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} + .x-ebookmaker div.editorials { border:0; padding:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; } + .x-ebookmaker div.excerpt { font-size:1em; margin-left:2em; } + + .x-ebookmaker div.ads { max-width:inherit; border:0; border-top:1px solid black; + padding:0; padding-top:0.5em; margin-top:0; } + + .x-ebookmaker div.ads div.ib { clear:both; display:block; } + + .x-ebookmaker a.pagenum { display:none; } + .x-ebookmaker a.pagenum:after { display:none; } + + .x-ebookmaker .trnote { margin:0; } + + .x-ebookmaker span.firstchar { clear:left; float:left; } + .x-ebookmaker div.ads .fl { float:left; } + .x-ebookmaker div.ads .fr { float:right; } + +</style> +</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"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"><a href="#THESANFRANCISCOBOMBCASE">The San Francisco Bomb Case:</a></td> + <td class="col2"> </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"> </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"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"><a href="#FACTSABOUTTHEPREPAREDNESSBOMB">Facts About the Bomb</a></td> + <td class="col2"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="col1"><a href="#THEVERSLIBRECONTEST">The Vers Libre Contest</a></td> + <td class="col2"> </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> + diff --git a/76075-h/images/cover.jpg b/76075-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5304282 --- /dev/null +++ b/76075-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/76075-h/images/i014.jpg b/76075-h/images/i014.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ff48475 --- /dev/null +++ b/76075-h/images/i014.jpg diff --git a/76075-h/images/i015.jpg b/76075-h/images/i015.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4cc25fb --- /dev/null +++ b/76075-h/images/i015.jpg |
