -Parisian edition of the New York _Herald_ seems to us inadequate. We -are reminded of another Young Intellectual--in Chicago this time--who -greatly yearned to write a masterpiece of obscenity, but could not -spell Messalina correctly. - -Mr. Stearns speaks of himself and his friends as “unhappy intellectuals -educated beyond our environment.” There is a roaring risibility in -this that leaves us prostrate. The tragedy is that they apparently -mean it. We admire their sincerity, their high-mindedness, and all -that, but even at the risk of seeming argumentative we cannot, as long -as honesty and clear thinking mean anything, let that sort of remark -go by unprotested. It is impossible for any man to be educated beyond -his environment--whatever that environment may be. For no man can be -greater than Life itself, and in whatever field of life he may be -placed, if he has the true insight and the true humility, he will find -material for his art. The extraordinary panorama of American life, -whatever its cruelties and absurdities, should be glowing material -for any artist with the genuine receptive and creative gift. The real -“artist” (since our Intellectuals love that term) will not timidly -crawl into a corner and squeak; nor need he run away to some imagined -Utopia abroad. - -Perhaps this is a more serious matter than we had supposed. We are -one of the stoutest--one of the sincerest, let us say, to avoid -misunderstanding--partisans of the Young Intellectual. We used to -like, in our wilder moments, to think ourself almost one of them. But -it looks now as though we should have to organize a new clique--the -Young Roughnecks. The Young Intellectuals are too easily pleased with -themselves. In the first place, we honestly believe that few men have -any real critical balance and judgment before they are forty. In the -second place, the Young Intellectuals are perilously devoid of humour. -Of that rich, magical, grotesque, and savoury quality they have far too -little. They have it, but it works spasmodically. - -We welcome a book like _Civilization in America_ because it shows -in a clear cross-cutting what is wrong with a great many excellent -young minds. They are quick to scoff, but they are not humorous; they -are eager for human perfection, but want to escape from humanity -itself. They say a great many admirable things, true things; but so -condescendingly that, by some quaint perversion, they impel us to fly -to the opposite view. Life itself, apparently, is too multitudinous, -too terrible for them. They enjoy pouring ridicule upon the world of -business and upon the business man. We should like to see them tackle -their own tasks with the same devotion and lack of parade that the -business man shows. Some of the most amazing beauties of American life -have been the work of quiet business men who were not clamouring for -admiration as “artists.” Our friends the Intellectuals keep shouting -that the “creative class” (so they call themselves) must be more -admired, more respected, more appreciated. We answer, they are already -respected and applauded as much as--perhaps more than--is good for -them. Let them cease to consider themselves a class above and apart. -They are too painfully conscious of being “artists.” They make us feel -like gathering a group of Young Roughnecks--let us say Heywood Broun -and H. I. Phillips for a nucleus--and going off in a corner to be -constructively and creatively vulgar. - - - - -[Illustration] - -THE FUN OF WRITING - - -On the way to the station this warm / chilly morning -[_Note to Linotype Man: Please kill the inappropriate adjective; we -like to be accurate, and this April weather is so inconstant_] we were -thinking how little appreciated is the true pleasure of writing. - -Writing is an art (or, if you prefer, a trade) never wholly and -properly enjoyed except by the intensely indolent. What we mean is -this: there are a lot of things in life that are not at all as they -should be. But the writer, by magnificent pretence, improves all that. -Gardening, for instance. No one enjoys seeing beds thickly decorated -with bright flowers and superb vegetables more than we do. But the -grubby and tiresome task of groping about with trowels and quicklime -and all the other fertilizers is distasteful. Getting sweet peas to -climb is a noxious business. Somehow the seedsman always palms off on -us a kind of horizontal sweet pea that runs lowly along the ground -and never blossoms at all. But take up the pen, or typewriter, and -how quickly everything is rectified. When you set to work to compose a -story, how easy it is to have things nice and genteel. Thus: - - Out in the bland freshness of the suburban morning, Mr. - Frogbones was enjoying his garden. In twin beds under the tall - French windows the gardenias and sunflowers were just opening - towards the violent orb. Sweet peas and daffodils and vast - claret-coloured roses aspired upon a green trellis. “How I - love a little nosegay,” he said, as he clipped off a couple of - dozen of the great cider-tinted chrysanthemums, and bore them - indoors to his wife. In the breakfast room a well-trained maid - servant was putting the fragrant coffee on the table and the - children were drinking their morning milk with neatness and - gusto. “Elise,” said Mrs. Frogbones to the maid, “you may bring - in the sausages, kidneys, bacon, scrambled eggs, anchovy toast, - marmalade, grape fruit, porridge, raisin bread, and gooseberry - jam. Mr. Frogbones is ready for breakfast.” - -Now what could be easier, what could be more agreeable, than to write -that? And yet not a word of it is true. We know Henry Frogbones well: -his garden is contemptible; the maid’s coffee is execrable, and she -is going to leave at the end of the week anyway; his children roar -with anguish when they see a mug of milk, which they detest. But how -pleasant it is to lend a hand to the travailing universe when you are -writing. - - As Henry Frogbones finished his ample breakfast the large - absinthe-coloured limousine rolled with a quiet crunch - across the terrace which was pebbled with small blue gravel. - He slipped on his new herringbone surtout, lit a fine black - cheroot, hitched up one spat which had got twisted, and rolled - away to town. Ambrose, the chauffeur, was accustomed to his - employer’s ways: he drove gently so that Mr. Frogbones could - read the morning paper with comfort. After an hour’s ride - through exquisite scenery [_if the editor pays more than - five cents a word, it may be well to describe this scenery_] - Mr. Frogbones reached his office, where the morning mail had - already been opened and classified by a competent assistant. In - the anteroom a number of callers were waiting, held in check by - a respectful young man who was explaining to them that no one - can possibly disturb Mr. Frogbones until his morning article is - written.... - -As a matter of fact, we don’t feel that we can go on with this any -further; it is beginning to seem too unlikely. But it only seems -unlikely to us, because we know the truth about old Frogbones. The -average magazine reader would swallow it without cavil. That is -why we say that writing is huge fun, because you can solve all the -perplexities and distractions of life as you go along, and really enjoy -yourself at the same time, and (most remarkable of all) get paid for -it. - - - - -[Illustration] - -A CHRISTMAS SOLILOQUY - - -I - -In the most peaceful spot known to American life--a railroad train--we -had several hours of that pleasure which offices are devised to -prevent, viz., meditation; or even (if we may dare so high) thought. -Our thoughts, or whatever they are that go round inside you when you -are sitting passively in a train, were tinged by the approach of -Christmas. - -There was evidently something in the bright air and pre-Christmas -feeling of that December afternoon that even softened the heart of -the news butcher, for we noticed as the train hastened along the -Connecticut shore his manner became more and more fond. He began, at -Grand Central, in a mood of formality, even austerity. “Lots of nice -reading matter here, gentlemen,” he cried. “Get a nice short story -book” (by “book” he meant, of course, magazine) “to kill time for -a coupla hours.” We thought, perhaps a little sadly, of the irony -of begging men to annul Time when they had happily reached almost -the only place in America where it can be enjoyed, examined, taken -apart, and looked at. But, perhaps due to a niggardly spirit among his -congregation in the smoker, the agent gradually became more fraternal. -His manner was almost bedside by the time we had got to New Rochelle. -“Choclut pepmints, figs, and lemon drops, fellas!” And at Stamford he -was beginning to despair. “Peanuts: they’re delicious, boys.” We made -up our mind, by the way, as to the correct answer to our old question, -Where does New England begin? The frontier is at South Norwalk, for -there we saw a sign _The New England Cereal Company_. And just about -there, also, begin the billboards urging Codfish, surely the authentic -image and superscription of New England. - -Of course there is a great deal to think about in the signs you see -along the track. There is that notice: - - +------------+ - | DANGEROUS | - | LIVE WIRES | - | KEEP AWAY | - +------------+ - -which is a good advice socially as well as electrically. But we thought -that these warnings were a bit unfair to New England, where there are -fewer human Live Wires than there are south of the Harlem Strait. We -remembered a certain club in Philadelphia of which the bitter-minded -used to say it was the only organization in the world whose membership -was 100 per cent. Live Wires, Regular Fellows, and Go-Getters. - -As we went through Greenwich, Riverside, Westport, we admired the blue -shore of Long Island lying so placidly across the Sound. And it struck -us almost with a sense of shock that there are a great many people -to whom Long Island is only a dim, unreal haze on the horizon. Yes, -foreign travel is a brisk aperient to the mind. We remembered, as we -always do when travelling on the New Haven, Robert Louis Stevenson’s -delight when he first went that way. In one of his letters he speaks of -the succession of beautiful rocky coves that saluted his eye. “Why,” he -wrote, “have Americans been so unfair to their own country?” - -It would be impossible to tell you all the things we thought about: -they have already faded. We did not forget our duty, as a travelling -mandarin, to be a little magisterial when occasion seemed to require -it. In the station at New Haven, for instance, there is a young woman, -most remarkably coifed, who presides at the tobacco counter. She -seemed of a notably cheerful and lenient disposition, and we ventured -a remark upon the weather. She said she wished it would snow, so that -she could have some real fun, by which she meant, we dare say, a little -bobsledding with the youths of Yale College. We thought that this -showed a dangerous inappreciation of her general opulent good fortune -in being young, comely, and attached to a tobacco traffic. We looked at -her quite sternly and said, “Young women can always have a good time, -no matter what the weather.” To our regret, as we hastened on toward -the Springfield train, we heard her squeaking with mirth. - -But the starting point of our meditation was an attempt to describe and -dissect this curious pre-Christmas feeling, which is one of the most -subtle and genuine adventures of the whole year. When we try to examine -it in its components we see that the whole thing is too delicate and -pervasive for analysis. What are its ingredients? we said to ourself. -We thought of the little shrill tingling bells of the Salvation Army; -we thought of the warm juicy smell of roasting chicken that out-gushes -from a certain rotisserie in Jamaica, Long Island. We thought of the -bright colours and toys in the windows of that glorious main street in -Jamaica, which is where we do our Christmas shopping. We thought of all -the sparkle, the chill, clear air, the general bustle of the streets, -that one associates with the Christmas season; and of the undercurrent -of dumb and troubled realization of human misery and stupidity and -frustration that comes to some more clearly now than at any other time. -And we thought also of the mockers and the cheerful skeptics, to whom -any candid expression of a simple human emotion is cause for nipping -laughter. Never mind, we said to ourself, there is at least one time of -year when they can all afford to put away their shining paradoxes and -their gingerbread cynicisms--like the gilded circus wagons we saw shut -up in winter quarters at Bridgeport. - -Probably the most sensitive and complex of human sensations is -the pre-Christmas feeling: because it is not merely personal but -communal; not merely communal but national; not merely national but -even international. We know then that for a few weeks a great part of -the world is busily thinking of the same things: how it can surprise -its friends, how it can encourage the miserable, how it can amuse the -harmless. Even the dingiest street has its pathetic badges of colour. -It is a great thing to have such a widespread community of sentiment, -which, however varying in expression, is identical in essence. One may -be amused when he sees the Christmas Annuals published by Australian -magazines and finds under the title _A Happy Christmas in New South -Wales_ a photograph of girls in muslin enjoying themselves by -picnicking along shady streams with canoes and mosquito nettings. That -kind of Christmas, we think, would seem very grotesque for us, but our -friends the New South Welsh evidently find it exhilarating. - -But it is that mysterious and agreeable pre-Christmas feeling which -is the best of the whole matter. Christmas Day itself is sometimes -almost too feverish a business of picking up blizzards of wrapping -paper, convincing the Urchin that his own toys are just as interesting -as the Urchiness’s, and treading on tiptoe for fear of walking on -the clockwork train or the lurking doll. At Christmas time we always -think--probably we are the only person who does--of the late admirable -William Stubbs, once Bishop of Oxford and Regius Professor of -history, the author of those three fat mulberry coloured volumes _The -Constitutional History of England_, a work far from easy to read, and -which, when we were compelled to study it, seemed of an intolerable -dullness. Bishop Stubbs, in the dreadful words of the _Dictionary of -National Biography_, “never forgot that he was a clergyman.” It is also -said that “his lectures never attracted a large audience.” But what -we are getting at is this, that on Christmas Day, 1873, the excellent -Bishop retired from the gambols and gayeties of his five sons and one -daughter and wrote the preface to his History. We love to think of him, -worthy man, shutting himself up from the Yuletide riot in roomy old -Kettel Hall (now a part of Trinity College, Oxford) and sitting down to -write those words, “The History of Institutions cannot be mastered--can -scarcely be approached--without an effort.” Now that we are somewhat -matured, we think that we could probably reread his _Constitutional -History_ with much profit. In that Christmas Day preface, written while -the young Stubbses were (we suppose) filling the house with juvenile -clamour, there is one phrase that catches our eye as we take the book -down for its annual dusting: - -“Constitutional History reads the exploits and characters of men by a -different light from that shed by the false glare of arms. The world’s -heroes are no heroes to it.” - - -II - -We shall remember the Christmas of 1921, partly, at any rate, by the -wonderful succession of pellucid, frosty, moonlit nights that preceded -it. We walked round and round our rustic grange trying to focus just -what we wanted to say to our friends as a Christmas greeting. A curious -misery was upon our spirit, for we felt that in many ways we had been -recreant to the spirit of friendship. When we think, for instance, -of the unanswered letters.... We have sinned horribly. Yet we wanted -to give ourself the selfish pleasure of saying a word of affection -to those who have been kind to us, and to whom, in the foolish but -unavoidable hurry of daily affairs, we have been discourteous. (The way -to love humanity, we said to ourself, is not to see too much of it.) -Moreover, to write a kind of Christmas sermon is, apparently, to put -one’s self into the loathsome false position of seeming to assume those -virtues one praises. - -We remember the first clergyman who made an impression upon our -childish mind. It was in a country church in a village where we were -visiting some kinsmen. This parson was a great bearded fellow, long -since gone the way of flesh. He was a bit of a ritualist; his white -surplice and embroidered streamers of red and gold impressed us -enormously. He came very close to our idea of Divinity itself. We used -to sit and hear him booming away and think, vaguely, how wonderful to -be as virtuous as that. When the organ throbbed and his vast gray beard -rose ecstatically above his white-robed chest we thought that here was -Goodness incarnate. Years later we asked what had become of him. We -heard that he had lost his job because he drank too much. The more we -think about that the tenderer our feeling is towards his memory. Only -the sinner has a right to preach. - -Thinking about this pre-Christmas feeling, and wanting to say something -about it, but not knowing how, we got (as we started to tell you) on -a train. We went, for a few hours, to another city. There we saw, -exhilaratingly different, but fundamentally the same, the shining -business of life going forward. The people in that city were carrying -on their own affairs, were hotfoot upon their own concerns; we saw -their eager, absorbed faces, and what struck us was, here are all these -people, whose lives are totally sundered from our own, but they have, -at heart, the same hopes and aspirations, the same follies, weaknesses, -disgusts, and bitternesses as ourself. And the same would be so of a -thousand cities, and of a hundred thousand. Then we got into one of -those things called a sleeper, which ought to be called a thinker. An -ideal cloister for meditation. All down the dark aisle we could hear -the innocent snores of our fellows, but we ourself lay wakeful. We felt -rather like the mystic Russian peasant who goes to bed in his coffin. -We were whirled along through a midnight landscape of transparent -white moonlight, and, quite as cheerful as the dead child in Hans -Andersen borne through starry space by the angel, we made our peace -with everything. We claim no credit for this. We would have slept if we -could. There was a huge bump in the middle of the berth, and there was -a vile cold draught. We read part of Stephen Crane’s magnificent sketch -_The Scotch Express_. But those miserable little dim lamps---- - -And then, strangely enough, there came a sudden realization of the -amazing richness and fecundity of life. Every signboard along the -railroad track is an illustration of it. Hideous enough, still it is a -kind of endless vista into the huge jumble of human affairs. Here is a -billboard crying out something about a Spark Plug, or about the Hotel -Theresa; or on the side of a little shabby brick tenement a painted -legend about Bromo Seltzer. Someone worked to put that advertisement -up; someone had sufficient credulity or gambling audacity to pay -for it; somewhere children are fed and clothed by that spark plug. -Christmas itself suddenly seemed a kind of spark plug that ignites -the gases and vapours of selfishness and distrust and explodes them -away. Everything seemed extraordinarily gallant and exciting. Take the -Hotel Theresa, for instance. We had never heard of it before. It is -on 125th Street, we gathered. We would like to wager that all sorts -of adventures are lying in wait up there, if we can slip away and go -looking for them. - -As we were lying in our cool tomb (Carl Sandburg’s phrase) in the -thinking car, we meditated something like this: Christmas is certainly -a time when a reasonable man should overhaul his religion and see if -it amounts to anything. Christmas is a time when millions of people -are thinking of the same thing. Humanity is so constituted that you -can never get the world to agree about things that have happened; but -it is happily at one about something that probably never happened--the -Christmas story as told in the Gospels. If millions of simple people -believe a thing, that doesn’t make it true; but perhaps it makes it -better than true: it makes it Poetry, it makes it Beauty. Stephen -Graham says, in that moving book _With Russian Pilgrims to Jerusalem_ -(which certainly ought to be read by every one who is at all interested -in religion; it is published by Thomas Nelson & Sons; you may have to -get it from London, we don’t believe it is in print over here)--Stephen -Graham says: - - True Religion takes its rise out of Mystery, and not out of - Miracle. - -Religion, which has proved to be one of the greatest dividing and -hostilizing forces in the world, is in its essence just the opposite. -Surely, in the origin of the word, religion means a binding together, -a ligament. Now take the most opposite people you can think of--say -Babe Ruth and the Sultan of Turkey (is there still a Sultan?); or say -Mr. Balfour and the chap who runs the elevator in this office. No -matter how different these may be in training and outlook, there will -be some province of human thought and emotion, some small, sensitive -spot of the mind, in which they can meet and feel at one. We can -imagine them sitting down together for lunch and having a mutually -improving time, each admiring and enjoying the other. Widen the -incongruity of the individuals as much as you like: imagine Mr. Joseph -Conrad and Dr. Berthold Baer; or Mr. James W. Elliott (the Business -Builder) and Mahatma Gandhi--we care not who they are, if they can -make their thoughts intelligible to each other they can find that -remote but definite point of tangency where any experienced mind can -meet and sympathize with any other human mind, discussing the problems -of destiny which are common to all. It is this Common Multiple of -humanity, this sensitive pulse in the mind, this realization of a -universal share in an overburdening mystery too real to be ignored, but -too terrific to be defined or blurbed about, that is the province of -religion. - -And then the devil of it (for there is always a Devil in every sensible -religion) is that the best way to be sure there is this possible point -of junction is not to attempt to find it. Both Mr. Balfour and the -cheerful elevator boy would probably pray heartily to be delivered -from sitting down to lunch together. This mysterious mental sensitive -spot that we speak of remains sensitive only as long as it remains -private and secret. Perhaps religion can be defined as a sense of human -fellowship that is best preserved by not being too companionable. - -We were thinking, too, how extremely modern and contemporary the -Christmas story seems. It is appropriate that the final instalment of -the Income Tax falls just before Christmas. The same thing happened -1921 years ago. “There went out a decree that all the world should be -taxed,” says Luke. That was why Joseph and Mary went to Bethlehem--to -pay their tax. And we can imagine that the Bethlehem _Evening Star_, -if there had been newspapers at that time, would have had a column of -social notes just similar in spirit to those of our own press to-day. -The arrival of Joseph and Mary would not have been noticed. We might -have read: - - Mr. and Mrs. Pharisee of “White Sepulchre,” Galilee, are - spending the winter at the Tiberius Hotel. - - The Hon. Pontius Pilate, Governor of Judæa, is enjoying a - week-end visit with Tetrarch and Mrs. Herod at the tetrarchal - mansion. - - Mr. and Mrs. Philip Herod are travelling in Syria for the - winter. Mrs. Herod was before her marriage Miss Herodias, - socially prominent. - - Prof. Melchior, Prof. Balthazar, and Prof. Gaspar arrived last - night from the West. They are said to be in town for some - astronomical investigations. The professors had great trouble - in securing hotel accommodations, the city being so crowded. - - Rev. Caiaphas, one of the most respected High Priests in this - diocese, has an apartment for the winter at Philactery Court. - -The train pursued its steady way through the moonlight, and the -silvered loveliness of earth and trees made us think generously of -our own country. We are still foolish enough to love this America of -ours with a dumb queer love. We still believe that in spite of Senates -and Live Wires, in spite of the antics of some of the half-educated -and well-meaning men who “govern” us, this country has a unique -contribution to make to the world in future years. There should be -international Christmas cards: there should be some way of one nation -surprising another with a friendly message on the Morning of Mornings. -We believe (perhaps we are not impartial) that the English-speaking -race, by its contributions to human liberty, has a right to a leading -place in the world’s affairs; but if it gives way to its characteristic -vice of arrogance, we weary of it. We think of the feminine brilliance, -charm, and emotional volatility of France; of the beautiful sensibility -and self-control of Japan; of the melancholy idealism of Russia; of the -sober industry of Germany. Have we, then, nothing to learn from these? -Printers’ ink is scattered about these days with such profusion that it -becomes almost meaningless. Sitting in the subway, and raising our eye -plaintively from a newspaper to an advertising card, we have wondered -which was the greater menace, Pyorrhea or Japan? Both were said to -be menaces. It is our own conviction that nothing can be a menace to -America but itself. - -This seems a dismal kind of Christmas homily, but we enjoyed ourself -immensely while we were meditating it in our lower berth. Very likely -if it had been an upper berth the result would have been different. -In any case, we take the liberty of wishing our friends--who are, by -this time, too indurated to feel surprise or chagrin at anything we may -say--a Merry Christmas. We wish for them a cheerful and laborious New -Year, with good books to read, and both the time and the inclination to -think. We even wish for them occasional eccentric seizures, such as we -feel at the present; when we have a dim suspicion that behind the noble -and never sufficiently praised comedy of life there lies some simple -satisfying answer to many gropings. A simple thing, but too terrible -and far-reaching ever to be wholly put into practice by puzzled and -compromising mankind. We mean, of course, the teachings of Christ. -Consider the German generals and military men, who lost everything. But -the German toymakers conquered the world. - - -THE END - - - - -Transcriber’s Notes - - -Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a -predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they -were not changed. - -Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced quotation -marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left -unbalanced. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POWDER OF SYMPATHY *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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