{"numero_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-12-11-01", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01", "ocr_sha256": "74fe24e62b83d399aad3d4a322d71dbd9c51fc41af7a22f6ffe9e0c2feec8d63", "source_tei": "https://github.com/Princeton-CDH/bluemountain-transcriptions/blob/main/periodicals/bmtnaaq/issues/1915/12/11_01/bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01.tei.xml", "source_mets": "https://github.com/pulibrary/BlueMountain/blob/main/metadata/periodicals/bmtnaaq/issues/1915/12/11_01/bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01.mets.xml", "url_numero": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01", "articles": [{"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-12-11-01-c002", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01#c002", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[267]", "page_fin": "[267]", "image_debut": 2, "image_fin": 2, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.2.2", "titre_corps": "Letter by Mark Twain as it appeared in the late \"Autograph\" of Mr. Madigan.", "titre_sommaire": "Letter by Mark Twain as it appeared in the late \"Autograph\" of Mr. Madigan.", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 2, "page_imprimee": "[267]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.2", "debut_caractere": 136, "fin_caractere_exclue": 211, "texte": "Letter by Mark Twain as it appeared in the late \"Autograph\" of\nMr. Madigan."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-12-11-01-c003", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01#c003", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[267]", "page_fin": "269", "image_debut": 2, "image_fin": 4, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.2.3", "titre_corps": "O. Henry In Greenwich Village", "titre_sommaire": "O. Henry In Greenwich Village", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 2, "page_imprimee": "[267]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.2", "debut_caractere": 213, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1443, "texte": "O. Henry In Greenwich Village\nYHERE is one man in American letters who knew Green-\nwich Village. Who knew it as it is and who never\nhesitated to show in the most humorous way that it is not\nwhat newspapers and magazines and even some of the people\ndown there themselves are trying to make you believe that\nit is.\nO. Henry, one of the few masters of the short story of\nthe world, and the master of the American short story,\nlived among us for a considerable period of his life; in those\nyears before his death in which he wrote the best. Not only\ncompared with his own works of previous years but the\nbest ever written about the real life in New York, about\nthat floating population of New York whose names are\nfeatured on the electric sign-boards above the entrances of\ntheatres, whose stories are in magazines and newspapers,\nwhose pictures appear on magazine covers and whose\nwhereabouts cannot be found in telephone books or city\ndirectories.\nO. Henry knows the life in so-called studios. The \"Bo-\nhemian\" restaurants are dissected by him and after he has\nshowed what they really are and he has destroyed in you\nforever that peculiar flavor you always connect with that\nmythical Bohemia, he discovers their real, their existing"}, {"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "268", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.3", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2511, "texte": "charms and you like them so much better because now you\nknow what you are up against.\nSome time ago a newspaper had a contest asking its\nreaders for a vote which of the O. Henry stories they thought\nthe best. I lost track of the final result of this contest,\nbut I believe that his \"Last Leaf,\" which can be found in\nthe volume, \"The Trimmed Lamp,\" of the Doubleday Page\nstandard edition, is the very best that O. Henry ever wrote\nand is the most characteristic of his personality and of his\nliterary style.\nHe lived in the community of artists and writers, which\nreally is not a community at all but just your continuous\nrecollections of this or that man or woman artist you knew.\nShop-keepers, owners of restaurants—men and women who\nwere engaged in the business of cooking and serving the\nfood to people who came for no other purpose to their\nplace but to eat—were his friends and daily associates and\nhe was one of the few who had found the connecting link\nbetween our old-fashioned neighborhood, houses and parks—\nrelics of by-gone days of glory—and their present occupants.\nPeople who live here because they didn't find another place\nto live in, others who came because they loved these Old\nWorld surroundings and still others who wish to commer-\ncialize both people and neighborhood, serving together with\nroast chicken and red ink to \"philistines\" from up-town as\na curiosity of New York: its Latin Quarter.\nFrom\"The Last Leaf\"\n\"In a little district west of Washington Square the streets\nhave run crazy and broken themselves into small strips\ncalled \"places.\" These \"places\" make strange angles and\ncurves. One street crosses itself a time or two. An artist\nonce discovered a valuable possibility in this street. Suppose\na collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should,\nin traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back,\nwithout a cent having been paid on account 1\n\"So to quaint old Greenwich Village the art people soon\ncame prowling, hunting for north windows and eighteenth-\ncentury gables and Dutch attics and low rents. Then they\nimported some pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from\nSixth Avenue, and became a \"colony.\"\n\"At the top of a squatty, three-story brick, Sue and Johnsy\nhad their studio. \"Johnsy\" was familiar for Joanna. One\nwas from Maine; the other from California. They had met\nat the table d'hote of an Eighth Street \"Delmonico's\" and\nfound their tastes in art, chicory salad and bishop sleeves\nso congenial that the joint studio resulted.\""}, {"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "269", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.4", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2790, "texte": "From \"The Country of Illusion\"\n\"That evening they went to the Cafe Andre. And, as\npeople would confide to you in a whisper that Andre's was\nthe only truly Bohemian restaurant in town, it may be well\nto follow them.\n\"Andre began his professional career as a waiter in a\nBowery ten-cent eating-house. Had you seen him there you\nwould have called him tough—to yourself. Not aloud, for\nhe would have \"soaked\" you as quickly as he would have\nsoaked his thumb in your coffee. He saved money and\nstarted a basement table d'hote in Eighth or Ninth Street.\nOne afternoon Andre drank much absinthe. He an-\nnounced to his startled family that he was the Grand Llama\nof Thibet, therefore requiring an empty audience hall in\nwhich to be worshiped. He moved all the tables and chairs\nfrom the restaurant into the back yard, wrapped a red table-\ncloth around himself, and sat on a step-ladder for a throne.\nWhen the diners began to arrive, madame, in a flurry of\ndespair, laid cloths and ushered them, trembling, outside.\nBetween the tables clothes-lines were stretched, bearing the\nfamily wash. A party of Bohemian hunters greeted the artis-\ntic innovation with shrieks and acclamations of delight. That\nweek's washing was not taken for two years. When Andre\ncame to his senses he had the menu printed on stiffy starched\ncuffs, and served the ices in little wooden tubs. Next he\ntook down his sign and darkened the front of the house.\nWhen you went there to dine you fumbled for an electric\nbutton and pressed it. A lookout slid open a panel in the\ndoor, looked at you suspiciously, and asked if you were ac-\nquainted with Senator Herodotus Q. McMilligan, of the\nChickisaw Nation. If you were, you were admitted and\nallowed to dine. If you were not, you were admitted and\nallowed to dine. There you have one of the abiding prin-\nciples of Bohemia. When Andre had accumulated $20,000\nhe moved uptown, near Broadway, in the fierce light that\nbeats on the thrown-down. There we find him and leave\nhim, with customers in pearls and automobile veils, striving\nto catch his excellently-graduated nod of recognition.\"\nFrom \"Two Thanksgiving Gentlemen\"\n\"The meal had been an unexpected one. He was passing\na red brick mansion near the beginning of Fifth Avenue, in\nwhich lived two old ladies of ancient family and a reverence\nfor traditions. They even denied the existence of New York,\nand believed that Thanksgiving Day was declared solely\nfor Washington Square. One of their traditional habits was\nto station a servant at the postern gate with orders to admit\nthe first hungry wayfarer that came along after the hour\nof noon had struck, and banquet him to a finish. Stuffy Pete\nhappened to pass by on his way to the park, and the\nseneschals gathered him in and upheld the custom of the\ncastle.\""}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-12-11-01-c004", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01#c004", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "270", "page_fin": "270", "image_debut": 5, "image_fin": 5, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.2.4", "titre_corps": "His Book-Plate by Himself", "titre_sommaire": "His Book-Plate by Himself", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "270", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.5", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 41, "texte": "His Book-Plate by Himself"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-12-11-01-c005", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01#c005", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "270", "page_fin": "272", "image_debut": 5, "image_fin": 7, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.2.5", "titre_corps": "Stop! Look! Listen!: Robert McQuinn", "titre_sommaire": "Stop! Look! Listen!: Robert McQuinn", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "270", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.5", "debut_caractere": 43, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1344, "texte": "Stop! Look! Listen!: Robert McQuinn\nMcQuinn is the man who designed the scenery to \"Watch\nYour Step,\" he created Dillingham's monster production\nin the Hippodrome, \"Hip Hip Hooray\" and I caught him\nlast Tuesday afternoon just as he was leaving his New York\nstudio for a short trip to Philadelphia to attend there a per-\nformance of \"Stop, Look and Listen\" for which he designed\nthe scenery, the costumes of the chorus and a bathing suit\nworn by Gaby Deslys, the star of this new Dillingham pro-\nduction, which will be seen in New York in a couple of\nweeks.\nThe only possible excuse for an American musical com-\nedy—this mushroom growth of our amusement field—is the\nchance they afford to our artists. And our public is wise to\nthe fact that they don't pay the price of admission to our\nBroadway houses in order to hear music or to see good\nacting but to witness a costly fashion show, or to make a\ntrip into fairy land and admire color, rhythm and movement\ncharmed to life by such magicians of colors as Robert\nMcQuinn. .\nHe just recently moved into his new studio on Ninth\nStreet. It is on the top floor of a house that seems to have\nbeen created just for the man who paints covers for our\nfashion magazines and translates them into scenery and\ncostumes for our Broadway successes. Window boxes cover"}, {"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "271", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.6", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2863, "texte": "almost all of the windows; evergreen overhangs here and\nthere and contrasts with the pale pink color of the house-\nfront. Doors and stairways are small like in a toy house\nand the French perfume factory on the ground floor provides\na peculiar odor true to the building, just as though all the\nwearers of costumes McQuinn designed had dropped their\nhandkerchiefs here and there and all the fleurs de mils and\nviolets de parma and \"Ideal\" had united in a concert of\nfragrances.\nMcQuinn you would think almost anything but the fash-\nion artist and creator of bathing suits de luxe and of fash-\nions which are followed religiously all over the United\nStates. With his big tortoise shell spectacles he looks more\nlike a college professor and you might also mistake him for\na credit man or a banker. He believes in spaces not only\nin his stage arrangements but also in his own studio. And\ntherefore, the spacious walls without a picture, here and\nthere a chair, a piano in one corner and two canaries in two\ncages right in the midst of the cheerful green of the window\nboxes. A lot of books not orderly in de luxe editions with\nwonderful silk bindings as you might expect, but just in\npiles on the mantel-piece, on the tables and in a corner on\nthe floor. He reads his books and he says he can find them\nbetter if they are piled one upon the other; and then he\ndiscovers also immediately that other book he wanted to\nread, lying right next in the pile.\nHe loves music. It sounds like _ a paradox what music\nthe man loves who is instrumental in making musical com-\nedies Broadway successes. It is. father Bach. And he\nstarted to tell me how he always loved Bach. He spoke\nin terms of reverence and profound respect of that grand\nmusic of the old master. He told me about his pilgrimages\nto Bethlehem in Pennsylvania where they have Bach fes-\ntivals every year and that he never missed one since he\nfirst learned about their existence.\nAnd he missed his train. He didn't care a bit, because he\nsays it does him good to speak about Bach and his eyes\nwere flirting with his instrument and I am sure if there were\nnot a train every hour to Philadelphia we would have had\na little Bach festival all by ourselves.\n\"But how about that music in your musical comedies?\"\nI asked, \"I like rag, real rag music—of that sort Irving\nBerlin knows to write, the man who committed the Alex-\nander Rag and many others of this sort and who really did\nsome fine things in \"Stop, Look and Listen.\" t\n\"But what on earth can you find in the best rag music if\nyou love and understand Bach?\"\n\"Bach is my religion,\" he answered. \"It reveals to me\nthe wonders of a world in which we all could live, of the\nParadise Lost which is unveiled to us once in a while for\nthe fraction «112 a moment, which gives lis a new lease on\nlife; but otherwise, I live in New York in the tenseness of"}, {"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "272", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.7", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 941, "texte": "its noises, and that makes me feel irreligious and makes me\nwant rhythm and movement, and by gosh\"—he slapped his\nleg and he whistled one of the choruses from \"Stop, Look\nand Listen.\" .... \"I do love ragtime, tool\"\n\"And talking about ragtime I must show you my new\ncanes.\" Out he brought a not yet opened box with half\na dozen walking-sticks, one looking like the other.\n\"I always forget my walking-stick, and therefore, I order\nthem now by the dozen and I don't need to bother until the\nlast one is gone.\"\n\"Stop, Look and Listen\"-—judging from sketches and the\nPhiladelphia Evening Ledger\" has been turned into a \"Vogue\"\ncover. Interiors and exteriors are in the pale sand hues,\nthe clay greens, blues and cerises of that magazine. Every-\nthing is treated in a pale, flat poster effect, even down to\npalm trees and Hawaiian beaches. The costumes, barring\nGaby's confections, are carried out in the same shades ana\ntreatment."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-12-11-01-c006", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01#c006", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "272", "page_fin": "272", "image_debut": 7, "image_fin": 7, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.2.6", "titre_corps": "Drawing by Robert McQumn", "titre_sommaire": "Drawing by Robert McQumn", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "272", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.7", "debut_caractere": 943, "fin_caractere_exclue": 967, "texte": "Drawing by Robert McQumn"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-12-11-01-c007", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01#c007", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "273", "page_fin": "273", "image_debut": 8, "image_fin": 8, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.2.7", "titre_corps": "This Week's Performances in Charles Edison's Little Thimble Theatre", "titre_sommaire": "This Week's Performances in Charles Edison's Little Thimble Theatre", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 8, "page_imprimee": "273", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.8", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1766, "texte": "This Week's Performances in Charles\nEdison's Little Thimble Theatre\nan absence of two months Charlotte James, known\nto the habitues of the Thimble as accompanist of its solo-\nists, came back to take her old place. Miss James completed\na few compositions of her own which she will present to the\naudience on the coming Thursday, Friday and Saturday.\nShe is a Colorado girl, born 11,500 feet above sea level in\nHegeman Pass, Colorado. It was a lonely place where she\nspent the greater part of her life, her father being telegraph\noperator on the Pass, their next neighbors fifteen miles\naway. The only music she heard in those days was the\nmonotonous clicking of the telegraph key, and often did she\ntake her father's place at his desk Sending forth and receiv-\ning messages. She loves the big mountains of her home\nstate and she gets real sentimental talking about the sheep\nshe used to shepherd. She received her first musical educa-\ntion from her mother and for three years she was a pupil\nof Adolph Weides in composition. And now she is here\nin New York trying to make for herself a place among Amer-\nica's composers. Outside her own compositions she will\nplay in this week's performance Bach's \"Concerto\" and\nBrahms' \"Caprice.\"\nMiss Maria Opfel, soprano, will appear for the first time\nbefore a public audience. Her aim is to become an opera\nsinger. Her program includes \"Just Awearyin, for You,\" by\nCarrie Jacobs-Bond, \"Lethe,\" by T. Boott, \"Contentment,\"\nby Frank Seymour Hastings and\"The Slumber Boat,\" by\nJessie L. Gaynor.\nMiss Sybil Robinson who was heard s<fveral weeks ago in the\nThimble Theatre will appear again this week. She will sing;\n\"Non so piu cosa son\" by Mozart, \"Son of Mine,\" by William\nWallace, and\"I Think,\" by Guy D'Hardelot."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-12-11-01-c008", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01#c008", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "273", "page_fin": "274", "image_debut": 8, "image_fin": 9, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.2.8", "titre_corps": "Just Time", "titre_sommaire": "Just Time", "signature_source": "Reprinted by request ; Guido Bruno", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 8, "page_imprimee": "273", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.8", "debut_caractere": 1768, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2488, "texte": "Just Time\nReprinted by request\n\nMY garret has six windows. Through every one the in\nis shining, frathing the table with the typewriter in\na shower of pure golden rays. The laundry that hang?\nalong wash lines between the houses of Little Italy near by\nsetftns real white, swinging joyfully to the rhythm of a teas-\ning wind. A few of my neighbors seem to love vivid, glar-\ning colors. There is one red nightshirt, on which I feast\ntoy cyt« every other week. Its owner must be a giant with\nlong arias. I fancy h£ brought it from Naples or Sicily.\nThe shirt will fade and will go the way of all shirts and\nhell buy nice flannel pajamas — all Italians wear jtajamas,\nthere are dozens of them on the lines in front of my win-"}, {"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "274", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1978, "texte": "dow; and he will forget his sunny Italy and lose his sun-\nbrowned cheeks, and how long will it be* and he will be on*\n©112 the thousands of pale, uniformly clad New Yorkers?\nDoing the same work, shoulder to shoulder with thous-\nands of others makes people uniform. Some elevate them-\nsdves up to the standard of the avearge, some come down\nto the standard of the average. But after a while they will\nall be equal, they all will wear the same clothes, they will\nwalk in the same manner, they will eat the same kind of\nfood, make the same gestures, use the same language: and\nall for one purpose, to make their daily bread.\nOver there across the back yard in front of my garret\na woman leans over the washtub. She never looks up to\nthe forget-me-not blue sky; she doesn't see the sparrows\nfighting for crumbs of bread on the fence. Hefr husband\nleans somewhere in a shop over his work and is angry\nbecause tiny little rays of the kind sun peep through the\nblinded window, fascinated by the neefdle in his hand and\ndance in jolly little circles over his work. Not to become pau-\npers is the tragedy that kills happiness, transforms proud\nand free human into befnt and worn slaves; that creates human\nautomatons.\nIt is the lack of time that makes millions wretched. They\ncannot look up to the skies and see the passing clouds—they\nhave not time. They cannot see the awakening of spring, the\ngrowth of youth in nature—they have no time. They do not\nadmire the beauty and the colors of flowers, they do not smell\ntheir fragrance—they have no time. They don't hear the birds\nsinging; they don't hear the cooing of babies and the heart\ngladdening chattering of children—they have no time.\nTime, time—just a little time to live is the real plea of the\npoor man.\nAnd how beautiful is life—how wonderful is just real life,\neven without the comforts and blessings of civilization! Life\nis love, but we need time?—just time to do nothing but to live\nand to love.\n\nGuido Bruno"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-12-11-01-c009", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01#c009", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "274", "page_fin": "274", "image_debut": 9, "image_fin": 9, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.2.9", "titre_corps": "The Execution", "titre_sommaire": "The Execution", "signature_source": "Will M. Clemen", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "274", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 1980, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2559, "texte": "The Execution\nWill M. Clemen\nTHE sheriff fastened the rope about the neck of the unfor-\ntunate wretch and drew down the black cap.\nThe priest with bowed head muttered a token for the soul\nof the condemned man.\nThe jailer touched a spring and a quivering body dangled\nfrom the scaffold beam.\nThe doctor heard the heart beat its final throb and pro-\nnounced him dead.\nThe men severed the rope then and strong arms laid the\nlifeless mass in a pine box at the foot of the scaffold.\n\"Thank you, gentlemen!\" the corpse seemed to say, \"our\nlittle differences are now amicably adjusted.\""}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-12-11-01-c010", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01#c010", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "275", "page_fin": "275", "image_debut": 10, "image_fin": 10, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.2.10", "titre_corps": "To Clara Tice", "titre_sommaire": "To Clara Tice", "signature_source": "G. G", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "275", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.10", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 233, "texte": "To Clara Tice\nG. G.\nI must tell you, Clara Tice,\nThat your drawings are not nice,\nYour ladies are too thin—and wear nothing but\nsome stringy hair.\nCan't you make them plump or fat?\nAnd please, do kill, that awful cat."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-12-11-01-c011", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01#c011", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "275", "page_fin": "275", "image_debut": 10, "image_fin": 10, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.2.11", "titre_corps": "Clara Tice and Her Dog Varna, by Herself", "titre_sommaire": "Clara Tice and Her Dog Varna, by Herself", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "275", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.10", "debut_caractere": 235, "fin_caractere_exclue": 275, "texte": "Clara Tice and Her Dog Varna, by Herself"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-12-11-01-c012", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01#c012", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "275", "page_fin": "275", "image_debut": 10, "image_fin": 10, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.2.12", "titre_corps": "Bathsheba in Washington Square", "titre_sommaire": "Bathsheba in Washington Square", "signature_source": "Harold Speak man", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "275", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.10", "debut_caractere": 277, "fin_caractere_exclue": 585, "texte": "Bathsheba in Washington Square\nHarold Speak man\nTTHE gate clicks shut, I mount the steps and pass\nInto the dismal hall ; the mocking row\nOf letter boxes and the low-turned gas\nBring back the hateful present. God! I know\nThe cost, and yet—some wild, triumphant thing\nInside? my breast, is singing as I go.\nr '"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-12-11-01-c013", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01#c013", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "275", "page_fin": "276", "image_debut": 10, "image_fin": 11, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.2.13", "titre_corps": "In Our Village", "titre_sommaire": "In Our Village", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "275", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.10", "debut_caractere": 587, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1400, "texte": "In Our Village\nClara Tice, who designed the cove'r of this issue, is not a\nlover of cats—as many seem to think, judging by my last week's\nmail. On the contrary, dogs are her favorites and Varna, her\nRussian wolf hound, took place in several shows and was admired\nby whole Nefw York this season.\nAt the corner of Fifth avenue and Eighth street, right across\nfrom the Brevoort Hotel, the Diamond Disc Shop opened its\nmusic parlors where one can drop in on afternoon or efvening\nand listen to some music to order. The patience of Mr. Godfrey,\nits manager, is never at an end and he puts record after record\nupon the Disc and classical music, grand opera singers, ragtime\nfollow merrily in quick succession. Next week is the official\nopening of the shop and everybody who happens to be in the\nneighborhood is invited."}, {"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "276", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.11", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1281, "texte": "Mrs. Heloise Haynes (she of the \"Wardrobe\") gave a tea,\nI am informed, and there was not one candle in the? room.\nCandles and Japanese prints seemed last year the medium\nthrough which Mrs. Haynes expressed herself. But why candle-\nsticks if not candles?\nMadame Apel, the sculptress, just finished a bust of Sada-\nkichi Hartmann, the poet. She did that marvelous head\nSadakichi's full justice. He is all there, even his fantastic\nhair strands.\nSadakichi Hartmann gave this week his famous drama\nreadings. He read his \"Christ\" better than ever. It is\na pity he cannot find a publisher for his marvelous creations.\nThe works of the instructors of the Modern Art School at\n72 Washington Square South, are at present on exhibition\nin the school rooms. There are especially interesting poster\ndesigns by Winold Reiss and water colors by Charles\nDemuth.\nHeroichiro K. Myderco is a newcomer to the village. A\nfew of his Phantasies appeared in the last issue of Bruno's\nWeekly and one can be found on these pages. Mr. Myderco\nwas sent to the United States by Kenjiro Tokutomi, of\nJapan, a prominent novelist, whose books have already ap-\npeared in the English language. A short biography of this\nJapanese-American author will appear in a forthcoming\nissue of Bruno's Weekly."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-12-11-01-c014", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01#c014", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "276", "page_fin": "277", "image_debut": 11, "image_fin": 12, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.2.14", "titre_corps": "Greenwich Village a la Town Topics", "titre_sommaire": "Greenwich Village a la Town Topics", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "276", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.11", "debut_caractere": 1283, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2560, "texte": "Among Our Aristocrats\nGreenwich Village a la Town Topics\nQREENWICH VILLAGE received the American royal\naccolade in advance last week by being honored by a\nvisit of several days from President Wilson's fiancee, Mrs.\nEdith Boiling Gait, herself a lineal descendant of the Prin-\ncess Pocohontas. Mrs. Gait was the guest of Miss Gordon,\nan old friend who lives in the modest little apartment house\nNo. 12 East Tenth Street. The few Greenwich Villagers\nwho had the privilege of meeting her during her very busy\nsojourn, a good deal of which was passed at the establish-\nment of Kurzman, a famous coutouriere, in one voice, de-\nscribe her to be a woman of unusually attractive personality.\nPresident Wilson is certainly to be congratulated upon his\nsuitable alliance with a woman of such qualities of mind\nand heart and one capable of doing a great deal socially for\nthe White House feature of the administration. To begin\nwith, considering the station of the bride the marriage cere-\nmony ought by all means to be performed at the Executive\nmansion, as from the hour of the official announcement of\nher betrothal to the President of the United States the bride-\nintendant has ceased to be a private citizen. The small and\nsimple wedding is in excellent form under the circumstances."}, {"page_pdf": 12, "page_imprimee": "277", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.12", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2451, "texte": "Private levees at the White House, it can be said equally\nin praise of the Wilson alike with the Roosevelt and Taft\nadministrations, have been vigilantly censored lon moral\ngrounds and unmarried or remarried divorcees who have\nbeen divorced on the statutory grounds in flagranti delicto\nhave been ostracized from admission to its portals.\nOwing to the large contingent of the \"Cave dwellers,\" the\nultra-conservative Southerners living in Washington many\nof them having been reared on great estates with inordinate\nprejudices against \"trade\" and tradespeople, the social posi-\ntion of Mrs. Gait although of far-descended Virginia lineage\nhas been somewhat anomalous. Norman Gait, her deceased\nhusband, rose from humble beginnings to be the Tiffany of\nWashington and it is said that for some time subsequent\nto his death, she personally conducted the business, which\nis grievance No. 2 the Cave Dwellers have harbored. Mrs*\nGait being a thoroughbred gentlewoman, is well aware that\nthe preferred way to wreak revenge upon people is by sur-\npassing them.\nUnlike European courts, the White House and its imme-\ndiate entourage are powerless to create any private individu\nand stand in no integral relation to the national ultra-fash-\nionable set. For instance, at the opening of the twentieth\ncentury and up to the time of her death, in the realm of\nfashion, it was Mrs. Astor and not the wife of any one of\nthe Presidents of the United States who was the most widely\ndiscussed American woman.\nWashington society at best is such a tangled congeries\nof political, social, not to say business interests, cosmopolitan\nin one aspect and almost as provincial as a New England\nvillage in another, that it is somewhat puzzling to a censor\nof ultra-fashionable conditions. Nevertheless, a national\nultra-fashionable set, irrespective of official life, exists at\nthe National Capitol which is accorded royal honors at Euro-\npean courts and which has been too much overlooked by\nthe Wilsons in their guests. Mrs. Gait, hitherto aligned to;\nneither the \"Cave Dwellers\" nor the ultra-fashionables, will\nspeedily recognize that the President and his family, no\nmatter what their birth, previous social conditions or per-\nsonal qualifications, in common with the diplomats, are cred-\nited to the various powers sustaining a quasi ex-ofjicio rela-\ntion to the ultra-fashionable set, or at least to a section of it\nif they choose to accept its invitations."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-12-11-01-c015", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01#c015", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "277", "page_fin": "277", "image_debut": 12, "image_fin": 12, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.2.15", "titre_corps": "This is the famous Wilson Limerick which is making the", "titre_sommaire": "This is the famous Wilson Limerick which is making the", "signature_source": "Woodrow Wilson", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 12, "page_imprimee": "277", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.12", "debut_caractere": 2453, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2681, "texte": "Woodrow Wilson\nThis is the famous Wilson Limerick which is making the\nrounds.\nAs a beauty I am not a star,\nThere are others more handsome by far;\nBut my face, I don't mind it,\nFor I am behind it—\nThe people in front get the jar."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-12-11-01-c016", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01#c016", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "278", "page_fin": "279", "image_debut": 13, "image_fin": 14, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.2.16", "titre_corps": "Books and Magazines of the Week", "titre_sommaire": "Books and Magazines of the Week", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 13, "page_imprimee": "278", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.13", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2961, "texte": "Books and Magazines of the Week\nSHAL.L we call it a renaissance of romanticism or is it\nthe dawn of the romantic age in America this new\nmovement of poetry all over the United States which started\na couple of years ago, and which seems to be right now at\nits high tide? It is constantly spreading and the surest\nsigns that something big, something unexpected will be its\nresult in the near future are the peculiar facts that we are\nnot confronted by a distinct school of poetry which has a\nleader and many followers, but that men, individuals here\nand there, in the most unexpected corners of the world\ncome to the surface—l might say spring up over night.\nThey are not scholars and they are not philosophers. Just\nsimple Americans whose colleges and universities were the\nhard knocks of average American life. Who are following\nprofessions and trades, whose poetry is the rhythm of their\nlives and who differ so vastly from the poets who live in\norder to write their rhymes and whose rhymes are the scant\nand bottled up extracts of theories read in books and of\natmospheres especially created for use in their poems.\nIt is not the publisher of standard books who presents the\npoetry of contemporaneous life. It is not the magazine of\nbest-selling authors which gives its readers the rhythm of\nour life. Never since the memorable Nineties of the last\ncentury has America had so many individualistic magazines\nas today. Almost every day a new one comes to my desk\nand brings me the name and the work of a new man . And\nso through all this much-talked-about commercialism in\nart and letters we are coming back to the times where people\nwrote for no other reason than because they had to write\nsomething, and where they published their works for no\nother purpose than because it was a message to the world.\nPoets are becoming their own publishers. They start\nlittle sheets of their own—just leaflets, and send them out\ninto the world.\nAlfred Kreymborg and his Mushrooms were looked upon\nas a curiosity a year ago. Paragraphers all over the country\nand conductors of newspaper columns fell over them like\nhungry wolves over a longed-for prey. Kreymborg has\ntoday a magazine of his own and we find it represented in\nMr. Braithwaite's ultra-conservative \"Anthology of Maga-\nzine Verse.\" The Imagists, ridiculed only two years ago,\nare now standing features of the so-called popular maga-\nzines. Vers libre has found its serious consideration in\ncolleges and universities. It is the little magazine which\nhas carried its message on to the world, and little magazines\nwhich no one heard of are bringing us daily new messages\nfrom new men.\nHarold Hersey, Librarian Poet\nSome weeks ago Harold Hersey gave a poetry reading\nin my garret. He is a librarian, a librarian in that gigantic\nmausoleum of letters in the United States—in the Library\nof Congress, in Washington. He read us a selection of his\nnew book, \"The Wings of Song,\" which has been since pub-"}, {"page_pdf": 14, "page_imprimee": "279", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.14", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2526, "texte": "lished at the Library Press. He is the poet, who feels the\nrhythm of life in his immediate surroundings. Be he a\ncobbler, he feels the poetry of being a cobbler (remember\nHans Sachs). Hersey sees more in the books which sur-\nround him daily than dead things on shelves. And so we\nsee his library with the eyes he sees them. There are little\nscenes and silhouettes and sketches which are memories of\nyour life as well as of Hersey's life. \"The Wings of Song\"\nis the third book by the same author during the past year.\nHe is associated with the new literary venture in Wash-\nington,\"The Minaret,\" a little magazine of verse and litera-\nture, edited by Herbert Bruncken.\nThe Minaret\nHarold Hersey and H. Bruncken, these two prophets in\nthe wilderness of Washington, suggested in their little maga-\nzine titles for books of modern poets. Here are a few:\n\"Chimney Soot and Axle Grease\" by Rabindranath Tagore,\n\"A Pathway of Fluffy Dreams to the Moon,\" by Richard\nLe Galliene, \"Dung Heaps and Alleyways,\" by John Mase-\nfield, \"Ham and Eggs,\" by Vachel Lindsay, and \"Nothing-\nness and More of It,\" by Amy Lowell.\nOthers\nKreymborg's name as editor appears only on the title\npage, there is no editorial written by him and not even a\ntiny poem to represent his own muse; but there surely never\nreached my table another book or magazine more represen-\ntative of the man responsible for it than his yellow-covered\njournal. Every page seems to tell me \"I am sent by Kreym-\nborg\" and every poem seems to whisper \"I am approved of\nby Kreymborg,\" and every name represented on its pages\nseems to say, \"I stand for a man or a woman who is just\nafter the heart of Kreymborg.\"\nThe Phoenix\nMichael Monahan couldn't have chosen a better leading\narticle for the first number of his fourth volume than the\none upon James Whitcomb Riley.\nThe Trail\nIt is a new literary venture which our table from\nWeyauwejg, Wisconsin. It was fostered into this world\nby its editors Alfred L. Hutchinson and Edna Von Der\nHeide. It shall appeal to all classes of readers, as the pre-\nface states and one of its chief purposes is the establishment\nof equal suffrage and the abolishment of the death penalty.\nThe Wild Hawk\nHervey White publishes in his \"periodical of beauty and\nfreedom\" his \"A Dinner Party,\" a second drama in the fourth\ndimension.\nPizzichi Di Pepe\nGabriele Bellini, a Villager, published a volume of vers\nlibre in the Italian language. The preface is written by\nRiccardo Cardiferro, and there is a caricature of Mr. Bellini\nby Caruso."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-12-11-01-c017", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01#c017", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "280", "page_fin": "280", "image_debut": 15, "image_fin": 15, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.2.17", "titre_corps": "Last Year's Diary of Muriel Ciolkowska, Paris Correspondent of \"The Egoist,\" in London.", "titre_sommaire": "Last Year's Diary of Muriel Ciolkowska, Paris Correspondent of \"The Egoist,\" in London.", "signature_source": "Muriel Ciolkowska", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 15, "page_imprimee": "280", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.15", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1575, "texte": "Fighting Paris\nLast Year's Diary of Muriel Ciolkowska, Paris Correspondent\nof \"The Egoist,\" in London.\nMuriel Ciolkowska\nNovember 8.—Charles Dumas, a poet who was awarded\nthe Prix Sully Prudhomme has been killed in action. He\npublished his last volume in 1906. A critic, M. Charles\nPerrot, has described his work as characterized by \"musical\ntendencies and metaphysical anguish.\" Some poems by\nCharles Dumas, as well as quotations from his two books:\n\"L'Eau Souterraine\" and \"L'Ombre et les Proies\" were\npublished in \"Le Double Bouquet\" for June.\nI have long come to the conclusion that the French\nare the most undemocratic people in the world. Whereas\nthe \"Times\" publishes complete lists of killed, wounded,\nmissing, prisoners in all the ranks, the French papers\nonly give the names of deceased officers and such person-\nalities as have been more or less in the public eye. Com-\nplete and official lists are not given at all, such as are pub-\nlished being furnished by relatives. All individual recog-\nnition is, moreover, as far as possible discouraged, the\nnumbers of regiments when referred to in narratives of\nevents at the Front are left blank, and every communication\nsteeped in a monochrome mist, which M. Maurice Barres\ncalls \"an abuse of khaki.\" Not the slightest attempt is\nmade to \"humour\" the people, and individual sacrifice re-\nceives the minimum of publicity. There is no country in\nwhich national service is undertaken for more disinterested\nand ideal,motives, and the Frenchman who fights for his\ncountry does so truly for his country only."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-12-11-01-c018", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01#c018", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "280", "page_fin": "281", "image_debut": 15, "image_fin": 16, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.2.18", "titre_corps": "Phantasies", "titre_sommaire": "Phantasies", "signature_source": "Heroichiro K. Myderco", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 15, "page_imprimee": "280", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.15", "debut_caractere": 1577, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2457, "texte": "Phantasies\nBy Heroichiro K. Myderco\nTolstoy\nTHE hungry birds called each other dolefully in the dark\nof the e'arth. The sun was setting on the lurid\nmarsh as dirty as the field after a massacre. A vacant tel-ega\npassed away. The reeds trembled with pain in the marsh.\nA few dark-faced peasants followed it.\nOne of them criefd with a hoarse voice, \"To Moscov! . . .\"\nAll the others raised their hands and shouted, \"To Moscov t\"\nThe wind brushed against their bare legs, and they shivered\nwith cold. The night began to hover over the plain like* an\nenormous bird of prey.\n\"At Moscov we will find the goal of life! Friends, there is\nour joy, there lies our kingdom! Let us free ourselves from\nthe land of cold misery and desperate monarchy!\"\nWith this word the man lead the others and disappeared into\nthe gathering mist.\nA drefary silence fell over the scabby, monotonous stretch of"}, {"page_pdf": 16, "page_imprimee": "281", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.16", "debut_caractere": 44, "fin_caractere_exclue": 744, "texte": "land. Then, a man came hurriedly from the darkness. He bore\na huge, rusty cross on his shoulders like a wind-mill.\nHe was an old man.\nHe raised his strong voice and shouted to the people who had\njust disappeared in the* mist. Though his voice was loud it did\nnot reach the crowd of peasants, and was dolefully answered\nby the cry of the birds.\nAt last, he resumed his journey, dragging the cross after him\nas a man with a heavy burden. Scarcely did he walk more than\na few steps than the colossal cross fell on the ground with his\nbody.\nIt was too heavy for the poor old man.\nBut, as another band of new peasants came from behind, he\nshouted, dying: \"To Nazareth!\" and pointed toward the setting\nsun."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-12-11-01-c019", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01#c019", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "281", "page_fin": "282", "image_debut": 16, "image_fin": 17, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.2.19", "titre_corps": "Maude: A Memory", "titre_sommaire": "Maude: A Memory", "signature_source": "Guido Bruno", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 16, "page_imprimee": "281", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.16", "debut_caractere": 746, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2758, "texte": "Maude: A Memory\nBy Guido Bruno\nThey passed red lights, calling attention to dangerous\ncrossings. The Illinois Central station with the big electric\nsign of a department store lay dark like a big romantic\ncastle on the painting of some American artist, who recently\nexhibited his picture in one of the art galleries.\nThey passed through the dark streets, and had to stop on a\ndesolate-looking corner for a few minutes to let some heavily-\nloaded wagons pass. A policeman exchanged greetings with the\nchauffeur, and they passed on through streets with litte houses\non either side and through the windows they could see in the\nlighted room where families were sitting around their tables\neating their meals with stupid, work-worn faces.\nTwenty-second Street was not as yet awakened to the boister-\nous life which starts an hour before midnight and vanishes\nbefore the first rays of the morning sun. Gramaphones were\nsending their inharmonious tones through open windows, smok-\ning women were making themselves ready for the excitement\nof the night and their chosen life profession. A drunken negro\nwas talking to a white girl on a corner under a yellow gas\nlantern and an old woman was sitting on the doorstep of an\nugly gray and green painted house, holding a flask of whiskey\nto her mouth. They passed empty building lots with a few old\ntrees. The first familiar houses of the suburb could be seen in\nthe distance, which shortened with every turn of the wheels.\nKenneth did not speak to his friend. It struck him peculiarly\nthat he had to be present each time when his friend's hopes of\nhappiness were smothered and his belief in woman shaken. He\nfelt that there must be some connection between the picture of\nthe married woman whose husband was dead perhaps, and float-\ning around among some ugly remnants of the wrecked steamer,\nand the recent dreamy happiness of the silent man sitting at\nhis side. He did not care to think what that connection might\nbe. He was happy that his friend did not talk—did not corn-"}, {"page_pdf": 17, "page_imprimee": "282", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.17", "debut_caractere": 281, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2947, "texte": "pel him to mutter words of condolence, which he knew would\nsound vulgar and colorless, no matter how deeply they were\nfelt.\n\"How closely we live together,\" he thought, looking through\nthe window, and seeing the quick change from the well-dressed\ndiners in the hotels and the tired men and women in their work-\ning attire with pale, haunted faces and work-worn, soiled hands.\nSeeing the houses of beautiful stone where they serve our Lord\nand mutter words of devotion and promises of Brotherly Love,\nand right near by the houses of shame where they forget human-\nity and drink and scream and do things of which they would\nbe ashamed if they would stop to think.\nThe automobile stopped. The chauffeur opened the door and\nthe gray-haired butler appeared at the door of the dark veranda,\nwhich gave the small old house the appearance of a southern\nmansion. H assisted his friend as he would have helped an\ninvalid who, for the first time after a long disease, takes a\nride in the fresh air. They ascended the steps and entered the\nbig hall, illuminated by a single gas light.\n\"Dr. Courtland does not feel well, Maurice,\" said Kenenth.\n\"He will retire immediately. Have his room prepared as\nquickly as possible.\"\nCourtland was standing in front of the big fireplace and\nlooked at the ashes of the last year's fire. He felt shivery and\ncold. Didn't he see that there was no fire in the grate? He\nextended the white, ungloved hands into the big opening as\nthough he wished to warm them. Maurice announced in a sub-\ndued voice, almost whispering, that the room was ready; and\nboth men went silently upstairs.\n\"Is there anything you wish, Courtland?\" asked Kenneth.\n\"There is a bottle of old brandy—you know where you can find\nit. Don't you think it would do you a lot of good to take some?\nShall I order a fire made in the grate? There is a suit of\npajamas in the dresser. It is your own. You remember you\nforgot it here a few months ago. And there is that old bathrobe\nof mine you have worn all these years.\"\nThere was no answer from the man standing in the middle of\nthe room under the lighted candelabra, looking through the dis-\ntant window into the darkness of the night. Softly Kenneth\nwent to the door. Again he turned. He looked at the back of\nthe well-built athletic man who seemed tired and helpless, stand-\ning there like a man on a plank, swaying in midocean, looking\nvainly for help. For a second there flashed through his brain\nthe picture of the other man fighting for his life amid_ the\nwreckage of a ship—of the man whose wife's picture was printed\nin the evening paper. He opened his lips but did not say what\nhe intended to say. Softly he closed the door."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-12-11-01-c020", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01#c020", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[283]", "page_fin": "[283]", "image_debut": 18, "image_fin": 18, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.2.20", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 18, "page_imprimee": "[283]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.18", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 90, "texte": "READERS OF\nA\n112\nBruno's Weekly\n)\nAre Asked To Become\n►\nSUBSCRIBERS\nI\n52 Issues One Dollar"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-12-11-01-c021", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01#c021", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-12-11_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[284]", "page_fin": "[284]", "image_debut": 19, "image_fin": 19, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.2.21", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 19, "page_imprimee": "[284]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.19", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 662, "texte": "Charles Edison's Little Thimble Theatre, Situated\nat No.lOFifth Avenue, Greenwich Village, N.Y.C.\nGmd<* Brune, Manager.\nThis Week's Performances and Concerts\nWednesday, 2:15 p. m.\nThursday,\n3 p. m.\nFriday,\n8:15 p. m.\n8:15 p. m.\nSaturday, 2:00 p. m.\n8:15 p. m.\nChildren's Hour and Disc Concert\non the Square.\nA little Pilgrimage\nand workshop\nCollins Foster.\nto the home\nof Stephen\nPerformance at the Little Thimble\nTheatre.\nPerformance at the Little Thimble\nTheatre.\nChildren's Hour and Disc Concert\non the Square.\nPerformance at the Little Thimble\nTheatre.\nAsk or write for ticket of admission to The\nLittle Thimble Theatre performances. They\nare free of charge."}]}], "pages_ocr_originales": [{"page_pdf": 1, "page_imprimee": "couv. 1", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.1", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\nFive Cents December 11th, 1915"}, {"page_pdf": 2, "page_imprimee": "[267]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.2", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\nEdited by Guido Bruno in His Garret on Washington Square\nNo. 21\nDecember 11, 1915.\nVol. 1\nCopyright 1915 by Guido Bruno\n\nLetter by Mark Twain as it appeared in the late \"Autograph\" of\nMr. Madigan.\n\nO. Henry In Greenwich Village\nYHERE is one man in American letters who knew Green-\nwich Village. Who knew it as it is and who never\nhesitated to show in the most humorous way that it is not\nwhat newspapers and magazines and even some of the people\ndown there themselves are trying to make you believe that\nit is.\nO. Henry, one of the few masters of the short story of\nthe world, and the master of the American short story,\nlived among us for a considerable period of his life; in those\nyears before his death in which he wrote the best. Not only\ncompared with his own works of previous years but the\nbest ever written about the real life in New York, about\nthat floating population of New York whose names are\nfeatured on the electric sign-boards above the entrances of\ntheatres, whose stories are in magazines and newspapers,\nwhose pictures appear on magazine covers and whose\nwhereabouts cannot be found in telephone books or city\ndirectories.\nO. Henry knows the life in so-called studios. The \"Bo-\nhemian\" restaurants are dissected by him and after he has\nshowed what they really are and he has destroyed in you\nforever that peculiar flavor you always connect with that\nmythical Bohemia, he discovers their real, their existing"}, {"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "268", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.3", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\ncharms and you like them so much better because now you\nknow what you are up against.\nSome time ago a newspaper had a contest asking its\nreaders for a vote which of the O. Henry stories they thought\nthe best. I lost track of the final result of this contest,\nbut I believe that his \"Last Leaf,\" which can be found in\nthe volume, \"The Trimmed Lamp,\" of the Doubleday Page\nstandard edition, is the very best that O. Henry ever wrote\nand is the most characteristic of his personality and of his\nliterary style.\nHe lived in the community of artists and writers, which\nreally is not a community at all but just your continuous\nrecollections of this or that man or woman artist you knew.\nShop-keepers, owners of restaurants—men and women who\nwere engaged in the business of cooking and serving the\nfood to people who came for no other purpose to their\nplace but to eat—were his friends and daily associates and\nhe was one of the few who had found the connecting link\nbetween our old-fashioned neighborhood, houses and parks—\nrelics of by-gone days of glory—and their present occupants.\nPeople who live here because they didn't find another place\nto live in, others who came because they loved these Old\nWorld surroundings and still others who wish to commer-\ncialize both people and neighborhood, serving together with\nroast chicken and red ink to \"philistines\" from up-town as\na curiosity of New York: its Latin Quarter.\nFrom\"The Last Leaf\"\n\"In a little district west of Washington Square the streets\nhave run crazy and broken themselves into small strips\ncalled \"places.\" These \"places\" make strange angles and\ncurves. One street crosses itself a time or two. An artist\nonce discovered a valuable possibility in this street. Suppose\na collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should,\nin traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back,\nwithout a cent having been paid on account 1\n\"So to quaint old Greenwich Village the art people soon\ncame prowling, hunting for north windows and eighteenth-\ncentury gables and Dutch attics and low rents. Then they\nimported some pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from\nSixth Avenue, and became a \"colony.\"\n\"At the top of a squatty, three-story brick, Sue and Johnsy\nhad their studio. \"Johnsy\" was familiar for Joanna. One\nwas from Maine; the other from California. They had met\nat the table d'hote of an Eighth Street \"Delmonico's\" and\nfound their tastes in art, chicory salad and bishop sleeves\nso congenial that the joint studio resulted.\""}, {"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "269", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.4", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nFrom \"The Country of Illusion\"\n\"That evening they went to the Cafe Andre. And, as\npeople would confide to you in a whisper that Andre's was\nthe only truly Bohemian restaurant in town, it may be well\nto follow them.\n\"Andre began his professional career as a waiter in a\nBowery ten-cent eating-house. Had you seen him there you\nwould have called him tough—to yourself. Not aloud, for\nhe would have \"soaked\" you as quickly as he would have\nsoaked his thumb in your coffee. He saved money and\nstarted a basement table d'hote in Eighth or Ninth Street.\nOne afternoon Andre drank much absinthe. He an-\nnounced to his startled family that he was the Grand Llama\nof Thibet, therefore requiring an empty audience hall in\nwhich to be worshiped. He moved all the tables and chairs\nfrom the restaurant into the back yard, wrapped a red table-\ncloth around himself, and sat on a step-ladder for a throne.\nWhen the diners began to arrive, madame, in a flurry of\ndespair, laid cloths and ushered them, trembling, outside.\nBetween the tables clothes-lines were stretched, bearing the\nfamily wash. A party of Bohemian hunters greeted the artis-\ntic innovation with shrieks and acclamations of delight. That\nweek's washing was not taken for two years. When Andre\ncame to his senses he had the menu printed on stiffy starched\ncuffs, and served the ices in little wooden tubs. Next he\ntook down his sign and darkened the front of the house.\nWhen you went there to dine you fumbled for an electric\nbutton and pressed it. A lookout slid open a panel in the\ndoor, looked at you suspiciously, and asked if you were ac-\nquainted with Senator Herodotus Q. McMilligan, of the\nChickisaw Nation. If you were, you were admitted and\nallowed to dine. If you were not, you were admitted and\nallowed to dine. There you have one of the abiding prin-\nciples of Bohemia. When Andre had accumulated $20,000\nhe moved uptown, near Broadway, in the fierce light that\nbeats on the thrown-down. There we find him and leave\nhim, with customers in pearls and automobile veils, striving\nto catch his excellently-graduated nod of recognition.\"\nFrom \"Two Thanksgiving Gentlemen\"\n\"The meal had been an unexpected one. He was passing\na red brick mansion near the beginning of Fifth Avenue, in\nwhich lived two old ladies of ancient family and a reverence\nfor traditions. They even denied the existence of New York,\nand believed that Thanksgiving Day was declared solely\nfor Washington Square. One of their traditional habits was\nto station a servant at the postern gate with orders to admit\nthe first hungry wayfarer that came along after the hour\nof noon had struck, and banquet him to a finish. Stuffy Pete\nhappened to pass by on his way to the park, and the\nseneschals gathered him in and upheld the custom of the\ncastle.\""}, {"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "270", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.5", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nHis Book-Plate by Himself\n\nStop! Look! Listen!: Robert McQuinn\nMcQuinn is the man who designed the scenery to \"Watch\nYour Step,\" he created Dillingham's monster production\nin the Hippodrome, \"Hip Hip Hooray\" and I caught him\nlast Tuesday afternoon just as he was leaving his New York\nstudio for a short trip to Philadelphia to attend there a per-\nformance of \"Stop, Look and Listen\" for which he designed\nthe scenery, the costumes of the chorus and a bathing suit\nworn by Gaby Deslys, the star of this new Dillingham pro-\nduction, which will be seen in New York in a couple of\nweeks.\nThe only possible excuse for an American musical com-\nedy—this mushroom growth of our amusement field—is the\nchance they afford to our artists. And our public is wise to\nthe fact that they don't pay the price of admission to our\nBroadway houses in order to hear music or to see good\nacting but to witness a costly fashion show, or to make a\ntrip into fairy land and admire color, rhythm and movement\ncharmed to life by such magicians of colors as Robert\nMcQuinn. .\nHe just recently moved into his new studio on Ninth\nStreet. It is on the top floor of a house that seems to have\nbeen created just for the man who paints covers for our\nfashion magazines and translates them into scenery and\ncostumes for our Broadway successes. Window boxes cover"}, {"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "271", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.6", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nalmost all of the windows; evergreen overhangs here and\nthere and contrasts with the pale pink color of the house-\nfront. Doors and stairways are small like in a toy house\nand the French perfume factory on the ground floor provides\na peculiar odor true to the building, just as though all the\nwearers of costumes McQuinn designed had dropped their\nhandkerchiefs here and there and all the fleurs de mils and\nviolets de parma and \"Ideal\" had united in a concert of\nfragrances.\nMcQuinn you would think almost anything but the fash-\nion artist and creator of bathing suits de luxe and of fash-\nions which are followed religiously all over the United\nStates. With his big tortoise shell spectacles he looks more\nlike a college professor and you might also mistake him for\na credit man or a banker. He believes in spaces not only\nin his stage arrangements but also in his own studio. And\ntherefore, the spacious walls without a picture, here and\nthere a chair, a piano in one corner and two canaries in two\ncages right in the midst of the cheerful green of the window\nboxes. A lot of books not orderly in de luxe editions with\nwonderful silk bindings as you might expect, but just in\npiles on the mantel-piece, on the tables and in a corner on\nthe floor. He reads his books and he says he can find them\nbetter if they are piled one upon the other; and then he\ndiscovers also immediately that other book he wanted to\nread, lying right next in the pile.\nHe loves music. It sounds like _ a paradox what music\nthe man loves who is instrumental in making musical com-\nedies Broadway successes. It is. father Bach. And he\nstarted to tell me how he always loved Bach. He spoke\nin terms of reverence and profound respect of that grand\nmusic of the old master. He told me about his pilgrimages\nto Bethlehem in Pennsylvania where they have Bach fes-\ntivals every year and that he never missed one since he\nfirst learned about their existence.\nAnd he missed his train. He didn't care a bit, because he\nsays it does him good to speak about Bach and his eyes\nwere flirting with his instrument and I am sure if there were\nnot a train every hour to Philadelphia we would have had\na little Bach festival all by ourselves.\n\"But how about that music in your musical comedies?\"\nI asked, \"I like rag, real rag music—of that sort Irving\nBerlin knows to write, the man who committed the Alex-\nander Rag and many others of this sort and who really did\nsome fine things in \"Stop, Look and Listen.\" t\n\"But what on earth can you find in the best rag music if\nyou love and understand Bach?\"\n\"Bach is my religion,\" he answered. \"It reveals to me\nthe wonders of a world in which we all could live, of the\nParadise Lost which is unveiled to us once in a while for\nthe fraction «112 a moment, which gives lis a new lease on\nlife; but otherwise, I live in New York in the tenseness of"}, {"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "272", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.7", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nits noises, and that makes me feel irreligious and makes me\nwant rhythm and movement, and by gosh\"—he slapped his\nleg and he whistled one of the choruses from \"Stop, Look\nand Listen.\" .... \"I do love ragtime, tool\"\n\"And talking about ragtime I must show you my new\ncanes.\" Out he brought a not yet opened box with half\na dozen walking-sticks, one looking like the other.\n\"I always forget my walking-stick, and therefore, I order\nthem now by the dozen and I don't need to bother until the\nlast one is gone.\"\n\"Stop, Look and Listen\"-—judging from sketches and the\nPhiladelphia Evening Ledger\" has been turned into a \"Vogue\"\ncover. Interiors and exteriors are in the pale sand hues,\nthe clay greens, blues and cerises of that magazine. Every-\nthing is treated in a pale, flat poster effect, even down to\npalm trees and Hawaiian beaches. The costumes, barring\nGaby's confections, are carried out in the same shades ana\ntreatment.\n\nDrawing by Robert McQumn"}, {"page_pdf": 8, "page_imprimee": "273", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.8", "texte": "BkUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nThis Week's Performances in Charles\nEdison's Little Thimble Theatre\nan absence of two months Charlotte James, known\nto the habitues of the Thimble as accompanist of its solo-\nists, came back to take her old place. Miss James completed\na few compositions of her own which she will present to the\naudience on the coming Thursday, Friday and Saturday.\nShe is a Colorado girl, born 11,500 feet above sea level in\nHegeman Pass, Colorado. It was a lonely place where she\nspent the greater part of her life, her father being telegraph\noperator on the Pass, their next neighbors fifteen miles\naway. The only music she heard in those days was the\nmonotonous clicking of the telegraph key, and often did she\ntake her father's place at his desk Sending forth and receiv-\ning messages. She loves the big mountains of her home\nstate and she gets real sentimental talking about the sheep\nshe used to shepherd. She received her first musical educa-\ntion from her mother and for three years she was a pupil\nof Adolph Weides in composition. And now she is here\nin New York trying to make for herself a place among Amer-\nica's composers. Outside her own compositions she will\nplay in this week's performance Bach's \"Concerto\" and\nBrahms' \"Caprice.\"\nMiss Maria Opfel, soprano, will appear for the first time\nbefore a public audience. Her aim is to become an opera\nsinger. Her program includes \"Just Awearyin, for You,\" by\nCarrie Jacobs-Bond, \"Lethe,\" by T. Boott, \"Contentment,\"\nby Frank Seymour Hastings and\"The Slumber Boat,\" by\nJessie L. Gaynor.\nMiss Sybil Robinson who was heard s<fveral weeks ago in the\nThimble Theatre will appear again this week. She will sing;\n\"Non so piu cosa son\" by Mozart, \"Son of Mine,\" by William\nWallace, and\"I Think,\" by Guy D'Hardelot.\n\nJust Time\nReprinted by request\n\nMY garret has six windows. Through every one the in\nis shining, frathing the table with the typewriter in\na shower of pure golden rays. The laundry that hang?\nalong wash lines between the houses of Little Italy near by\nsetftns real white, swinging joyfully to the rhythm of a teas-\ning wind. A few of my neighbors seem to love vivid, glar-\ning colors. There is one red nightshirt, on which I feast\ntoy cyt« every other week. Its owner must be a giant with\nlong arias. I fancy h£ brought it from Naples or Sicily.\nThe shirt will fade and will go the way of all shirts and\nhell buy nice flannel pajamas — all Italians wear jtajamas,\nthere are dozens of them on the lines in front of my win-"}, {"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "274", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.9", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\ndow; and he will forget his sunny Italy and lose his sun-\nbrowned cheeks, and how long will it be* and he will be on*\n©112 the thousands of pale, uniformly clad New Yorkers?\nDoing the same work, shoulder to shoulder with thous-\nands of others makes people uniform. Some elevate them-\nsdves up to the standard of the avearge, some come down\nto the standard of the average. But after a while they will\nall be equal, they all will wear the same clothes, they will\nwalk in the same manner, they will eat the same kind of\nfood, make the same gestures, use the same language: and\nall for one purpose, to make their daily bread.\nOver there across the back yard in front of my garret\na woman leans over the washtub. She never looks up to\nthe forget-me-not blue sky; she doesn't see the sparrows\nfighting for crumbs of bread on the fence. Hefr husband\nleans somewhere in a shop over his work and is angry\nbecause tiny little rays of the kind sun peep through the\nblinded window, fascinated by the neefdle in his hand and\ndance in jolly little circles over his work. Not to become pau-\npers is the tragedy that kills happiness, transforms proud\nand free human into befnt and worn slaves; that creates human\nautomatons.\nIt is the lack of time that makes millions wretched. They\ncannot look up to the skies and see the passing clouds—they\nhave not time. They cannot see the awakening of spring, the\ngrowth of youth in nature—they have no time. They do not\nadmire the beauty and the colors of flowers, they do not smell\ntheir fragrance—they have no time. They don't hear the birds\nsinging; they don't hear the cooing of babies and the heart\ngladdening chattering of children—they have no time.\nTime, time—just a little time to live is the real plea of the\npoor man.\nAnd how beautiful is life—how wonderful is just real life,\neven without the comforts and blessings of civilization! Life\nis love, but we need time?—just time to do nothing but to live\nand to love.\n\nGuido Bruno\n\nThe Execution\nWill M. Clemen\nTHE sheriff fastened the rope about the neck of the unfor-\ntunate wretch and drew down the black cap.\nThe priest with bowed head muttered a token for the soul\nof the condemned man.\nThe jailer touched a spring and a quivering body dangled\nfrom the scaffold beam.\nThe doctor heard the heart beat its final throb and pro-\nnounced him dead.\nThe men severed the rope then and strong arms laid the\nlifeless mass in a pine box at the foot of the scaffold.\n\"Thank you, gentlemen!\" the corpse seemed to say, \"our\nlittle differences are now amicably adjusted.\""}, {"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "275", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.10", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nTo Clara Tice\nG. G.\nI must tell you, Clara Tice,\nThat your drawings are not nice,\nYour ladies are too thin—and wear nothing but\nsome stringy hair.\nCan't you make them plump or fat?\nAnd please, do kill, that awful cat.\n\nClara Tice and Her Dog Varna, by Herself\n\nBathsheba in Washington Square\nHarold Speak man\nTTHE gate clicks shut, I mount the steps and pass\nInto the dismal hall ; the mocking row\nOf letter boxes and the low-turned gas\nBring back the hateful present. God! I know\nThe cost, and yet—some wild, triumphant thing\nInside? my breast, is singing as I go.\nr '\n\nIn Our Village\nClara Tice, who designed the cove'r of this issue, is not a\nlover of cats—as many seem to think, judging by my last week's\nmail. On the contrary, dogs are her favorites and Varna, her\nRussian wolf hound, took place in several shows and was admired\nby whole Nefw York this season.\nAt the corner of Fifth avenue and Eighth street, right across\nfrom the Brevoort Hotel, the Diamond Disc Shop opened its\nmusic parlors where one can drop in on afternoon or efvening\nand listen to some music to order. The patience of Mr. Godfrey,\nits manager, is never at an end and he puts record after record\nupon the Disc and classical music, grand opera singers, ragtime\nfollow merrily in quick succession. Next week is the official\nopening of the shop and everybody who happens to be in the\nneighborhood is invited."}, {"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "276", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.11", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nMrs. Heloise Haynes (she of the \"Wardrobe\") gave a tea,\nI am informed, and there was not one candle in the? room.\nCandles and Japanese prints seemed last year the medium\nthrough which Mrs. Haynes expressed herself. But why candle-\nsticks if not candles?\nMadame Apel, the sculptress, just finished a bust of Sada-\nkichi Hartmann, the poet. She did that marvelous head\nSadakichi's full justice. He is all there, even his fantastic\nhair strands.\nSadakichi Hartmann gave this week his famous drama\nreadings. He read his \"Christ\" better than ever. It is\na pity he cannot find a publisher for his marvelous creations.\nThe works of the instructors of the Modern Art School at\n72 Washington Square South, are at present on exhibition\nin the school rooms. There are especially interesting poster\ndesigns by Winold Reiss and water colors by Charles\nDemuth.\nHeroichiro K. Myderco is a newcomer to the village. A\nfew of his Phantasies appeared in the last issue of Bruno's\nWeekly and one can be found on these pages. Mr. Myderco\nwas sent to the United States by Kenjiro Tokutomi, of\nJapan, a prominent novelist, whose books have already ap-\npeared in the English language. A short biography of this\nJapanese-American author will appear in a forthcoming\nissue of Bruno's Weekly.\n\nAmong Our Aristocrats\nGreenwich Village a la Town Topics\nQREENWICH VILLAGE received the American royal\naccolade in advance last week by being honored by a\nvisit of several days from President Wilson's fiancee, Mrs.\nEdith Boiling Gait, herself a lineal descendant of the Prin-\ncess Pocohontas. Mrs. Gait was the guest of Miss Gordon,\nan old friend who lives in the modest little apartment house\nNo. 12 East Tenth Street. The few Greenwich Villagers\nwho had the privilege of meeting her during her very busy\nsojourn, a good deal of which was passed at the establish-\nment of Kurzman, a famous coutouriere, in one voice, de-\nscribe her to be a woman of unusually attractive personality.\nPresident Wilson is certainly to be congratulated upon his\nsuitable alliance with a woman of such qualities of mind\nand heart and one capable of doing a great deal socially for\nthe White House feature of the administration. To begin\nwith, considering the station of the bride the marriage cere-\nmony ought by all means to be performed at the Executive\nmansion, as from the hour of the official announcement of\nher betrothal to the President of the United States the bride-\nintendant has ceased to be a private citizen. The small and\nsimple wedding is in excellent form under the circumstances."}, {"page_pdf": 12, "page_imprimee": "277", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.12", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nPrivate levees at the White House, it can be said equally\nin praise of the Wilson alike with the Roosevelt and Taft\nadministrations, have been vigilantly censored lon moral\ngrounds and unmarried or remarried divorcees who have\nbeen divorced on the statutory grounds in flagranti delicto\nhave been ostracized from admission to its portals.\nOwing to the large contingent of the \"Cave dwellers,\" the\nultra-conservative Southerners living in Washington many\nof them having been reared on great estates with inordinate\nprejudices against \"trade\" and tradespeople, the social posi-\ntion of Mrs. Gait although of far-descended Virginia lineage\nhas been somewhat anomalous. Norman Gait, her deceased\nhusband, rose from humble beginnings to be the Tiffany of\nWashington and it is said that for some time subsequent\nto his death, she personally conducted the business, which\nis grievance No. 2 the Cave Dwellers have harbored. Mrs*\nGait being a thoroughbred gentlewoman, is well aware that\nthe preferred way to wreak revenge upon people is by sur-\npassing them.\nUnlike European courts, the White House and its imme-\ndiate entourage are powerless to create any private individu\nand stand in no integral relation to the national ultra-fash-\nionable set. For instance, at the opening of the twentieth\ncentury and up to the time of her death, in the realm of\nfashion, it was Mrs. Astor and not the wife of any one of\nthe Presidents of the United States who was the most widely\ndiscussed American woman.\nWashington society at best is such a tangled congeries\nof political, social, not to say business interests, cosmopolitan\nin one aspect and almost as provincial as a New England\nvillage in another, that it is somewhat puzzling to a censor\nof ultra-fashionable conditions. Nevertheless, a national\nultra-fashionable set, irrespective of official life, exists at\nthe National Capitol which is accorded royal honors at Euro-\npean courts and which has been too much overlooked by\nthe Wilsons in their guests. Mrs. Gait, hitherto aligned to;\nneither the \"Cave Dwellers\" nor the ultra-fashionables, will\nspeedily recognize that the President and his family, no\nmatter what their birth, previous social conditions or per-\nsonal qualifications, in common with the diplomats, are cred-\nited to the various powers sustaining a quasi ex-ofjicio rela-\ntion to the ultra-fashionable set, or at least to a section of it\nif they choose to accept its invitations.\n\nWoodrow Wilson\nThis is the famous Wilson Limerick which is making the\nrounds.\nAs a beauty I am not a star,\nThere are others more handsome by far;\nBut my face, I don't mind it,\nFor I am behind it—\nThe people in front get the jar."}, {"page_pdf": 13, "page_imprimee": "278", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.13", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nBooks and Magazines of the Week\nSHAL.L we call it a renaissance of romanticism or is it\nthe dawn of the romantic age in America this new\nmovement of poetry all over the United States which started\na couple of years ago, and which seems to be right now at\nits high tide? It is constantly spreading and the surest\nsigns that something big, something unexpected will be its\nresult in the near future are the peculiar facts that we are\nnot confronted by a distinct school of poetry which has a\nleader and many followers, but that men, individuals here\nand there, in the most unexpected corners of the world\ncome to the surface—l might say spring up over night.\nThey are not scholars and they are not philosophers. Just\nsimple Americans whose colleges and universities were the\nhard knocks of average American life. Who are following\nprofessions and trades, whose poetry is the rhythm of their\nlives and who differ so vastly from the poets who live in\norder to write their rhymes and whose rhymes are the scant\nand bottled up extracts of theories read in books and of\natmospheres especially created for use in their poems.\nIt is not the publisher of standard books who presents the\npoetry of contemporaneous life. It is not the magazine of\nbest-selling authors which gives its readers the rhythm of\nour life. Never since the memorable Nineties of the last\ncentury has America had so many individualistic magazines\nas today. Almost every day a new one comes to my desk\nand brings me the name and the work of a new man . And\nso through all this much-talked-about commercialism in\nart and letters we are coming back to the times where people\nwrote for no other reason than because they had to write\nsomething, and where they published their works for no\nother purpose than because it was a message to the world.\nPoets are becoming their own publishers. They start\nlittle sheets of their own—just leaflets, and send them out\ninto the world.\nAlfred Kreymborg and his Mushrooms were looked upon\nas a curiosity a year ago. Paragraphers all over the country\nand conductors of newspaper columns fell over them like\nhungry wolves over a longed-for prey. Kreymborg has\ntoday a magazine of his own and we find it represented in\nMr. Braithwaite's ultra-conservative \"Anthology of Maga-\nzine Verse.\" The Imagists, ridiculed only two years ago,\nare now standing features of the so-called popular maga-\nzines. Vers libre has found its serious consideration in\ncolleges and universities. It is the little magazine which\nhas carried its message on to the world, and little magazines\nwhich no one heard of are bringing us daily new messages\nfrom new men.\nHarold Hersey, Librarian Poet\nSome weeks ago Harold Hersey gave a poetry reading\nin my garret. He is a librarian, a librarian in that gigantic\nmausoleum of letters in the United States—in the Library\nof Congress, in Washington. He read us a selection of his\nnew book, \"The Wings of Song,\" which has been since pub-"}, {"page_pdf": 14, "page_imprimee": "279", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.14", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nlished at the Library Press. He is the poet, who feels the\nrhythm of life in his immediate surroundings. Be he a\ncobbler, he feels the poetry of being a cobbler (remember\nHans Sachs). Hersey sees more in the books which sur-\nround him daily than dead things on shelves. And so we\nsee his library with the eyes he sees them. There are little\nscenes and silhouettes and sketches which are memories of\nyour life as well as of Hersey's life. \"The Wings of Song\"\nis the third book by the same author during the past year.\nHe is associated with the new literary venture in Wash-\nington,\"The Minaret,\" a little magazine of verse and litera-\nture, edited by Herbert Bruncken.\nThe Minaret\nHarold Hersey and H. Bruncken, these two prophets in\nthe wilderness of Washington, suggested in their little maga-\nzine titles for books of modern poets. Here are a few:\n\"Chimney Soot and Axle Grease\" by Rabindranath Tagore,\n\"A Pathway of Fluffy Dreams to the Moon,\" by Richard\nLe Galliene, \"Dung Heaps and Alleyways,\" by John Mase-\nfield, \"Ham and Eggs,\" by Vachel Lindsay, and \"Nothing-\nness and More of It,\" by Amy Lowell.\nOthers\nKreymborg's name as editor appears only on the title\npage, there is no editorial written by him and not even a\ntiny poem to represent his own muse; but there surely never\nreached my table another book or magazine more represen-\ntative of the man responsible for it than his yellow-covered\njournal. Every page seems to tell me \"I am sent by Kreym-\nborg\" and every poem seems to whisper \"I am approved of\nby Kreymborg,\" and every name represented on its pages\nseems to say, \"I stand for a man or a woman who is just\nafter the heart of Kreymborg.\"\nThe Phoenix\nMichael Monahan couldn't have chosen a better leading\narticle for the first number of his fourth volume than the\none upon James Whitcomb Riley.\nThe Trail\nIt is a new literary venture which our table from\nWeyauwejg, Wisconsin. It was fostered into this world\nby its editors Alfred L. Hutchinson and Edna Von Der\nHeide. It shall appeal to all classes of readers, as the pre-\nface states and one of its chief purposes is the establishment\nof equal suffrage and the abolishment of the death penalty.\nThe Wild Hawk\nHervey White publishes in his \"periodical of beauty and\nfreedom\" his \"A Dinner Party,\" a second drama in the fourth\ndimension.\nPizzichi Di Pepe\nGabriele Bellini, a Villager, published a volume of vers\nlibre in the Italian language. The preface is written by\nRiccardo Cardiferro, and there is a caricature of Mr. Bellini\nby Caruso."}, {"page_pdf": 15, "page_imprimee": "280", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.15", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nFighting Paris\nLast Year's Diary of Muriel Ciolkowska, Paris Correspondent\nof \"The Egoist,\" in London.\nMuriel Ciolkowska\nNovember 8.—Charles Dumas, a poet who was awarded\nthe Prix Sully Prudhomme has been killed in action. He\npublished his last volume in 1906. A critic, M. Charles\nPerrot, has described his work as characterized by \"musical\ntendencies and metaphysical anguish.\" Some poems by\nCharles Dumas, as well as quotations from his two books:\n\"L'Eau Souterraine\" and \"L'Ombre et les Proies\" were\npublished in \"Le Double Bouquet\" for June.\nI have long come to the conclusion that the French\nare the most undemocratic people in the world. Whereas\nthe \"Times\" publishes complete lists of killed, wounded,\nmissing, prisoners in all the ranks, the French papers\nonly give the names of deceased officers and such person-\nalities as have been more or less in the public eye. Com-\nplete and official lists are not given at all, such as are pub-\nlished being furnished by relatives. All individual recog-\nnition is, moreover, as far as possible discouraged, the\nnumbers of regiments when referred to in narratives of\nevents at the Front are left blank, and every communication\nsteeped in a monochrome mist, which M. Maurice Barres\ncalls \"an abuse of khaki.\" Not the slightest attempt is\nmade to \"humour\" the people, and individual sacrifice re-\nceives the minimum of publicity. There is no country in\nwhich national service is undertaken for more disinterested\nand ideal,motives, and the Frenchman who fights for his\ncountry does so truly for his country only.\n\nPhantasies\nBy Heroichiro K. Myderco\nTolstoy\nTHE hungry birds called each other dolefully in the dark\nof the e'arth. The sun was setting on the lurid\nmarsh as dirty as the field after a massacre. A vacant tel-ega\npassed away. The reeds trembled with pain in the marsh.\nA few dark-faced peasants followed it.\nOne of them criefd with a hoarse voice, \"To Moscov! . . .\"\nAll the others raised their hands and shouted, \"To Moscov t\"\nThe wind brushed against their bare legs, and they shivered\nwith cold. The night began to hover over the plain like* an\nenormous bird of prey.\n\"At Moscov we will find the goal of life! Friends, there is\nour joy, there lies our kingdom! Let us free ourselves from\nthe land of cold misery and desperate monarchy!\"\nWith this word the man lead the others and disappeared into\nthe gathering mist.\nA drefary silence fell over the scabby, monotonous stretch of"}, {"page_pdf": 16, "page_imprimee": "281", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.16", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n(Continued from last issue)\n\nland. Then, a man came hurriedly from the darkness. He bore\na huge, rusty cross on his shoulders like a wind-mill.\nHe was an old man.\nHe raised his strong voice and shouted to the people who had\njust disappeared in the* mist. Though his voice was loud it did\nnot reach the crowd of peasants, and was dolefully answered\nby the cry of the birds.\nAt last, he resumed his journey, dragging the cross after him\nas a man with a heavy burden. Scarcely did he walk more than\na few steps than the colossal cross fell on the ground with his\nbody.\nIt was too heavy for the poor old man.\nBut, as another band of new peasants came from behind, he\nshouted, dying: \"To Nazareth!\" and pointed toward the setting\nsun.\n\nMaude: A Memory\nBy Guido Bruno\nThey passed red lights, calling attention to dangerous\ncrossings. The Illinois Central station with the big electric\nsign of a department store lay dark like a big romantic\ncastle on the painting of some American artist, who recently\nexhibited his picture in one of the art galleries.\nThey passed through the dark streets, and had to stop on a\ndesolate-looking corner for a few minutes to let some heavily-\nloaded wagons pass. A policeman exchanged greetings with the\nchauffeur, and they passed on through streets with litte houses\non either side and through the windows they could see in the\nlighted room where families were sitting around their tables\neating their meals with stupid, work-worn faces.\nTwenty-second Street was not as yet awakened to the boister-\nous life which starts an hour before midnight and vanishes\nbefore the first rays of the morning sun. Gramaphones were\nsending their inharmonious tones through open windows, smok-\ning women were making themselves ready for the excitement\nof the night and their chosen life profession. A drunken negro\nwas talking to a white girl on a corner under a yellow gas\nlantern and an old woman was sitting on the doorstep of an\nugly gray and green painted house, holding a flask of whiskey\nto her mouth. They passed empty building lots with a few old\ntrees. The first familiar houses of the suburb could be seen in\nthe distance, which shortened with every turn of the wheels.\nKenneth did not speak to his friend. It struck him peculiarly\nthat he had to be present each time when his friend's hopes of\nhappiness were smothered and his belief in woman shaken. He\nfelt that there must be some connection between the picture of\nthe married woman whose husband was dead perhaps, and float-\ning around among some ugly remnants of the wrecked steamer,\nand the recent dreamy happiness of the silent man sitting at\nhis side. He did not care to think what that connection might\nbe. He was happy that his friend did not talk—did not corn-"}, {"page_pdf": 17, "page_imprimee": "282", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.17", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n(To be continued).\nBruno's Weekly, published weekly by Charles Edison, and\nedited and written by Guido Bruno, both at 58 Washington\nSquare, New York City. Subscription $1 a year.\nApplications for entry as second-class matter at the Post Office of\nNew York pending.\n\npel him to mutter words of condolence, which he knew would\nsound vulgar and colorless, no matter how deeply they were\nfelt.\n\"How closely we live together,\" he thought, looking through\nthe window, and seeing the quick change from the well-dressed\ndiners in the hotels and the tired men and women in their work-\ning attire with pale, haunted faces and work-worn, soiled hands.\nSeeing the houses of beautiful stone where they serve our Lord\nand mutter words of devotion and promises of Brotherly Love,\nand right near by the houses of shame where they forget human-\nity and drink and scream and do things of which they would\nbe ashamed if they would stop to think.\nThe automobile stopped. The chauffeur opened the door and\nthe gray-haired butler appeared at the door of the dark veranda,\nwhich gave the small old house the appearance of a southern\nmansion. H assisted his friend as he would have helped an\ninvalid who, for the first time after a long disease, takes a\nride in the fresh air. They ascended the steps and entered the\nbig hall, illuminated by a single gas light.\n\"Dr. Courtland does not feel well, Maurice,\" said Kenenth.\n\"He will retire immediately. Have his room prepared as\nquickly as possible.\"\nCourtland was standing in front of the big fireplace and\nlooked at the ashes of the last year's fire. He felt shivery and\ncold. Didn't he see that there was no fire in the grate? He\nextended the white, ungloved hands into the big opening as\nthough he wished to warm them. Maurice announced in a sub-\ndued voice, almost whispering, that the room was ready; and\nboth men went silently upstairs.\n\"Is there anything you wish, Courtland?\" asked Kenneth.\n\"There is a bottle of old brandy—you know where you can find\nit. Don't you think it would do you a lot of good to take some?\nShall I order a fire made in the grate? There is a suit of\npajamas in the dresser. It is your own. You remember you\nforgot it here a few months ago. And there is that old bathrobe\nof mine you have worn all these years.\"\nThere was no answer from the man standing in the middle of\nthe room under the lighted candelabra, looking through the dis-\ntant window into the darkness of the night. Softly Kenneth\nwent to the door. Again he turned. He looked at the back of\nthe well-built athletic man who seemed tired and helpless, stand-\ning there like a man on a plank, swaying in midocean, looking\nvainly for help. For a second there flashed through his brain\nthe picture of the other man fighting for his life amid_ the\nwreckage of a ship—of the man whose wife's picture was printed\nin the evening paper. He opened his lips but did not say what\nhe intended to say. Softly he closed the door."}, {"page_pdf": 18, "page_imprimee": "[283]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.18", "texte": "READERS OF\nA\n112\nBruno's Weekly\n)\nAre Asked To Become\n►\nSUBSCRIBERS\nI\n52 Issues One Dollar"}, {"page_pdf": 19, "page_imprimee": "[284]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19151211-01.1.19", "texte": "Charles Edison's Little Thimble Theatre, Situated\nat No.lOFifth Avenue, Greenwich Village, N.Y.C.\nGmd<* Brune, Manager.\nThis Week's Performances and Concerts\nWednesday, 2:15 p. m.\nThursday,\n3 p. m.\nFriday,\n8:15 p. m.\n8:15 p. m.\nSaturday, 2:00 p. m.\n8:15 p. m.\nChildren's Hour and Disc Concert\non the Square.\nA little Pilgrimage\nand workshop\nCollins Foster.\nto the home\nof Stephen\nPerformance at the Little Thimble\nTheatre.\nPerformance at the Little Thimble\nTheatre.\nChildren's Hour and Disc Concert\non the Square.\nPerformance at the Little Thimble\nTheatre.\nAsk or write for ticket of admission to The\nLittle Thimble Theatre performances. They\nare free of charge."}]}