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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76075 ***
+
+
+
+
+
+                           THE LITTLE REVIEW
+
+
+                       Literature Drama Music Art
+
+                          MARGARET C. ANDERSON
+                                 EDITOR
+
+                            SEPTEMBER, 1916
+
+       - - - - - - -                               - - - - - - -
+       - - - - - - -                               - - - - - - -
+       - - - - - - -                               - - - - - - -
+       - - - - - - -                               - - - - - - -
+       - - - - - - -                               - - - - - - -
+       - - - - - - -                               - - - - - - -
+       - - - - - - -                               - - - - - - -
+       Light Occupations of an Editor                           
+       The San Francisco Bomb Case:                             
+         What Can a Poor Executioner Do?            Robert Minor
+         The Labor Farce                    Margaret C. Anderson
+       And——                                                    
+       New York Letter                     Allan Ross Macdougall
+       The Reader Critic                                        
+       Facts About the Bomb                                     
+       The Vers Libre Contest                                   
+
+                           Published Monthly
+
+                            15 cents a copy
+
+                    MARGARET C. ANDERSON, Publisher
+                            Montgomery Block
+                          SAN FRANCISCO, CAL.
+
+                              $1.50 a year
+
+   Entered as second-class matter at Postoffice, San Francisco, Cal.
+
+
+
+
+                           THE LITTLE REVIEW
+
+
+                                VOL III.
+
+                            SEPTEMBER, 1916
+
+                                 NO. 6
+
+                Copyright, 1916, by Margaret C. Anderson
+
+_The Little Review_ hopes to become a magazine of Art. The September
+issue is offered as a Want Ad.
+
+... “The other pages will be left blank.”
+
+[Illustration: _Light occupations of the editor while there is nothing
+to edit._]
+
+   SHE PRACTICES EIGHTEEN HOURS A DAY AND—
+
+   —TAKES HER MASON AND HAMLIN TO BED WITH HER
+
+   BREAKFASTING
+
+   CONVERTING THE SHERIFF TO ANARCHISM AND VERS LIBRE
+
+   SUFFERING FOR HUMANITY AT EMMA GOLDMAN’S LECTURES
+
+                     [Illustration: _(Continued.)_]
+
+   GATHERING HER OWN FIRE-WOOD
+
+   SWIMMING
+
+   THE STEED ON WHICH SHE HAS HER PICTURE TAKEN
+
+   THE INSECT ON WHICH SHE RIDES
+
+
+
+
+                      The San Francisco Bomb Case
+
+
+     What Can a Poor Executioner Do Against a Man Who Is Willing to
+                                Die?[1]
+
+                              ROBERT MINOR
+
+I am glad that it’s Ed Nolan, Tom Mooney, Rena Mooney, Warren Billings,
+and Israel Weinberg who are in jail at San Francisco, awaiting death—or
+_friends_. Not that I want such men and women to meet death, but I wish
+the friends to be able to come to the rescue, knowing that they are
+worthy of the best effort that rebel ever put forth for an individual.
+We are so tired of the revolter who whines when his turn comes to pay.
+So we can almost laugh with an almost glee in the thought that we shall
+not be cheated this time; these rebels do not whine.
+
+This is not a McNamara case. The prisoners are not going to “confess.”
+Even if they wanted to, they’d have to get the prosecutor to write their
+confession for them, for they did not cause the Preparedness Parade
+explosion. I know they didn’t, as you would know it had you read the
+transcript of the testimony on which the Grand Jury indicted them, or if
+you could observe their open efforts to provide every possible light on
+their actions.
+
+Dirty Hearst tried to lynch them. So did all the rest. All the rats from
+the cellar of life—Pastors of the Lord, Broadminded Editors, Illustrious
+Exceptions, etc., turned tail and ran—or helped in the near-lynching.
+All except _one Catholic priest_!
+
+They all thought it was 1886, that “the anarchists were to be
+hanged”—and one doesn’t believe in that _kind_ of thing, you know, and
+can’t sacrifice one’s great opportunity to good in general—and every
+skunk would stink alike, so all would be well.
+
+But this is _not_ 1886, and there _have_ been some to come forward, and
+the men and woman are going to be saved. With all Prominent Persons in
+their holes, a few unimportant workingmen, between announcements of
+their own hangings to come, have stirred up some of the labor unions to
+an extent that you would never believe possible, to do the unheard-of
+thing to be loyal to their fellow members.
+
+The International Workers’ Defense League, thoroughly discredited, as
+the papers announce, by having defended every labor rebel of recent
+American history, is taking contributions to the enormously expensive
+work. Simply to gather evidence and enlighten the few thousand who are
+not afraid, and to pay a high-priced lawyer to array the evidence—that
+is what we want your money for. Send it to the International Workers’
+Defense League, Robert Minor, Treasurer, Room 210 Russ Building, San
+Francisco.
+
+And know that if we lose this fight it will be because a horde of
+“business men” have been judge, jury, and prosecutor against their five
+rebel enemies. It will not be because our men have flinched. When Ed
+Nolan says “the fear of death is the beginning of slavery,” he speaks
+the spirit of the five. We shall not be ashamed of these.
+
+
+                            The Labor Farce
+
+                          MARGARET C. ANDERSON
+
+I really must say what I think about this ridiculous bomb business.
+
+You will find the facts of the case, about the five innocent people who
+were indicted and why the Chamber of Commerce wanted them indicted, on
+page twenty-nine. But what happened after the indictment is more
+interesting and more horrible to me.
+
+The five victims were put into jail. Emma Goldman and Alexander Berkman
+and a few other anarchists began a fight for them,—raising
+money for lawyers, etc. The labor unions began to raise
+money. After about three weeks of argument and hesitation
+and won’t-it-be-better-to-go-a-little-slow and
+is-it-advisable-to-distribute-pamphlets, etc., etc., no lawyer had been
+engaged and none of the “workers” could agree about what “stand” to
+take: would it be better to express sympathy openly with the
+anarchists—(none of the five has ever claimed to be an anarchist, I
+believe)—or would it be wiser to try to prove they were not anarchists,
+or would it be safer to get a small lawyer who costs little and is worth
+nothing or a big one who costs too much and might do something, or would
+it be more expedient to keep out of it altogether, etc., etc., etc.,—or
+shall we just do the best we can even if it isn’t much? Do you think
+there was a single worker with the incredible inspiration to “do the
+most we can and make sure that it is very much”? I saw Emma Goldman and
+Berkman brooding over this strange and awful spectacle like two prophets
+whose souls are slowly petrifying under the antics of their disciples.
+
+Just here some one told me a story. Once upon a time Björnstjerne
+Björnson, up in Norway, heard of a little French seamstress who was
+accused of murder in Paris. She was poor and quite unbefriended and
+there was practically no chance of her receiving justice. Björnson
+hurried to Paris, took her case, and won it in the French courts, in
+French, for the simple joy of doing something he believed in.
+
+Can you imagine that happening in America? There isn’t a single labor
+lawyer in the country who ever does it. If there are any who are willing
+they are not able; if they are able they are not allowed. C. E. S. Wood
+tried to do it for Caplan and Schmidt, but the workers themselves
+prevented him from taking the case. They kept him trotting between
+Portland and Los Angeles while they decided that it would be fatal to
+have him come straight out with the fact that it was a labor fight.
+Sometimes I imagine a young god springing up in labor ranks strong
+enough to rush in and fight the courts for his people, young enough to
+devote his life to it, naive enough to do it for an idea rather than for
+a fee, and ironic enough to do it whether his people want it or not.
+
+But to continue about the bomb. Finally a prominent lawyer was found—one
+whose name carried enough weight to impress even the important and
+ignorant San Francisco citizens who were howling about “anarchists.” But
+the fee he charged before even touching the case was so large that Emma
+Goldman and the unions could raise only half of it, and the rest was
+supplied by the daughter of a man whom the workers would call a
+capitalist and whose money they would repudiate as having been drained
+from the blood of their class. She not only supplied the money; she said
+she would stand behind the victims if it took the last cent she had—_not
+merely because they were innocent_; and the only thing she asked was
+that the money should be used in a direct and active way and not for the
+pretending and denying and covering up that characterize all labor
+fights in this country. Well, I wouldn’t get half so disgusted with
+labor if it would ever acknowledge that vision is not necessarily a
+matter of class. It is almost terrifying to watch a labor propagandist
+think. If he is talking about Henry Ford, for instance, he will sketch
+the picture of a man who has created a $5 a day minimum wage only by
+such speeding-up of labor that labor is too nerve-racked to benefit by
+it; so that Ford becomes a clever rascal who makes labor rich only to
+make himself richer. Of course Ford is an idealist of appalling and
+marvelous simplicity, in quite the same position that an anarchist would
+be whose scheme had begun to work, and no more to blame for the spots in
+which it didn’t work.
+
+The propagandist can’t think. But for that matter only one kind of mind
+really does _think_, and that is the artist kind. I mean this: only the
+artist mind sees that this is the way things happen in the world and
+refuses to sentimentalize over it or _to do nothing about it_. Here are
+five labor people misunderstood by “society,” unchampioned by “labor,”
+and rescued by the bloody capitalist who has neither the limitations
+with which labor endows capital nor the limitations with which capital
+endows labor. What fun! And some of the propagandists will feel like
+“Major Barbara” about accepting that money. Only the artist mind knows
+that it doesn’t matter where the money comes from: money is money, and
+it is made of slavery whether it comes from a financier or a
+coal-digger. Only the artist mind....
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Of course the point of the whole business is this: the labor farce isn’t
+confined to labor: it is merely the farce in which all people
+contentedly luxuriate. It is a matter of rebellions that never become
+real.
+
+There is the sixteen-year-old girl living in the midst of a typical
+American family. Now, no one can live long in such a place without
+losing his mind—unless he has none to lose. But let the girl try to get
+out of that hideous hell and the family detectives can have her back in
+a minute and arrest any one who tried to help her as an abductor.
+
+Such a thing happened the other day in Chicago. It happens every few
+minutes all over the earth. The only way to get out of such a mess is
+_to get out of it_—detectives, jails, families and friends to boot.
+Follow through! Make it real! Your friends can’t afford to be very real:
+one of them probably has a family to support and the others probably
+couldn’t stand the horror of being in the papers! But a girl or a boy
+can stand up to _anything_. If they can’t their old age will find them
+among the rest of the botched and the weak.
+
+Ed Nolan says that the fear of death is the beginning of slavery. I
+think it may be that the fear of life is the very beginning.
+
+----------
+
+   [1] The facts of the bomb case in detail will be found on page
+   29.
+
+
+
+
+                                 And——
+
+
+There is Frank Harris’s _Oscar Wilde: His Life and Confessions_—a book
+that will never disturb Wilde’s legend here, his peace of mind where he
+has gone, nor his reputation as an artist anywhere.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Chicago—always bragging about having a sooner eye for Art.... And
+Sokoloff out here in San Francisco.... And the Chicago Orchestra being
+led on to the goal of music by efficiency like the Germany army getting
+to Paris.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+At the Grand Opera in Paris, in the première of _The Miracle_, an opera
+by two young Swiss, I saw the great Marthe Chenal, who will sing in the
+Chicago Opera Company this winter. I have had a creative memory of her
+for five years. But I wonder what will become of it up against that
+pinnacle of earthly glory, Mary Garden.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+A. C. H. in _Poetry_ has done all that can be done for the new quarterly
+_Form_. “Form”—that’s a name to start hope and the imagination; and then
+... we have a story we’ll print sometime called “The Funny Shape.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Why so much comment on John Cowper Powys’s _One Hundred Best Books_?
+Powys should never write anything. People like Q. K. in The New Republic
+come about as near to getting Powys as they would come to catching a
+comet. Powys is not for culture-snatchers, matinee girls, or glorifiers
+of the obvious. He is merely for those possessed enough of their
+imaginations to fall for a miracle when they see one. Who goes to hear a
+lecture on Nietzsche and Dostoevsky to find out what Powys thinks of
+those men? You go—hoping through the gloom of Nietzsche and Dostoevsky
+to catch a flash of Powys. Powys is the best thing that has come to
+us—that mad wolf! I always feel sorry for Velasquez that he never had a
+chance at him.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+“Everything is just perfect,” as our Editor so ecstatically says:
+Paderewski will make three concerts in San Francisco this month.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Roadside Press is to come out with a Chicago Anthology, a hundred
+and fifty poems, by Chicago authors. As _Poetry_ would say: “Most of
+these appeared first in _The Little Review_; and will probably be
+reprinted without any acknowledgment whatever.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+We have been waiting for what we hoped would be a good comment on
+Sherwood Anderson’s first novel, _Windy McPherson’s Son_. All we will
+say now is that it’s so much worse than Sherwood should ever be.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+A few years ago you couldn’t talk to any one who wasn’t writing a play.
+Now you can’t talk to any one who isn’t starting a theatre. If everyone
+is mad for theatres, who are they that aren’t? Or why haven’t we
+municipal theatres? One, out of all this, and that in the town of
+Northampton, Massachusetts; and that isn’t what any one but a town would
+call a municipal theatre. Sometime I’ll write about Donald Robertson’s
+idea for a municipal theatre. He is always damned for being an
+idealist—a sure sign that what he has is an idea.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Rabindranath Tagore is coming back to America to lecture. Go, if you
+have never seen that slight presence with features drawn of air—with
+eyes that seem never to have looked out—and let him put that white spell
+of peace upon your complex futility.
+
+You sometimes wonder why men like Dr. Coomaraswamy come telling us
+border-ruffians of Art about Ajanta frescoes and sculpture and the music
+of India. Perhaps they know our homesickness and know that alone we
+can’t even find the road.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Bernhardt is coming again. Well, that’s all right, too. And those who
+jeer at her age never could have appreciated her youth. But you, young
+ones, see her; and have the double joy of seeing her now; and, if you
+have it in you, you will see her then, too.
+
+
+   At bottom everything in literature is useless except literary
+   pleasure, but literary pleasure depends upon the quality of
+   sensibility. All discussions die against the wall of personal
+   sensibility, which is flesh on the inside and on the outside a
+   wall of stone. There is a way to turn it about, but this you do
+   not know.—_Remy de Gourmont._
+
+
+
+
+                            New York Letter
+
+
+                         ALLAN ROSS MACDOUGALL
+
+
+                    _A New Playhouse and a New Play_
+
+I have always felt that the hope of a new spirit in the theatre will
+come not so much from amateurs and their talking organizations as from
+the rebels within the theatre and the work they can accomplish. I agree
+with Gordon Craig when he says that no one has any right to meddle with,
+and potter about, the theatre who does not know it from the inside. In
+no other field is there such a gang of busy bodies—old women of both
+sexes, who have the ignorant reformers talking sense developed to such a
+pernicious degree. The air is dark with the empty words they belch
+forth, but from their deeds the world remains light and free. If the
+regeneration of the theatre from the base influences that now possess
+it, is to take place it will not, I am sure, be by the work of the drama
+leagues and so-called “art” theatres. The work of such managers as J. D.
+Williams and producers like Granville Barker and B. Iden Payne does more
+for the theatre by the working out of certain ideals than all the talk
+about those ideals and the jumbling with them by the old ladies’ leagues
+and the “arty” amateurs. A plague on them all!
+
+In New York this season a new theatre is to be opened. Helen Freeman,
+who for a time was a Belasco star and later the leading woman with
+William Gillette, is to own and direct this latest attempt to establish
+a new spirit in the theatre. With Miss Freeman will be associated a
+group of six professional actors. All of them, like their director, have
+ideals which they plan to work for. For the first few months they are to
+produce one-act things. Among them will be plays by Evreinov, a young
+Russian not yet “discovered” by this rapacious country; two plays by the
+Spanish dramatist, Jacinto Benveneto, of whose seventy-five excellent
+plays not one has yet been given here; plays by other unknown European
+dramatists; new plays by Zoë Akins, Witter Bynner, Rollo Peters, and
+other American writers.
+
+Miss Freeman has chosen as a name for this interesting theatre the hour
+of the curtain rise. It will therefore be known as “The Nine o’Clock
+Theatre.” Much is expected from Miss Freeman and much from her theatre.
+Success to it, and to her!
+
+
+                              _A New Play_
+
+When I heard that a new fantastic play was to be produced by Arthur
+Hopkins, and that the scenes and costumes were to be designed by Robert
+Edmond Jones, I booked seats as early as I could. I remembered the work
+of Jones in Anatole France’s _The Man Who Married a Dumb Wife_ and his
+work on the inner scenes and costumes of the Shakespeare Masque. Both
+were the works of a new decorative genius who had much to give to our
+theatre that is barren of the work of artists. I expected much of the
+new play, and lo! what was disappointment was waiting there.
+
+The play first. It is the story of a princess of a mythical land, whose
+lover has been killed in war and who in the last act joins him. (The
+play is named _The Happy Ending_). The curtain rises on a dark forest,
+through which the princess is wandering and posing, and mumbling and
+moaning to herself. Comes then three Maeterlincian maidens also mumbling
+and playing chorus to themselves. Exit the mumbling maidens and enter
+the King and Queen of this mythical land. Mumbleth then these two for a
+while, till, without any warning, the King bluntly asks the Queen for a
+child! Yes! Right there in the forest he does it. It’s the last thing
+one expects in a fantasy, this realistic demand for a son and heir. But
+that’s a minor point. Like many another thing that happened, it had
+nothing to do with the drama.
+
+After a dreary scene, in which the wandering princess seats herself on
+some potato sacks and mumbles to the accompaniment of “yes, princess,”
+“no, princess,” spoken at half minute intervals by a dull-witted
+woodsman, the curtain rises on a scene, entitled in the programme “The
+Hereafter.” What a Hereafter! A bank of sunburnt stage grass: a bilious
+yellow tree: much amber light. Crowds of children with squeaky voices
+lolled and pranced about the place. The authors seem to have taken their
+cue from the old hymn:
+
+   Little children will be there,
+   Who have sought the Lord in prayer;
+   In Heaven we all shall meet,
+   Oh that will be joyful!
+
+I can assure you that it was anything but joyful. A sort of stagey joy
+was evident but not a sight of the real spontaneous feeling. There was a
+sort of Queen-hostess, who welcomed everyone. I have an idea she was
+Mrs. God or maybe assistant to St. Peter. She wore an elaborate shiny
+yellow evening gown; and a set smile after the fashion of the ladies in
+charge of Y. W. C. A. hostels on earth. A nice, well-spoken motherly
+sort of person this Queen was, who did her best to make everybody feel
+at home.
+
+When there was a wreck at sea or a railway accident, many male and
+female supers waddled their bodies in joyous movement across the stage
+and laughed and made mouthy noises. Oh, so glad they were to be in
+Heaven after the shocks they had gone through on earth. It was curious
+to note that they all entered Heaven with whole bodies and unmessed
+clothes, these merry wreck and collision victims.
+
+When the curtain rings down on the scene of the Hereafter it does so to
+the sound of cheering. And why? A whole army has just been annihilated,
+and to the tune of “John Brown’s Body” their spirits are marching toward
+Heaven. And so the happy inhabitants of the Hereafter must cheer to
+think of this influx to their land. After the tawdry Heaven one is
+refreshed by the beauty of the unnecessary scene, “On the way to the
+islands of sleep.” They still use rowboats in that land it seems, but as
+they are rowboats with beautifully lighted innards one doesn’t object
+very much. One does object, however, to the next scene. It is called
+“Space.” Imagine Space as a back-drop sprinkled with stars like an
+old-fashioned frosted Christmas Card. In the middle of this a scarlet
+circle with the continents of North and South America painted in a muddy
+brown color. A sorry picture of space to come from an imaginative
+artist.
+
+The last scene, and the best from the scenic and dramatic standpoint,
+takes place in the palace of the King. Here comes the princess after
+having wandered through the forest awake and the Hereafter in a dream,
+and after falling in some queer kind of fit dies and so joins her dead
+lover and the rest of the cosmopolitan group in Heaven.
+
+A mess by masters! A very messy mess. A sloppy play to start with. Bad
+acting to carry it along. Mediocre music and stage setting that seem to
+have been influenced by the play instead of rising above it. I await
+with interest to see the work that Jones is to do for the Russian
+Ballet. He will have his chance to re-establish himself. I’m sure he is
+artist enough to grasp it.
+
+
+
+
+                           The Reader Critic
+
+
+                          Infantile Paralysis
+
+_D. H., New York_:
+
+Congratulations! You have the capacity for suddenly turning back and
+becoming young enough to say “All or nothing.” And subconsciously
+realizing that you will get mostly nothing, you threaten your readers
+with blank pages. And all those who thought that _The Little Review_ did
+publish only artistic writing have had the veil torn from their eyes and
+their faith in you begins to waver. Perhaps to vanish altogether!
+
+Is all of the _Meistersinger_ one continuous “Preislied”? Is all of
+Beethoven equal to his “Ninth”? Is all of Pachman as marvelous as his
+Chopin? All or nothing! You would feast, and have your readers feast,
+upon the perfection of art and give them none of its strivings?
+
+Your challenge will remain unanswered. If you dare, or through sheer
+carelessness, allow this to appear in the next issue, I shall suspect
+you of considering the writing of an artist a work of art—even though he
+speak not in his own tongue.
+
+Your challenge will remain unanswered! For who are _you_, to expect a
+staff of ready geniuses to fill your pages? You should be grateful for
+one pearl you may find among hundreds of near-jewels. And the world is
+grateful for one _Ave Maria_ (Schubert) among a thousand near-songs. I
+preach no gospel of meekness to you, for I know you will turn again and
+leave your youthful—nay, puerile,—cry of “All or nothing.” It is the cry
+of the mad—of the foolish, impatient ones! You only want the miracle?
+You are like the child crying for the moon and, like him, you will
+accept a round cheese instead.
+
+Do come to New York, and I will play more than an hour uninterrupted for
+you, and perhaps for five minutes (if I am lucky) you will have a
+miracle. If I am unlucky you will have only a near-miracle, which will
+be just very good violin playing.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+But what did I say about wanting only the perfection of art and none of
+its strivings? I said—Art. That includes the strivings, doesn’t it?
+Surely we needn’t go back to definitions. Ezra Pound has a nice analysis
+somewhere—to this effect: In such measure as an artist expresses himself
+truthfully, he will be a good artist; in such measure as he himself
+exists, he will be a great one. I want a record of the process of that
+“existing” from as many artists as possible. The process of each will
+include many things that are not perfection, but who ever told you that
+perfection and Art are synonymous terms? Some one sent me a sketch, in
+answer to my editorial, with this note: “You said you wanted Beauty. I
+am sending you something which I think has it.” I thought it had beauty,
+too; but it had no Art. What do you people think I meant by the
+“miracle”? I meant simply those _strivings and achievements_ which show
+that the great process is really “on.” We published Ben Hecht’s _Night
+Song_. It had much beauty and no perfection, but it had Art quite apart
+from either of those elements. Amy Lowell’s poems (not _Off the
+Turnpike_) have an Art that happens to include perfection. The “miracle”
+was very much present in _Malmaison_, for instance. Flint’s _London My
+Beautiful_ has it. The principal trouble is that miracles usually have
+to be explained to be recognized. It’s like the painter who took a
+friend to hear Powys. The friend went to hear what Powys had to say—“and
+I told her what he looked like,” said the painter—_M. C. A._
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+From your letter you sound like a lot of other young things paralyzed by
+smugness and complacency. You become a one-stringed instrument and you
+hope to play the violin. If you dared to be an artist, and all that
+means of madness and impatience and foolishness and crying for the moon,
+you’d dare promise more than five minutes miracle in an hour. It would
+be outside of promises.—_jh._
+
+
+                          A Word From Real Art
+
+_Frank Lloyd Wright, Chicago_:
+
+The less money _The Little Review_ has the better it _looks_ anyway!
+Your resolve is interesting—but it looks like the end.... I don’t see
+where you can find the thing you need.
+
+But miracles do happen—I wish I had a million or a pen.
+
+
+                                Freudian
+
+_A Contributor, Chicago_:
+
+_The Little Review_ sickens me. I don’t understand why in the devil you
+talk imagism and color and beauty and fill your magazine full of that
+sputtering trash, that colorless-degenerate edgarleemasters junk. Why
+not leave blank pages? And your article.... Good Lord!... It was like
+warm candle grease just after the little candle flame has been sniffed
+out. I see and feel _The Little Review_ as a case of feminine callowism
+gone mad.
+
+The idea of writing anything about Masters fills me with disgust.
+Masters doesn’t even inspire me with rage. I regard his work as a
+pretentious mediocrity. There isn’t a poem in his books that I couldn’t
+have written myself in twenty minutes on a typewriter. Why write about
+Masters? He’s only one of the many dub artists overrunning the country.
+He isn’t to blame, even if he is cocky about his success. In fact, he is
+to be commended for putting it over. The fault, in my mind, lies with
+the great tribe of morons who yap over his doggerel—pro or con. I have
+read three or four things in his first book, and as many in his second
+book, and I see no occasion for rubbing it in on him any more than on
+Luke McGluke, the poet laureate of _The Hickville Clarion_. Put him out
+of your head, why don’t you? Criticism doesn’t concern itself with the
+feverishly inflated mob banalities of the moment. Selah!
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+You say _The Little Review_ sickens you? With the above temperature and
+tongue? I should diagnose the case as autointoxication.—_jh._
+
+
+                                 Query
+
+_Mitchell Dawson, Chicago_:
+
+I have read the August number, and have read only the poetry—which makes
+me sad. Does the new cover represent the Western afterglow?
+
+
+                              Consoling Us
+
+_Rex Lampman, Portland_:
+
+Don’t you think you’re asking a little too much of yourself and your
+contributors, that _The Little Review_ be absolute in each number?
+
+No. I don’t mean that. It’s fine to aim at Art, always, but it isn’t
+failure to miss it most of the time.
+
+As for me, _The Little Review_ has been an inspiration and a delight. A
+paper that will publish anything so wonderful as John Gould Fletcher’s
+_Green Symphony_ doesn’t need, so far as I’m concerned, to “do it again”
+for quite a while, and I’m quite content that you should fill in with
+such stuff as Ben Hecht’s _The Poet Sings to the World_ until you get
+something as good, again, as the _Symphony_.
+
+I’m a newspaper man, and I’m supposed to “write something” every day. Of
+course, it can’t be done; but once in a while, when the powers are kind,
+I am permitted to write something that delights me and others. That’s
+the best I can do, so help me, and I am reminded of the Western epitaph,
+which went something like this:
+
+   Here Lies
+   JIM JONES.
+   He Done His Damnedest.
+   Angels Can Do
+   No More.
+
+And so I hope you’ll never get out a _Little Review_ with any of the
+pages blank.
+
+You are wonderfully honest—one of the honestest persons, I think, that I
+know, and I shout for joy at your godlike impatience with imperfection.
+But patience—pardon the platitude—is also a godlike attribute.
+
+
+                            More Consolation
+
+_C. A. C., Chicago_:
+
+Bully! Since your outburst of righteous indignation towards yourself and
+your contributors I have been comparing your magazine with the others I
+receive. _The Forum_, _Vanity Fair_ (Oh, dear, yes!), _The Masses_, and
+sometimes I see _The Bang_—a weekly pamphlet of Alexander Harvey’s,
+which he distributes discriminately. Your wail seems not wholly
+justified. True, Arthur Symons’s _Spiritual Adventures, Plays, Acting,
+and Music_, and other essays, are things to be sought after by any
+editor. His stuff is appearing in America in _Vanity Fair_ and _The
+Forum_; it seems to lack his first fire, except that he has put a new
+ring to Cleopatra’s statement of herself:
+
+                     Kings have cast their crowns
+   Into the dust, and kings that are my foes
+   I can take up into my hand and cast
+   Into the dust for love of me. I am a woman
+   But I have power greater than any man’s.
+
+And his poems—Symons never was much of a poet. Then, again, that Wright
+person who writes for _The Forum_—any magazine is the better without his
+squibs on Art.
+
+Max Eastman had an article in a recent number of _Vanity Fair_ on
+“Magazine Writing.” He claims it is amazingly well done, so well done
+that there is “not a speck on it”—the main fault being that “it is
+professional. It is work and not play. And for that reason it is never
+profoundly serious, or intensely frivolous enough to captivate the soul.
+It lacks abandon. It is simply well done.” Now, the fact that the very
+essence of your magazine seems “pure living,” brings it out of Eastman’s
+indictment. One cannot say that Sherwood Anderson, Hecht, and Kaun, or
+even yourself, have been guilty of “earning your living” at the expense
+of play. “In that play alone is the heart altogether gay and
+inconsiderate.”
+
+And _The Bang_ has been pounding away steadily for a magazine that
+exists for the fun of it, the joy of it, and is not built upon the
+circulation manager’s point of view. Does Harvey get your magazine? Does
+he ever feel, if he sees it, that the “Ideal” he holds for magazinedom
+is being realized in your magazine?
+
+Summing it up, Miss Editor, you who once declared you had none of the
+qualifications of an editor, it seems to me you have been doing rather
+well. We don’t want you to stand still—_you_ can’t do that—or to stop
+trying. Please, for our sake, keep it up.
+
+
+                       Casting a Slur Upon What?
+
+_Ruth C. Sweeney, Chicago_:
+
+I simply cannot understand how a person who could write such a beautiful
+thing as your poem, _Life_, could allow _The Nymph_ to appear in _The
+Little Review_.
+
+How can you hope to encourage Art when you will print such a thing? I
+have noticed these free-thinkers, and with the casting aside of “forms
+that have to be respected” has gone whatever taste they had. They gulp
+down everything, provided it casts a slur upon something. Does one have
+to lose all his finer sensibilities because he wishes to be free and
+open minded?
+
+I have thought of you people when Nietzsche says, “Sensualists are they
+now become—a trouble and a terror is the hero to them.”
+
+I join with you in your cry of blank pages if _The Nymph_ is the
+alternative.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Give over reading Nietzsche for a bit; you belong in the primary class.
+The person who wrote _The Nymph_ has a background of life, if not of
+Art. And your hero? “A Trouble and a Terror” would make him appear the
+villain.—_jh._
+
+
+                         Why Editors Go Insane
+
+_Alice Groff, Philadelphia_:
+
+I am going to tear to pieces your “A Real Magazine.”
+
+No one ever _reaches_ the “Ideal.” The moment he does, there has ceased
+to _be_ an “_Ideal_.” Our ideal is an ever-advancing goal. Art is the
+embodiment of the human ideal—which ideal is the ever-advancing goal of
+human life.
+
+Art is _not_ the ultimate reason for Life. Life _is_,—for its own sake.
+Life lives for the ideal—for the ever-advancing goal, which embodies
+itself in Art—that Life may become ever more and more abundant _life_.
+Life continually seeks to express its absolute essence in Art, and it
+will never cease this seeking through all eternity. Such expression will
+always be compelled by the aspiration to reach the ever-advancing
+goal—the Ideal which will continually incarnate, and reincarnate, itself
+in an ever-renewing body—Art.
+
+Art is the incarnation of the Ideal—the shed Chrysalis. The Ideal is the
+Psyche—continually wending its way toward a new goal and a new Chrysalis
+(which it continually sheds, leaving with us its mortal part only—Art.)
+
+
+
+
+                   Facts About the Preparedness Bomb
+
+
+Out here in the big West, a whooping, yelling mob of “Vigilante”
+business men is trying to wipe out the last labor union. Hiring an army
+of bristling gunmen for a spy- and strike-breaker system, they have
+slowly advanced from conquered Los Angeles to the siege of San
+Francisco.
+
+The opening fight here was to force Labor, against its will, into a
+“preparedness” parade. Every organized man refused to move, and the
+parade for military piracy was cut down to a handful of the unorganized
+who were bulldozed into line.
+
+Organized Labor, victorious, was satisfied and completely through with
+the affair before the day of march.
+
+But some individuals, fired by the wild propaganda for military
+violence, sent hundreds of warnings through the mails, saying that they
+would blow up the parade with a bomb. Employers and newspapers tried to
+keep this quiet, but Organized Labor men discovered it and requested
+their followers to avoid any chance for such a thing to be laid at their
+door, by abstaining from all activity and treating the parade with
+silent contempt. This was done.
+
+The ranks of the unorganized marched down Market street behind their
+employers and society women, unaware of the warnings. A bomb exploded
+which killed six people outright, three more dying later. A prominent
+Chamber of Commerce man was heard to remark: “This is a fine chance for
+the open shop.”
+
+Immediately the Chamber of Commerce, through its tools in public office,
+swooped down on its most hated enemies in Organized Labor ranks. They
+took the leader of the recent attempted street car strike, Thomas J.
+Mooney (as well as his wife, an inoffensive music teacher), ignored his
+complete alibi and charged him with heading a “conspiracy.” The chief of
+pickets of the recent Machinists’ strike, Edward D. Nolan, was taken for
+vengeance’s sake, without evidence, and they announce, in the papers
+that they “have the hemp stretched around the necks of all.” Israel
+Weinberg, prominent in the Jitney Bus Operators’ Union, which is
+troubling the United Railways, was jailed and accused of murder. Warren
+K. Billings, past president of the Shoe Workers, was charged with the
+actual dynamiting, and an eye-witness who saw an altogether different
+man place the supposed suit-case bomb, was assaulted in the office of
+the prosecutor.
+
+Five conspicuous enemies of the employers were thus caught and
+apparently doomed. The warnings in advance that had been received
+through the mails, were thereafter ignored. Direct evidence of
+eye-witnesses was ignored. The Chamber of Commerce had the men it
+wanted.
+
+Every newspaper blandly declined to print a word without approval of the
+“Law and Order Committee.” Several newspaper men working on the case
+came secretly to us to whisper that they knew the men were innocent, but
+“for God’s sake don’t mention us!” One detective working for the
+prosecution told a member of the International Workers’ Defense League
+that the men were to be convicted on fake evidence, now being cooked up,
+but “not to let on who told you.” Only by keeping the men from having
+any defense could they be convicted, so the prosecution had the
+indecency to try to prevent any prominent lawyer from taking the case. A
+judge forced upon the principal defendant, fighting for his life, a
+greenhorn lawyer of one year’s experience.
+
+By making it clear to a prominent criminal lawyer that the accused are
+not guilty, we have gotten him, through a sense of justice, to take the
+cases for a fee much lower than his usual charge. But we have not even
+that much money.
+
+Twenty-one Thousand Dollars blood money is in the sight of the horde of
+ex-Pinkertons and United Railways detectives, and they will not give up
+their prey without a tough fight. The prisoners are in the hands of men
+who consider labor unionism in itself a crime. They are now proving this
+by making peaceful picketing a prison offense.
+
+We have demonstrated to many unions the innocence of the men and gotten
+them to send delegates to the League.
+
+We are not defending bomb throwers, but innocent men. They will be
+executed practically without trial if we don’t get the money to defend
+them.
+
+Send money, and much of it, QUICK, to the International Workers’ Defense
+League, Robert Minor, treasurer, 210 Russ Building, 235 Montgomery
+street, San Francisco.
+
+
+
+
+                         The Vers Libre Contest
+
+
+The poems published in the Vers Libre Contest are now being considered
+by the judges. There were two hundred and two poems, thirty-two of which
+were returned because they were either Shakespearean sonnets or rhymed
+quatrains or couplets. Manuscripts will be returned as promptly as they
+are rejected, providing the contestants sent postage.
+
+We hope to announce the results in our October issue, and publish the
+prize poems.
+
+                                                  —The Contest Editor.
+
+
+
+
+                                IN BOOKS
+
+                Anything that’s Radical MAY be found at
+
+
+                        McDevitt’s Book Omnorium
+
+              1346 Fillmore Street and 2079 Sutter Street
+                       San Francisco, California
+
+                   (He Sells The Little Review, Too)
+
+
+
+
+                        The Truth From All Sides
+
+                “_To understand all is to forgive all._”
+
+   In an honest endeavor to present the truth about the great world
+   war now raging, THE OPEN COURT PUBLISHING COMPANY authorized its
+   London agent to obtain for publication in America books by
+   eminent and reliable authors in all the belligerent states.
+
+   ROMAIN ROLLAND speaks for France in a wonderful appeal to
+   humanity entitled “_Above the Battle_.” _Cloth, $1.00._
+
+   HON. BERTRAND RUSSELL speaks for England and justice to small
+   nations in a veritable classic entitled “_Justice in War Time_.”
+   _Price, cloth $1.00, paper 50 cents._
+
+   DR. J. H. LABBERTON speaks for Belgium and the question of
+   Germany’s right to invade Belgium in a book entitled “_Belgium
+   and Germany_.” _Cloth, $1.00._
+
+   MARSHALL KELLY, an English radical and labor leader, writes a
+   bitter denunciation of England’s foreign policy during the past
+   twenty years in a book entitled “_Carlyle and the War_.” _Cloth,
+   $1.00._
+
+   S. IVOR STEPHEN, an international newspaper writer, denounces the
+   policy of newspapers in general and New York City in particular,
+   for their part in arousing prejudice in war time. His book is
+   entitled “_Neutrality_.” _Cloth $1.00, paper 50 cents._
+
+   ROLAND HUGINS, Cornell University, makes an eloquent appeal to
+   the American people for justice and moderation entitled “_Germany
+   Misjudged_.” _Cloth, $1.00._
+
+   These books should be read by every intelligent person, no matter
+   what his sympathies may be. It will help to enlighten this world
+   and drive away the hatred and prejudice which a one-sided view is
+   bound to engender.
+
+                     The Open Court Publishing Co.
+                122 South Michigan Avenue, Chicago, Ill.
+
+
+
+
+                          Transcriber’s Notes
+
+
+Advertisements were collected at the end of the text.
+
+The table of contents on the title page was adjusted in order to reflect
+correctly the headings in this issue of THE LITTLE REVIEW.
+
+The original spelling was mostly preserved. A few obvious typographical
+errors were silently corrected. All other changes are shown here
+(before/after):
+
+   [p. 23]:
+   ... play is name The Happy Ending). The curtain rises on a dark
+       forest, ...
+   ... play is named The Happy Ending). The curtain rises on a dark
+       forest, ...
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76075 ***
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+</head>
+
+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76075 ***</div>
+
+<div class="frontmatter chapter">
+<h1 class="title">
+<span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span>
+</h1>
+
+<p class="subt">
+<em>Literature</em> <em>Drama</em> <em>Music</em> <em>Art</em>
+</p>
+
+<p class="ed">
+<span class="line1">MARGARET C. ANDERSON</span><br>
+<span class="line2">EDITOR</span>
+</p>
+
+<p class="issue">
+SEPTEMBER, 1916
+</p>
+
+  <div class="table">
+<table class="tocn">
+<tbody>
+   <tr>
+      <td class="col1"><a href="#blank-note">- - - - - - -</a></td>
+      <td class="col2">- - - - - - -</td>
+   </tr>
+   <tr>
+      <td class="col1"><a href="#page-2">- - - - - - -</a></td>
+      <td class="col2">- - - - - - -</td>
+   </tr>
+   <tr>
+      <td class="col1"><a href="#page-3">- - - - - - -</a></td>
+      <td class="col2">- - - - - - -</td>
+   </tr>
+   <tr>
+      <td class="col1"><a href="#page-4">- - - - - - -</a></td>
+      <td class="col2">- - - - - - -</td>
+   </tr>
+   <tr>
+      <td class="col1"><a href="#page-5">- - - - - - -</a></td>
+      <td class="col2">- - - - - - -</td>
+   </tr>
+   <tr>
+      <td class="col1"><a href="#page-6">- - - - - - -</a></td>
+      <td class="col2">- - - - - - -</td>
+   </tr>
+   <tr>
+      <td class="col1"><a href="#page-7">- - - - - - -</a></td>
+      <td class="col2">- - - - - - -</td>
+   </tr>
+   <tr>
+      <td class="col1"><a href="#page-14">Light Occupations of an Editor</a></td>
+      <td class="col2">&nbsp;</td>
+   </tr>
+   <tr>
+      <td class="col1"><a href="#THESANFRANCISCOBOMBCASE">The San Francisco Bomb Case:</a></td>
+      <td class="col2">&nbsp;</td>
+   </tr>
+   <tr class="i">
+      <td class="col1"><a href="#WHATCANAPOOREXECUTIONERDOAGAINSTAMANWHOISWILLINGTODIEYAY">What Can a Poor Executioner Do?</a></td>
+      <td class="col2"><em>Robert Minor</em></td>
+   </tr>
+   <tr class="i">
+      <td class="col1"><a href="#THELABORFARCE">The Labor Farce</a></td>
+      <td class="col2"><em>Margaret C. Anderson</em></td>
+   </tr>
+   <tr>
+      <td class="col1"><a href="#AND">And——</a></td>
+      <td class="col2">&nbsp;</td>
+   </tr>
+   <tr>
+      <td class="col1"><a href="#NEWYORKLETTER">New York Letter</a></td>
+      <td class="col2"><em>Allan Ross Macdougall</em></td>
+   </tr>
+   <tr>
+      <td class="col1"><a href="#THEREADERCRITIC">The Reader Critic</a></td>
+      <td class="col2">&nbsp;</td>
+   </tr>
+   <tr>
+      <td class="col1"><a href="#FACTSABOUTTHEPREPAREDNESSBOMB">Facts About the Bomb</a></td>
+      <td class="col2">&nbsp;</td>
+   </tr>
+   <tr>
+      <td class="col1"><a href="#THEVERSLIBRECONTEST">The Vers Libre Contest</a></td>
+      <td class="col2">&nbsp;</td>
+   </tr>
+</tbody>
+</table>
+  </div>
+<p class="monthly">
+Published Monthly
+</p>
+
+  <div class="table">
+    <div class="footer">
+<p class="pricel">
+15 cents a copy
+</p>
+
+<p class="pub">
+MARGARET C. ANDERSON, Publisher<br>
+Montgomery Block<br>
+SAN FRANCISCO, CAL.
+</p>
+
+<p class="pricer">
+$1.50 a year
+</p>
+
+    </div>
+  </div>
+<p class="postoffice">
+Entered as second-class matter at Postoffice, San Francisco, Cal.
+</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class="frontmatter chapter">
+<a id="page-1" class="pagenum" title="1"></a>
+<p class="tit">
+<span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span>
+</p>
+
+  <div class="table">
+    <div class="issue">
+<p class="vol">
+VOL III.
+</p>
+
+<p class="issue">
+SEPTEMBER, 1916
+</p>
+
+<p class="number">
+NO. 6
+</p>
+
+    </div>
+  </div>
+<p class="cop">
+Copyright, 1916, by Margaret C. Anderson
+</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="blank_note" id="blank-note">
+<em>The Little Review</em> hopes to become a magazine
+of Art. The September issue is offered as a Want
+Ad.
+</p>
+
+<p class="pbb blank_note">
+<a id="page-2" class="pagenum" title="2"></a>
+... “The other pages will be left blank.”
+</p>
+
+<p class="left_blank">
+<a id="page-3" class="pagenum" title="3"></a>
+[blank ...]
+</p>
+
+<p class="left_blank">
+<a id="page-4" class="pagenum" title="4"></a>
+[blank ...]
+</p>
+
+<p class="left_blank">
+<a id="page-5" class="pagenum" title="5"></a>
+[blank ...]
+</p>
+
+<p class="left_blank">
+<a id="page-6" class="pagenum" title="6"></a>
+[blank ...]
+</p>
+
+<p class="left_blank">
+<a id="page-7" class="pagenum" title="7"></a>
+[blank ...]
+</p>
+
+<p class="left_blank">
+<a id="page-8" class="pagenum" title="8"></a>
+[blank ...]
+</p>
+
+<p class="left_blank">
+<a id="page-9" class="pagenum" title="9"></a>
+[blank ...]
+</p>
+
+<p class="left_blank">
+<a id="page-10" class="pagenum" title="10"></a>
+[blank ...]
+</p>
+
+<p class="left_blank">
+<a id="page-11" class="pagenum" title="11"></a>
+[blank ...]
+</p>
+
+<p class="left_blank">
+<a id="page-12" class="pagenum" title="12"></a>
+[blank ...]
+</p>
+
+<p class="left_blank">
+<a id="page-13" class="pagenum" title="13"></a>
+[blank ...]
+</p>
+
+<div class="centerpic">
+<a id="page-14" class="pagenum" title="14"></a><img src="images/i014.jpg" alt="">
+<p class="cap">
+<em>Light occupations of the editor while there is nothing to edit.</em>
+</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class="figure_transcript">
+<p>
+SHE PRACTICES EIGHTEEN HOURS
+A DAY AND—
+</p>
+
+<p>
+—TAKES HER MASON AND HAMLIN
+TO BED WITH HER
+</p>
+
+<p>
+BREAKFASTING
+</p>
+
+<p>
+CONVERTING THE SHERIFF TO
+ANARCHISM AND VERS LIBRE
+</p>
+
+<p>
+SUFFERING FOR HUMANITY AT EMMA GOLDMAN’S LECTURES
+</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class="centerpic">
+<a id="page-15" class="pagenum" title="15"></a><img src="images/i015.jpg" alt="">
+<p class="cap">
+<em>(Continued.)</em>
+</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class="figure_transcript">
+<p>
+GATHERING HER OWN FIRE-WOOD
+</p>
+
+<p>
+SWIMMING
+</p>
+
+<p>
+THE STEED ON WHICH SHE HAS
+HER PICTURE TAKEN
+</p>
+
+<p>
+THE INSECT ON WHICH SHE RIDES
+</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2 class="article" id="THESANFRANCISCOBOMBCASE">
+<a id="page-16" class="pagenum" title="16"></a>
+The San Francisco Bomb Case
+</h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="section" id="WHATCANAPOOREXECUTIONERDOAGAINSTAMANWHOISWILLINGTODIEYAY">
+What Can a Poor Executioner Do Against a Man Who Is
+Willing to Die?<a class="fnote" href="#footnote-1" id="fnote-1">[1]</a>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="aut">
+ROBERT MINOR
+</p>
+
+<p class="first">
+<span class="firstchar">I</span> am glad that it’s Ed Nolan, Tom Mooney, Rena Mooney, Warren
+Billings, and Israel Weinberg who are in jail at San Francisco, awaiting
+death—or <em>friends</em>. Not that I want such men and women to meet
+death, but I wish the friends to be able to come to the rescue, knowing
+that they are worthy of the best effort that rebel ever put forth for an
+individual. We are so tired of the revolter who whines when his turn
+comes to pay. So we can almost laugh with an almost glee in the
+thought that we shall not be cheated this time; these rebels do not
+whine.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This is not a McNamara case. The prisoners are not going to
+“confess.” Even if they wanted to, they’d have to get the prosecutor
+to write their confession for them, for they did not cause the Preparedness
+Parade explosion. I know they didn’t, as you would know it had
+you read the transcript of the testimony on which the Grand Jury indicted
+them, or if you could observe their open efforts to provide every
+possible light on their actions.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dirty Hearst tried to lynch them. So did all the rest. All the
+rats from the cellar of life—Pastors of the Lord, Broadminded Editors,
+Illustrious Exceptions, etc., turned tail and ran—or helped in the near-lynching.
+All except <em>one Catholic priest</em>!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They all thought it was 1886, that “the anarchists were to be
+hanged”—and one doesn’t believe in that <em>kind</em> of thing, you know, and
+can’t sacrifice one’s great opportunity to good in general—and every
+skunk would stink alike, so all would be well.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But this is <em>not</em> 1886, and there <em>have</em> been some to come forward,
+and the men and woman are going to be saved. With all Prominent
+Persons in their holes, a few unimportant workingmen, between announcements
+of their own hangings to come, have stirred up some of the
+<a id="page-17" class="pagenum" title="17"></a>
+labor unions to an extent that you would never believe possible, to do
+the unheard-of thing to be loyal to their fellow members.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The International Workers’ Defense League, thoroughly discredited,
+as the papers announce, by having defended every labor rebel of
+recent American history, is taking contributions to the enormously expensive
+work. Simply to gather evidence and enlighten the few thousand
+who are not afraid, and to pay a high-priced lawyer to array the evidence—that
+is what we want your money for. Send it to the International
+Workers’ Defense League, Robert Minor, Treasurer, Room 210
+Russ Building, San Francisco.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And know that if we lose this fight it will be because a horde of
+“business men” have been judge, jury, and prosecutor against their five
+rebel enemies. It will not be because our men have flinched. When Ed
+Nolan says “the fear of death is the beginning of slavery,” he speaks the
+spirit of the five. We shall not be ashamed of these.
+</p>
+
+<h3 class="section" id="THELABORFARCE">
+The Labor Farce
+</h3>
+
+<p class="aut">
+MARGARET C. ANDERSON
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+I really must say what I think about this ridiculous bomb business.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+You will find the facts of the case, about the five innocent people
+who were indicted and why the Chamber of Commerce wanted them
+indicted, on page twenty-nine. But what happened after the indictment is
+more interesting and more horrible to me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The five victims were put into jail. Emma Goldman and Alexander
+Berkman and a few other anarchists began a fight for them,—raising
+money for lawyers, etc. The labor unions began to raise money. After
+about three weeks of argument and hesitation and won’t-it-be-better-to-go-a-little-slow
+and is-it-advisable-to-distribute-pamphlets, etc., etc., no
+lawyer had been engaged and none of the “workers” could agree about
+what “stand” to take: would it be better to express sympathy openly with
+the anarchists—(none of the five has ever claimed to be an anarchist, I
+believe)—or would it be wiser to try to prove they were not anarchists,
+or would it be safer to get a small lawyer who costs little and is worth
+nothing or a big one who costs too much and might do something, or
+would it be more expedient to keep out of it altogether, etc., etc., etc.,—or
+<a id="page-18" class="pagenum" title="18"></a>
+shall we just do the best we can even if it isn’t much? Do you think
+there was a single worker with the incredible inspiration to “do the most
+we can and make sure that it is very much”? I saw Emma Goldman
+and Berkman brooding over this strange and awful spectacle like two
+prophets whose souls are slowly petrifying under the antics of their
+disciples.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Just here some one told me a story. Once upon a time Björnstjerne
+Björnson, up in Norway, heard of a little French seamstress who was accused
+of murder in Paris. She was poor and quite unbefriended and
+there was practically no chance of her receiving justice. Björnson hurried
+to Paris, took her case, and won it in the French courts, in French,
+for the simple joy of doing something he believed in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Can you imagine that happening in America? There isn’t a single
+labor lawyer in the country who ever does it. If there are any who are
+willing they are not able; if they are able they are not allowed. C. E. S.
+Wood tried to do it for Caplan and Schmidt, but the workers themselves
+prevented him from taking the case. They kept him trotting between
+Portland and Los Angeles while they decided that it would be
+fatal to have him come straight out with the fact that it was a labor
+fight. Sometimes I imagine a young god springing up in labor ranks
+strong enough to rush in and fight the courts for his people, young
+enough to devote his life to it, naive enough to do it for an idea rather
+than for a fee, and ironic enough to do it whether his people want it
+or not.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But to continue about the bomb. Finally a prominent lawyer was
+found—one whose name carried enough weight to impress even the important
+and ignorant San Francisco citizens who were howling about
+“anarchists.” But the fee he charged before even touching the case
+was so large that Emma Goldman and the unions could raise only half
+of it, and the rest was supplied by the daughter of a man whom the
+workers would call a capitalist and whose money they would repudiate
+as having been drained from the blood of their class. She not only
+supplied the money; she said she would stand behind the victims if it
+took the last cent she had—<em>not merely because they were innocent</em>; and
+the only thing she asked was that the money should be used in a direct
+and active way and not for the pretending and denying and covering up
+that characterize all labor fights in this country. Well, I wouldn’t get
+half so disgusted with labor if it would ever acknowledge that vision is
+not necessarily a matter of class. It is almost terrifying to watch a
+<a id="page-19" class="pagenum" title="19"></a>
+labor propagandist think. If he is talking about Henry Ford, for instance,
+he will sketch the picture of a man who has created a $5 a day
+minimum wage only by such speeding-up of labor that labor is too nerve-racked
+to benefit by it; so that Ford becomes a clever rascal who makes
+labor rich only to make himself richer. Of course Ford is an idealist of
+appalling and marvelous simplicity, in quite the same position that an
+anarchist would be whose scheme had begun to work, and no more to
+blame for the spots in which it didn’t work.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The propagandist can’t think. But for that matter only one kind
+of mind really does <em>think</em>, and that is the artist kind. I mean this: only
+the artist mind sees that this is the way things happen in the world and
+refuses to sentimentalize over it or <em>to do nothing about it</em>. Here are
+five labor people misunderstood by “society,” unchampioned by “labor,”
+and rescued by the bloody capitalist who has neither the limitations with
+which labor endows capital nor the limitations with which capital endows
+labor. What fun! And some of the propagandists will feel like “Major
+Barbara” about accepting that money. Only the artist mind knows that
+it doesn’t matter where the money comes from: money is money, and it is
+made of slavery whether it comes from a financier or a coal-digger. Only
+the artist mind....
+</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p class="noindent">
+Of course the point of the whole business is this: the labor farce
+isn’t confined to labor: it is merely the farce in which all people contentedly
+luxuriate. It is a matter of rebellions that never become real.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There is the sixteen-year-old girl living in the midst of a typical
+American family. Now, no one can live long in such a place without
+losing his mind—unless he has none to lose. But let the girl try to get
+out of that hideous hell and the family detectives can have her back in a
+minute and arrest any one who tried to help her as an abductor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Such a thing happened the other day in Chicago. It happens every
+few minutes all over the earth. The only way to get out of such a mess
+is <em>to get out of it</em>—detectives, jails, families and friends to boot. Follow
+through! Make it real! Your friends can’t afford to be very real: one
+of them probably has a family to support and the others probably couldn’t
+stand the horror of being in the papers! But a girl or a boy can stand
+up to <em>anything</em>. If they can’t their old age will find them among the
+rest of the botched and the weak.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ed Nolan says that the fear of death is the beginning of slavery.
+I think it may be that the fear of life is the very beginning.
+</p>
+
+<hr class="footnote">
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a class="footnote" href="#fnote-1" id="footnote-1">[1]</a> The facts of the bomb case in detail will be found on <a href="#page-29">page 29</a>.
+</p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2 class="article" id="AND">
+<a id="page-20" class="pagenum" title="20"></a>
+And——
+</h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="first">
+<span class="firstchar">T</span><span class="postfirstchar">here</span> is Frank Harris’s <em>Oscar Wilde: His Life and Confessions</em>—a
+book that will never disturb Wilde’s legend here, his peace of
+mind where he has gone, nor his reputation as an artist anywhere.
+</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p class="noindent">
+Chicago—always bragging about having a sooner eye for Art....
+And Sokoloff out here in San Francisco.... And the Chicago Orchestra
+being led on to the goal of music by efficiency like the Germany
+army getting to Paris.
+</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p class="noindent">
+At the Grand Opera in Paris, in the première of <em>The Miracle</em>, an
+opera by two young Swiss, I saw the great Marthe Chenal, who will
+sing in the Chicago Opera Company this winter. I have had a creative
+memory of her for five years. But I wonder what will become of it up
+against that pinnacle of earthly glory, Mary Garden.
+</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p class="noindent">
+A. C. H. in <em>Poetry</em> has done all that can be done for the new
+quarterly <em>Form</em>. “Form”—that’s a name to start hope and the imagination;
+and then ... we have a story we’ll print sometime called
+“The Funny Shape.”
+</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p class="noindent">
+Why so much comment on John Cowper Powys’s <em>One Hundred Best
+Books</em>? Powys should never write anything. People like Q. K. in
+The New Republic come about as near to getting Powys as they would
+come to catching a comet. Powys is not for culture-snatchers, matinee
+girls, or glorifiers of the obvious. He is merely for those possessed
+enough of their imaginations to fall for a miracle when they see one.
+Who goes to hear a lecture on Nietzsche and Dostoevsky to find out what
+Powys thinks of those men? You go—hoping through the gloom of
+Nietzsche and Dostoevsky to catch a flash of Powys. Powys is the best
+thing that has come to us—that mad wolf! I always feel sorry for
+Velasquez that he never had a chance at him.
+</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p class="noindent">
+“Everything is just perfect,” as our Editor so ecstatically says:
+Paderewski will make three concerts in San Francisco this month.
+</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<a id="page-21" class="pagenum" title="21"></a>
+The Roadside Press is to come out with a Chicago Anthology, a
+hundred and fifty poems, by Chicago authors. As <em>Poetry</em> would say:
+“Most of these appeared first in <em>The Little Review</em>; and will probably be
+reprinted without any acknowledgment whatever.”
+</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p class="noindent">
+We have been waiting for what we hoped would be a good comment
+on Sherwood Anderson’s first novel, <em>Windy McPherson’s Son</em>. All we
+will say now is that it’s so much worse than Sherwood should ever be.
+</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p class="noindent">
+A few years ago you couldn’t talk to any one who wasn’t writing
+a play. Now you can’t talk to any one who isn’t starting a theatre. If
+everyone is mad for theatres, who are they that aren’t? Or why haven’t
+we municipal theatres? One, out of all this, and that in the town of
+Northampton, Massachusetts; and that isn’t what any one but a town
+would call a municipal theatre. Sometime I’ll write about Donald Robertson’s
+idea for a municipal theatre. He is always damned for being an
+idealist—a sure sign that what he has is an idea.
+</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p class="noindent">
+Rabindranath Tagore is coming back to America to lecture. Go,
+if you have never seen that slight presence with features drawn of air—with
+eyes that seem never to have looked out—and let him put that white
+spell of peace upon your complex futility.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+You sometimes wonder why men like Dr. Coomaraswamy come
+telling us border-ruffians of Art about Ajanta frescoes and sculpture and
+the music of India. Perhaps they know our homesickness and know that
+alone we can’t even find the road.
+</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p class="noindent">
+Bernhardt is coming again. Well, that’s all right, too. And those
+who jeer at her age never could have appreciated her youth. But you,
+young ones, see her; and have the double joy of seeing her now; and, if
+you have it in you, you will see her then, too.
+</p>
+
+<div class="filler">
+<p class="noindent">
+At bottom everything in literature is useless
+except literary pleasure, but literary pleasure
+depends upon the quality of sensibility. All
+discussions die against the wall of personal sensibility,
+which is flesh on the inside and on the
+outside a wall of stone. There is a way to turn
+it about, but this you do not know.—<em>Remy de
+Gourmont.</em>
+</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2 class="article" id="NEWYORKLETTER">
+<a id="page-22" class="pagenum" title="22"></a>
+New York Letter
+</h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="aut">
+ALLAN ROSS MACDOUGALL
+</p>
+
+<h3 class="section" id="ANEWPLAYHOUSEANDANEWPLAY">
+<em>A New Playhouse and a New Play</em>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="first">
+<span class="firstchar">I</span> have always felt that the hope of a new spirit in the theatre will
+come not so much from amateurs and their talking organizations as from
+the rebels within the theatre and the work they can accomplish. I agree
+with Gordon Craig when he says that no one has any right to meddle
+with, and potter about, the theatre who does not know it from the inside.
+In no other field is there such a gang of busy bodies—old women of
+both sexes, who have the ignorant reformers talking sense developed to
+such a pernicious degree. The air is dark with the empty words they
+belch forth, but from their deeds the world remains light and free. If
+the regeneration of the theatre from the base influences that now possess
+it, is to take place it will not, I am sure, be by the work of the drama
+leagues and so-called “art” theatres. The work of such managers as J. D.
+Williams and producers like Granville Barker and B. Iden Payne does
+more for the theatre by the working out of certain ideals than all the talk
+about those ideals and the jumbling with them by the old ladies’ leagues
+and the “arty” amateurs. A plague on them all!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In New York this season a new theatre is to be opened. Helen Freeman,
+who for a time was a Belasco star and later the leading woman with
+William Gillette, is to own and direct this latest attempt to establish a
+new spirit in the theatre. With Miss Freeman will be associated a
+group of six professional actors. All of them, like their director, have
+ideals which they plan to work for. For the first few months they are
+to produce one-act things. Among them will be plays by Evreinov, a
+young Russian not yet “discovered” by this rapacious country; two plays
+by the Spanish dramatist, Jacinto Benveneto, of whose seventy-five excellent
+plays not one has yet been given here; plays by other unknown
+European dramatists; new plays by Zoë Akins, Witter Bynner, Rollo
+Peters, and other American writers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Miss Freeman has chosen as a name for this interesting theatre the
+hour of the curtain rise. It will therefore be known as “The Nine
+o’Clock Theatre.” Much is expected from Miss Freeman and much from
+her theatre. Success to it, and to her!
+</p>
+
+<h3 class="section" id="ANEWPLAY">
+<a id="page-23" class="pagenum" title="23"></a>
+<em>A New Play</em>
+</h3>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+When I heard that a new fantastic play was to be produced by
+Arthur Hopkins, and that the scenes and costumes were to be designed
+by Robert Edmond Jones, I booked seats as early as I could. I remembered
+the work of Jones in Anatole France’s <em>The Man Who Married a
+Dumb Wife</em> and his work on the inner scenes and costumes of the
+Shakespeare Masque. Both were the works of a new decorative genius
+who had much to give to our theatre that is barren of the work of artists.
+I expected much of the new play, and lo! what was disappointment was
+waiting there.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The play first. It is the story of a princess of a mythical land, whose
+lover has been killed in war and who in the last act joins him. (The
+play is <a id="corr-1"></a>named <em>The Happy Ending</em>). The curtain rises on a dark forest,
+through which the princess is wandering and posing, and mumbling and
+moaning to herself. Comes then three Maeterlincian maidens also mumbling
+and playing chorus to themselves. Exit the mumbling maidens and
+enter the King and Queen of this mythical land. Mumbleth then these
+two for a while, till, without any warning, the King bluntly asks the
+Queen for a child! Yes! Right there in the forest he does it. It’s
+the last thing one expects in a fantasy, this realistic demand for a son
+and heir. But that’s a minor point. Like many another thing that happened,
+it had nothing to do with the drama.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After a dreary scene, in which the wandering princess seats herself
+on some potato sacks and mumbles to the accompaniment of “yes,
+princess,” “no, princess,” spoken at half minute intervals by a dull-witted
+woodsman, the curtain rises on a scene, entitled in the programme “The
+Hereafter.” What a Hereafter! A bank of sunburnt stage grass: a
+bilious yellow tree: much amber light. Crowds of children with squeaky
+voices lolled and pranced about the place. The authors seem to have
+taken their cue from the old hymn:
+</p>
+
+<div class="poem-container">
+  <div class="poem">
+    <div class="stanza">
+    <p class="verse">Little children will be there,</p>
+    <p class="verse">Who have sought the Lord in prayer;</p>
+    <p class="verse">In Heaven we all shall meet,</p>
+    <p class="verse">Oh that will be joyful!</p>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+I can assure you that it was anything but joyful. A sort of stagey
+joy was evident but not a sight of the real spontaneous feeling. There
+was a sort of Queen-hostess, who welcomed everyone. I have an idea
+<a id="page-24" class="pagenum" title="24"></a>
+she was Mrs. God or maybe assistant to St. Peter. She wore an elaborate
+shiny yellow evening gown; and a set smile after the fashion of the
+ladies in charge of Y. W. C. A. hostels on earth. A nice, well-spoken
+motherly sort of person this Queen was, who did her best to make everybody
+feel at home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When there was a wreck at sea or a railway accident, many male
+and female supers waddled their bodies in joyous movement across the
+stage and laughed and made mouthy noises. Oh, so glad they were
+to be in Heaven after the shocks they had gone through on earth. It
+was curious to note that they all entered Heaven with whole bodies and
+unmessed clothes, these merry wreck and collision victims.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the curtain rings down on the scene of the Hereafter it does
+so to the sound of cheering. And why? A whole army has just been
+annihilated, and to the tune of “John Brown’s Body” their spirits are
+marching toward Heaven. And so the happy inhabitants of the Hereafter
+must cheer to think of this influx to their land. After the tawdry
+Heaven one is refreshed by the beauty of the unnecessary scene, “On the
+way to the islands of sleep.” They still use rowboats in that land it
+seems, but as they are rowboats with beautifully lighted innards one
+doesn’t object very much. One does object, however, to the next scene.
+It is called “Space.” Imagine Space as a back-drop sprinkled with stars
+like an old-fashioned frosted Christmas Card. In the middle of this a
+scarlet circle with the continents of North and South America painted
+in a muddy brown color. A sorry picture of space to come from an
+imaginative artist.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The last scene, and the best from the scenic and dramatic standpoint,
+takes place in the palace of the King. Here comes the princess
+after having wandered through the forest awake and the Hereafter in a
+dream, and after falling in some queer kind of fit dies and so joins her
+dead lover and the rest of the cosmopolitan group in Heaven.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A mess by masters! A very messy mess. A sloppy play to start
+with. Bad acting to carry it along. Mediocre music and stage setting
+that seem to have been influenced by the play instead of rising above it.
+I await with interest to see the work that Jones is to do for the Russian
+Ballet. He will have his chance to re-establish himself. I’m sure he is
+artist enough to grasp it.
+</p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2 class="article" id="THEREADERCRITIC">
+<a id="page-25" class="pagenum" title="25"></a>
+The Reader Critic
+</h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class="letters">
+<h3 class="section" id="INFANTILEPARALYSIS">
+Infantile Paralysis
+</h3>
+
+<p class="from">
+<em>D. H., New York</em>:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Congratulations! You have the capacity for suddenly turning back and becoming
+young enough to say “All or nothing.” And subconsciously realizing that you will get
+mostly nothing, you threaten your readers with blank pages. And all those who
+thought that <em>The Little Review</em> did publish only artistic writing have had the veil
+torn from their eyes and their faith in you begins to waver. Perhaps to vanish altogether!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Is all of the <em>Meistersinger</em> one continuous “Preislied”? Is all of Beethoven equal
+to his “Ninth”? Is all of Pachman as marvelous as his Chopin? All or nothing! You
+would feast, and have your readers feast, upon the perfection of art and give them none
+of its strivings?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Your challenge will remain unanswered. If you dare, or through sheer carelessness,
+allow this to appear in the next issue, I shall suspect you of considering the
+writing of an artist a work of art—even though he speak not in his own tongue.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Your challenge will remain unanswered! For who are <em>you</em>, to expect a staff of
+ready geniuses to fill your pages? You should be grateful for one pearl you may find
+among hundreds of near-jewels. And the world is grateful for one <em>Ave Maria</em>
+(Schubert) among a thousand near-songs. I preach no gospel of meekness to you, for
+I know you will turn again and leave your youthful—nay, puerile,—cry of “All or
+nothing.” It is the cry of the mad—of the foolish, impatient ones! You only want the
+miracle? You are like the child crying for the moon and, like him, you will accept
+a round cheese instead.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Do come to New York, and I will play more than an hour uninterrupted for you,
+and perhaps for five minutes (if I am lucky) you will have a miracle. If I am unlucky
+you will have only a near-miracle, which will be just very good violin playing.
+</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p class="noindent">
+But what did I say about wanting only the perfection of art and none of its
+strivings? I said—Art. That includes the strivings, doesn’t it? Surely we needn’t
+go back to definitions. Ezra Pound has a nice analysis somewhere—to this effect:
+In such measure as an artist expresses himself truthfully, he will be a good artist; in
+such measure as he himself exists, he will be a great one. I want a record of the
+process of that “existing” from as many artists as possible. The process of each will
+include many things that are not perfection, but who ever told you that perfection and
+Art are synonymous terms? Some one sent me a sketch, in answer to my editorial,
+with this note: “You said you wanted Beauty. I am sending you something which I
+think has it.” I thought it had beauty, too; but it had no Art. What do you people
+think I meant by the “miracle”? I meant simply those <em>strivings and achievements</em>
+which show that the great process is really “on.” We published Ben Hecht’s <em>Night
+Song</em>. It had much beauty and no perfection, but it had Art quite apart from either
+of those elements. Amy Lowell’s poems (not <em>Off the Turnpike</em>) have an Art that
+<a id="page-26" class="pagenum" title="26"></a>
+happens to include perfection. The “miracle” was very much present in <em>Malmaison</em>, for
+instance. Flint’s <em>London My Beautiful</em> has it. The principal trouble is that miracles
+usually have to be explained to be recognized. It’s like the painter who took a friend
+to hear Powys. The friend went to hear what Powys had to say—“and I told her
+what he looked like,” said the painter—<em>M. C. A.</em>
+</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p class="noindent">
+From your letter you sound like a lot of other young things paralyzed by smugness
+and complacency. You become a one-stringed instrument and you hope to play the
+violin. If you dared to be an artist, and all that means of madness and impatience
+and foolishness and crying for the moon, you’d dare promise more than five minutes
+miracle in an hour. It would be outside of promises.—<em>jh.</em>
+</p>
+
+<h3 class="section" id="AWORDFROMREALART">
+A Word From Real Art
+</h3>
+
+<p class="from">
+<em>Frank Lloyd Wright, Chicago</em>:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The less money <em>The Little Review</em> has the better it <em>looks</em> anyway! Your resolve is
+interesting—but it looks like the end.... I don’t see where you can find the thing
+you need.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But miracles do happen—I wish I had a million or a pen.
+</p>
+
+<h3 class="section" id="FREUDIAN">
+Freudian
+</h3>
+
+<p class="from">
+<em>A Contributor, Chicago</em>:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<em>The Little Review</em> sickens me. I don’t understand why in the devil you talk
+imagism and color and beauty and fill your magazine full of that sputtering trash, that
+colorless-degenerate edgarleemasters junk. Why not leave blank pages? And your
+article.... Good Lord!... It was like warm candle grease just after the
+little candle flame has been sniffed out. I see and feel <em>The Little Review</em> as a case
+of feminine callowism gone mad.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The idea of writing anything about Masters fills me with disgust. Masters doesn’t
+even inspire me with rage. I regard his work as a pretentious mediocrity. There
+isn’t a poem in his books that I couldn’t have written myself in twenty minutes on
+a typewriter. Why write about Masters? He’s only one of the many dub artists
+overrunning the country. He isn’t to blame, even if he is cocky about his success.
+In fact, he is to be commended for putting it over. The fault, in my mind, lies with
+the great tribe of morons who yap over his doggerel—pro or con. I have read three
+or four things in his first book, and as many in his second book, and I see no occasion
+for rubbing it in on him any more than on Luke McGluke, the poet laureate of <em>The
+Hickville Clarion</em>. Put him out of your head, why don’t you? Criticism doesn’t concern
+itself with the feverishly inflated mob banalities of the moment. Selah!
+</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p class="noindent">
+You say <em>The Little Review</em> sickens you? With the above temperature and tongue?
+I should diagnose the case as autointoxication.—<em>jh.</em>
+</p>
+
+<h3 class="section" id="QUERY">
+Query
+</h3>
+
+<p class="from">
+<em>Mitchell Dawson, Chicago</em>:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I have read the August number, and have read only the poetry—which makes me
+sad. Does the new cover represent the Western afterglow?
+</p>
+
+<h3 class="section" id="CONSOLINGUS">
+<a id="page-27" class="pagenum" title="27"></a>
+Consoling Us
+</h3>
+
+<p class="from">
+<em>Rex Lampman, Portland</em>:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Don’t you think you’re asking a little too much of yourself and your contributors,
+that <em>The Little Review</em> be absolute in each number?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No. I don’t mean that. It’s fine to aim at Art, always, but it isn’t failure to
+miss it most of the time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As for me, <em>The Little Review</em> has been an inspiration and a delight. A paper
+that will publish anything so wonderful as John Gould Fletcher’s <em>Green Symphony</em>
+doesn’t need, so far as I’m concerned, to “do it again” for quite a while, and I’m quite
+content that you should fill in with such stuff as Ben Hecht’s <em>The Poet Sings to the
+World</em> until you get something as good, again, as the <em>Symphony</em>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I’m a newspaper man, and I’m supposed to “write something” every day. Of
+course, it can’t be done; but once in a while, when the powers are kind, I am permitted
+to write something that delights me and others. That’s the best I can do, so help
+me, and I am reminded of the Western epitaph, which went something like this:
+</p>
+
+  <div class="poem-container">
+    <div class="poem">
+      <div class="stanza">
+      <p class="verse">Here Lies</p>
+      <p class="verse">JIM JONES.</p>
+      <p class="verse">He Done His Damnedest.</p>
+      <p class="verse">Angels Can Do</p>
+      <p class="verse">No More.</p>
+      </div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+<p class="noindent">
+And so I hope you’ll never get out a <em>Little Review</em> with any of the pages blank.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+You are wonderfully honest—one of the honestest persons, I think, that I know,
+and I shout for joy at your godlike impatience with imperfection. But patience—pardon
+the platitude—is also a godlike attribute.
+</p>
+
+<h3 class="section" id="MORECONSOLATION">
+More Consolation
+</h3>
+
+<p class="from">
+<em>C. A. C., Chicago</em>:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bully! Since your outburst of righteous indignation towards yourself and your
+contributors I have been comparing your magazine with the others I receive. <em>The
+Forum</em>, <em>Vanity Fair</em> (Oh, dear, yes!), <em>The Masses</em>, and sometimes I see <em>The Bang</em>—a
+weekly pamphlet of Alexander Harvey’s, which he distributes discriminately. Your
+wail seems not wholly justified. True, Arthur Symons’s <em>Spiritual Adventures, Plays,
+Acting, and Music</em>, and other essays, are things to be sought after by any editor. His
+stuff is appearing in America in <em>Vanity Fair</em> and <em>The Forum</em>; it seems to lack his
+first fire, except that he has put a new ring to Cleopatra’s statement of herself:
+</p>
+
+  <div class="poem-container">
+    <div class="poem">
+      <div class="stanza">
+                        <p class="verse9">Kings have cast their crowns</p>
+      <p class="verse">Into the dust, and kings that are my foes</p>
+      <p class="verse">I can take up into my hand and cast</p>
+      <p class="verse">Into the dust for love of me. I am a woman</p>
+      <p class="verse">But I have power greater than any man’s.</p>
+      </div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+<p class="noindent">
+And his poems—Symons never was much of a poet. Then, again, that Wright
+person who writes for <em>The Forum</em>—any magazine is the better without his squibs on
+Art.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<a id="page-28" class="pagenum" title="28"></a>
+Max Eastman had an article in a recent number of <em>Vanity Fair</em> on “Magazine
+Writing.” He claims it is amazingly well done, so well done that there is “not a
+speck on it”—the main fault being that “it is professional. It is work and not play.
+And for that reason it is never profoundly serious, or intensely frivolous enough to
+captivate the soul. It lacks abandon. It is simply well done.” Now, the fact that
+the very essence of your magazine seems “pure living,” brings it out of Eastman’s
+indictment. One cannot say that Sherwood Anderson, Hecht, and Kaun, or even
+yourself, have been guilty of “earning your living” at the expense of play. “In that
+play alone is the heart altogether gay and inconsiderate.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And <em>The Bang</em> has been pounding away steadily for a magazine that exists for
+the fun of it, the joy of it, and is not built upon the circulation manager’s point of
+view. Does Harvey get your magazine? Does he ever feel, if he sees it, that the
+“Ideal” he holds for magazinedom is being realized in your magazine?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Summing it up, Miss Editor, you who once declared you had none of the qualifications
+of an editor, it seems to me you have been doing rather well. We don’t
+want you to stand still—<em>you</em> can’t do that—or to stop trying. Please, for our sake,
+keep it up.
+</p>
+
+<h3 class="section" id="CASTINGASLURUPONWHAT">
+Casting a Slur Upon What?
+</h3>
+
+<p class="from">
+<em>Ruth C. Sweeney, Chicago</em>:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I simply cannot understand how a person who could write such a beautiful
+thing as your poem, <em>Life</em>, could allow <em>The Nymph</em> to appear in <em>The Little Review</em>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+How can you hope to encourage Art when you will print such a thing? I have
+noticed these free-thinkers, and with the casting aside of “forms that have to be
+respected” has gone whatever taste they had. They gulp down everything, provided
+it casts a slur upon something. Does one have to lose all his finer sensibilities because
+he wishes to be free and open minded?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I have thought of you people when Nietzsche says, “Sensualists are they now
+become—a trouble and a terror is the hero to them.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I join with you in your cry of blank pages if <em>The Nymph</em> is the alternative.
+</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p class="noindent">
+Give over reading Nietzsche for a bit; you belong in the primary class. The
+person who wrote <em>The Nymph</em> has a background of life, if not of Art. And your
+hero? “A Trouble and a Terror” would make him appear the villain.—<em>jh.</em>
+</p>
+
+<h3 class="section" id="WHYEDITORSGOINSANE">
+Why Editors Go Insane
+</h3>
+
+<p class="from">
+<em>Alice Groff, Philadelphia</em>:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I am going to tear to pieces your “A Real Magazine.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No one ever <em>reaches</em> the “Ideal.” The moment he does, there has ceased to <em>be</em> an
+“<em>Ideal</em>.” Our ideal is an ever-advancing goal. Art is the embodiment of the human
+ideal—which ideal is the ever-advancing goal of human life.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Art is <em>not</em> the ultimate reason for Life. Life <em>is</em>,—for its own sake. Life lives
+for the ideal—for the ever-advancing goal, which embodies itself in Art—that Life
+may become ever more and more abundant <em>life</em>. Life continually seeks to express
+its absolute essence in Art, and it will never cease this seeking through all eternity.
+Such expression will always be compelled by the aspiration to reach the ever-advancing
+goal—the Ideal which will continually incarnate, and reincarnate, itself in an
+ever-renewing body—Art.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Art is the incarnation of the Ideal—the shed Chrysalis. The Ideal is the Psyche—continually
+wending its way toward a new goal and a new Chrysalis (which it
+continually sheds, leaving with us its mortal part only—Art.)
+</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class="editorials chapter">
+<a id="page-29" class="pagenum" title="29"></a>
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2 class="editorials" id="FACTSABOUTTHEPREPAREDNESSBOMB">
+Facts About the
+Preparedness Bomb
+</h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="first">
+<span class="firstchar">O</span><span class="postfirstchar">ut</span> here in the big West, a whooping, yelling mob of “Vigilante” business
+men is trying to wipe out the last labor union. Hiring an army
+of bristling gunmen for a spy- and strike-breaker system, they have
+slowly advanced from conquered Los Angeles to the siege of San
+Francisco.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The opening fight here was to force Labor, against its will, into a “preparedness”
+parade. Every organized man refused to move, and the parade
+for military piracy was cut down to a handful of the unorganized who were
+bulldozed into line.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Organized Labor, victorious, was satisfied and completely through with the
+affair before the day of march.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But some individuals, fired by the wild propaganda for military violence,
+sent hundreds of warnings through the mails, saying that they would blow up
+the parade with a bomb. Employers and newspapers tried to keep this quiet,
+but Organized Labor men discovered it and requested their followers to avoid
+any chance for such a thing to be laid at their door, by abstaining from all
+activity and treating the parade with silent contempt. This was done.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The ranks of the unorganized marched down Market street behind their
+employers and society women, unaware of the warnings. A bomb exploded
+which killed six people outright, three more dying later. A prominent Chamber
+of Commerce man was heard to remark: “This is a fine chance for the
+open shop.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Immediately the Chamber of Commerce, through its tools in public office,
+swooped down on its most hated enemies in Organized Labor ranks. They took
+the leader of the recent attempted street car strike, Thomas J. Mooney (as well
+as his wife, an inoffensive music teacher), ignored his complete alibi and
+charged him with heading a “conspiracy.” The chief of pickets of the recent
+Machinists’ strike, Edward D. Nolan, was taken for vengeance’s sake, without
+evidence, and they announce, in the papers that they “have the hemp stretched
+around the necks of all.” Israel Weinberg, prominent in the Jitney Bus Operators’
+Union, which is troubling the United Railways, was jailed and accused of
+murder. Warren K. Billings, past president of the Shoe Workers, was charged
+with the actual dynamiting, and an eye-witness who saw an altogether different
+man place the supposed suit-case bomb, was assaulted in the office of the prosecutor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Five conspicuous enemies of the employers were thus caught and apparently
+doomed. The warnings in advance that had been received through the mails,
+were thereafter ignored. Direct evidence of eye-witnesses was ignored. The
+Chamber of Commerce had the men it wanted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Every newspaper blandly declined to print a word without approval of the
+“Law and Order Committee.” Several newspaper men working on the case came
+secretly to us to whisper that they knew the men were innocent, but “for God’s
+sake don’t mention us!” One detective working for the prosecution told a member
+of the International Workers’ Defense League that the men were to be convicted
+on fake evidence, now being cooked up, but “not to let on who told you.”
+Only by keeping the men from having any defense could they be convicted, so
+the prosecution had the indecency to try to prevent any prominent lawyer from
+taking the case. A judge forced upon the principal defendant, fighting for his
+life, a greenhorn lawyer of one year’s experience.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By making it clear to a prominent criminal lawyer that the accused are not
+guilty, we have gotten him, through a sense of justice, to take the cases for a
+fee much lower than his usual charge. But we have not even that much money.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Twenty-one Thousand Dollars blood money is in the sight of the horde of
+ex-Pinkertons and United Railways detectives, and they will not give up their
+prey without a tough fight. The prisoners are in the hands of men who consider
+labor unionism in itself a crime. They are now proving this by making
+peaceful picketing a prison offense.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We have demonstrated to many unions the innocence of the men and gotten
+them to send delegates to the League.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We are not defending bomb throwers, but innocent men. They will be executed
+practically without trial if we don’t get the money to defend them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Send money, and much of it, QUICK, to the International Workers’ Defense
+League, Robert Minor, treasurer, 210 Russ Building, 235 Montgomery
+street, San Francisco.
+</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class="editorials chapter">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2 class="editorials" id="THEVERSLIBRECONTEST">
+The Vers Libre Contest
+</h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+The poems published in the Vers Libre Contest are
+now being considered by the judges. There were two
+hundred and two poems, thirty-two of which were returned
+because they were either Shakespearean sonnets
+or rhymed quatrains or couplets. Manuscripts will be
+returned as promptly as they are rejected, providing the
+contestants sent postage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We hope to announce the results in our October
+issue, and publish the prize poems.
+</p>
+
+<p class="attr">
+—The Contest Editor.
+</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class="ads chapter">
+<p class="h1 adh">
+IN BOOKS
+</p>
+
+<p class="c">
+Anything that’s Radical
+MAY be found at
+</p>
+
+<p class="h2 adh">
+McDevitt’s Book Omnorium
+</p>
+
+<p class="ade">
+1346 Fillmore Street and 2079 Sutter Street<br>
+San Francisco, California
+</p>
+
+<p class="c">
+(He Sells The Little Review, Too)
+</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class="ads chapter">
+<p class="h1 adh">
+The Truth From All Sides
+</p>
+
+<p class="ads">
+“<em>To understand all is to forgive all.</em>”
+</p>
+
+<p class="first">
+<span class="firstchar">I</span><span class="postfirstchar">n</span> an honest endeavor to present the truth about the great world
+war now raging, THE OPEN COURT PUBLISHING COMPANY
+authorized its London agent to obtain for publication in
+America books by eminent and reliable authors in all the belligerent
+states.
+</p>
+
+  <div class="narrow">
+<p>
+ROMAIN ROLLAND speaks for France in a wonderful
+appeal to humanity entitled “<em>Above the Battle</em>.”
+<em>Cloth, $1.00.</em>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+HON. BERTRAND RUSSELL speaks for England
+and justice to small nations in a veritable classic entitled
+“<em>Justice in War Time</em>.” <em>Price, cloth $1.00, paper
+50 cents.</em>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+DR. J. H. LABBERTON speaks for Belgium and the
+question of Germany’s right to invade Belgium in a book
+entitled “<em>Belgium and Germany</em>.” <em>Cloth, $1.00.</em>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+MARSHALL KELLY, an English radical and labor
+leader, writes a bitter denunciation of England’s foreign
+policy during the past twenty years in a book entitled
+“<em>Carlyle and the War</em>.” <em>Cloth, $1.00.</em>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+S. IVOR STEPHEN, an international newspaper
+writer, denounces the policy of newspapers in general
+and New York City in particular, for their part in arousing
+prejudice in war time. His book is entitled “<em>Neutrality</em>.”
+<em>Cloth $1.00, paper 50 cents.</em>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+ROLAND HUGINS, Cornell University, makes an
+eloquent appeal to the American people for justice and
+moderation entitled “<em>Germany Misjudged</em>.” <em>Cloth, $1.00.</em>
+</p>
+
+  </div>
+<p>
+These books should be read by every intelligent person, no matter
+what his sympathies may be. It will help to enlighten this world
+and drive away the hatred and prejudice which a one-sided view is
+bound to engender.
+</p>
+
+<p class="ade">
+The Open Court Publishing Co.<br>
+122 South Michigan Avenue, Chicago, Ill.
+</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class="trnote chapter">
+<p class="transnote">
+Transcriber’s Notes
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Advertisements were collected at the end of the text.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The table of contents on the title page was adjusted in order to reflect correctly the
+headings in this issue of <span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The original spelling was mostly preserved. A few obvious typographical errors
+were silently corrected. All other changes are shown here (before/after):
+</p>
+
+
+
+<ul>
+
+<li>
+... play is <span class="underline">name</span> The Happy Ending). The curtain rises on a dark forest, ...<br>
+... play is <a href="#corr-1"><span class="underline">named</span></a> The Happy Ending). The curtain rises on a dark forest, ...<br>
+</li>
+</ul>
+</div>
+
+
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76075 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
+
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+This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this book outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+book #76075 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/76075)