{"numero_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_sha256": "96ad1678fbf82f9f83d955c60fdfbbd841ca4b5168c80bba60d295618d7f900d", "source_tei": "https://github.com/Princeton-CDH/bluemountain-transcriptions/blob/main/periodicals/bmtnaaq/issues/1916/06/17_01/bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01.tei.xml", "source_mets": "https://github.com/pulibrary/BlueMountain/blob/main/metadata/periodicals/bmtnaaq/issues/1916/06/17_01/bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01.mets.xml", "url_numero": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01", "articles": [{"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c001", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c001", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "couv. 1", "page_fin": "couv. 1", "image_debut": 1, "image_fin": 1, "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.1", "titre_corps": "Heinrich Kley", "titre_sommaire": "Heinrich Kley", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 1, "page_imprimee": "couv. 1", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.1", "debut_caractere": 119, "fin_caractere_exclue": 132, "texte": "Heinrich Kley"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c002", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c002", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "couv. 1", "page_fin": "couv. 1", "image_debut": 1, "image_fin": 1, "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.2", "titre_corps": "\"HE CONTENTS INCLUDE", "titre_sommaire": "\"HE CONTENTS INCLUDE", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 1, "page_imprimee": "couv. 1", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.1", "debut_caractere": 134, "fin_caractere_exclue": 275, "texte": "\"HE CONTENTS INCLUDE\nHoratio Herbert Kitchener: The Man\nOscar Wilde—By Frank Harris\nThomas P. Flynn: Poet and Subway Guard\nThe Odor of Murder"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c003", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c003", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[775]", "page_fin": "[775]", "image_debut": 3, "image_fin": 3, "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.3", "titre_corps": "Oscar Wilde", "titre_sommaire": "Oscar Wilde", "signature_source": "Alfred Douglas", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "[775]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.3", "debut_caractere": 136, "fin_caractere_exclue": 826, "texte": "Oscar Wilde\nAlfred Douglas.\nI dreamed of you last night, I saw your face\nAll radiant and unshadowed of distress,\nAnd as of old, in measured tunefulness,\nI heard your golden voice and marked you trace\nUnder the common thing the hidden grace,\nAnd conjure wonder out of emptiness,\nTill mean things put on Beauty like a dress,\nAnd all the world was an enchanted place.\nAnd so I knew that it was well with you,\nAnd that unprisoned, gloriously free,\nAcross the dark you stretched me out your hand.\nAnd all the spite of this besotted crew,\n(Scrabbling on pillars of Eternity)\nHow small it seems/ Love made me understand.\nDecember 10, 1900.\nRom Frank Harris' \"Oscar Wilde: His Life and\n■onfessions\""}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c004", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c004", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[775]", "page_fin": "778", "image_debut": 3, "image_fin": 6, "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.4", "titre_corps": "Horatio Herbert Kitchener: The Man", "titre_sommaire": "Horatio Herbert Kitchener: The Man", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "[775]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.3", "debut_caractere": 828, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5269, "texte": "Horatio Herbert Kitchener:\nThe Man\nijl/ERY often one speaks of an Englishman saying:\n(jf \"He is a typical one.\" In most cases, however,\nis not so. But Kitchener surely was the prototype of\nI Anglo-Saxon, and as many of such born in Ireland\nif they did not see the light of the world by accident\n) Scotland.) In his case, the origin of the family is\nEnglish and his birth in Ireland was incidental,\nhe typical Englishman—to speak in the terms of a well-\n|own comic paper—-has most of the distinctive marks\nj a poker; with the exception of its being occasionally\narm. Kitchener comported himself very erectly. He\nks Jiute, iron-hearted and a useful instrument, only he\niiJver warmed up. He was born sixty-six years ago in\nCounty Kerry, where his father lay in garrison as a\nlieutenant-colonel of a regiment of Dragoons. It was at\nthe time that the parents of England, still very proud\nof the victories of the Napoleonic .times, endowed their\nchildren with heroic names much as a burden for their\nfuture lives. Kitchener had been christened Horatio\nHerbert; and just as Nelson, (whose family, similar to\nthat of Kitchener or of Cardinal Wolsey, or of Gainsboro\nor of Tennyson or of Walpole or of Fallstaff, orginated\nfrom East Anglia) became a hero; the little Horatio\nfound himself morally obligated to be a hero. His father\nbeing a superior officer, the son most naturally was sent\nto the military academy at Woolwich. The school was\nnot after his liking and so he repaired in the summer of\n1870 to France, without permission, in order to view\nthe war at close quarters and to help the French a little;\nbit. At the age of twenty-one he was detailed to the\nEngineer Corps, and an engineer in the double meaning\nof the word he remained until the last day of his life.\nIn Palestine and in Cyprus he worked as a topographer\nand while the other officers were having a good time he\nstudied the Arabic language. He desired to be trans-\nferred as captain to the Egyptian cavalry, but the examina-\ntion officer didn't like the riding of the over-slim and\nelegant officer and he was almost refused (and England\nwouldn't have been in possession of South Africa to-day.)\nIn 1889 he was a member of the Nile expedition and\na few years later adjutant-general of the army of\nthe Khedive which he undertook to reorganize.\n\"The Egyptian soldier is the best in the world,\" said\nColonel Kitchener, \"if he only doesn't run away.\" This\nhumoristic statement, perhaps the only one he ever made,\nhe corrected later on, for under his drill and under his\niron discipline, the Egyptian in reality became a very\ngood soldier and well-tried during the campaigns in the\nSoudan. As lieutenant-colonel, Kitchener had been ap-\npointed to the post of governor of Suakim, and during the\nengagement with the troops of the Khalipha, he received\nhis first wound—a sword cut in the chin. His real feat\nlay in Cairo, where he put into effect reforms in the\nEgyptian war department much admired by Lord Cromer\nand that became the basis for his impurturbable confidence\nin the ability of the young English officer. \"Do as you\nplease,\" wrote Cromer once to Kitchener, during the\nSoudan war. \"I shall call everything you may do, quite\nright, support it and stand for the consequences with my\nown prestige.\"\nIn the Soudan, he began to suppress the dangerous ac-\ntivities of the Mahdi, to whom the idealistic and mystic\nGordon had been sacrificed. The Austrian, Slatim Pasha,\nhad just published his horror-filled stories \"Fire and\nSword in the Soudan\" and Cromer thought the time\nopportune for military action.\nThe Liberal Cabinet in London had been overthrown\nand Lord Salisbury had walked into Westminster as\nPrime Minister. And after Menelik had proved victor-\nious over the Italians on March Ist, 1896, a plausible\n. excuse arose for the commencement of hostilities. Shortly\nbefore all this had happened, Lord Cromer had to pass\nupon two projects, both dispersing monies of the Egyptian\nState Treasuries. Kitchener asked for money in order\nto go ahead with his military preparations, which would\nfinally lead to the defeat of the Khalipha. Sir William\nGarstin wanted to start a civilization work the building\nof a big reservoir for the Nile. The commission which\nhad to pass upon both projects, decided in favor of the\nwork of peace. Kitchener had been defeated. But Lord\nSalisbury intervened shortly after he had learned the real\nsituation, in favor of Kitchener. From Downing Street"}, {"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "777", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.5", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 6458, "texte": "came new instructions and Kitchener was granted his war.\nSir Herbert who was above all and always an engineer,\na business man, a commission officer and a war machine,\nfigured out very closely how many troops, how much\nmoney and how much material he would need. And then\nhe started out. He transported his little army at first on\na primitive railroad and then he shipped them like an\nassembly of tourists in steamers belonging to Cook and\nSon, to Assuan and from there to Akasha. Four thousand\ncamels with provender and munitions and five thousand\nworking men accompanied him. Of course, he built at\nthe same time a railroad. And soon afterwards it was\npossible to travel along the same route in as many hours\nas formerly it had taken days.\nThe military successes were in no way extraordinary.\nThe talent of a military leader was not required to an-\nnihilate the heroic but insufficiently equipped Dervish and\nto free the way to Dongola. So far he had overcome the\ntransportation difficulties but now came t]ie last march.\nHe advanced towards the main fortress of the Khalipha-\nKhartoum. The desert revolted against the mastery of\nthe White Man. The yellow sand glowed under the\ntropical sun and burned the foot that trod it; hot, choking\nwinds blew over the endless plains and threw down the\nstrongest man. Pest and flood overtook him like malignant\nenemies and their victims were innumerable. The desert\nseemed impenetrable. Kitchener enquired of experts, mil-\nitary men and natives. Everybody agreed that it was\nimpossible to build a railroad. And so Kitchener decided\nto build a railroad. He selected engineers and brought\nover working men—thousands and thousands of them,\nwho spoke seven different languages. They were un-\ntrained and they had to be taught how to handle their\ntools. Every drop of water had to be carried, every\npound of biscuit had to be obtained in Cairo; flour he\nbrought from Russia; machines he ordered from England\nand locomotives from America. And that was how he\nbuilt a railroad.\nIt was his main piece of work there because the battle\nof Omdurman, terrible as it was from the standpoint of\na military leader, was child's play. Notwithstanding a\nsure death the Dervishes in their white burnouses made\nan attack and were shot down by the new machine guns—\nthousands, even tens of thousands at once. Horses,\nsoldiers, women, children, everything near the battlefield\nperished miserably. The Khalipha fled through one gate\nof the city while Kitchener entered by the other with his\nstaff, as the conquerer of the Desert.\nThe Sirdar, motionless like a sphinx, ordered a solemn\nservice upon the same spot where thirteen years previously\nGordon had been killed by fanatics. Cannons were\n-dering over the Nile while the priests murmured\n| and while the governor gave three cheers for her\ny. The union jack was fluttering at the palace of\nlalipha, overshadowing in its folds the modest little\n| the Khedive. And then Kitchener did something\nI fiould symbolize the absolute destruction of Mah-\n.! | He ordered the tomb of the Mahdi, whose dome\npreviously been very badly damaged by shells, to be\ni and destroyed. He had the remains removed\ntheir former resting place and he had the sacred dead\nbody decapitated. The cranium passed from hand to\nhand and the imprisoned Dervishes had to witness this\nscene.\nThe Soudan war was at an end. From this hour,\ndated the supremacy of England over Egypt all over the\nNile districts. One had participated in this campaign;\none was a witness of the terrible masse murders; of the\nhorrible ceremony and had everything descriptively re-\nlated—a young officer and newspaper man—Winston\nChurchill. If Kitchener is known to a better informed\nworld as a gruesome, brutal general, without regard, it\nis the work of Churchill. The English press naturally\nstarted immediately upon its usual repatching work, cir-\nculating stories of the mild treatment by the\nprisoners of war and of the tender consideration for the\nwounded no matter whether friend or enemy—.\nChurchill, with the fearlessness of his race, threw himself\nupon the liars and accused Kitchener and his soldiers.\nHe threw accusations into their faces which were the\nsuperlatives of everything that an enemy of the country\ncould have said. The Sirdar remained motionless. He\ndidn't defend himself, and as usual, he said not one word.\nHis business was war and he conducted it carefully, ex-\npressing his own personality. His supreme maxim was\nalways: \"In such dangerous affairs as wars, mistakes\ncaused by good-nature are the most terrible ones.\"\nShortly after the battle of Omdurman, he restrained\nthe French Major Marchand who had made his way\nfrom the Soudan to Fashoda at the White Nile, from\ngoing farther ahead. The meeting of these two leaders,\nin this case the representatives of their nations and govern-\nments, remains a historical curiosity. The men faced\neach other as deadly enemies. Marchand hoisted the\nTricolor but Kitchener very quietly said that the British\nFlag only could be hoisted in that particular neighbour-\nhood. War or peace between two big nations was at stake.\nBoth men were hard. Kitchener proved the harder one.\nThe Tricolor went down; the ominous diplomatic con-\nference was ended with a whiskey and soda, just as every-\nthing is ended by a typical Englishman.\nKitchener went to London and received the honors of\na demi-god. In those days the Jingo press'started its wild\nDervish dance. In those days the English press lost its\nsense of proportion.\nWellington, the Iron Duke, surely did not receive such\nacclamation after his Waterloo, as Kitchener, the iron\ncommander, received after his Omdurman and Fashoda.\nParliament gave him its thanks and an honorary gift of\n$150,000. He took the gift, went back to Egypt and re-\nmained there until the outbreak of the South African war;\nuntil things in the Transvaal had started to go wrong.\nKitchener foretold the course of events; he knew the reac-\ntionary methods and the ways of the War Office and he\nknew his compatriots who conducted their wars indecisively\nunder the auspices of disagreeing political parties, and es-\nspecially with insufficient equipment and men. He knew\nthat under such circumstances Sir Redvers Buller would\nnever do, and he knew that from an English standpoint the\nTransvaal War really would start when Lord Salisbury\nhad sent little Lord Roberts as Field Marshal and himself\nas Chief of Staff. A quick reorganization of the army for"}, {"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "778", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.6", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3936, "texte": "the attack on Bloemfontein—Pretoria, has to be put to\nhis credit. Of course, he had successes against Cronje;\nbut his real merits remained as ever, his work as an en-\ngineer; his organizing powers of transportation iacilities\nand his cunning methods of undermining all the strength\nof his enemies. From Julius Caesar he borrowed starva-\ntion as the most efficient- weapon of war and as Lord\nRoberts, an old man, who couldn't stand seeing bloodshed,\nreturned to England, the continuation of a comparatively\neasy warfare without glory, was left to Kitchener. Here\nhe invented his block-house system, enclosing with barbed\nwire a territory as big as the State of Texas, taking up\nthe idea of concentration camps, which found in those days\nsharp criticism all over the world. Kitchener became\nlieutenant-general with the title of a Viscount and re-\nceived a gift of $250,000. Subsequently he became Com-\nmander-in-Chief of India, Field Marshal and member of\nthe Committee of Defense. In India he assured the posi-\ntion of England towards Russia. His activities, which\nextended over seven years, gave him ample opportunity\nto employ his talents as an organizer. He disbanded the\nold military organizations and substituted them by a\nwarlike structure of divisions; here he played manoeuvres\non the European plan (impossible in England at the little\nmanoeuvre fields of Aldershot, Salisbury Plain and The\nCurragh), and last, but not least, he arranged his regi-\nments by castes and races, so that he could play one regi-\nment against the other in case of mutiny. In 1910 came\nthe dramatic conflict with the Viceroy, Lord Curzon, who\ndidn't like the autocratic supremacy of Kitchener. Two\nof the strongest wills had clashed. The decision was made\npolitically in London. The Secretary of War, Brodrick,\ncould not possibly do without his field-marshal and Curzon\nresigned, deeply mortified. But Kitchener of Khartoum,\nK. of K., as he had been called by his soldiers, remained\nonly a few years longer in India. The next cabinet was\nLiberal and John Morley, the new Secretary for India,\ndeclined to surrender the civil power to the Army. Kitch-\nener sent in his resignation.\nIt seemed that there was nothing to do in the British\nEmpire for a personality such as Kitchener. The laughter\nof all England was aroused when he was offered the\ndirectorship of the London and Chatham Dover Railway\nCo. But finally in 1911 he was made British Agent and\nFirst Consul in Egypt. Here he was given the power\nof a Viceroy. At the time England took part in the\nEuropean war, Kitchener was made secretary of the\nColonies, and he who knows the methods of his colonial\nwars will find very easily his directing power in the whole\nEnglish strategy of the present war.\nKitchener had a well-formed face with a high forehead,\nhis hair parted, enormous eyebrows overshadowed his eyes\nwhich were as clear as water and passionless. Under his\nstraight and strong nose was a big moustache. His cheeks\nwere always very red, dried by twenty-five years of desert'\nsun. He never laughed and only spoke if he had to. He\nwas a lonely domineering man of gnashing sharpness,\nphonetically indicated in his name; without wife, without\nrelatives, without a friend. When in England he used to\nlive in quiet Canterbury amidst his blue porcelain. His\nsoldiers did not love him; they feared his hardness. He\nnever answered their salute. He noticed them only as\nlong as they could march and fight. It is very significant\nthat in all his military organizations, sanitary conditions\nwere always very poor. But wherever he appeared, cor-\nruption, women and extravagance came to an end.\nHis art of war was simple bookkeeping; his prepara-\ntions were the calculations of a merchant. He was saving\nlike a city man, honest but without feeling, without any\nhumanity, above all morals, like a calculating machine.\nKitchener seems to have been less a general than a\nmanager of his wars."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c006", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c006", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "778", "page_fin": "779", "image_debut": 6, "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.5", "titre_corps": "Thomas P. Flynn: Poet and Subway Guard", "titre_sommaire": "Thomas P. Flynn: Poet and Subway Guard", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "778", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.6", "debut_caractere": 3938, "fin_caractere_exclue": 6486, "texte": "Thomas P. Flynn: Poet and Subway\nGuard\nLIE is big and strong. He has hands which are a liv-\nA A ing testimony to the work he must have done. His\neyes seem to look far away. Perhaps they see that fairy\nland of which he dreams and where too he is transported\nupon the speedy sailing boats of his imagination. He loves\nflowers and birds, God's Nature, whose messengers they\nare. He longs for forests and for mountains. His lungs\nare thirsty for the pure air of Nature. The greatest poets\nand philosophers left him their rich legacies; Shakespeare,\nGoethe, Byron, Keats, Shelley, Poe, Whitman and Wilde\nare his daily companions. He sees, he thinks and feels\nwhat they have left to us. He hasn't read them as any\none might who had been taught to arrange the letters of\nalphabet into words and sentences. He feels as they must\nhave felt. Kant and Hegel, Schopenhauer and Spinoza\ngave him their philosophy. True it is that he has been the\nrear-guard on a subway train for the last four years. But\nhe never attempted to write or to express the rhythm of\nhis life or the beauty of his thoughts or to communicate\nthem to others. Because he is just a working man. His\naccepted theory is to work for a living. To dream in or-\nder to live is his enjoyment in life. He was a gardener in\nIreland and as he spoke of his flowers and of his gardens\none could see that even the memory of this made him hap-\npier. And then he had come to America. He was not\nfortunate enough to find a position that would have\nenabled him to live with Nature. He had worked here\nand there, and finally employment on the subway had\nproven permanent.\nThomas P. Flynn came up to the Garret last week. He\nwas very shy and very nervous as he produced a few sheets\nof paper and confessed that he had jotted down books and\nbooks full of reminiscences and memories, of happy days\nspent near Nature. While he was opening and shutting\nthe doors of subway trains, packing crowds into his wa-\ngons and unloading them at their points of destination,\nhad written them. Now he has been dischargedfour\nyears of faithful service. \"I always carried !an(j |\nwhile waiting for trains or off duty I was in tfy. 0f\nwriting in my little note book. And they thoug!ls a (\nsocialist agitator and they discharged me withqnp./\nany reason\"—accounted for his being in broad d;fnJ\nstead of calling out names of stations on a sub. Oj-\nsomewhere under the Hudson. * Mbp\nThomas P. Flynn has no desire whatever to <M;f\nhe has no literary aspirations. He is exceptic* fH ]\nread and his reading was supplemented by life. V"}, {"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "779", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.7", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 241, "texte": "He consented to have the following poems printed on\nthese pages. He might lack the polish of a drawing room\npoet and he may not have the originality (sic!) of the vers\nlibre manufacturer, but he surely has the soul of a poet."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c007", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c007", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "779", "page_fin": "779", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.6", "titre_corps": "Three Poems by Thomas P. Flynn", "titre_sommaire": "Three Poems by Thomas P. Flynn", "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": "779", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.7", "debut_caractere": 243, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2400, "texte": "Three Poems by Thomas P. Flynn\nSunrise\nTHE lark is hymning in the sky >,;\nThe blackbird in the hazel nigh sv\nThe robin from the aged thorn\nWith joyous note salutes the morn.\nAnd in the lofty pines above\nCoos to its mate the gentle dove\nFar through the viewless depths of air -\nThe cuckoo's call again I hear.\nSweeter than all the singing birds\nSweeter than either notes or words\nIn my soul are echoes ringing\nOf mystic songs and mystic singing.\nThe highest harmony of thought\nThat can't be written, rhymed or wrought\nThe soul's springtides majestic swell 112\nThat few can feel and none can tell. ,\nSunset on the Palisades\nHTHE lazy boats are drifting down the river\nThe mist hangs dreamy in the jaded air\nAnd drowsy indolence is everywhere\nSave where the wave dimpling sunbeams quiver*\nA path of gold from shore to shore they form\nThey tremble, boil and flash, ripple dance and wheel\nAnd to the banks on glittering wavelets reel\nThat break with laughter soft and warm. *\nThe palisades rise frowning dark and bold\nContrasting in their grandeur with the sky\nThe sun is robed in his majestic gold\nWith golden clouds his vassals waiting by\nMethinks such scenes to mortal men were*given\nThat after sunset they might dream of heaven.\nMyself\n17 OR me the thorn blossoms white\n* The stars parade the heavens at night\nThe rose comes forth in all its bloom\nFor me the violet sheds perfume.\nMy mind with boundless freedom strays\nAmong ten thousand milky ways\nMortal am I of earthly leaven\nYet still I hold the keys of heaven.\nI live in palaces grand and rare\nWe build no cabins who build in the air\nWith Shakespeare's spirit a home I find\nAnd together we ride on the wings of the wind.\nI frown with Byron, I smile with Moore\nWith Elizabeth Browning I weep for the poor\nYet hungry I've walked your pitiless streets\nAnd lived on dreams like glorious Keats.\nIn beauty's paths forever a roamer\nI sigh with Dante. I sing with Homer.\nI pity the rich man's wealth and strife\nFor it robs his soul of its truest life.\nAnd though I'm a footsore and ragged tramp\nMy pathway is lit with Aladdin's lamp\nI've wealth that no rich man can steal or give\nI live, by God, I live, I live!"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c008", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c008", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "779", "page_fin": "779", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.7", "titre_corps": "Fairy Tales", "titre_sommaire": "Fairy Tales", "signature_source": "Cat's Paw", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "779", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.7", "debut_caractere": 2402, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3038, "texte": "Fairy Tales\nCat's Paw.\nThe Cricket and the Ants\nHTHE cricket chirped in the summer continuously. In\n* the winter she was a well-trained singer and the\nrich ants paid her every evening $700. For this she\nchirped for them two little romances.\nThe Sad Zebra\nTHE wife of the Zebra was seated under a tree and\nreading a fashion journal. Suddenly she laid aside\nher newspaper and cried bitterly.\n\"What is the matter?\" asked the husband.\n\"I am ruined, lam done for, for my whole life! Just\nread!\" The husband reached for the paper and read:\n\"Striped materials are fashionable only if the stripes are\nlaid horizontally and not perpendicularly.\""}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c009", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c009", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "779", "page_fin": "779", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.8", "titre_corps": "A Bill Itemized", "titre_sommaire": "A Bill Itemized", "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": "779", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.7", "debut_caractere": 3040, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4378, "texte": "A Bill Itemized\nAN old church in Belgium decided to repair its prop-\nerty, and employed an artist to touch up an old\npainting. Upon presenting his bill of expense, the Church\nProperty Committee, being a very conscientious one, re-\nfused to O. K. the bill for payment, until the said artist\npresented an itemized statement, whereupon the artist pre-\nsented the following bill, viz.:\nTo correcting the Ten Commandments ..: • $5.13\nEmbellishing Pontius Pilate and putting new rib-\nbons on his hat . 3.02\nPutting a new tail on the rooster of St. Peter and\nmending his comb 2.20\nReplumbing and gilding left wing of the Guardian\nAngel 5.12\nWashing the servant of the High Priest and putting\ncarmine on his cheeks 5.02\nRenewing Heaven, adjusting the stars and cleaning\nthe moon 7.14\nTouching up Purgatory and restoring lost souls,\nbrightening up the <cFlames of Hell\" putting a\nnew tail on the Devil, mending his left hoof and\ndoing several odd jobs for the damned. 7.17\nReborderlng the robes of Herod and adjusting his\nwig 4.00\nTaking the Spots off the Son of Tobias 1.30\nPutting new stone in David's sling, enlarging the\nhead of Goliath and extending Saul's legs 6.13\nPutting earrings in Sarah's ears . . . 1.71\nDecorating Noah's ark and putting a head on Shem. 4.31\nMending the shirt of the Prodigal Son and cleaning\nhis ear 3.39\nTotal $58.70"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c010", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c010", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "780", "page_fin": "781", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.9", "titre_corps": "Frank Harris' Oscar Wilde Book", "titre_sommaire": "Frank Harris' Oscar Wilde Book", "signature_source": "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": "780", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.8", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2979, "texte": "Frank Harris' Oscar Wilde Book\n\nTHE cloak of mystery wrapt around the personality\n**■ and the memory of Man has a double meaning.\nMore merciless than outright condemnation, it will de-\nstroy values in the heart of man, it will drive into the\ndeepest hell a soul, without a fair trial. It will cover the\nlife work of a worker with obscurity and it will rob the\nworld of the achievements and of the beauty of a man's\nlife. Mystery is worse than slander if created purposely\nto suppress something and at the same time avoiding the\ndanger of being detected.\nSixteen years passed since Oscar Wilde's death and\nnothing was left undone by his adversaries (why they were\nsuch no one knows) to annihilate his works, to standard-\nize his name as something one mustn't speak openly about.\nAnd these small creatures who did not abhor from assail-\ning a man in his grave met with some success. Oscar\nWilde was placed upon the proscription list; his works\nwere prohibited in public libraries, the young generations\nwere impressed in schools.with his obscenity, so far indeed\nthat even a professor of a university in New York told me\nsome time ago in the presence of a large audience that\nOscar Wilde's writings can be kept in American homes\nonly in expurgated editions. It was a proof that this uni-\nversity professor had never read Oscar Wilde, that he had\nbeen once prevented by similar talk from making his ac-\nquaintance, and that he would prevent hundreds and thou-\nsands of his pupils from the joy of knowing the greatest\nfigure in English letters of the last decade of the past cen-\ntury.\nMany of his friends, who had been peculiarly linked\nwith the life of the unfortunate poet, have written biog-\nraphies and books about Oscar Wilde. But what did these\nbooks contain? Apologies, accusations, slander in higher\nor less degree, stories setting forth their own insignificant\nlittle ego, in short, they contributed their share to a still\ngreater confusion.\nIn his book, \"Oscar Wilde, His Life and Confessions,\"\nFrank Harris seems to have spoken the first and the last\nword in the supreme tragedy of a man. He wrote the life\nand Oscar Wilde himself makes the confessions. The two\nvolumes of this book are perhaps the greatest romance\nwritten in our time. They contain all the wisdom and\ncritical supremacy a big man has gathered from the expe-\nriences of a lifetime. He has realized that love is the ruler\nand ultimate judge of this Universe, and love; that im-\npartial, real love which does not know merciful cloaks for\ndeeds of its own or those of others, is written upon every\npage. Frank Harris tells us enough about the life of\nWilde's parents to show us the environment of the boy.\nHe guides him through his boyhood years relating here and\nthere an incident, unimportant in itself, but significant as\na chief characteristic of the man of later years. We see\nWilde among his friends, we see him as college boy, we\nfollow him to London and witness his debut in society."}, {"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "781", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2212, "texte": "Life is nothing but a long chain of episodes. Frank\nHarris has chosen with the hand of a master the episodes\nfrom Wilde's life. And as we turn the pages Wilde seems\nto he near us; we almost feel his personality, we almost\nhear his voice. And while we are with him face to face,\nand he tells us in his own language, with his own simple\nfrankness, what Harris calls \"Wilde's Confessions,\" we\nwould be inhuman if we did not extend our hand to him\nand love him so much more for all he has said to us.\nFrank Harris does not praise and he does not condemn.\nHe tells us the story of Wilde's life. He permits *us our-\nselves to draw the /conclusions and to help us to know\nWilde. He doesn't hesitate to speai: about his own ex-\nperiences with Wilde with a truthfulness which is almost\n| astonishing if one considers that Frank Harris was the\npublisher of important English papers, has written sixteen\nbooks, and shows himself completely indifferent as to what\nhis readers may think of him.\nEmotion is something that we of this generation think\nsentimental and unbecoming to a man. Those times be-\nlonged to our grandfathers when people went to see a\ntragedy and shed tears without feeling ashamed. But\nthere are things in life which will drive tears into the eyes\nof the strongest man, which will expand his chest and\nmake every nerve of his system vibrate with a strange ele-\nvating exaltation. The last chapter in Harris' book, the\none in which the friends of the deceased Wilde are taking\ncare of his remains, the death-bed scene, will move you to\ntears. You will see how much love there is in this world.\nYou will realize what man means toman as fellow travel-\nler on the hard road of life, with its ultimate Golgotha\nand its goal somewhere far, far away - - - perhaps\nthis goal is the heart of man, your heart or mine.\nFrank Harris speaks to your heart in this biggest of all\nthe books he has written. He has erected for Oscar Wilde\nan eternal arch of triumph. Beautiful in its architecture,\ncolossal in its structure and under it you can pass to the\ndead poet's living legacy: his \"Reading Goal,\" the great-\nest English epic of all time and to\"De Profundis,\" one of\nthe wonderful documents of love."}, {"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "781", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 2511, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2522, "texte": "Guido Bruno"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c011", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c011", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "780", "page_fin": "780", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.9.1", "titre_corps": "Oscar Wilde in 1910", "titre_sommaire": "Oscar Wilde in 1910", "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": "780", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.8", "debut_caractere": 2981, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3000, "texte": "Oscar Wilde in 1910"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c012", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c012", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "780", "page_fin": "780", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.9.2", "titre_corps": "Contemporary caricature of Oscar Wilde", "titre_sommaire": "Contemporary caricature of Oscar Wilde", "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": "780", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.8", "debut_caractere": 3002, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3040, "texte": "Contemporary caricature of Oscar Wilde"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c013", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c013", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "781", "page_fin": "781", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.9.3", "titre_corps": "Aubrey Beardsleys Frontispiece to John Davidson s Plays, the Portrait of Oscar Wilde crowned with vine leaves and grapes. The other portrait is that of Sir Augustus Harris.", "titre_sommaire": "Aubrey Beardsleys Frontispiece to John Davidson s Plays, the Portrait of Oscar Wilde crowned with vine leaves and grapes. The other portrait is that of Sir Augustus Harris.", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "781", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 2214, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2386, "texte": "Aubrey Beardsleys Frontispiece to John Davidson s Plays,\nthe Portrait of Oscar Wilde crowned with vine leaves and\ngrapes. The other portrait is that of Sir Augustus Harris."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c014", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c014", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "781", "page_fin": "781", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.9.4", "titre_corps": "Aubrey Beardsley who illustrated Oscar Wilde's most important works as \"Salome\" and \"The Harlot's house.\" —Self Portrait.", "titre_sommaire": "Aubrey Beardsley who illustrated Oscar Wilde's most important works as \"Salome\" and \"The Harlot's house.\" —Self Portrait.", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "781", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 2388, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2509, "texte": "Aubrey Beardsley who illustrated Oscar Wilde's most\nimportant works as \"Salome\" and \"The Harlot's house.\"\n—Self Portrait."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c015", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c015", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "782", "page_fin": "782", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.10", "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": "782", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.10", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4768, "texte": "In Our Village\n| F you are really one of those easily impressed and you\n* have the eaergy to follow your first impulse after\nreading a newspaper article and to investigate for yourself\ncome down to Greenwich Village in the evening. 1 hen\nit is that village of which you read, the background to so\nmany big things, the essential in so many big lives,—-t e\none part of the city where%you can forget city and six\nmillion co-inhabitants of yours: there is the Arch with its\narchitecture, the monumental gateway to the Square,\nbetween the shadow-giving branches of trees and bushes,\nhouses big and small, with large windows and just stingy\nopenings to let in the light. Lights here and there. High\nupon the tower of a hotel an electric-lighted cross and still\nhigher above, a few stars, and if you are lucky and the\nnight is clear, the moon. And then you cross over to the\nother side of the Square and there are the small narrow\nstreets. The Square is deserted and only a few passengers\nwaiting for the next bus make up the small group beneath\nthe arc light. But the streets are peopled with men and\nwomen who stand around the Italian grocery shops and\npastry bakeries; they worked all day and kept silent and\nnow they live their real own life. There are cafes as\nyou can see them on the rivas in small Italian coast cities\nwhere you really eat pastry and drink coffee and play\ndominoes. And then turn in one of those streets and un-\nexpectedly, like the background of a miniature play-house,\na little chapel looms up before you. The doors are open,\ncandles before the altars are testimony that the saints are\nnot forgotten. Women are sitting on the stairs selling\nrosaries, little statuettes and paper flowers j and men\nwomen and children are passing in and passing out. And\nthen follow the thundering elevated and turn again to\nthe Square. As many windows as you see lighted in these\nmansions of yore—used now as rooming and lodging-\nhouses—as many homes do they contain.\nCan you help thinking it \\ if I were a poet or an artist,\nI surely would live here and nowhere else?\nBut, dear reader, because of your living here you would\nnot be a poet or an artist.\nI DIDN'T believe my eyes last Friday, but truly and\nhonestly it was a horse car—one of those rickety\nNew York horse cars, with chimney sticking out, puffing\naway white clouds like a peanut roasting machine or the\nstove of the chestnut seller on the corner of Thompson\nstreet. The horses had bells, the driver a whip and a\nderby hat with his number stuck on the front. Slowly but\nmerrily it moved up Fourth street and passed the Square.\nI was standing there at the window of my garret, the\nsame window where Lafayette during his last visit to\nNew York in 1824, witnessed the execution of a score\nof highwaymen on what was then Potters Field, at the\nsame window from which a lady an hour ago had called\nto her footman to bring her machine around to the en-\ntrance. I saw the horse car passing and nobody seemed\nto pay any attention to it, and soon the electric street car\npassed over the same rails, and automobiles hoot-hooted,\nand the big electric arc light in front of the windows\nflashed up while the city with its gigantic structures back\nof the arc grew darker and darker.\nIt was night. The dark trees right in front of the\nwindows. Here and there a .gas lamp, yellow and flicker-\ning through the darkness of bushes and benches and people\nof the Square. Farther and farther seemed the world with\nits noise and with the modern devices of our day's life.\nI lighted a candle and sat in front of the grate. Winds\nrattled on my windows and swept through the chimney,\nthe broken and dilapidated chimney. The wood-work\ncreaked, the wind pressed its way through the cracks and\nknot-holes. The tin on the roof rumbled and the light of\nthe candle was dancing in merriment, swaying rhythmi-\ncally like a young girl with her hands at her hips listening\nto grandmother's sweet melodies.\nI was sitting in my old chair and thinking of the charms\nyou all are deprived of—you who are living in steam-\nheated, electric-lighted elevator apartments you who are\nliving in houses with killed souls. Your telephone wires\npierce their hearts, your steam pipes put them on the\nbed of Procrustes and your tapestry muzzles them.\nAnd on black nights you can hear the wind moaning\noutside in vain asking admission. He can't deliver his\nmessages from neighboring souls. It is on those nights\nthat you turn restlessly in your bed, listening to strange\nnoises, that you switch on your light and reopen the book\nyou laid away in the evening .... and you don't\nknow that the house had a soul and that souls come back.\nBut that horse car travels at least once a week through\nGreenwich Village: to keep up the company s franchise."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c016", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c016", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "782", "page_fin": "782", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.11", "titre_corps": "Laugh Clown !", "titre_sommaire": "Laugh Clown !", "signature_source": "B. Ville", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "782", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.10", "debut_caractere": 4770, "fin_caractere_exclue": 6005, "texte": "Laugh Clown !\nB. Ville.\nOUR eyes had met; our hearts had felt a peculiar pain\nand she, too, said that she loved me. She came to\nme and we talked and we were happy. We didn t speak\nabout the past, we didn't think of the future. We were\njust happy as children are who listen to the birds in the\ntrees and have no desire to catch them; who watch the\nmarvelous masterpieces formed by passing clouds without\nthe afterthought \"only smoke.\" We laughed and looked\nat each other and we were happy because we knew we\nwere strong, healthy and good-looking.\nShe came in the twilight of the day and in the glorious\nsunshine of the winter frost. She stole away from her\nworld and came to mine which was so different, but we\nboth had a world of our own. It was as real as youthful\nenthusiasm, as practical as a dream of love. Here she\nwas different from the girl, whom her world knew her to\nbe and I was quite different from what I was before. She\nsaid she would love me for ever and ever and ever. She\nwould love me until death.\nAnd then one day she did not come. She always had\ncome unexpectedly and now she stayed away unexpectedly.\nShe ceased to come to our world.\nShe is living her own life and I am living mine.\nKismet.\nIt should not have been."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c017", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c017", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "783", "page_fin": "783", "image_debut": 11, "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.12", "titre_corps": "The Merry Dead Man", "titre_sommaire": "The Merry Dead Man", "signature_source": "Feodor Sologub ; Translated by Guido Bruno", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "783", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.11", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1107, "texte": "The Merry Dead Man\nBy Feodor Sologub\nTranslated by Guido Bruno.\nA POOR soul once came into the other world and\nmade itself conspicuous by being unusually happy\nand demonstrated a singular gaiety. The other dead were\nannoyed by this improper behavior and found the continu-\nously smiling face out of place. They asked the gay dead\nto account for this strange conduct and said:\n\"Aren't you a bit ashamed to appear here so gaily while\nyou should lie very quietly thinking of your sins awaiting\nthe last Judgment?\" But he answered: \"I wouldn't think\nof doing such a thing. What could it be that I should\nfear?\"\nThe other dead people explained to him:\n\"Don't you know that the last judgment will bring\nto light all your earthly sins and they will be examined\nvery closely. Then they will send you to the deepest\nabyss of Hell. There burns an eternal fire. In boiling hot\npitch and in flaming sulphur you will have to roast while\nthe Devil rejoices in your tortures and torments.\"\nThe newly-arrived dead soul laughed at them. \"And\nis that all? Such prospects don't terrify me. I come from\nRussia.\""}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c018", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c018", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "783", "page_fin": "783", "image_debut": 11, "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.13", "titre_corps": "Replated Platitudes", "titre_sommaire": "Replated Platitudes", "signature_source": "Julius Doerner", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "783", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.11", "debut_caractere": 1109, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1897, "texte": "Replated Platitudes\nJulius Doerner\nOne touch of graft makes the world of politics akin.\nThe day of \"the sentiment\" has passed and in its place\nwe have the day of \"the cent I meant.\"\nFolly clothed in smart words is like the fool dressed\nin royal robes, deceiving only the heedless and the unwary.\nThe most beautiful face that lacks it lacks its most\nbeautiful feature if it carry not a cheerful smile.\nThe beauty of being a beauty is: your chief duty is to\nstay a beauty; and the beauty of a beauty's duty is: it's\nthe envy of all whose only beauty is: their care of duty.\nOur neighbor is he whom we know to need a neighbor,\nand that, be he far or near.\nGood manners are the expression of a good heart under\nthe mastery of a good head.\nWork to-day that you may not need to worry\nto-morrow."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c019", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c019", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "783", "page_fin": "783", "image_debut": 11, "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.14", "titre_corps": "Altruism", "titre_sommaire": "Altruism", "signature_source": "After the German of Arthur Schubart by Guido Bruno", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "783", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.11", "debut_caractere": 1899, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3766, "texte": "Altruism\nAfter the German of Arthur Schubart by Guido Bruno.\nE7ARLY yesterday morning I was sitting in the Park,\nright in front of two long flower beds filled with\nsome beautiful, fragrant blue flowers whose names I did\nnot know. Between the beds was a narrow pathway\nacross which lay a dried-up branch that must have fallen\nfrom an old chestnut tree nearby.\n\"What devastation it would have caused among the\nbeauty of those flowers if it had only fallen a wee bit\nmore to the rf£ht or to the left,\" I thought, while a very\nyoung girl was passing. Carefully she lifted her white\nskirts and tripped coquettishly around the branch just as if\nit had been a poisonous snake.\nShortly afterwards came an old gentleman who stopped\nin front of the obstacle, viewed it meditatively, tapped it\nwith his walking stick and finally stepped over it\ncogitatively.\nNow came two very well-dressed ladies with arms linked\ntogether. They seemed for a moment to hesitate, but soon\none went to the right and the other to the left and passed\nover the narrow strip that was left on both sides between\nthe lawn of the bed and the branch.\nIn the course of a quarter of an hour many men and\nwomen passed and it was quite amusing to observe how\neach according to his character, to his age and to his\nclothes either avoided the branch or stepped over it.\nSuddenly the old man who was sitting next to me on the\nbench, said contemptuously: \"Lazy, egotistical cattle! Not\none thought to clear the way for those to come after\nthem. And it would have been so easy to do it.\"\nHe hadn't quite finished, when an old, poor woman\ncame along. She too saw the branch. She looked around\nand then she pushed it against the lawn.\n\"Well, there are still some altruists left\" I said tri-\numphantly.\nThe old woman stooped down, broke the branch into\ntwo, covered the pieces up with her apron and carried\nthem away."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c020", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c020", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "783", "page_fin": "783", "image_debut": 11, "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.15", "titre_corps": "'\"THE wild rose scatters her fragrance,", "titre_sommaire": "'\"THE wild rose scatters her fragrance,", "signature_source": "B. G", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "783", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.11", "debut_caractere": 3768, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4043, "texte": "B. G.\n'\"THE wild rose scatters her fragrance,\n* With prodigal joy, on the air.\nHer sweetness, so evanescent,\nIs a lure, a promise, a dare.\nThey pluck the wild rose and crush it,\nThey distill its delicate bloom,\nHoping to borrow its fragrance,\nAnd all they achieve is—perfume."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c021", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c021", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "783", "page_fin": "783", "image_debut": 11, "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.16", "titre_corps": "Lines in Defense of Vers Libre", "titre_sommaire": "Lines in Defense of Vers Libre", "signature_source": "James Waldo Fawcett", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "783", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.11", "debut_caractere": 4045, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4481, "texte": "Lines in Defense of Vers Libre\nJames Waldo Fawcett.\nDUILD me no songs with paltry rule;\nBring me no verse of narrow school!\nMy heart demands the free!\nLet no wild dream of mine be chained\nUnto a prison unexplained!\nCaged birds are ever sad.\nWhen my boy's heart with love o'erflows\nOr pure excess of beauty knows\nI would not pause to plan.\nSing as you will! Oh heart of mine!\nThe freedom you command is thine!\nBe free, then, and be glad!"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c022", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c022", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "783", "page_fin": "783", "image_debut": 11, "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.17", "titre_corps": "As on every evening little Willie was kneeling and", "titre_sommaire": "As on every evening little Willie was kneeling and", "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": "783", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.11", "debut_caractere": 4483, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4785, "texte": "As on every evening little Willie was kneeling and say-\ning his prayers. He finished as he had been taught: \"Dear\nGod, take care of my father and of my mother and of\nbrother John and of grandfather . . . \"and please\ndo remember this time to take care of them so that I don't\nneed to ask you every day.\""}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c023", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c023", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "784", "page_fin": "784", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.18", "titre_corps": "Two Things by James Waldo Fawcett", "titre_sommaire": "Two Things by James Waldo Fawcett", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 12, "page_imprimee": "784", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.12", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1475, "texte": "Two Things by James Waldo Fawcett\nUncut Leaves\n| gave her that wonderful copy of my own little book\nof verses,—all gathered and written for her. She\nsailed away into the sunset that same sad day, saying:\n\"I shall be lonely for your love, dear heart.\" In far\nJapan, when a year was flown, I came to her. She was\naway, they said. The dear, fragrant room was empty\nsave for the memory of her glorious presence and the\nlonging toward her return. I paced the floor, waiting.\nThen, suddenly, I saw in a corner, my little book,—my\ntiny tribute to my splendid passion, I caught it up, in\nenvy that while I had languished on a foreign shore, it,\na mere printed thing of black and white and gold, had\nknown her eyes, her slim, cool fingers, perhaps her lips.\nI turned the leaves eagerly. And then Isaw—and felt—\nthat the pages were still uncut!\nKismet\n'\"THEY stood by a garden wall, and he said: \"I love\nyou!\" She turned away, with tears in her eyes,\npained that she must hurt him. \"No,\" she said.\nHe pled for her heart and hand all of the whole long\nspring morning. At the end she turned away again, and\nleft him. As she walked across the lawn he called:\n\"Very well, then. I shall enlist and be killed!\"\nThere was no reply.\nWhen the lads came back from Flanders, she said to\nher husband, \"Tell me about Charles. Did he die a brave\nman r\nHer husband, who was a noble soul if such ever lived,\ndid not respond.\nHe knew, though, that poor Charles had been shot a\ndeserter."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c024", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c024", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "784", "page_fin": "784", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.19", "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": 12, "page_imprimee": "784", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.12", "debut_caractere": 1477, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4987, "texte": "Books and Magazines of the Week\nPoetry—A Magazine of Verse\nA Booker Washington Trilogy by Vachel Lindsay is\nthe feature of the June number. This delicate roast of\nthe Illinois poet is surrounded by tasty and fancifully pre-\npared vegetables from the garden of Rosalind Mason,\nLouis Untermeyer, H. Thompson Rich, Mary Eleanor\nRoberts and Charlotte Becker. This number also brings\nthe prize announcement of the one-act play contest. Har-\nriet Monroe says in the announcement that among the six\nplays singled out of one hundred which seem to the judges\nmost worthy of consideration there was only one found\ncomplying with the conditions of the contest, a straight\ntreatment of the modern American theme, \"The Lynch-\ning.\" It is written by Miriam Allen de Ford and should\nreceive honorable mention.\nThe Log\nThis organ of the Circumnavigators' Club devotes part\nof its pages to the memory of Richard Harding Davis, a\ncharter member of this club of adventurers and wayfarers.\nMany interesting letters from members in the trenches of\nthe various belligerent nations give it the aspect of a cos-\nmopolitan review of adventures one can meet nowadays\nin all parts of the world.\nThe Miscellany\nIn this second number of the quarterly since it passed\ninto the hands of its new editor in Cleveland, La Touche\nHancock writes on newspaper verse and who could do it\nbetter than La Touche, the old pilgrim of newspaperdom\nin America. Who knows as much about the would-be\npoets who drift in an editor's office as even Don Marquis\nhimself, the moving hand behind the Sun Dial. The title\ncover is an Ex Libris bearing the portrait of Shakespeare\nand designed and copyrighted to commemorate the Shakes-\npeare Tercentenary.\nThe Wild Hawk\nThe May issue of this \"periodical of beauty and free-\ndom\" contains the personal opinions of its editor, Hervey\nWhite, of the various schools of poetry.\nAs I read many of the Imagiste poems, and various\nother exquisite efforts of our modern youthful schools, I\noften think back to a story that was told me by the wife of\na friend\nIt evolved that their second baby was a girl, and they\nhad been longing for a son. But the days of dread and\nagony were over, and the father stood beside the joyous\nbed. .. .\n\"1 am so sorry, John \" she faltered plaintively, \"that it\nis not a boy. \"Oh, never mind,\" he hurried in brusque\nkindness, \"so long as it is something\"\nThe Poetry Review\nOne distinction has this new poetry journal edited by\nWilliam Stanley Braithwaite, compiler of magazine and\nother verse before all the other poetry magazines that\nhave sprung up during the last few months like mush-\nrooms after a continuously drizzling rain. It prints on its\npages life-stories of poets whose lives are too short to have\na story. The amicable Amy Lowell occupies in the cur-\nrent issue as in many others during the last months, its\nconspicuous middle part with two imagist poems. The in-\nterviewer of bad poetry in America's foremost review of\nthe book trade rejoices \"in the memory of three poets.\"\nThe venerable editor falls all over himself, bowing\nthankful acknowledgments to his brother and sister poets\nfor the loud applause his review received upon its appear-\nance in the circle of \"The Mutual Admiration Society of\nAmerican Poets.\" Here are two paragraphs from his edi-\ntorial page of No. 2 \"fine fibred the largeness of the wel-\ncome from our contemporaries in the field of poetry.\" \"We\nowe a debt of gratitude which can be repaid only by an\nunswerving devotion to the best in American poetry.\""}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c025", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c025", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "784", "page_fin": "785", "image_debut": 12, "image_fin": 13, "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.20", "titre_corps": "Will She Really Come?", "titre_sommaire": "Will She Really Come?", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 12, "page_imprimee": "784", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.12", "debut_caractere": 4989, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5607, "texte": "Will She Really Come?\nA ND so the divine Sarah is coming again to the\nUnited States. Of course, she is welcome and we j\nwill be glad to have among us that senile lady who en-\nthused our grandfathers, who was the revered attraction,\nthe supremest offering of the world's theatrical managers\nat the time our fathers were in their best years, and to\nwhose performances we were taken for the last twenty\nyears \"so that we could say once that we had witnessed\nthe great Sarah in one of her parts.\"\nAnd now she is an old woman. It is a small step from\nthe sublime to the ridiculous. It led her to the vaudeville\nstage. ,■ 'I"}, {"page_pdf": 13, "page_imprimee": "785", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.13", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2707, "texte": "Why, oh why was she too lured by money—just paltry,\ngreedy dollars, to tear down the majesty of her art?\nIt was in 1913, in Chicago, in the dressing-room of the\nPalace Theatre, that I had it from her own lips that that\nwas her farewell tour, that she had come to bid good-bye\nto the people of America. I smiled then, and I suggested\nthat only my own absence from the States or from the\nhappy valleys of this life would prevent me from seeing\nher again in America in the near future.\nPoliticians and artists should know when to retire and\nto retire for good. One encore might be appreciated, but\nif the artist is eager to follow it with a second encore,\nhe will wait in vain for an outburst of applause in the\nauditorium.\nTwenty years ago! Any city in France or Germany\nor Switzerland or any other European country. The\npeople announced that Sarah Bernhardt would appear\nfor one or two evenings in this or that of her famous\nparts. Her placards appeared on the boards. It was\nthe event of the city. Students saved their pennies, sales-\ngirls and modistes went without luncheon to be able to\npurchase a ticket of admission to the performance of the\nyear. It wasn't like going to a show, it wasn't like at-\ntending a performance, it wasn't like buying tickets: it\nwas a privilege to be present during the consecration of\ngenius on the altar of art.\nWhen the evening came and the first and second ranks\nwere filled with quiet, humbly-expectant men and women\nnot to be amused had they come, but to be near genius.\nThe streets surrounding the showhouse were filled with\nendless lines of those who had not given up hope of getting\na ticket of admission for standing room.\nDollars lured her to America. She became a puppet\nin the hands of her managers. She is exhibiting physical\nruins, and the genius of her art is left behind weeping\nwith despair. Nineteen minutes of an American vaude-\nville program are hers, after the exponents of drawing-\nroom dances and preceding some acrobatic act, the poor\nold woman tries to amuse the American vaudeville public\nwith her diamonds, her gorgeous wardrobe, using as bait\nher big name and recollection of her vanished art of yore..\nAnd now she comes as a cripple, adding one precious,\nfeature—from her circus manager's point of view. France,\nwho is taking such excellent care of her invalids, should\nnever have permitted that her greatest actress should go-\nout to work again, feeble physically and mentally, a pitiful\nmemento of the limitations of humankind. Why doesn't\nthe French government allege its responsibility for her\ndebts as debts of honor of a grateful nation to its greatest\nartist? Why doesn't France take care of her in her de-\nclining years ?"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c027", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c027", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "785", "page_fin": "785", "image_debut": 13, "image_fin": 13, "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.21", "titre_corps": "When You're Lying III in Bed", "titre_sommaire": "When You're Lying III in Bed", "signature_source": "L. M. Thornton", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 13, "page_imprimee": "785", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.13", "debut_caractere": 2709, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3897, "texte": "When You're Lying III in Bed\nL. M. Thornton.\nA shake, shake, shake, and a bang, bang, bang,\nDown in the rooms below.\nA ding, ding, ding, and a clang, clang, clang\nOut where the wagons go.\nA tramp, tramp, tramp, and a thump, thump, thump,,\nFrom the tread of restless feet.\nAnd a roll, roll, roll, and a bump, bump, bump,\nSurging in from the street.\nOh how they ring in your aching head\nOn days when you're lying ill in bed.\nA tock, tock, tock, and a tick, tick, tick\nFrom your watch on the mantle tall.\nA dear, dear, dear, and a sick, sick, sick,\nAs your pulses rise and fall.\nA snap, snap, snap, and a squeak, squeak, squeak,.\nFrom the board of your bed-room floor,\nA swish, swish, swish, and a creak, creak, creak\nFrom the wood bine over the door.\nOh how they harass your heart with dread,\nOn days when you're lying ill in bed.\nBut the din, din, din, and the voices loud,\nOh sweetest of sounds were they;\nAnd the stir, stir, stir of the passing crowd,\nAt the hour of dawn when you wakeful lie\nAnd the silence smites your Soul,\n'Til your pulses beat, like the racer's feet\nAs he flies toward the winner's goal.\nFor then is the lonely hour you dread.\nOn morns when you're lying ill in bed."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c028", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c028", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "786", "page_fin": "786", "image_debut": 14, "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.22", "titre_corps": "To a Cabaret Dancer", "titre_sommaire": "To a Cabaret Dancer", "signature_source": "Djuna Barnes", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 14, "page_imprimee": "786", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.14", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1251, "texte": "To a Cabaret Dancer\nDjuna Barnes\nTT HOUSAND lights had smitten her\nA Into this thing;\nLife had taken her and given her\nOne place to sing.\nShe came with laughter wide and calm;\nAnd splendid grace;\nAnd looked between the lights and wine\nFor one fine face.\nAnd found life only passion wide\n'Twixt mouth and wine.\nShe ceased to search, and growing wise\nBecame less fine.\nYet some wondrous thing within the mess\nWas held in check:—\nWas missing as she groped and clung\nAbout his neck.\nOne master chord we couldn't sound\nFor lost the keys,\nYet she hinted of it as she sang\nBetween our knees.\nWe watched her come,with subtle fire\nAnd learned feet,\nStumbling among the lustful drunk\nYet somehow sweet.\nWe saw the crimson leave her cheeks\nFlame in her eyes;\nFor when a woman lives in awful haste\nA woman dies.\nThe jests that lit our hours by night\nAnd made them gay,\nSoiled a sweet and ignorant soul\nAnd fouled its play.\nBarriers and heart both broken—dust\nBeneath her feet.\nYou've passed her forty times and sneered\nOut in the street.\nA thousand jibes had driven her\nTo this at last;\nTill the ruined crimson of her lips\nGrew vague and vast.\nUntil her songless soul admits\nTime comes to kill:\nYou pay her price and wonder why\nYou need her still."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c029", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c029", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "786", "page_fin": "787", "image_debut": 14, "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.23", "titre_corps": "A Pantomime", "titre_sommaire": "A Pantomime", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 14, "page_imprimee": "786", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.14", "debut_caractere": 1253, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1264, "texte": "A Pantomime"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c030", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c030", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "786", "page_fin": "786", "image_debut": 14, "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.23.1", "titre_corps": "While I pipe on the mouth organ I feel it—the divine spark climbing up my legs like ivy.", "titre_sommaire": "While I pipe on the mouth organ I feel it—the divine spark climbing up my legs like ivy.", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 14, "page_imprimee": "786", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.14", "debut_caractere": 1266, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1354, "texte": "While I pipe on the mouth organ I feel it—the divine\nspark climbing up my legs like ivy."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c031", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c031", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "786", "page_fin": "786", "image_debut": 14, "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.23.2", "titre_corps": "The tragedy of the fly, as felt by one who has to kill it. Hesitation, rhythm, melody of life, joy of existence— and the inevitable end: crushed to the wall.", "titre_sommaire": "The tragedy of the fly, as felt by one who has to kill it. Hesitation, rhythm, melody of life, joy of existence— and the inevitable end: crushed to the wall.", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 14, "page_imprimee": "786", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.14", "debut_caractere": 1356, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1513, "texte": "The tragedy of the fly, as felt by one who has to kill it.\nHesitation, rhythm, melody of life, joy of existence—\nand the inevitable end: crushed to the wall."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c032", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c032", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "787", "page_fin": "787", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.23.3", "titre_corps": "Don't bother me with earthly worries, O Solomon— I don't care.", "titre_sommaire": "Don't bother me with earthly worries, O Solomon— I don't care.", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 15, "page_imprimee": "787", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.15", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 78, "texte": "Don't bother me with earthly worries, O Solomon—\nI don't care."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c033", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c033", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "787", "page_fin": "788", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.24", "titre_corps": "The Odor of Murder", "titre_sommaire": "The Odor of Murder", "signature_source": "Sadakichi Hartmann", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 15, "page_imprimee": "787", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.15", "debut_caractere": 80, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5055, "texte": "The Odor of Murder\n\na bright summer day Bruges-la-Morte with its\navenue of poplars and narrow waterways, is an\nidyllic town. But on rainy nights, as it was my misfor-\ntune to encounter when I was last in Bruges years ago, it\nis sad and silent and well deserves its surname. It is not\ndismal like Liverpool or Des Moines, its silence is weird\nand oppressive. It was late, and I was looking for a place\nto sleep. I found an old inn, and although there was no\nsign of life, I managed after repeated knockings to gain\nadmission. The innkeeper looked at the key rack and\nwith a shrug of the shoulders, intimating to the waiter\nthat \"72\" was the only empty room, he threw him the key.\nWith a candle the yawning waiter led me to a room on\nthe second floor and wished me good night.\nThe room was sultry. I took off my coat and went to\nthe window. It looked straight down on a canal. On its\nrain-blurred surface there were but vague reflections of\nroofs and old houses. On the bank opposite was a row of\ntrees and a few benches. In the distance I saw a couple\nof huddled forms, lovers or vagabonds, and right before\nthem on the water a few swans in motionless attitudes. It\nwas still drizzling, and I could faintly discern a medieval\ntower almost lost in the mist.\nThe room was furnished in the ordinary frugal way, as\nsecond-class hotels in France and Belgium are furnished—\na bed, a bureau, a night table, a chair, and an arm chair.\nI blew out the candle, lit a cigar, and sat down near the\nwindow.\nAs soon as I had entered the room I had noticed a pecu-\nliar odor, some odor that I have never smelt before, which\nwas the more strange as I was something of an expert in\nthat line. I had just written a treatise \"On the Volatile\nPropensities of Odors,\" and had all my life been subject\nto very acute olfactory faculties. Frequently I had cursed\nmy sensitiveness, as I was able to perceive odors that were\nunnoticeable to others. To smell what various families in\na large apartment house have for dinner is no enviable\nprivilege.\nIt was a dull irritating odor. There was not a breath\nof air in the room. I looked about, and sniffed in various\ndirections. The odor seemed to pervade the entire room.\nI sniffed at every object, the woodwork, the linen, the\ntable cover, the wall paper, they had only their own vague\npeculiar smell. Could it be the smell of the people who\nhad lived there before? Why should it be so intense and\npersistent ? As it was late and the only vacant room there\nwas no use in trying to change my domicile. The best\nthing was to go to bed.\nSo I undressed and tried to sleep. What strange things\nmight have happened in this room! On every surface the\nactions of life are completely photographed; if someone\nhad the necessary chemicals and could sensitize the images\nand call them to life, one might see on the walls, as in a\nmoving picture show, all that had ever happened in a\nroom. What jvould this room reveal to me, this old wall\npaper on which vague shadows flickered! With such\nhaunting images in my mind, half asleep, the peculiar odor\nstill in my nostrils, it suddenly seemed to me as if I saw\ntwo vague figures, a man and a woman, struggling in the\nroom. The man dragged a white form to the window,\nshe resisted, he gripped her more fiercely, they swayed for-\nward and backward and then I heard a splash, as if some\nheavy body had fallen into the water of the canal below.\nI jumped up; I trembled. Was it a nightmare or was it\nreality ? I hastened to the window. Everything was quiet.\nThe rain had ceased. The huddled forms on the benches\nhad disappeared.\nI realized that the odor had something to do with this\nexperience. The mystery was too deep. I relit my cigar\nand sat down once more at the window and thus fell into\na doze. This way I was found by a waiter. He looked\nat me with a quizzical mien. I ordered breakfast. And\nwhen he had brought it I asked him about the room. He\nanswered that he was only a short time at the hotel, and\nthat nobody had ever occupied it since he was there. He\nhad noticed, however, that the innkeeper would never let\nanyone have the room if another was vacant. My curios-\nity was aroused, but when I came down stairs the proprie-\ntor was absent, and my inability to converse in French hin-\ndered me from making further inquiries. I had come to\nBruges merely as a tourist, and after looking up a statue\nof the Holy Virgin credited to Michael Angelo, in some\nchurch, I left the town the same day, as the bells were\nringing from the belfries over the plains to the gray Hol-\nland seas.\nMany years later, when the incident had almost passed\nfrom my mind, I spent an evening at the home of a Ger-\nman riding master in Dungan Hills. It was a birthday\nparty, we had imbibed more or less deeply, and it was late\nwhen I and the last guest departed. My companion was\na tall middle-aged man all dressed in gray, rather re-\nstrained in manner with dreamy eyes and delicate white\nhands. The time for the last train had passed. So we"}, {"page_pdf": 16, "page_imprimee": "788", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.16", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2073, "texte": "walked together to find the trolley track, following closely\nthe directions our host had given us. Somehow we lost\nour way. No wonder. It was such a peculiar night.\nEverything was steeped in mist; it flowed past us and down\nthe road like milk, drowned the fields, whitened the tree\ntrunks, and crept on our bodies. There was not a person\nin sight. We soon lost our way completely. Suddenly I\nthought of the night in the little Belgian town and at the\nsame moment the stranger asked me, \"Have you ever been\nin Bruges?\" I was startled, but simply nodded. \"This\nmist makes me think of the wfyite veils worn by the Bel-\ngian nuns,\" he said in his nonchalent way. \"I was once in\nlove with a Belgian nun. She was always veiled. And\nfor months I knew neither the color of her eyes nor hair.\nI met her and secretly took walks with her, there was\nnever anyone in sight and the streets were empty. It was\na certain strange odor that enveloped her person which\nfascinated me, and at the same time incited me to a pitch\nof frenzy. It haunted me—l could not get rid of it. Fin-\nally I persuaded her to elope with me. She was of good\nfamily. It was an awful scandal. I had money and we\ntraveled, in foreign countries. But the mystery was gone.\nI now knew the color of her hair and eyes, the secrets of\nher body and thoughts. The charms had faded, only the\nodor, vague and tangible, remained. It tortured me and\nI tormented her. It drove me to madness, and one day—\"\nAt that moment I perceived again the odor, the odor\nthat had haunted me in the little room at Bruges. I shout-\ned, \"You—you killed your wife!\"\nHe looked at me with flaming eyes for an instant; then\nraised his hat and nonchalently walked away. I was so\nabsorbed that I stood as rooted in the ground, murmur-\ning: \"It was that, then, the odor of murder.\"\nWhen I looked up he was gone! I could hardly recog-\nnize his figure, far away on the road, all wrapt in white\nmist, only the end of his lighted cigar shone forth. That\nred spot also disappeared. I was alone with the odor of\nmurder.\n\nSadakichi Hartmann."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c034", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c034", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "788", "page_fin": "790", "image_debut": 16, "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.25", "titre_corps": "Alma: The Story of a First Love", "titre_sommaire": "Alma: The Story of a First Love", "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": "788", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.16", "debut_caractere": 2075, "fin_caractere_exclue": 6026, "texte": "Alma: The Story of a First Love\n\n•\"THE moon has come up\" he murmured dreamily,\n\"the clouds that covered the curious little stars\nhave sailed away.\" With a sigh he made himself com-\nfortable on a balcony of the tiny flat he and his friends\noccupied on the top floor of the big apartment building.\nThe street below him lay quiet in the peace of a late\nsummer evening. The men and women hurrying to and\nfro looked like children's toys. He twisted his body\nand looked at a bay window on the sixth floor of a neigh-\nboring apartment house. The shades were dfawn and\nthe windows were brilliantly lighted. He kept his eyes\non that window. After a while the shutters that kept\nthe light from the living room of the balcony, were torn\nopen.\nFat Tom had come.\nFat Tom in his modish gray suit and the pillow in his\nhand. Tom always refused to lie or even to sit on the\nstone balcony.\n\"Nice evening,\" he remarked after he had disposed of\nhis legs so as to preserve the crease of his trousers. \"But\nwhy hasn't Johnny shown up? I bet he won't show up!\nHe knows it's his night to furnish the Arabian enter-\ntainment. But it's like him,\" Tom grumbled on in a\nsoothing tone, \"to propose a new thing, let us amuse him\nby the sweat of our brow and the strain of our brains and\nthen come up missing when he is expected to do for us\nwhat we have done for him.\"\nHis companion squirmed nearer to the rail so that he\ncould be comfortable while keeping his eyes on the win-\ndow of the sixth story in the apartment house.\n\"Maybe she'll go over to the drug store to buy headache\npowder or a stamp or a glass of sarsaparilla,\" he said,\nignoring Tom's musings. \"It was after ten o'clock when\nshe went yesterday. She had a pale blue linen dress on\nand a white collar. .\n\"Shucks! There's that black beast on the roof again,\"\nand Tom pointed to a big black cat on the coping, arching\nits back against the deepening blue of the sky. \"But I\nthink he'll favor that little gray kitten of the red-tiled\nhouse. He really must be sick and tired of the mushy\nlittle white affair he bothered with yesterday and the\nnight before last.\"\nTap, tap, tap.\n\"That's Johnny!\" exclaimed both.\n\"You'll have to open the shutter,\" remarked Tom.\n\"He won't soil his hands even if he had stayed in the\nstuffy room all evening. But you just listen to the ex-\ncuse he is going to give for disappointing us.\"\nThe shutter was opened. A little footstool was thrust\nover the sill. Two legs were carefully placed on the floor\nof the balcony and the tall, lean body of Johnny appeared\nin sections. He wore no collar. His shirt was turned in\nat the neck. His sleeves were rolled up. His hair was\nparted on the wrong side. A smile was on his face. The\nsmile might have been sad. It was undoubtedly thought-\nful.\nTom shook out a folded, perfumed handkerchief and\nput it to his nose.\nThe other member of the trio remarked :\n\"You really do not bring with you the odor of a\nhospital. You smell like a lysol factory.\"\nJohnny selected very carefully a cigarette from the red\nbox he had taken from his pocket, rolled it between his\npalms, lighted it and blew the bluish-white smoke in\nTom's face.\nBut Tom was stoically quiet. He fanned the biting\ncloud away from his nose and remarked, looking at the\nmoon.\n\"As I have had occasion to remark before, a man that\nsmokes cigraettes and that has smoked them constantly\nfor years, is necessarily irresponsible. But we are waiting\nto hear your excuse.\"\nJohnny seemed to think very hard.\n\"I shall not disappoint you to-day,\" he said, tossing the\ncigarette over the balcony rail. \"You shall hear the story\nof my first sweetheart. It will be more interesting,\nTommy, than your story of the little girl for whom you\nbought the biggest red valentine you ever saw and over\nwhom you poured your mother's toilet water for which\nyou received two whalings, one from each mother. And\nmuch more fascinating and romantic than your story,\"\n<nid he nodded to the man with his cheek pressed against"}, {"page_pdf": 17, "page_imprimee": "789", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.17", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 6523, "texte": "the balcony rail, staring at the brilliantly lighted windows,\n\"than your silly drug store affair. I claim it to be\nchiefly interesting,\" he continued, after a moment's pause\nwhile an ironical smile played about his muutn, because\nit is the story of my last love.\"\nThe man with his cheek pressed against the balcony\nrail, raised his head. Both of the men regarded Johnny\nwith curious interest. They saw the ironical smile soften\nand give place to the mild one that might be sad that\nthey first noticed when the last section of him was pro-\njected through the window. Tom dropped the idea of\nmaking some brilliant, satirical remark.\n\"Thirty years ago, MacDougal Street was not wThat\nis is to-day,\" Johnny began with a dreamy expression dn\nhis face. \"And at that time Washington Square was able\nto shed some of its magnificence into the neighboring\nstreets. Rich merchants, ministers and people that had\ndone something with this life, enjoyed the fruits of their\nlabor in the gray and brown stone houses and sat peace-\nfully during the long, warm evenings under the two\ntrees in their well-kept back yards.\n\"My earliest memory goes back to one of these houses.\nMy mother was the housekeeper of a pedantic old\nwidower who patted my hair and brought regularly, once\nthe week, candy home to me, but who at the same time\nwas much put out if I went into his rooms or showed the\nleast interest in the contents of his leather-bound books.\n\"I think I was five years old when he called me into\nhis study one day. The four arms of the gas lights were\nlighted and on the table directly under them reposed—\nnot a bag of candy as I expected—but a solid-appearing\nsquarish parcel. He unwrapped it. It was a boy's blue\nserge suit, and he held it high in his hands.\n\" 'Now you're a big boy, Johnny,' he said in a very\nkind voice, 'and soon you'll go to school and learn to read\nand write and how to grow up t® be a man. And I\nthink this will help you to know just how a little man\nshould feel.' He handed me the garments. They were\na little jacket with a belt and a pair of knickerbockers.\nMy mother, who had entered the room while the old\ngentleman was making his speech, showed more emotion\nthan I could understand at the time. She took me in her\niarms and kissed me, sobbing:\n\" 'Johnny, you're going into trousers—think of it—my\nlittle boy. .\n\"I naturally wanted to put them on immediately. At\nthe recommendation of the old gentleman my mother con-\nsented, at the same time making an effort to compose her\nfeelings. When I had buttoned the last button of the\njacket, she said:\n\" 'Now that you are a real little boy, you may play\noutside with the other children for half an hour. But be\nsure to keep clean and do not cross the street.'\n\"As proud as a peacock, I went out into the street.\nBut there were no children. Only a little girl stood at\nthe entrance of a house opposite. I remembered distinctly\n[that I had been frobidden to cross the street, but I walked\n[straight over to her. I passed the little girl two or three\nlimes. I felt her looking at me. And., then I started to\nfcilk to her. I wish that I could recall .what I said, but\n1 cannot. I only know that we became good friends on\n■ie spot. That we went to the same school for several\n■ears and that she wore her hair in long braids down\nher back, and that she regularly forgot to bring her lunch.\nThis made me very happy because she always accepted\nhalf of my bread-and-butter with something good that my\nmother always spread on top. I took it as a personal\naffront when any of the boys jerked her braids. And for\na bloody-nose or a bump over the eye, she always gave\nme a kiss.\n\"That went on for years, and the old man with whom\nwe were living, died. My mother saved a little money—\nenough under her management to take care of us until I\ncould provide for her and myself. We moved into a\nlittle flat in Harlem after I had passed the grammar\ngrades and was ready for High School.\n\"I often thought of Alma, but had given up all hope of\never seeing her again. I was a boy past fifteen when I\nnoticed in the school yard a little girl with two long\nblond braids wound like a crown around a familiar little\nhead. She must have noticed me the same instant. It\nwas Alma. We recognized each other and renewed our\nfriendship on the spot. Her father was dead, she told me,\nand her mother had married a tailor whose shop was\ndirectly under the flat where my mother and I were\nliving.\n\"And now a happy time began. In the morning she\nwould' wait for me or I would wait for her, and we\nwould go to school together. We skated together in\nwinter and played tennis together in summer. My mother\nwas quite fond of her, and she came and went as if she\nwere already a member of our little family.\n\"Shortly before I went to college, I visited the summer\nhome of a classmate—a rich Jew—as his tutor. I had\nhad one of those insignificant quarrels with Alma just\nbefore I left. I was just as wrong as she and she just\nas right as I. But we were both too proud to take the\nfirst step toward reconciliation. I wrote dozens of letters\nto her which I tore up. Not one was sent. When I\ncame home six weeks later, happy because I was going\nto buy her a present with the first money I ever earned,\nshe had moved away. Her stepfather had sold his business\nand no one knew where they had gone.\n\"I left college and decided to become a physician. My\nmother had died. In her last hour she was happy because\nshe could leave me enough to prepare me for my pro-\nfession. One evening during the last examinations, when\nI had had a harder day than usual, I took a walk before\nretiring. I lived near the university and at the corner\nof my street there was an old-fashioned beer garden back\nof the house where Fate and German sentiment had pre-\nserved some fine old trees. The tables had colored cloths\nand under the light of flickering lanterns, I saw that\ndecent quiet people were sitting around the tables, talking\nand sipping beer.\n\"The place had always interested me for some reason\nor other. I stopped and looked through the palings\nwhere the hedge was thinnest. Just one table was un-\noccupied. I thought a glass of beer would make me all\nthe readier for sleep. Before I had seated myself, I knew\nwhy the place had attracted me.\n\"At the table next to mine Alma was sitting. It was\nunmistakably Alma. She had grown to be a very pretty\nyoung woman with brown hair and rosy cheeks. She wore\na little hat and a gown of some soft material. After a\nwhile she looked toward my table and dropped her eyes."}, {"page_pdf": 18, "page_imprimee": "790", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.18", "debut_caractere": 304, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4610, "texte": "She had lost color, her cheeks mottled. I knew she\nrecognized me. She spoke to her mother, and in a moment\nthey were making me feel that I had just dreamed that\nI was lonely and homeless and that no one cared for me.\nI went over to their table. I was introduced to her step-\nfather and to an elderly, well-dressed, man that was with*\nthem. They called him Captain Smith. Captain Smith\nhad an impressive gray moustache. He seemed to be a\ntrusted friend of the family, and I noticed that he paid\nfor the drinks.\n\"Alma and I soon forgot our surroundings. We were\nso happy to be together again. That was three years ago.\nI got my diploma, and she was the first to congratulate\nme. We went to dances, skated and took long walks,\njust as when we were children. Life began to look\npromising. I got on very well with my profession. I\neven began to figure out how soon I Could set up house-\nkeeping with Alma. You two. used to laugh when, after\na hard day's work, I used to substitute for this and that\nphysician instead of going out for a ramble or a good time.\nWell, on every such occasion I was able to carry Alma\na five-dollar bill to add to our joint savings account.\nYou see each one of these little deposits brought our\nwedding just so much nearer.\n\"About six months ago, Alma told me that an aunt of\nhers who lives up-state was going on a trip to Europe and\nwanted her to take charge of her houst* during her\nabsence. The aunt offered a substantial reward, and,\nafter some discussion for and against the plan, we de-\ncided that Alma had better take advantage of the offer.\nThe day for the aunt's return was set for next Thursday.\nWe decided on a month later for our wedding day. I've\nbeen paying rent for a month to hold down a certain\nlittle flat in Harlem.\"\nJohnny took out another cigarette and lighted it. Both\nfriends slapped him on the shoulder.\n\"Huh!\" Tom grunted, his enthusiasm collapsing sud-\ndenly. \"But we got to scare up somebody to take your\nplace in the joint here. Shucks. ... I thought you'd\nplay the damphul and throw yourself on the neck of\nsome woman! An' I told you women are just good for\nmothers and nothing else, and they're only good for that\nwhen they ain't the mothers of your own children.\" And\nTom leaned against the railing highly gratified because\nhe had stuck to his principles in the wave of temptation.\nAnd because he felt that he had been rather brilliant and\nshocking.\nThe other one looked toward the bay window, with a\nstupid expression on his face and with eyes filled with\nlonging. The lights in the bay window showed dim and\nlow through the white iinen shades.\n\"But I'm not through with my story,\" Johnny went\non. \"This afternoon I met Hopkins. I hadn't seen\nHopkins since he left our place here to go to a prosperous\nlittle town up the river. He's specializing on gynecology,\nhe says, and I guess it's a pretty good berth he's got.\nHopkins seemed glad to see me, said he hadn't time to\ncome up here, had to get back to-night, and just as he\ntore away he called to me: 'By the way, Johnny—do you\nremember Alma? Alma, whose stepfather was a tailor\nand that you punched my face for in High School?\nWell, Alma gave birth to a child up at our place yester-\nday. It's a boy, and a strong, healthy one—you ought\nto see him! A gay old gentleman—gray mustache and\nswell dude—visited her all the time, and the kid looks\njust like him.' \"\nJohnny's hearers sat with thunder-struck faces. Neither\nknew what to say. A cloud covered the moon, but neither\nTom nor the other one had the courage to look up at\nJohnny, whose voice was steady and quiet. Finally Tom's\nfat hand was put out slowly with a gesture of sympathy.\nAnd he wanted to know.\n\"It's silly,\" Johnny went on, his tones so even and cool\nthat the plump hand fell with a slap on the tightly\ntrousered knee, \"for Hopkins to make such a statement.\"\n\"No baby ever looked exactly like a full-grown man. But\nit seems that just this point that Hopkins insisted on is a\nyoung mother and a proud father whose family likeness\nthe baby shows plainly. It's getting cold. Let's go to\nbed.\"\nTom picked up his pillow. Johnny disappeared with\nhis foot-stool into the room. The third one was the last\nto leave the balcony. The street was deserted. All the\nwindows were dark and the moon was left to finish her\njourney alone.\n\nGuido Bruno"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c035", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c035", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "790", "page_fin": "790", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.26", "titre_corps": "Reverie", "titre_sommaire": "Reverie", "signature_source": "Stephen J. O'Hara", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 18, "page_imprimee": "790", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.18", "debut_caractere": 4612, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4997, "texte": "Reverie\nStephen J. O'Hara\nI.\nWhen day breaks clear in April's amber skies,\nAnd strange, soft lights creep into maidens' eyes,—\nThen spring is here.\nII.\nWhen dusk lies warm thro' blossom-breathing hours,\nAnd Night invites us to her mystic bowers,—\nWhy spring is here.\nIII.\nWhen youth and spring meet.—Well, what can I do\nBut think and dream—and dream—perhaps of you!\nFor spring is here."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c036", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c036", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[774]", "page_fin": "[774]", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.27", "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": 2, "page_imprimee": "[774]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.2", "debut_caractere": 226, "fin_caractere_exclue": 278, "texte": "OSCAR WILDE\nHIS LIFE AND CONFESSIONS\nBy FRANK HARRIS"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c037", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c037", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[774]", "page_fin": "[774]", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.28", "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": 2, "page_imprimee": "[774]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.2", "debut_caractere": 280, "fin_caractere_exclue": 572, "texte": "Frank, Harris (Publisher)\n3 Washington Square, Neu) York City.\nSir:—Enclosed please find $— —— > for which send to the\nundersignedL_ copies of the autographed edition ($20.00 per set) of Oscar\nWilde, by Frank Harris, and copies of the regular limited edition at\n$10.00 per set.\nName —\nAddress"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c038", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c038", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[774]", "page_fin": "[774]", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.29", "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": 2, "page_imprimee": "[774]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.2", "debut_caractere": 574, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1268, "texte": "CHARLES KEELER\nIN RECITALS OF HIS OWN POEMS\nTHE VICTORY—Songs of Triumph. Price, one dollar.\nELFIN SONGS OF SUNLAND. Third Edition. G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York & London. Price $1.50-\nSONGS OF A WANDERER. In manuscript.\nTHE MIRROR OF MANHATTAN. In manuscript.\nDANCE RYTHMS. In manuscript.\nMr. Keeler recites selections from all the above and his varied and unique programs are full of\ninterest and inspiration both in the text and delivery.\nIn New York and vicinity until June. Now booking dates for California Tour in June, July\nand August.\nFor terms and particulars and for copies of his books, address\nLAURENCE J. GOMME\nThe Little Bookshop Around the Corner\n2 EAST 29th STREET NEW YORK CITY"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c039", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c039", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "790", "page_fin": "790", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.30", "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": "790", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.18", "debut_caractere": 4999, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5123, "texte": "Edith Haynes Thompson\nHER SHOP\nContaining Many Quaint and Beautiful Things\n58 WASHINGTON SQUARE SOUTH\nHours: 1 to 5.30 P. M."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c040", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c040", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "790", "page_fin": "790", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.31", "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": "790", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.18", "debut_caractere": 5125, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5183, "texte": "Joseph McCarthy\nPAINTINGS AND\nANTIQUES\n30 WEST 46th STREET"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c041", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c041", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[791]", "page_fin": "[791]", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.32", "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": "[791]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.19", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 308, "texte": "HOTEL BREVOORT\nFifth Avenue\nCAFE LAFAYETTE\nUniversity Place\nRAYMOND ORTEIG, INC.\nThe Two French Hotels and Restaurants of New York\nGONFARONE'S\n40 West Bth Street\nTABLE D'HOTE\nit]\n'Eating places are literary landmarks\" said O. Henry, speaking of Gonfarone's in one of his\nunexcelled Greenwich Village Stories."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c042", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c042", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[791]", "page_fin": "[791]", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.33", "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": "[791]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.19", "debut_caractere": 310, "fin_caractere_exclue": 414, "texte": "Greenwich Village Inn\n(Polly's)\nBetween Washington Sq. & 6th Ave.\nService a la Carte\nOutdoor Dining Room"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c043", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c043", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[791]", "page_fin": "[791]", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.34", "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": "[791]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.19", "debut_caractere": 416, "fin_caractere_exclue": 621, "texte": "From the making of a lamp to the creation of a\nperiod room there is a right and a wrong\nway. The problems of your own house may he\nanswered by consulting\nANTON HELLMAN\n80 West Washington Square\nSpring 6340"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c044", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c044", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[791]", "page_fin": "[791]", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.35", "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": "[791]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.19", "debut_caractere": 623, "fin_caractere_exclue": 752, "texte": "Sport Hats, Artist Smock Sets, Masque Costumes\nFor town and country\nPAINT BOX\n150 W. 4th St., nr. 6th Ave., N. Y.\nPhone Spring 23"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c045", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c045", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[791]", "page_fin": "[791]", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.36", "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": "[791]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.19", "debut_caractere": 754, "fin_caractere_exclue": 935, "texte": "Artistic Cushions\nIncluding wool embroidery. Unique and original\ndesigns in patchwork. Cushions made to order.\nCall or write Sessers Studio Co., 82 Washington\nPL, N. Y. Spring 1076."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c046", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c046", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[791]", "page_fin": "[791]", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.37", "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": "[791]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.19", "debut_caractere": 937, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1153, "texte": "WANTED you to know that at 60 Washington\nSquare South is located\nTHE VILLAGE STORE\nWhere one may see on display many odd pieces\nof Brasses, Pottery, Furniture and Souvenirs.\nHours 10.30 till 6p. m. Saturdays 10 p. m."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c047", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c047", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[791]", "page_fin": "[791]", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.38", "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": "[791]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.19", "debut_caractere": 1155, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1236, "texte": "T. D. Cox\nStationery and News Shop\nCirculating Library\n68 Washington Place, N. Y."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c048", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c048", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[791]", "page_fin": "[791]", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.39", "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": "[791]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.19", "debut_caractere": 1238, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1398, "texte": "JUDSON TAILOR SHOP\n51 Washington Sq.\nAll kinds of tailoring work neatly done. Dry\ncleaning of Ladies' Suits, Gowns, Wraps, etc.,\na specialty.\n'Phone 5360 Spring"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c049", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c049", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[791]", "page_fin": "[791]", "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.40", "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": "[791]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.19", "debut_caractere": 1400, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1528, "texte": "'Phone Spring 3922\nTHE DUTCH OVEN\n135 MacDougal Street\nnear Washington Sq.\nOpen Air Dining Room\nHome Cooking\nLuncheon Tea\nDinner"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c050", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c050", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[792]", "page_fin": "[792]", "image_debut": 20, "image_fin": 20, "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.41", "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": 20, "page_imprimee": "[792]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.20", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 355, "texte": "RARE BOOKS FIRST EDITIONS\nExtra illustrated Books. Early Printed Books. Association Books. Books for Christmas Gifts.\nPurchased singly or in sets for people who have neither time nor opportunity to select for themselves,\nor for those who have not access to the best hook marts. Why not begin collecting now?\nAddress, E. V. Boston Transcript, Boston, Mass."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c051", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c051", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[792]", "page_fin": "[792]", "image_debut": 20, "image_fin": 20, "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.42", "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": 20, "page_imprimee": "[792]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.20", "debut_caractere": 357, "fin_caractere_exclue": 503, "texte": "For Houses, Apartments or Rooms, See\nPEPE & BRO.\nREAL ESTATE AND INSURANCE\n40 So. Washington Square\nTelephone 4119 Spring Cor. of MacDougal Street"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c052", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c052", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[792]", "page_fin": "[792]", "image_debut": 20, "image_fin": 20, "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.43", "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": 20, "page_imprimee": "[792]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.20", "debut_caractere": 505, "fin_caractere_exclue": 705, "texte": "Being a book\nIN WHICH\nwe say just what we think.' Published every month by Norman-Bel Geddes at 756 Second Avenue\nin Detroit, Michigan. It is a little book uniquely illustrated. Write for sample copy."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c053", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c053", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[792]", "page_fin": "[792]", "image_debut": 20, "image_fin": 20, "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.44", "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": 20, "page_imprimee": "[792]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.20", "debut_caractere": 707, "fin_caractere_exclue": 900, "texte": "Single volumes, small lots, and libraries; autograph letters of known literary men and\nartists, drawings, pictures and engravings. Address\n\"COLLECTOR,\" Care of Bruno's Weekly, 58 Washington Sq."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c054", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c054", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[792]", "page_fin": "[792]", "image_debut": 20, "image_fin": 20, "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.45", "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": 20, "page_imprimee": "[792]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.20", "debut_caractere": 902, "fin_caractere_exclue": 981, "texte": "ROSSI BROTHERS\n58 Washington Square\nUnderneath the Garret\nICE CREAM AND TOBACCO"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c055", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c055", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[792]", "page_fin": "[792]", "image_debut": 20, "image_fin": 20, "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.46", "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": 20, "page_imprimee": "[792]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.20", "debut_caractere": 983, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1134, "texte": "Furnished Studio Apartment WANTED for\nthree months, Washington Sq. preferred.\nWrite to S. M. CLARKE\ncare of Bruno's Weekly, 58 Washington\nSq., N. Y. C."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-06-17-01-c056", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01#c056", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-06-17_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[792]", "page_fin": "[792]", "image_debut": 20, "image_fin": 20, "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=bmtnaaq19160617-01.2.47", "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": 20, "page_imprimee": "[792]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.20", "debut_caractere": 1136, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1538, "texte": "I\nI\nThere can be no pleasanter place to hear that remarkable\nEdison Record Number (82536) than\n& „\nTHE DIAMOND DISC SHOP\nat Number 10 Fifth Avenue\nIn this store, at least, the delightful atmosphere of Old Greenwich Village has not been sacrificed\non the altar of commercialism\nPhone: Stuyvesant 4570\nA postal will bring you, with our compliments,\nan interesting little biography of Mr. Thos. A.\n'Edison"}]}], "pages_ocr_originales": [{"page_pdf": 1, "page_imprimee": "couv. 1", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.1", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\nEDITED BY GUIDO BRUNO IN HIS GARRET ON\nI WASHINGTON SQUARE\n,-K. . *\nFive Cents June 17th, 1916\nw. * G,\n\nHeinrich Kley\n\n\"HE CONTENTS INCLUDE\nHoratio Herbert Kitchener: The Man\nOscar Wilde—By Frank Harris\nThomas P. Flynn: Poet and Subway Guard\nThe Odor of Murder"}, {"page_pdf": 2, "page_imprimee": "[774]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.2", "texte": "Copyright by Guido Bruno, June 17th, 1916. Original matter,\nincluding all drawings, may not bo reproduced without permission\nof Guido Bruno; but that permission may be assumed if credit\nit given to author and Bruno's Weekly.\n\nOSCAR WILDE\nHIS LIFE AND CONFESSIONS\nBy FRANK HARRIS\n\nFrank, Harris (Publisher)\n3 Washington Square, Neu) York City.\nSir:—Enclosed please find $— —— > for which send to the\nundersignedL_ copies of the autographed edition ($20.00 per set) of Oscar\nWilde, by Frank Harris, and copies of the regular limited edition at\n$10.00 per set.\nName —\nAddress\n\nCHARLES KEELER\nIN RECITALS OF HIS OWN POEMS\nTHE VICTORY—Songs of Triumph. Price, one dollar.\nELFIN SONGS OF SUNLAND. Third Edition. G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York & London. Price $1.50-\nSONGS OF A WANDERER. In manuscript.\nTHE MIRROR OF MANHATTAN. In manuscript.\nDANCE RYTHMS. In manuscript.\nMr. Keeler recites selections from all the above and his varied and unique programs are full of\ninterest and inspiration both in the text and delivery.\nIn New York and vicinity until June. Now booking dates for California Tour in June, July\nand August.\nFor terms and particulars and for copies of his books, address\nLAURENCE J. GOMME\nThe Little Bookshop Around the Corner\n2 EAST 29th STREET NEW YORK CITY"}, {"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "[775]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.3", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\nEdited by Guido Bruno in His Garret on Washington Square\nNo. 1\nJUNE 17th, MCMXVI\nVol. 11l\nCopyright 1916 by Guido Bruno\n\nOscar Wilde\nAlfred Douglas.\nI dreamed of you last night, I saw your face\nAll radiant and unshadowed of distress,\nAnd as of old, in measured tunefulness,\nI heard your golden voice and marked you trace\nUnder the common thing the hidden grace,\nAnd conjure wonder out of emptiness,\nTill mean things put on Beauty like a dress,\nAnd all the world was an enchanted place.\nAnd so I knew that it was well with you,\nAnd that unprisoned, gloriously free,\nAcross the dark you stretched me out your hand.\nAnd all the spite of this besotted crew,\n(Scrabbling on pillars of Eternity)\nHow small it seems/ Love made me understand.\nDecember 10, 1900.\nRom Frank Harris' \"Oscar Wilde: His Life and\n■onfessions\"\n\nHoratio Herbert Kitchener:\nThe Man\nijl/ERY often one speaks of an Englishman saying:\n(jf \"He is a typical one.\" In most cases, however,\nis not so. But Kitchener surely was the prototype of\nI Anglo-Saxon, and as many of such born in Ireland\nif they did not see the light of the world by accident\n) Scotland.) In his case, the origin of the family is\nEnglish and his birth in Ireland was incidental,\nhe typical Englishman—to speak in the terms of a well-\n|own comic paper—-has most of the distinctive marks\nj a poker; with the exception of its being occasionally\narm. Kitchener comported himself very erectly. He\nks Jiute, iron-hearted and a useful instrument, only he\niiJver warmed up. He was born sixty-six years ago in\nCounty Kerry, where his father lay in garrison as a\nlieutenant-colonel of a regiment of Dragoons. It was at\nthe time that the parents of England, still very proud\nof the victories of the Napoleonic .times, endowed their\nchildren with heroic names much as a burden for their\nfuture lives. Kitchener had been christened Horatio\nHerbert; and just as Nelson, (whose family, similar to\nthat of Kitchener or of Cardinal Wolsey, or of Gainsboro\nor of Tennyson or of Walpole or of Fallstaff, orginated\nfrom East Anglia) became a hero; the little Horatio\nfound himself morally obligated to be a hero. His father\nbeing a superior officer, the son most naturally was sent\nto the military academy at Woolwich. The school was\nnot after his liking and so he repaired in the summer of\n1870 to France, without permission, in order to view\nthe war at close quarters and to help the French a little;\nbit. At the age of twenty-one he was detailed to the\nEngineer Corps, and an engineer in the double meaning\nof the word he remained until the last day of his life.\nIn Palestine and in Cyprus he worked as a topographer\nand while the other officers were having a good time he\nstudied the Arabic language. He desired to be trans-\nferred as captain to the Egyptian cavalry, but the examina-\ntion officer didn't like the riding of the over-slim and\nelegant officer and he was almost refused (and England\nwouldn't have been in possession of South Africa to-day.)\nIn 1889 he was a member of the Nile expedition and\na few years later adjutant-general of the army of\nthe Khedive which he undertook to reorganize.\n\"The Egyptian soldier is the best in the world,\" said\nColonel Kitchener, \"if he only doesn't run away.\" This\nhumoristic statement, perhaps the only one he ever made,\nhe corrected later on, for under his drill and under his\niron discipline, the Egyptian in reality became a very\ngood soldier and well-tried during the campaigns in the\nSoudan. As lieutenant-colonel, Kitchener had been ap-\npointed to the post of governor of Suakim, and during the\nengagement with the troops of the Khalipha, he received\nhis first wound—a sword cut in the chin. His real feat\nlay in Cairo, where he put into effect reforms in the\nEgyptian war department much admired by Lord Cromer\nand that became the basis for his impurturbable confidence\nin the ability of the young English officer. \"Do as you\nplease,\" wrote Cromer once to Kitchener, during the\nSoudan war. \"I shall call everything you may do, quite\nright, support it and stand for the consequences with my\nown prestige.\"\nIn the Soudan, he began to suppress the dangerous ac-\ntivities of the Mahdi, to whom the idealistic and mystic\nGordon had been sacrificed. The Austrian, Slatim Pasha,\nhad just published his horror-filled stories \"Fire and\nSword in the Soudan\" and Cromer thought the time\nopportune for military action.\nThe Liberal Cabinet in London had been overthrown\nand Lord Salisbury had walked into Westminster as\nPrime Minister. And after Menelik had proved victor-\nious over the Italians on March Ist, 1896, a plausible\n. excuse arose for the commencement of hostilities. Shortly\nbefore all this had happened, Lord Cromer had to pass\nupon two projects, both dispersing monies of the Egyptian\nState Treasuries. Kitchener asked for money in order\nto go ahead with his military preparations, which would\nfinally lead to the defeat of the Khalipha. Sir William\nGarstin wanted to start a civilization work the building\nof a big reservoir for the Nile. The commission which\nhad to pass upon both projects, decided in favor of the\nwork of peace. Kitchener had been defeated. But Lord\nSalisbury intervened shortly after he had learned the real\nsituation, in favor of Kitchener. From Downing Street"}, {"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "776", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.4", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY"}, {"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "777", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.5", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\ncame new instructions and Kitchener was granted his war.\nSir Herbert who was above all and always an engineer,\na business man, a commission officer and a war machine,\nfigured out very closely how many troops, how much\nmoney and how much material he would need. And then\nhe started out. He transported his little army at first on\na primitive railroad and then he shipped them like an\nassembly of tourists in steamers belonging to Cook and\nSon, to Assuan and from there to Akasha. Four thousand\ncamels with provender and munitions and five thousand\nworking men accompanied him. Of course, he built at\nthe same time a railroad. And soon afterwards it was\npossible to travel along the same route in as many hours\nas formerly it had taken days.\nThe military successes were in no way extraordinary.\nThe talent of a military leader was not required to an-\nnihilate the heroic but insufficiently equipped Dervish and\nto free the way to Dongola. So far he had overcome the\ntransportation difficulties but now came t]ie last march.\nHe advanced towards the main fortress of the Khalipha-\nKhartoum. The desert revolted against the mastery of\nthe White Man. The yellow sand glowed under the\ntropical sun and burned the foot that trod it; hot, choking\nwinds blew over the endless plains and threw down the\nstrongest man. Pest and flood overtook him like malignant\nenemies and their victims were innumerable. The desert\nseemed impenetrable. Kitchener enquired of experts, mil-\nitary men and natives. Everybody agreed that it was\nimpossible to build a railroad. And so Kitchener decided\nto build a railroad. He selected engineers and brought\nover working men—thousands and thousands of them,\nwho spoke seven different languages. They were un-\ntrained and they had to be taught how to handle their\ntools. Every drop of water had to be carried, every\npound of biscuit had to be obtained in Cairo; flour he\nbrought from Russia; machines he ordered from England\nand locomotives from America. And that was how he\nbuilt a railroad.\nIt was his main piece of work there because the battle\nof Omdurman, terrible as it was from the standpoint of\na military leader, was child's play. Notwithstanding a\nsure death the Dervishes in their white burnouses made\nan attack and were shot down by the new machine guns—\nthousands, even tens of thousands at once. Horses,\nsoldiers, women, children, everything near the battlefield\nperished miserably. The Khalipha fled through one gate\nof the city while Kitchener entered by the other with his\nstaff, as the conquerer of the Desert.\nThe Sirdar, motionless like a sphinx, ordered a solemn\nservice upon the same spot where thirteen years previously\nGordon had been killed by fanatics. Cannons were\n-dering over the Nile while the priests murmured\n| and while the governor gave three cheers for her\ny. The union jack was fluttering at the palace of\nlalipha, overshadowing in its folds the modest little\n| the Khedive. And then Kitchener did something\nI fiould symbolize the absolute destruction of Mah-\n.! | He ordered the tomb of the Mahdi, whose dome\npreviously been very badly damaged by shells, to be\ni and destroyed. He had the remains removed\ntheir former resting place and he had the sacred dead\nbody decapitated. The cranium passed from hand to\nhand and the imprisoned Dervishes had to witness this\nscene.\nThe Soudan war was at an end. From this hour,\ndated the supremacy of England over Egypt all over the\nNile districts. One had participated in this campaign;\none was a witness of the terrible masse murders; of the\nhorrible ceremony and had everything descriptively re-\nlated—a young officer and newspaper man—Winston\nChurchill. If Kitchener is known to a better informed\nworld as a gruesome, brutal general, without regard, it\nis the work of Churchill. The English press naturally\nstarted immediately upon its usual repatching work, cir-\nculating stories of the mild treatment by the\nprisoners of war and of the tender consideration for the\nwounded no matter whether friend or enemy—.\nChurchill, with the fearlessness of his race, threw himself\nupon the liars and accused Kitchener and his soldiers.\nHe threw accusations into their faces which were the\nsuperlatives of everything that an enemy of the country\ncould have said. The Sirdar remained motionless. He\ndidn't defend himself, and as usual, he said not one word.\nHis business was war and he conducted it carefully, ex-\npressing his own personality. His supreme maxim was\nalways: \"In such dangerous affairs as wars, mistakes\ncaused by good-nature are the most terrible ones.\"\nShortly after the battle of Omdurman, he restrained\nthe French Major Marchand who had made his way\nfrom the Soudan to Fashoda at the White Nile, from\ngoing farther ahead. The meeting of these two leaders,\nin this case the representatives of their nations and govern-\nments, remains a historical curiosity. The men faced\neach other as deadly enemies. Marchand hoisted the\nTricolor but Kitchener very quietly said that the British\nFlag only could be hoisted in that particular neighbour-\nhood. War or peace between two big nations was at stake.\nBoth men were hard. Kitchener proved the harder one.\nThe Tricolor went down; the ominous diplomatic con-\nference was ended with a whiskey and soda, just as every-\nthing is ended by a typical Englishman.\nKitchener went to London and received the honors of\na demi-god. In those days the Jingo press'started its wild\nDervish dance. In those days the English press lost its\nsense of proportion.\nWellington, the Iron Duke, surely did not receive such\nacclamation after his Waterloo, as Kitchener, the iron\ncommander, received after his Omdurman and Fashoda.\nParliament gave him its thanks and an honorary gift of\n$150,000. He took the gift, went back to Egypt and re-\nmained there until the outbreak of the South African war;\nuntil things in the Transvaal had started to go wrong.\nKitchener foretold the course of events; he knew the reac-\ntionary methods and the ways of the War Office and he\nknew his compatriots who conducted their wars indecisively\nunder the auspices of disagreeing political parties, and es-\nspecially with insufficient equipment and men. He knew\nthat under such circumstances Sir Redvers Buller would\nnever do, and he knew that from an English standpoint the\nTransvaal War really would start when Lord Salisbury\nhad sent little Lord Roberts as Field Marshal and himself\nas Chief of Staff. A quick reorganization of the army for"}, {"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "778", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.6", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nthe attack on Bloemfontein—Pretoria, has to be put to\nhis credit. Of course, he had successes against Cronje;\nbut his real merits remained as ever, his work as an en-\ngineer; his organizing powers of transportation iacilities\nand his cunning methods of undermining all the strength\nof his enemies. From Julius Caesar he borrowed starva-\ntion as the most efficient- weapon of war and as Lord\nRoberts, an old man, who couldn't stand seeing bloodshed,\nreturned to England, the continuation of a comparatively\neasy warfare without glory, was left to Kitchener. Here\nhe invented his block-house system, enclosing with barbed\nwire a territory as big as the State of Texas, taking up\nthe idea of concentration camps, which found in those days\nsharp criticism all over the world. Kitchener became\nlieutenant-general with the title of a Viscount and re-\nceived a gift of $250,000. Subsequently he became Com-\nmander-in-Chief of India, Field Marshal and member of\nthe Committee of Defense. In India he assured the posi-\ntion of England towards Russia. His activities, which\nextended over seven years, gave him ample opportunity\nto employ his talents as an organizer. He disbanded the\nold military organizations and substituted them by a\nwarlike structure of divisions; here he played manoeuvres\non the European plan (impossible in England at the little\nmanoeuvre fields of Aldershot, Salisbury Plain and The\nCurragh), and last, but not least, he arranged his regi-\nments by castes and races, so that he could play one regi-\nment against the other in case of mutiny. In 1910 came\nthe dramatic conflict with the Viceroy, Lord Curzon, who\ndidn't like the autocratic supremacy of Kitchener. Two\nof the strongest wills had clashed. The decision was made\npolitically in London. The Secretary of War, Brodrick,\ncould not possibly do without his field-marshal and Curzon\nresigned, deeply mortified. But Kitchener of Khartoum,\nK. of K., as he had been called by his soldiers, remained\nonly a few years longer in India. The next cabinet was\nLiberal and John Morley, the new Secretary for India,\ndeclined to surrender the civil power to the Army. Kitch-\nener sent in his resignation.\nIt seemed that there was nothing to do in the British\nEmpire for a personality such as Kitchener. The laughter\nof all England was aroused when he was offered the\ndirectorship of the London and Chatham Dover Railway\nCo. But finally in 1911 he was made British Agent and\nFirst Consul in Egypt. Here he was given the power\nof a Viceroy. At the time England took part in the\nEuropean war, Kitchener was made secretary of the\nColonies, and he who knows the methods of his colonial\nwars will find very easily his directing power in the whole\nEnglish strategy of the present war.\nKitchener had a well-formed face with a high forehead,\nhis hair parted, enormous eyebrows overshadowed his eyes\nwhich were as clear as water and passionless. Under his\nstraight and strong nose was a big moustache. His cheeks\nwere always very red, dried by twenty-five years of desert'\nsun. He never laughed and only spoke if he had to. He\nwas a lonely domineering man of gnashing sharpness,\nphonetically indicated in his name; without wife, without\nrelatives, without a friend. When in England he used to\nlive in quiet Canterbury amidst his blue porcelain. His\nsoldiers did not love him; they feared his hardness. He\nnever answered their salute. He noticed them only as\nlong as they could march and fight. It is very significant\nthat in all his military organizations, sanitary conditions\nwere always very poor. But wherever he appeared, cor-\nruption, women and extravagance came to an end.\nHis art of war was simple bookkeeping; his prepara-\ntions were the calculations of a merchant. He was saving\nlike a city man, honest but without feeling, without any\nhumanity, above all morals, like a calculating machine.\nKitchener seems to have been less a general than a\nmanager of his wars.\n\nThomas P. Flynn: Poet and Subway\nGuard\nLIE is big and strong. He has hands which are a liv-\nA A ing testimony to the work he must have done. His\neyes seem to look far away. Perhaps they see that fairy\nland of which he dreams and where too he is transported\nupon the speedy sailing boats of his imagination. He loves\nflowers and birds, God's Nature, whose messengers they\nare. He longs for forests and for mountains. His lungs\nare thirsty for the pure air of Nature. The greatest poets\nand philosophers left him their rich legacies; Shakespeare,\nGoethe, Byron, Keats, Shelley, Poe, Whitman and Wilde\nare his daily companions. He sees, he thinks and feels\nwhat they have left to us. He hasn't read them as any\none might who had been taught to arrange the letters of\nalphabet into words and sentences. He feels as they must\nhave felt. Kant and Hegel, Schopenhauer and Spinoza\ngave him their philosophy. True it is that he has been the\nrear-guard on a subway train for the last four years. But\nhe never attempted to write or to express the rhythm of\nhis life or the beauty of his thoughts or to communicate\nthem to others. Because he is just a working man. His\naccepted theory is to work for a living. To dream in or-\nder to live is his enjoyment in life. He was a gardener in\nIreland and as he spoke of his flowers and of his gardens\none could see that even the memory of this made him hap-\npier. And then he had come to America. He was not\nfortunate enough to find a position that would have\nenabled him to live with Nature. He had worked here\nand there, and finally employment on the subway had\nproven permanent.\nThomas P. Flynn came up to the Garret last week. He\nwas very shy and very nervous as he produced a few sheets\nof paper and confessed that he had jotted down books and\nbooks full of reminiscences and memories, of happy days\nspent near Nature. While he was opening and shutting\nthe doors of subway trains, packing crowds into his wa-\ngons and unloading them at their points of destination,\nhad written them. Now he has been dischargedfour\nyears of faithful service. \"I always carried !an(j |\nwhile waiting for trains or off duty I was in tfy. 0f\nwriting in my little note book. And they thoug!ls a (\nsocialist agitator and they discharged me withqnp./\nany reason\"—accounted for his being in broad d;fnJ\nstead of calling out names of stations on a sub. Oj-\nsomewhere under the Hudson. * Mbp\nThomas P. Flynn has no desire whatever to <M;f\nhe has no literary aspirations. He is exceptic* fH ]\nread and his reading was supplemented by life. V"}, {"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "779", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.7", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nHe consented to have the following poems printed on\nthese pages. He might lack the polish of a drawing room\npoet and he may not have the originality (sic!) of the vers\nlibre manufacturer, but he surely has the soul of a poet.\n\nThree Poems by Thomas P. Flynn\nSunrise\nTHE lark is hymning in the sky >,;\nThe blackbird in the hazel nigh sv\nThe robin from the aged thorn\nWith joyous note salutes the morn.\nAnd in the lofty pines above\nCoos to its mate the gentle dove\nFar through the viewless depths of air -\nThe cuckoo's call again I hear.\nSweeter than all the singing birds\nSweeter than either notes or words\nIn my soul are echoes ringing\nOf mystic songs and mystic singing.\nThe highest harmony of thought\nThat can't be written, rhymed or wrought\nThe soul's springtides majestic swell 112\nThat few can feel and none can tell. ,\nSunset on the Palisades\nHTHE lazy boats are drifting down the river\nThe mist hangs dreamy in the jaded air\nAnd drowsy indolence is everywhere\nSave where the wave dimpling sunbeams quiver*\nA path of gold from shore to shore they form\nThey tremble, boil and flash, ripple dance and wheel\nAnd to the banks on glittering wavelets reel\nThat break with laughter soft and warm. *\nThe palisades rise frowning dark and bold\nContrasting in their grandeur with the sky\nThe sun is robed in his majestic gold\nWith golden clouds his vassals waiting by\nMethinks such scenes to mortal men were*given\nThat after sunset they might dream of heaven.\nMyself\n17 OR me the thorn blossoms white\n* The stars parade the heavens at night\nThe rose comes forth in all its bloom\nFor me the violet sheds perfume.\nMy mind with boundless freedom strays\nAmong ten thousand milky ways\nMortal am I of earthly leaven\nYet still I hold the keys of heaven.\nI live in palaces grand and rare\nWe build no cabins who build in the air\nWith Shakespeare's spirit a home I find\nAnd together we ride on the wings of the wind.\nI frown with Byron, I smile with Moore\nWith Elizabeth Browning I weep for the poor\nYet hungry I've walked your pitiless streets\nAnd lived on dreams like glorious Keats.\nIn beauty's paths forever a roamer\nI sigh with Dante. I sing with Homer.\nI pity the rich man's wealth and strife\nFor it robs his soul of its truest life.\nAnd though I'm a footsore and ragged tramp\nMy pathway is lit with Aladdin's lamp\nI've wealth that no rich man can steal or give\nI live, by God, I live, I live!\n\nFairy Tales\nCat's Paw.\nThe Cricket and the Ants\nHTHE cricket chirped in the summer continuously. In\n* the winter she was a well-trained singer and the\nrich ants paid her every evening $700. For this she\nchirped for them two little romances.\nThe Sad Zebra\nTHE wife of the Zebra was seated under a tree and\nreading a fashion journal. Suddenly she laid aside\nher newspaper and cried bitterly.\n\"What is the matter?\" asked the husband.\n\"I am ruined, lam done for, for my whole life! Just\nread!\" The husband reached for the paper and read:\n\"Striped materials are fashionable only if the stripes are\nlaid horizontally and not perpendicularly.\"\n\nA Bill Itemized\nAN old church in Belgium decided to repair its prop-\nerty, and employed an artist to touch up an old\npainting. Upon presenting his bill of expense, the Church\nProperty Committee, being a very conscientious one, re-\nfused to O. K. the bill for payment, until the said artist\npresented an itemized statement, whereupon the artist pre-\nsented the following bill, viz.:\nTo correcting the Ten Commandments ..: • $5.13\nEmbellishing Pontius Pilate and putting new rib-\nbons on his hat . 3.02\nPutting a new tail on the rooster of St. Peter and\nmending his comb 2.20\nReplumbing and gilding left wing of the Guardian\nAngel 5.12\nWashing the servant of the High Priest and putting\ncarmine on his cheeks 5.02\nRenewing Heaven, adjusting the stars and cleaning\nthe moon 7.14\nTouching up Purgatory and restoring lost souls,\nbrightening up the <cFlames of Hell\" putting a\nnew tail on the Devil, mending his left hoof and\ndoing several odd jobs for the damned. 7.17\nReborderlng the robes of Herod and adjusting his\nwig 4.00\nTaking the Spots off the Son of Tobias 1.30\nPutting new stone in David's sling, enlarging the\nhead of Goliath and extending Saul's legs 6.13\nPutting earrings in Sarah's ears . . . 1.71\nDecorating Noah's ark and putting a head on Shem. 4.31\nMending the shirt of the Prodigal Son and cleaning\nhis ear 3.39\nTotal $58.70"}, {"page_pdf": 8, "page_imprimee": "780", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.8", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nFrank Harris' Oscar Wilde Book\n\nTHE cloak of mystery wrapt around the personality\n**■ and the memory of Man has a double meaning.\nMore merciless than outright condemnation, it will de-\nstroy values in the heart of man, it will drive into the\ndeepest hell a soul, without a fair trial. It will cover the\nlife work of a worker with obscurity and it will rob the\nworld of the achievements and of the beauty of a man's\nlife. Mystery is worse than slander if created purposely\nto suppress something and at the same time avoiding the\ndanger of being detected.\nSixteen years passed since Oscar Wilde's death and\nnothing was left undone by his adversaries (why they were\nsuch no one knows) to annihilate his works, to standard-\nize his name as something one mustn't speak openly about.\nAnd these small creatures who did not abhor from assail-\ning a man in his grave met with some success. Oscar\nWilde was placed upon the proscription list; his works\nwere prohibited in public libraries, the young generations\nwere impressed in schools.with his obscenity, so far indeed\nthat even a professor of a university in New York told me\nsome time ago in the presence of a large audience that\nOscar Wilde's writings can be kept in American homes\nonly in expurgated editions. It was a proof that this uni-\nversity professor had never read Oscar Wilde, that he had\nbeen once prevented by similar talk from making his ac-\nquaintance, and that he would prevent hundreds and thou-\nsands of his pupils from the joy of knowing the greatest\nfigure in English letters of the last decade of the past cen-\ntury.\nMany of his friends, who had been peculiarly linked\nwith the life of the unfortunate poet, have written biog-\nraphies and books about Oscar Wilde. But what did these\nbooks contain? Apologies, accusations, slander in higher\nor less degree, stories setting forth their own insignificant\nlittle ego, in short, they contributed their share to a still\ngreater confusion.\nIn his book, \"Oscar Wilde, His Life and Confessions,\"\nFrank Harris seems to have spoken the first and the last\nword in the supreme tragedy of a man. He wrote the life\nand Oscar Wilde himself makes the confessions. The two\nvolumes of this book are perhaps the greatest romance\nwritten in our time. They contain all the wisdom and\ncritical supremacy a big man has gathered from the expe-\nriences of a lifetime. He has realized that love is the ruler\nand ultimate judge of this Universe, and love; that im-\npartial, real love which does not know merciful cloaks for\ndeeds of its own or those of others, is written upon every\npage. Frank Harris tells us enough about the life of\nWilde's parents to show us the environment of the boy.\nHe guides him through his boyhood years relating here and\nthere an incident, unimportant in itself, but significant as\na chief characteristic of the man of later years. We see\nWilde among his friends, we see him as college boy, we\nfollow him to London and witness his debut in society.\n\nOscar Wilde in 1910\n\nContemporary caricature of Oscar Wilde"}, {"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "781", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.9", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nLife is nothing but a long chain of episodes. Frank\nHarris has chosen with the hand of a master the episodes\nfrom Wilde's life. And as we turn the pages Wilde seems\nto he near us; we almost feel his personality, we almost\nhear his voice. And while we are with him face to face,\nand he tells us in his own language, with his own simple\nfrankness, what Harris calls \"Wilde's Confessions,\" we\nwould be inhuman if we did not extend our hand to him\nand love him so much more for all he has said to us.\nFrank Harris does not praise and he does not condemn.\nHe tells us the story of Wilde's life. He permits *us our-\nselves to draw the /conclusions and to help us to know\nWilde. He doesn't hesitate to speai: about his own ex-\nperiences with Wilde with a truthfulness which is almost\n| astonishing if one considers that Frank Harris was the\npublisher of important English papers, has written sixteen\nbooks, and shows himself completely indifferent as to what\nhis readers may think of him.\nEmotion is something that we of this generation think\nsentimental and unbecoming to a man. Those times be-\nlonged to our grandfathers when people went to see a\ntragedy and shed tears without feeling ashamed. But\nthere are things in life which will drive tears into the eyes\nof the strongest man, which will expand his chest and\nmake every nerve of his system vibrate with a strange ele-\nvating exaltation. The last chapter in Harris' book, the\none in which the friends of the deceased Wilde are taking\ncare of his remains, the death-bed scene, will move you to\ntears. You will see how much love there is in this world.\nYou will realize what man means toman as fellow travel-\nler on the hard road of life, with its ultimate Golgotha\nand its goal somewhere far, far away - - - perhaps\nthis goal is the heart of man, your heart or mine.\nFrank Harris speaks to your heart in this biggest of all\nthe books he has written. He has erected for Oscar Wilde\nan eternal arch of triumph. Beautiful in its architecture,\ncolossal in its structure and under it you can pass to the\ndead poet's living legacy: his \"Reading Goal,\" the great-\nest English epic of all time and to\"De Profundis,\" one of\nthe wonderful documents of love.\n\nAubrey Beardsleys Frontispiece to John Davidson s Plays,\nthe Portrait of Oscar Wilde crowned with vine leaves and\ngrapes. The other portrait is that of Sir Augustus Harris.\n\nAubrey Beardsley who illustrated Oscar Wilde's most\nimportant works as \"Salome\" and \"The Harlot's house.\"\n—Self Portrait.\n\nGuido Bruno"}, {"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "782", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.10", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nIn Our Village\n| F you are really one of those easily impressed and you\n* have the eaergy to follow your first impulse after\nreading a newspaper article and to investigate for yourself\ncome down to Greenwich Village in the evening. 1 hen\nit is that village of which you read, the background to so\nmany big things, the essential in so many big lives,—-t e\none part of the city where%you can forget city and six\nmillion co-inhabitants of yours: there is the Arch with its\narchitecture, the monumental gateway to the Square,\nbetween the shadow-giving branches of trees and bushes,\nhouses big and small, with large windows and just stingy\nopenings to let in the light. Lights here and there. High\nupon the tower of a hotel an electric-lighted cross and still\nhigher above, a few stars, and if you are lucky and the\nnight is clear, the moon. And then you cross over to the\nother side of the Square and there are the small narrow\nstreets. The Square is deserted and only a few passengers\nwaiting for the next bus make up the small group beneath\nthe arc light. But the streets are peopled with men and\nwomen who stand around the Italian grocery shops and\npastry bakeries; they worked all day and kept silent and\nnow they live their real own life. There are cafes as\nyou can see them on the rivas in small Italian coast cities\nwhere you really eat pastry and drink coffee and play\ndominoes. And then turn in one of those streets and un-\nexpectedly, like the background of a miniature play-house,\na little chapel looms up before you. The doors are open,\ncandles before the altars are testimony that the saints are\nnot forgotten. Women are sitting on the stairs selling\nrosaries, little statuettes and paper flowers j and men\nwomen and children are passing in and passing out. And\nthen follow the thundering elevated and turn again to\nthe Square. As many windows as you see lighted in these\nmansions of yore—used now as rooming and lodging-\nhouses—as many homes do they contain.\nCan you help thinking it \\ if I were a poet or an artist,\nI surely would live here and nowhere else?\nBut, dear reader, because of your living here you would\nnot be a poet or an artist.\nI DIDN'T believe my eyes last Friday, but truly and\nhonestly it was a horse car—one of those rickety\nNew York horse cars, with chimney sticking out, puffing\naway white clouds like a peanut roasting machine or the\nstove of the chestnut seller on the corner of Thompson\nstreet. The horses had bells, the driver a whip and a\nderby hat with his number stuck on the front. Slowly but\nmerrily it moved up Fourth street and passed the Square.\nI was standing there at the window of my garret, the\nsame window where Lafayette during his last visit to\nNew York in 1824, witnessed the execution of a score\nof highwaymen on what was then Potters Field, at the\nsame window from which a lady an hour ago had called\nto her footman to bring her machine around to the en-\ntrance. I saw the horse car passing and nobody seemed\nto pay any attention to it, and soon the electric street car\npassed over the same rails, and automobiles hoot-hooted,\nand the big electric arc light in front of the windows\nflashed up while the city with its gigantic structures back\nof the arc grew darker and darker.\nIt was night. The dark trees right in front of the\nwindows. Here and there a .gas lamp, yellow and flicker-\ning through the darkness of bushes and benches and people\nof the Square. Farther and farther seemed the world with\nits noise and with the modern devices of our day's life.\nI lighted a candle and sat in front of the grate. Winds\nrattled on my windows and swept through the chimney,\nthe broken and dilapidated chimney. The wood-work\ncreaked, the wind pressed its way through the cracks and\nknot-holes. The tin on the roof rumbled and the light of\nthe candle was dancing in merriment, swaying rhythmi-\ncally like a young girl with her hands at her hips listening\nto grandmother's sweet melodies.\nI was sitting in my old chair and thinking of the charms\nyou all are deprived of—you who are living in steam-\nheated, electric-lighted elevator apartments you who are\nliving in houses with killed souls. Your telephone wires\npierce their hearts, your steam pipes put them on the\nbed of Procrustes and your tapestry muzzles them.\nAnd on black nights you can hear the wind moaning\noutside in vain asking admission. He can't deliver his\nmessages from neighboring souls. It is on those nights\nthat you turn restlessly in your bed, listening to strange\nnoises, that you switch on your light and reopen the book\nyou laid away in the evening .... and you don't\nknow that the house had a soul and that souls come back.\nBut that horse car travels at least once a week through\nGreenwich Village: to keep up the company s franchise.\n\nLaugh Clown !\nB. Ville.\nOUR eyes had met; our hearts had felt a peculiar pain\nand she, too, said that she loved me. She came to\nme and we talked and we were happy. We didn t speak\nabout the past, we didn't think of the future. We were\njust happy as children are who listen to the birds in the\ntrees and have no desire to catch them; who watch the\nmarvelous masterpieces formed by passing clouds without\nthe afterthought \"only smoke.\" We laughed and looked\nat each other and we were happy because we knew we\nwere strong, healthy and good-looking.\nShe came in the twilight of the day and in the glorious\nsunshine of the winter frost. She stole away from her\nworld and came to mine which was so different, but we\nboth had a world of our own. It was as real as youthful\nenthusiasm, as practical as a dream of love. Here she\nwas different from the girl, whom her world knew her to\nbe and I was quite different from what I was before. She\nsaid she would love me for ever and ever and ever. She\nwould love me until death.\nAnd then one day she did not come. She always had\ncome unexpectedly and now she stayed away unexpectedly.\nShe ceased to come to our world.\nShe is living her own life and I am living mine.\nKismet.\nIt should not have been."}, {"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "783", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.11", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nThe Merry Dead Man\nBy Feodor Sologub\nTranslated by Guido Bruno.\nA POOR soul once came into the other world and\nmade itself conspicuous by being unusually happy\nand demonstrated a singular gaiety. The other dead were\nannoyed by this improper behavior and found the continu-\nously smiling face out of place. They asked the gay dead\nto account for this strange conduct and said:\n\"Aren't you a bit ashamed to appear here so gaily while\nyou should lie very quietly thinking of your sins awaiting\nthe last Judgment?\" But he answered: \"I wouldn't think\nof doing such a thing. What could it be that I should\nfear?\"\nThe other dead people explained to him:\n\"Don't you know that the last judgment will bring\nto light all your earthly sins and they will be examined\nvery closely. Then they will send you to the deepest\nabyss of Hell. There burns an eternal fire. In boiling hot\npitch and in flaming sulphur you will have to roast while\nthe Devil rejoices in your tortures and torments.\"\nThe newly-arrived dead soul laughed at them. \"And\nis that all? Such prospects don't terrify me. I come from\nRussia.\"\n\nReplated Platitudes\nJulius Doerner\nOne touch of graft makes the world of politics akin.\nThe day of \"the sentiment\" has passed and in its place\nwe have the day of \"the cent I meant.\"\nFolly clothed in smart words is like the fool dressed\nin royal robes, deceiving only the heedless and the unwary.\nThe most beautiful face that lacks it lacks its most\nbeautiful feature if it carry not a cheerful smile.\nThe beauty of being a beauty is: your chief duty is to\nstay a beauty; and the beauty of a beauty's duty is: it's\nthe envy of all whose only beauty is: their care of duty.\nOur neighbor is he whom we know to need a neighbor,\nand that, be he far or near.\nGood manners are the expression of a good heart under\nthe mastery of a good head.\nWork to-day that you may not need to worry\nto-morrow.\n\nAltruism\nAfter the German of Arthur Schubart by Guido Bruno.\nE7ARLY yesterday morning I was sitting in the Park,\nright in front of two long flower beds filled with\nsome beautiful, fragrant blue flowers whose names I did\nnot know. Between the beds was a narrow pathway\nacross which lay a dried-up branch that must have fallen\nfrom an old chestnut tree nearby.\n\"What devastation it would have caused among the\nbeauty of those flowers if it had only fallen a wee bit\nmore to the rf£ht or to the left,\" I thought, while a very\nyoung girl was passing. Carefully she lifted her white\nskirts and tripped coquettishly around the branch just as if\nit had been a poisonous snake.\nShortly afterwards came an old gentleman who stopped\nin front of the obstacle, viewed it meditatively, tapped it\nwith his walking stick and finally stepped over it\ncogitatively.\nNow came two very well-dressed ladies with arms linked\ntogether. They seemed for a moment to hesitate, but soon\none went to the right and the other to the left and passed\nover the narrow strip that was left on both sides between\nthe lawn of the bed and the branch.\nIn the course of a quarter of an hour many men and\nwomen passed and it was quite amusing to observe how\neach according to his character, to his age and to his\nclothes either avoided the branch or stepped over it.\nSuddenly the old man who was sitting next to me on the\nbench, said contemptuously: \"Lazy, egotistical cattle! Not\none thought to clear the way for those to come after\nthem. And it would have been so easy to do it.\"\nHe hadn't quite finished, when an old, poor woman\ncame along. She too saw the branch. She looked around\nand then she pushed it against the lawn.\n\"Well, there are still some altruists left\" I said tri-\numphantly.\nThe old woman stooped down, broke the branch into\ntwo, covered the pieces up with her apron and carried\nthem away.\n\nB. G.\n'\"THE wild rose scatters her fragrance,\n* With prodigal joy, on the air.\nHer sweetness, so evanescent,\nIs a lure, a promise, a dare.\nThey pluck the wild rose and crush it,\nThey distill its delicate bloom,\nHoping to borrow its fragrance,\nAnd all they achieve is—perfume.\n\nLines in Defense of Vers Libre\nJames Waldo Fawcett.\nDUILD me no songs with paltry rule;\nBring me no verse of narrow school!\nMy heart demands the free!\nLet no wild dream of mine be chained\nUnto a prison unexplained!\nCaged birds are ever sad.\nWhen my boy's heart with love o'erflows\nOr pure excess of beauty knows\nI would not pause to plan.\nSing as you will! Oh heart of mine!\nThe freedom you command is thine!\nBe free, then, and be glad!\n\nAs on every evening little Willie was kneeling and say-\ning his prayers. He finished as he had been taught: \"Dear\nGod, take care of my father and of my mother and of\nbrother John and of grandfather . . . \"and please\ndo remember this time to take care of them so that I don't\nneed to ask you every day.\""}, {"page_pdf": 12, "page_imprimee": "784", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.12", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nTwo Things by James Waldo Fawcett\nUncut Leaves\n| gave her that wonderful copy of my own little book\nof verses,—all gathered and written for her. She\nsailed away into the sunset that same sad day, saying:\n\"I shall be lonely for your love, dear heart.\" In far\nJapan, when a year was flown, I came to her. She was\naway, they said. The dear, fragrant room was empty\nsave for the memory of her glorious presence and the\nlonging toward her return. I paced the floor, waiting.\nThen, suddenly, I saw in a corner, my little book,—my\ntiny tribute to my splendid passion, I caught it up, in\nenvy that while I had languished on a foreign shore, it,\na mere printed thing of black and white and gold, had\nknown her eyes, her slim, cool fingers, perhaps her lips.\nI turned the leaves eagerly. And then Isaw—and felt—\nthat the pages were still uncut!\nKismet\n'\"THEY stood by a garden wall, and he said: \"I love\nyou!\" She turned away, with tears in her eyes,\npained that she must hurt him. \"No,\" she said.\nHe pled for her heart and hand all of the whole long\nspring morning. At the end she turned away again, and\nleft him. As she walked across the lawn he called:\n\"Very well, then. I shall enlist and be killed!\"\nThere was no reply.\nWhen the lads came back from Flanders, she said to\nher husband, \"Tell me about Charles. Did he die a brave\nman r\nHer husband, who was a noble soul if such ever lived,\ndid not respond.\nHe knew, though, that poor Charles had been shot a\ndeserter.\n\nBooks and Magazines of the Week\nPoetry—A Magazine of Verse\nA Booker Washington Trilogy by Vachel Lindsay is\nthe feature of the June number. This delicate roast of\nthe Illinois poet is surrounded by tasty and fancifully pre-\npared vegetables from the garden of Rosalind Mason,\nLouis Untermeyer, H. Thompson Rich, Mary Eleanor\nRoberts and Charlotte Becker. This number also brings\nthe prize announcement of the one-act play contest. Har-\nriet Monroe says in the announcement that among the six\nplays singled out of one hundred which seem to the judges\nmost worthy of consideration there was only one found\ncomplying with the conditions of the contest, a straight\ntreatment of the modern American theme, \"The Lynch-\ning.\" It is written by Miriam Allen de Ford and should\nreceive honorable mention.\nThe Log\nThis organ of the Circumnavigators' Club devotes part\nof its pages to the memory of Richard Harding Davis, a\ncharter member of this club of adventurers and wayfarers.\nMany interesting letters from members in the trenches of\nthe various belligerent nations give it the aspect of a cos-\nmopolitan review of adventures one can meet nowadays\nin all parts of the world.\nThe Miscellany\nIn this second number of the quarterly since it passed\ninto the hands of its new editor in Cleveland, La Touche\nHancock writes on newspaper verse and who could do it\nbetter than La Touche, the old pilgrim of newspaperdom\nin America. Who knows as much about the would-be\npoets who drift in an editor's office as even Don Marquis\nhimself, the moving hand behind the Sun Dial. The title\ncover is an Ex Libris bearing the portrait of Shakespeare\nand designed and copyrighted to commemorate the Shakes-\npeare Tercentenary.\nThe Wild Hawk\nThe May issue of this \"periodical of beauty and free-\ndom\" contains the personal opinions of its editor, Hervey\nWhite, of the various schools of poetry.\nAs I read many of the Imagiste poems, and various\nother exquisite efforts of our modern youthful schools, I\noften think back to a story that was told me by the wife of\na friend\nIt evolved that their second baby was a girl, and they\nhad been longing for a son. But the days of dread and\nagony were over, and the father stood beside the joyous\nbed. .. .\n\"1 am so sorry, John \" she faltered plaintively, \"that it\nis not a boy. \"Oh, never mind,\" he hurried in brusque\nkindness, \"so long as it is something\"\nThe Poetry Review\nOne distinction has this new poetry journal edited by\nWilliam Stanley Braithwaite, compiler of magazine and\nother verse before all the other poetry magazines that\nhave sprung up during the last few months like mush-\nrooms after a continuously drizzling rain. It prints on its\npages life-stories of poets whose lives are too short to have\na story. The amicable Amy Lowell occupies in the cur-\nrent issue as in many others during the last months, its\nconspicuous middle part with two imagist poems. The in-\nterviewer of bad poetry in America's foremost review of\nthe book trade rejoices \"in the memory of three poets.\"\nThe venerable editor falls all over himself, bowing\nthankful acknowledgments to his brother and sister poets\nfor the loud applause his review received upon its appear-\nance in the circle of \"The Mutual Admiration Society of\nAmerican Poets.\" Here are two paragraphs from his edi-\ntorial page of No. 2 \"fine fibred the largeness of the wel-\ncome from our contemporaries in the field of poetry.\" \"We\nowe a debt of gratitude which can be repaid only by an\nunswerving devotion to the best in American poetry.\"\n\nWill She Really Come?\nA ND so the divine Sarah is coming again to the\nUnited States. Of course, she is welcome and we j\nwill be glad to have among us that senile lady who en-\nthused our grandfathers, who was the revered attraction,\nthe supremest offering of the world's theatrical managers\nat the time our fathers were in their best years, and to\nwhose performances we were taken for the last twenty\nyears \"so that we could say once that we had witnessed\nthe great Sarah in one of her parts.\"\nAnd now she is an old woman. It is a small step from\nthe sublime to the ridiculous. It led her to the vaudeville\nstage. ,■ 'I"}, {"page_pdf": 13, "page_imprimee": "785", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.13", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nWhy, oh why was she too lured by money—just paltry,\ngreedy dollars, to tear down the majesty of her art?\nIt was in 1913, in Chicago, in the dressing-room of the\nPalace Theatre, that I had it from her own lips that that\nwas her farewell tour, that she had come to bid good-bye\nto the people of America. I smiled then, and I suggested\nthat only my own absence from the States or from the\nhappy valleys of this life would prevent me from seeing\nher again in America in the near future.\nPoliticians and artists should know when to retire and\nto retire for good. One encore might be appreciated, but\nif the artist is eager to follow it with a second encore,\nhe will wait in vain for an outburst of applause in the\nauditorium.\nTwenty years ago! Any city in France or Germany\nor Switzerland or any other European country. The\npeople announced that Sarah Bernhardt would appear\nfor one or two evenings in this or that of her famous\nparts. Her placards appeared on the boards. It was\nthe event of the city. Students saved their pennies, sales-\ngirls and modistes went without luncheon to be able to\npurchase a ticket of admission to the performance of the\nyear. It wasn't like going to a show, it wasn't like at-\ntending a performance, it wasn't like buying tickets: it\nwas a privilege to be present during the consecration of\ngenius on the altar of art.\nWhen the evening came and the first and second ranks\nwere filled with quiet, humbly-expectant men and women\nnot to be amused had they come, but to be near genius.\nThe streets surrounding the showhouse were filled with\nendless lines of those who had not given up hope of getting\na ticket of admission for standing room.\nDollars lured her to America. She became a puppet\nin the hands of her managers. She is exhibiting physical\nruins, and the genius of her art is left behind weeping\nwith despair. Nineteen minutes of an American vaude-\nville program are hers, after the exponents of drawing-\nroom dances and preceding some acrobatic act, the poor\nold woman tries to amuse the American vaudeville public\nwith her diamonds, her gorgeous wardrobe, using as bait\nher big name and recollection of her vanished art of yore..\nAnd now she comes as a cripple, adding one precious,\nfeature—from her circus manager's point of view. France,\nwho is taking such excellent care of her invalids, should\nnever have permitted that her greatest actress should go-\nout to work again, feeble physically and mentally, a pitiful\nmemento of the limitations of humankind. Why doesn't\nthe French government allege its responsibility for her\ndebts as debts of honor of a grateful nation to its greatest\nartist? Why doesn't France take care of her in her de-\nclining years ?\n\nWhen You're Lying III in Bed\nL. M. Thornton.\nA shake, shake, shake, and a bang, bang, bang,\nDown in the rooms below.\nA ding, ding, ding, and a clang, clang, clang\nOut where the wagons go.\nA tramp, tramp, tramp, and a thump, thump, thump,,\nFrom the tread of restless feet.\nAnd a roll, roll, roll, and a bump, bump, bump,\nSurging in from the street.\nOh how they ring in your aching head\nOn days when you're lying ill in bed.\nA tock, tock, tock, and a tick, tick, tick\nFrom your watch on the mantle tall.\nA dear, dear, dear, and a sick, sick, sick,\nAs your pulses rise and fall.\nA snap, snap, snap, and a squeak, squeak, squeak,.\nFrom the board of your bed-room floor,\nA swish, swish, swish, and a creak, creak, creak\nFrom the wood bine over the door.\nOh how they harass your heart with dread,\nOn days when you're lying ill in bed.\nBut the din, din, din, and the voices loud,\nOh sweetest of sounds were they;\nAnd the stir, stir, stir of the passing crowd,\nAt the hour of dawn when you wakeful lie\nAnd the silence smites your Soul,\n'Til your pulses beat, like the racer's feet\nAs he flies toward the winner's goal.\nFor then is the lonely hour you dread.\nOn morns when you're lying ill in bed."}, {"page_pdf": 14, "page_imprimee": "786", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.14", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nTo a Cabaret Dancer\nDjuna Barnes\nTT HOUSAND lights had smitten her\nA Into this thing;\nLife had taken her and given her\nOne place to sing.\nShe came with laughter wide and calm;\nAnd splendid grace;\nAnd looked between the lights and wine\nFor one fine face.\nAnd found life only passion wide\n'Twixt mouth and wine.\nShe ceased to search, and growing wise\nBecame less fine.\nYet some wondrous thing within the mess\nWas held in check:—\nWas missing as she groped and clung\nAbout his neck.\nOne master chord we couldn't sound\nFor lost the keys,\nYet she hinted of it as she sang\nBetween our knees.\nWe watched her come,with subtle fire\nAnd learned feet,\nStumbling among the lustful drunk\nYet somehow sweet.\nWe saw the crimson leave her cheeks\nFlame in her eyes;\nFor when a woman lives in awful haste\nA woman dies.\nThe jests that lit our hours by night\nAnd made them gay,\nSoiled a sweet and ignorant soul\nAnd fouled its play.\nBarriers and heart both broken—dust\nBeneath her feet.\nYou've passed her forty times and sneered\nOut in the street.\nA thousand jibes had driven her\nTo this at last;\nTill the ruined crimson of her lips\nGrew vague and vast.\nUntil her songless soul admits\nTime comes to kill:\nYou pay her price and wonder why\nYou need her still.\n\nA Pantomime\n\nWhile I pipe on the mouth organ I feel it—the divine\nspark climbing up my legs like ivy.\n\nThe tragedy of the fly, as felt by one who has to kill it.\nHesitation, rhythm, melody of life, joy of existence—\nand the inevitable end: crushed to the wall."}, {"page_pdf": 15, "page_imprimee": "787", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.15", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nDon't bother me with earthly worries, O Solomon—\nI don't care.\n\nThe Odor of Murder\n\na bright summer day Bruges-la-Morte with its\navenue of poplars and narrow waterways, is an\nidyllic town. But on rainy nights, as it was my misfor-\ntune to encounter when I was last in Bruges years ago, it\nis sad and silent and well deserves its surname. It is not\ndismal like Liverpool or Des Moines, its silence is weird\nand oppressive. It was late, and I was looking for a place\nto sleep. I found an old inn, and although there was no\nsign of life, I managed after repeated knockings to gain\nadmission. The innkeeper looked at the key rack and\nwith a shrug of the shoulders, intimating to the waiter\nthat \"72\" was the only empty room, he threw him the key.\nWith a candle the yawning waiter led me to a room on\nthe second floor and wished me good night.\nThe room was sultry. I took off my coat and went to\nthe window. It looked straight down on a canal. On its\nrain-blurred surface there were but vague reflections of\nroofs and old houses. On the bank opposite was a row of\ntrees and a few benches. In the distance I saw a couple\nof huddled forms, lovers or vagabonds, and right before\nthem on the water a few swans in motionless attitudes. It\nwas still drizzling, and I could faintly discern a medieval\ntower almost lost in the mist.\nThe room was furnished in the ordinary frugal way, as\nsecond-class hotels in France and Belgium are furnished—\na bed, a bureau, a night table, a chair, and an arm chair.\nI blew out the candle, lit a cigar, and sat down near the\nwindow.\nAs soon as I had entered the room I had noticed a pecu-\nliar odor, some odor that I have never smelt before, which\nwas the more strange as I was something of an expert in\nthat line. I had just written a treatise \"On the Volatile\nPropensities of Odors,\" and had all my life been subject\nto very acute olfactory faculties. Frequently I had cursed\nmy sensitiveness, as I was able to perceive odors that were\nunnoticeable to others. To smell what various families in\na large apartment house have for dinner is no enviable\nprivilege.\nIt was a dull irritating odor. There was not a breath\nof air in the room. I looked about, and sniffed in various\ndirections. The odor seemed to pervade the entire room.\nI sniffed at every object, the woodwork, the linen, the\ntable cover, the wall paper, they had only their own vague\npeculiar smell. Could it be the smell of the people who\nhad lived there before? Why should it be so intense and\npersistent ? As it was late and the only vacant room there\nwas no use in trying to change my domicile. The best\nthing was to go to bed.\nSo I undressed and tried to sleep. What strange things\nmight have happened in this room! On every surface the\nactions of life are completely photographed; if someone\nhad the necessary chemicals and could sensitize the images\nand call them to life, one might see on the walls, as in a\nmoving picture show, all that had ever happened in a\nroom. What jvould this room reveal to me, this old wall\npaper on which vague shadows flickered! With such\nhaunting images in my mind, half asleep, the peculiar odor\nstill in my nostrils, it suddenly seemed to me as if I saw\ntwo vague figures, a man and a woman, struggling in the\nroom. The man dragged a white form to the window,\nshe resisted, he gripped her more fiercely, they swayed for-\nward and backward and then I heard a splash, as if some\nheavy body had fallen into the water of the canal below.\nI jumped up; I trembled. Was it a nightmare or was it\nreality ? I hastened to the window. Everything was quiet.\nThe rain had ceased. The huddled forms on the benches\nhad disappeared.\nI realized that the odor had something to do with this\nexperience. The mystery was too deep. I relit my cigar\nand sat down once more at the window and thus fell into\na doze. This way I was found by a waiter. He looked\nat me with a quizzical mien. I ordered breakfast. And\nwhen he had brought it I asked him about the room. He\nanswered that he was only a short time at the hotel, and\nthat nobody had ever occupied it since he was there. He\nhad noticed, however, that the innkeeper would never let\nanyone have the room if another was vacant. My curios-\nity was aroused, but when I came down stairs the proprie-\ntor was absent, and my inability to converse in French hin-\ndered me from making further inquiries. I had come to\nBruges merely as a tourist, and after looking up a statue\nof the Holy Virgin credited to Michael Angelo, in some\nchurch, I left the town the same day, as the bells were\nringing from the belfries over the plains to the gray Hol-\nland seas.\nMany years later, when the incident had almost passed\nfrom my mind, I spent an evening at the home of a Ger-\nman riding master in Dungan Hills. It was a birthday\nparty, we had imbibed more or less deeply, and it was late\nwhen I and the last guest departed. My companion was\na tall middle-aged man all dressed in gray, rather re-\nstrained in manner with dreamy eyes and delicate white\nhands. The time for the last train had passed. So we"}, {"page_pdf": 16, "page_imprimee": "788", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.16", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nwalked together to find the trolley track, following closely\nthe directions our host had given us. Somehow we lost\nour way. No wonder. It was such a peculiar night.\nEverything was steeped in mist; it flowed past us and down\nthe road like milk, drowned the fields, whitened the tree\ntrunks, and crept on our bodies. There was not a person\nin sight. We soon lost our way completely. Suddenly I\nthought of the night in the little Belgian town and at the\nsame moment the stranger asked me, \"Have you ever been\nin Bruges?\" I was startled, but simply nodded. \"This\nmist makes me think of the wfyite veils worn by the Bel-\ngian nuns,\" he said in his nonchalent way. \"I was once in\nlove with a Belgian nun. She was always veiled. And\nfor months I knew neither the color of her eyes nor hair.\nI met her and secretly took walks with her, there was\nnever anyone in sight and the streets were empty. It was\na certain strange odor that enveloped her person which\nfascinated me, and at the same time incited me to a pitch\nof frenzy. It haunted me—l could not get rid of it. Fin-\nally I persuaded her to elope with me. She was of good\nfamily. It was an awful scandal. I had money and we\ntraveled, in foreign countries. But the mystery was gone.\nI now knew the color of her hair and eyes, the secrets of\nher body and thoughts. The charms had faded, only the\nodor, vague and tangible, remained. It tortured me and\nI tormented her. It drove me to madness, and one day—\"\nAt that moment I perceived again the odor, the odor\nthat had haunted me in the little room at Bruges. I shout-\ned, \"You—you killed your wife!\"\nHe looked at me with flaming eyes for an instant; then\nraised his hat and nonchalently walked away. I was so\nabsorbed that I stood as rooted in the ground, murmur-\ning: \"It was that, then, the odor of murder.\"\nWhen I looked up he was gone! I could hardly recog-\nnize his figure, far away on the road, all wrapt in white\nmist, only the end of his lighted cigar shone forth. That\nred spot also disappeared. I was alone with the odor of\nmurder.\n\nSadakichi Hartmann.\n\nAlma: The Story of a First Love\n\n•\"THE moon has come up\" he murmured dreamily,\n\"the clouds that covered the curious little stars\nhave sailed away.\" With a sigh he made himself com-\nfortable on a balcony of the tiny flat he and his friends\noccupied on the top floor of the big apartment building.\nThe street below him lay quiet in the peace of a late\nsummer evening. The men and women hurrying to and\nfro looked like children's toys. He twisted his body\nand looked at a bay window on the sixth floor of a neigh-\nboring apartment house. The shades were dfawn and\nthe windows were brilliantly lighted. He kept his eyes\non that window. After a while the shutters that kept\nthe light from the living room of the balcony, were torn\nopen.\nFat Tom had come.\nFat Tom in his modish gray suit and the pillow in his\nhand. Tom always refused to lie or even to sit on the\nstone balcony.\n\"Nice evening,\" he remarked after he had disposed of\nhis legs so as to preserve the crease of his trousers. \"But\nwhy hasn't Johnny shown up? I bet he won't show up!\nHe knows it's his night to furnish the Arabian enter-\ntainment. But it's like him,\" Tom grumbled on in a\nsoothing tone, \"to propose a new thing, let us amuse him\nby the sweat of our brow and the strain of our brains and\nthen come up missing when he is expected to do for us\nwhat we have done for him.\"\nHis companion squirmed nearer to the rail so that he\ncould be comfortable while keeping his eyes on the win-\ndow of the sixth story in the apartment house.\n\"Maybe she'll go over to the drug store to buy headache\npowder or a stamp or a glass of sarsaparilla,\" he said,\nignoring Tom's musings. \"It was after ten o'clock when\nshe went yesterday. She had a pale blue linen dress on\nand a white collar. .\n\"Shucks! There's that black beast on the roof again,\"\nand Tom pointed to a big black cat on the coping, arching\nits back against the deepening blue of the sky. \"But I\nthink he'll favor that little gray kitten of the red-tiled\nhouse. He really must be sick and tired of the mushy\nlittle white affair he bothered with yesterday and the\nnight before last.\"\nTap, tap, tap.\n\"That's Johnny!\" exclaimed both.\n\"You'll have to open the shutter,\" remarked Tom.\n\"He won't soil his hands even if he had stayed in the\nstuffy room all evening. But you just listen to the ex-\ncuse he is going to give for disappointing us.\"\nThe shutter was opened. A little footstool was thrust\nover the sill. Two legs were carefully placed on the floor\nof the balcony and the tall, lean body of Johnny appeared\nin sections. He wore no collar. His shirt was turned in\nat the neck. His sleeves were rolled up. His hair was\nparted on the wrong side. A smile was on his face. The\nsmile might have been sad. It was undoubtedly thought-\nful.\nTom shook out a folded, perfumed handkerchief and\nput it to his nose.\nThe other member of the trio remarked :\n\"You really do not bring with you the odor of a\nhospital. You smell like a lysol factory.\"\nJohnny selected very carefully a cigarette from the red\nbox he had taken from his pocket, rolled it between his\npalms, lighted it and blew the bluish-white smoke in\nTom's face.\nBut Tom was stoically quiet. He fanned the biting\ncloud away from his nose and remarked, looking at the\nmoon.\n\"As I have had occasion to remark before, a man that\nsmokes cigraettes and that has smoked them constantly\nfor years, is necessarily irresponsible. But we are waiting\nto hear your excuse.\"\nJohnny seemed to think very hard.\n\"I shall not disappoint you to-day,\" he said, tossing the\ncigarette over the balcony rail. \"You shall hear the story\nof my first sweetheart. It will be more interesting,\nTommy, than your story of the little girl for whom you\nbought the biggest red valentine you ever saw and over\nwhom you poured your mother's toilet water for which\nyou received two whalings, one from each mother. And\nmuch more fascinating and romantic than your story,\"\n<nid he nodded to the man with his cheek pressed against"}, {"page_pdf": 17, "page_imprimee": "789", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.17", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nthe balcony rail, staring at the brilliantly lighted windows,\n\"than your silly drug store affair. I claim it to be\nchiefly interesting,\" he continued, after a moment's pause\nwhile an ironical smile played about his muutn, because\nit is the story of my last love.\"\nThe man with his cheek pressed against the balcony\nrail, raised his head. Both of the men regarded Johnny\nwith curious interest. They saw the ironical smile soften\nand give place to the mild one that might be sad that\nthey first noticed when the last section of him was pro-\njected through the window. Tom dropped the idea of\nmaking some brilliant, satirical remark.\n\"Thirty years ago, MacDougal Street was not wThat\nis is to-day,\" Johnny began with a dreamy expression dn\nhis face. \"And at that time Washington Square was able\nto shed some of its magnificence into the neighboring\nstreets. Rich merchants, ministers and people that had\ndone something with this life, enjoyed the fruits of their\nlabor in the gray and brown stone houses and sat peace-\nfully during the long, warm evenings under the two\ntrees in their well-kept back yards.\n\"My earliest memory goes back to one of these houses.\nMy mother was the housekeeper of a pedantic old\nwidower who patted my hair and brought regularly, once\nthe week, candy home to me, but who at the same time\nwas much put out if I went into his rooms or showed the\nleast interest in the contents of his leather-bound books.\n\"I think I was five years old when he called me into\nhis study one day. The four arms of the gas lights were\nlighted and on the table directly under them reposed—\nnot a bag of candy as I expected—but a solid-appearing\nsquarish parcel. He unwrapped it. It was a boy's blue\nserge suit, and he held it high in his hands.\n\" 'Now you're a big boy, Johnny,' he said in a very\nkind voice, 'and soon you'll go to school and learn to read\nand write and how to grow up t® be a man. And I\nthink this will help you to know just how a little man\nshould feel.' He handed me the garments. They were\na little jacket with a belt and a pair of knickerbockers.\nMy mother, who had entered the room while the old\ngentleman was making his speech, showed more emotion\nthan I could understand at the time. She took me in her\niarms and kissed me, sobbing:\n\" 'Johnny, you're going into trousers—think of it—my\nlittle boy. .\n\"I naturally wanted to put them on immediately. At\nthe recommendation of the old gentleman my mother con-\nsented, at the same time making an effort to compose her\nfeelings. When I had buttoned the last button of the\njacket, she said:\n\" 'Now that you are a real little boy, you may play\noutside with the other children for half an hour. But be\nsure to keep clean and do not cross the street.'\n\"As proud as a peacock, I went out into the street.\nBut there were no children. Only a little girl stood at\nthe entrance of a house opposite. I remembered distinctly\n[that I had been frobidden to cross the street, but I walked\n[straight over to her. I passed the little girl two or three\nlimes. I felt her looking at me. And., then I started to\nfcilk to her. I wish that I could recall .what I said, but\n1 cannot. I only know that we became good friends on\n■ie spot. That we went to the same school for several\n■ears and that she wore her hair in long braids down\nher back, and that she regularly forgot to bring her lunch.\nThis made me very happy because she always accepted\nhalf of my bread-and-butter with something good that my\nmother always spread on top. I took it as a personal\naffront when any of the boys jerked her braids. And for\na bloody-nose or a bump over the eye, she always gave\nme a kiss.\n\"That went on for years, and the old man with whom\nwe were living, died. My mother saved a little money—\nenough under her management to take care of us until I\ncould provide for her and myself. We moved into a\nlittle flat in Harlem after I had passed the grammar\ngrades and was ready for High School.\n\"I often thought of Alma, but had given up all hope of\never seeing her again. I was a boy past fifteen when I\nnoticed in the school yard a little girl with two long\nblond braids wound like a crown around a familiar little\nhead. She must have noticed me the same instant. It\nwas Alma. We recognized each other and renewed our\nfriendship on the spot. Her father was dead, she told me,\nand her mother had married a tailor whose shop was\ndirectly under the flat where my mother and I were\nliving.\n\"And now a happy time began. In the morning she\nwould' wait for me or I would wait for her, and we\nwould go to school together. We skated together in\nwinter and played tennis together in summer. My mother\nwas quite fond of her, and she came and went as if she\nwere already a member of our little family.\n\"Shortly before I went to college, I visited the summer\nhome of a classmate—a rich Jew—as his tutor. I had\nhad one of those insignificant quarrels with Alma just\nbefore I left. I was just as wrong as she and she just\nas right as I. But we were both too proud to take the\nfirst step toward reconciliation. I wrote dozens of letters\nto her which I tore up. Not one was sent. When I\ncame home six weeks later, happy because I was going\nto buy her a present with the first money I ever earned,\nshe had moved away. Her stepfather had sold his business\nand no one knew where they had gone.\n\"I left college and decided to become a physician. My\nmother had died. In her last hour she was happy because\nshe could leave me enough to prepare me for my pro-\nfession. One evening during the last examinations, when\nI had had a harder day than usual, I took a walk before\nretiring. I lived near the university and at the corner\nof my street there was an old-fashioned beer garden back\nof the house where Fate and German sentiment had pre-\nserved some fine old trees. The tables had colored cloths\nand under the light of flickering lanterns, I saw that\ndecent quiet people were sitting around the tables, talking\nand sipping beer.\n\"The place had always interested me for some reason\nor other. I stopped and looked through the palings\nwhere the hedge was thinnest. Just one table was un-\noccupied. I thought a glass of beer would make me all\nthe readier for sleep. Before I had seated myself, I knew\nwhy the place had attracted me.\n\"At the table next to mine Alma was sitting. It was\nunmistakably Alma. She had grown to be a very pretty\nyoung woman with brown hair and rosy cheeks. She wore\na little hat and a gown of some soft material. After a\nwhile she looked toward my table and dropped her eyes."}, {"page_pdf": 18, "page_imprimee": "790", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.18", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\nBruno's Weekly, published weekly byCharles Edison, and edited and written by Guido Bruno, both at 58 Wash-\nington Square, New York City. Subscription $2 a year. • .\nEntered as second class matter at the Post Office of New York, N. Y., October 14th, 1915, under the Act\nof March 3d. 1897.\n\nShe had lost color, her cheeks mottled. I knew she\nrecognized me. She spoke to her mother, and in a moment\nthey were making me feel that I had just dreamed that\nI was lonely and homeless and that no one cared for me.\nI went over to their table. I was introduced to her step-\nfather and to an elderly, well-dressed, man that was with*\nthem. They called him Captain Smith. Captain Smith\nhad an impressive gray moustache. He seemed to be a\ntrusted friend of the family, and I noticed that he paid\nfor the drinks.\n\"Alma and I soon forgot our surroundings. We were\nso happy to be together again. That was three years ago.\nI got my diploma, and she was the first to congratulate\nme. We went to dances, skated and took long walks,\njust as when we were children. Life began to look\npromising. I got on very well with my profession. I\neven began to figure out how soon I Could set up house-\nkeeping with Alma. You two. used to laugh when, after\na hard day's work, I used to substitute for this and that\nphysician instead of going out for a ramble or a good time.\nWell, on every such occasion I was able to carry Alma\na five-dollar bill to add to our joint savings account.\nYou see each one of these little deposits brought our\nwedding just so much nearer.\n\"About six months ago, Alma told me that an aunt of\nhers who lives up-state was going on a trip to Europe and\nwanted her to take charge of her houst* during her\nabsence. The aunt offered a substantial reward, and,\nafter some discussion for and against the plan, we de-\ncided that Alma had better take advantage of the offer.\nThe day for the aunt's return was set for next Thursday.\nWe decided on a month later for our wedding day. I've\nbeen paying rent for a month to hold down a certain\nlittle flat in Harlem.\"\nJohnny took out another cigarette and lighted it. Both\nfriends slapped him on the shoulder.\n\"Huh!\" Tom grunted, his enthusiasm collapsing sud-\ndenly. \"But we got to scare up somebody to take your\nplace in the joint here. Shucks. ... I thought you'd\nplay the damphul and throw yourself on the neck of\nsome woman! An' I told you women are just good for\nmothers and nothing else, and they're only good for that\nwhen they ain't the mothers of your own children.\" And\nTom leaned against the railing highly gratified because\nhe had stuck to his principles in the wave of temptation.\nAnd because he felt that he had been rather brilliant and\nshocking.\nThe other one looked toward the bay window, with a\nstupid expression on his face and with eyes filled with\nlonging. The lights in the bay window showed dim and\nlow through the white iinen shades.\n\"But I'm not through with my story,\" Johnny went\non. \"This afternoon I met Hopkins. I hadn't seen\nHopkins since he left our place here to go to a prosperous\nlittle town up the river. He's specializing on gynecology,\nhe says, and I guess it's a pretty good berth he's got.\nHopkins seemed glad to see me, said he hadn't time to\ncome up here, had to get back to-night, and just as he\ntore away he called to me: 'By the way, Johnny—do you\nremember Alma? Alma, whose stepfather was a tailor\nand that you punched my face for in High School?\nWell, Alma gave birth to a child up at our place yester-\nday. It's a boy, and a strong, healthy one—you ought\nto see him! A gay old gentleman—gray mustache and\nswell dude—visited her all the time, and the kid looks\njust like him.' \"\nJohnny's hearers sat with thunder-struck faces. Neither\nknew what to say. A cloud covered the moon, but neither\nTom nor the other one had the courage to look up at\nJohnny, whose voice was steady and quiet. Finally Tom's\nfat hand was put out slowly with a gesture of sympathy.\nAnd he wanted to know.\n\"It's silly,\" Johnny went on, his tones so even and cool\nthat the plump hand fell with a slap on the tightly\ntrousered knee, \"for Hopkins to make such a statement.\"\n\"No baby ever looked exactly like a full-grown man. But\nit seems that just this point that Hopkins insisted on is a\nyoung mother and a proud father whose family likeness\nthe baby shows plainly. It's getting cold. Let's go to\nbed.\"\nTom picked up his pillow. Johnny disappeared with\nhis foot-stool into the room. The third one was the last\nto leave the balcony. The street was deserted. All the\nwindows were dark and the moon was left to finish her\njourney alone.\n\nGuido Bruno\n\nReverie\nStephen J. O'Hara\nI.\nWhen day breaks clear in April's amber skies,\nAnd strange, soft lights creep into maidens' eyes,—\nThen spring is here.\nII.\nWhen dusk lies warm thro' blossom-breathing hours,\nAnd Night invites us to her mystic bowers,—\nWhy spring is here.\nIII.\nWhen youth and spring meet.—Well, what can I do\nBut think and dream—and dream—perhaps of you!\nFor spring is here.\n\nEdith Haynes Thompson\nHER SHOP\nContaining Many Quaint and Beautiful Things\n58 WASHINGTON SQUARE SOUTH\nHours: 1 to 5.30 P. M.\n\nJoseph McCarthy\nPAINTINGS AND\nANTIQUES\n30 WEST 46th STREET"}, {"page_pdf": 19, "page_imprimee": "[791]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.19", "texte": "HOTEL BREVOORT\nFifth Avenue\nCAFE LAFAYETTE\nUniversity Place\nRAYMOND ORTEIG, INC.\nThe Two French Hotels and Restaurants of New York\nGONFARONE'S\n40 West Bth Street\nTABLE D'HOTE\nit]\n'Eating places are literary landmarks\" said O. Henry, speaking of Gonfarone's in one of his\nunexcelled Greenwich Village Stories.\n\nGreenwich Village Inn\n(Polly's)\nBetween Washington Sq. & 6th Ave.\nService a la Carte\nOutdoor Dining Room\n\nFrom the making of a lamp to the creation of a\nperiod room there is a right and a wrong\nway. The problems of your own house may he\nanswered by consulting\nANTON HELLMAN\n80 West Washington Square\nSpring 6340\n\nSport Hats, Artist Smock Sets, Masque Costumes\nFor town and country\nPAINT BOX\n150 W. 4th St., nr. 6th Ave., N. Y.\nPhone Spring 23\n\nArtistic Cushions\nIncluding wool embroidery. Unique and original\ndesigns in patchwork. Cushions made to order.\nCall or write Sessers Studio Co., 82 Washington\nPL, N. Y. Spring 1076.\n\nWANTED you to know that at 60 Washington\nSquare South is located\nTHE VILLAGE STORE\nWhere one may see on display many odd pieces\nof Brasses, Pottery, Furniture and Souvenirs.\nHours 10.30 till 6p. m. Saturdays 10 p. m.\n\nT. D. Cox\nStationery and News Shop\nCirculating Library\n68 Washington Place, N. Y.\n\nJUDSON TAILOR SHOP\n51 Washington Sq.\nAll kinds of tailoring work neatly done. Dry\ncleaning of Ladies' Suits, Gowns, Wraps, etc.,\na specialty.\n'Phone 5360 Spring\n\n'Phone Spring 3922\nTHE DUTCH OVEN\n135 MacDougal Street\nnear Washington Sq.\nOpen Air Dining Room\nHome Cooking\nLuncheon Tea\nDinner"}, {"page_pdf": 20, "page_imprimee": "[792]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160617-01.1.20", "texte": "RARE BOOKS FIRST EDITIONS\nExtra illustrated Books. Early Printed Books. Association Books. Books for Christmas Gifts.\nPurchased singly or in sets for people who have neither time nor opportunity to select for themselves,\nor for those who have not access to the best hook marts. Why not begin collecting now?\nAddress, E. V. Boston Transcript, Boston, Mass.\n\nFor Houses, Apartments or Rooms, See\nPEPE & BRO.\nREAL ESTATE AND INSURANCE\n40 So. Washington Square\nTelephone 4119 Spring Cor. of MacDougal Street\n\nBeing a book\nIN WHICH\nwe say just what we think.' Published every month by Norman-Bel Geddes at 756 Second Avenue\nin Detroit, Michigan. It is a little book uniquely illustrated. Write for sample copy.\n\nSingle volumes, small lots, and libraries; autograph letters of known literary men and\nartists, drawings, pictures and engravings. Address\n\"COLLECTOR,\" Care of Bruno's Weekly, 58 Washington Sq.\n\nROSSI BROTHERS\n58 Washington Square\nUnderneath the Garret\nICE CREAM AND TOBACCO\n\nFurnished Studio Apartment WANTED for\nthree months, Washington Sq. preferred.\nWrite to S. M. CLARKE\ncare of Bruno's Weekly, 58 Washington\nSq., N. Y. C.\n\nI\nI\nThere can be no pleasanter place to hear that remarkable\nEdison Record Number (82536) than\n& „\nTHE DIAMOND DISC SHOP\nat Number 10 Fifth Avenue\nIn this store, at least, the delightful atmosphere of Old Greenwich Village has not been sacrificed\non the altar of commercialism\nPhone: Stuyvesant 4570\nA postal will bring you, with our compliments,\nan interesting little biography of Mr. Thos. A.\n'Edison"}]}