{"numero_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_sha256": "983de00c3ee0c01c5b683a5ff61d25243a27851680b5fafc9aa4ca2588af5116", "source_tei": "https://github.com/Princeton-CDH/bluemountain-transcriptions/blob/main/periodicals/bmtnaaq/issues/1916/08/26_01/bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01.tei.xml", "source_mets": "https://github.com/pulibrary/BlueMountain/blob/main/metadata/periodicals/bmtnaaq/issues/1916/08/26_01/bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01.mets.xml", "url_numero": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01", "articles": [{"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c002", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c002", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[935]", "page_fin": "[935]", "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.2", "titre_corps": "Prayer", "titre_sommaire": "Prayer", "signature_source": "H. Thompson Rich", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "[935]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.3", "debut_caractere": 141, "fin_caractere_exclue": 780, "texte": "Prayer\nH. Thompson Rich.\nEurope is all one tomb! The awful words\nMake the most hardened ones among us sigh;\n*\nAnd still the soldier multitudes come by,\nCold legions with their life-blood turned to curds.\nFor they have seen their fellows' desperate herds\nStumble upon the stricken plain and die;\nAnd they have known the buzzards' long, harsh cry—\nAnd they have missed the music of the birds.\nGod send us healing pity of green grass,\nAnd heartening of flowers, and help of trees,\nTo bury the Red Shame forever more;\nAnd they whose bodies perish, they who pass\nOut of the World and over unknown seas—\nSend them forgetfulness of Death and War."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c003", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c003", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[935]", "page_fin": "936", "image_debut": 3, "image_fin": 4, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.3", "titre_corps": "In the Footprints of Genius", "titre_sommaire": "In the Footprints of Genius", "signature_source": "Alfred Ernest Keet", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "[935]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.3", "debut_caractere": 782, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5709, "texte": "In the Footprints of Genius\n\n\"Fantastic wreck of simpler things,\nShe sits beside the haughty sea\nAnd calls the whole world to her knee.\"\nFrom \"Manhattan ,\" by Hamlin Garland\nSINCE the year 1609, when that worthy and \"Irre-\ncoverable discoverer, Master Hendrick Hudson,\"\ndiscovered the Hudson River in his little vessel the \"Half\nMoon,\" the city of Manhattan has undergone more than\nrevolutionary changes; and within her bounds we see\nto-day the natives of every clime. She is kaleidoscopic) in\nher multifarious types. From the European nobleman,\nwho crosses the pond to besiege the hearts of American\nbeauties, down to the swarthy Italian organ-grinder, there\nis a vast and varied assortment; and in battalions they\ncome in quest of liberty and lucre in the land of the\nGolden Fleece. For New York is poor man's\nparadise, the rich man's Mecca; and from every land they\nhasten to mix in Broadway's busy throng.\nIt is a trite saving that \"all roads lead to New York,\"\nand assuredly most people gravitate in her direction sooner\nor later. A stroll down Broadway—the world's highway\n—is pretty sure to result in an encounter with an ac-\nquaintance—a steamer friend or railroad companion, the\nman or girl you lately met in Paris or Panama, or perhaps\na college chum. Its gloomy canyons yield many a delight-\nful rencontre, for, to an extent true of few other of the\nworld's great metropolises, New York is a lodestone for\ntalent, and within its circumscribed limits are geniuses—\nor embyro geniuses—drawn through her golden portals\nfrom every part of the universe. In the hothouse air of\nthe metropolis, they either flower or wither in the making.\nThus is it that in New York boarding houses, or hotels,\none meets, in the course of years, so many people destined\nto great careers. It was in a typical New York boarding-\nhouse, at No. — E. 17th St., that I met the American\nWinston Churchill of St. Louis. It was a three-story\nbrown stone front, its interior arrangements—niched walls\nand frescoed ceilings—the only remaining vestiges of\nformer grandeur. Some opulent merchant prince lived\nand died in it. But now the niches empty, the frescoing\nfaded and stained, and a gloomy air of departed greatness\npervades it. Mr. Churchill, then on the editorial staff\nof \"The Army and Navy Journal,\" sat next to me at the\nlong center table in the high-ceiled dining room, and\nspeedily became acquainted, as journalists do. His room\nwas across the hall from mine, and one evening he dropped\ninto see me with the manuscript of what was probably his\nfirst story (\"Mr. Pennington's Courtship\"), which he\nasked me to read, seeking my opinion, as an editor of\nThe Forumj of it.\nAs I read, I quickly realized his talent as a fictionist,\nand warmly complimented him upon his effort. In fact\nI waxed enthusiastic overi it, telling him it had the real\n\"gray matter\" in it. My praise had a good effect upon\nhim, and he become more cheerful, more optimistic. He\nhad seemed rather downhearted at first. I then showed\nhim one of my efforts at short-story writing, he compli-\nmenting me especially upon my \"extraordinary fluency.\"\nHe regretted his own want of it, telling me how difficult\nit was for him to round out and polish his paragraphs,\nexcept with infinite labor.\nA week orN so later he jubilantly told me he had taken\nhis story to Dr. Gilder, the editor of the Century, close\nby in Union Square, who had accepted it and paid him\n$75 cash for it. Soon afterward I lost him, for he went\nto Brisben Walker's Cosmopolitan, later retiring to coun-\ntry life to produce his long succession of alliteratively\nentitled novels: Celebrity, Richard Carvelf Crisis, Cross-\ning, Coniston, Crewe's Career, Modern Chronicle, etc.,\nall written in Coniston, N. H.\nIn this same house, for meals came occasionally the\nbeautiful and highly gifted Margaret Anglin, then be-\nginning her studies of the histrionic art. Another visitor\nat rare intervals to some clever actresses living in the\nhouse, was a sister of the ever-popular Blanche Ring.\nAn amusing incident happened in this boarding-house\none day. A \"Disagreeable Man\" among the boarders, lost\nhis temper in his vain efforts to cut his steak, and sar-\nastically asked the waitress to bring him an axe. The\ngirl, in a matter of fact way, passed his order on to the\nlandlady, who was busy superintending the food-distri-\nbution close by a dumb-waiter, leading to the kitchen.\nIn a loud voice she instantly called down the sh&ft: \"Send\nup an axe on a tray for Mr. Grumbler.\" The growler did\nnot wait for it, but precipitately made his escape amid the\nlaughter of the other boarders.\nOn the same street a few doors below, in Washington\nIrving's old home, lived in those days Elsie de Wolfe;\nwhile hard by, on the corner of Union Square and Fourth\nAvenue stood the old Everett House, a great haunt of\ncelebrities, domestic and foreign. .1 frequently saw Dr. Gil-\nder there, and the now American Ambassador to England,"}, {"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "936", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.4", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 6735, "texte": "Walter H. Page (then editing the Forum), and a host\nox other editors and publishers. Mr. Munsey was close\nby, at 111 Fifth Avenue, the Forum going to the same\nbuilding from Union Square, where for many years its\ntitle in gigantic gilded letters crowned a building almost\nnext door to the Century.\nI once paid a visit to Hall Caine, the notorious author\nof \"The Manxman/' \"The Christian,\" etc., at the Everett,\nwhere he was a guest during his American lecture tour\nunder the direction of the celebrated Major Pond, whose\noffice was in the Everett. I found him with his wife and\nlittle son (\"Little Sunlocks,\" as his father called him),\nand his reception of me was most courteous. Charles\nDickens stayed at this hostelry, also the great African ex-\nplorer, H. M. Stanley, whom, by the way, I met on ship-\nboard, in the nineties, when crossing the Atlantic with his\nbride, the beautiful Dorothy Tennant. A year or two\nlater, while again in England, curiously enough, I en-\ncountered Mr. and Mrs. Stanley one misty morning in\nWaterloo Place. How small the world is!\nAbout this period, I met a pleasant talker and most\ncompanionable man in Paul du Chaillu, the famous author\nof \"The Land of the Midnight Sun,\" etc. And a little\nlater occurred my first rencontre with the future author\nof \"African Game Trails.\" Then one morning dropped in\nupon me the famous editor of Le Revue des deux Mondes,\naccompanied by his brilliant and accomplished contributor\nand coadjutor, Mme. Blanc-Bentzon, who has so much to\nfamiliarize the French reading and thinking public with\nAmerican authors. The Brevoort Hotel, near Washing-\nton Arch, entertained M. Ferdinand Brunetiere during\nth is American visit.\nCountless other celebrities either lived or visited in this\ndistrict of Manhattan, from 18th Street, down to Wash-\nington Square South, for many years the abode or workship\nof men and women of talent. It is a literary and artistic\nzone, and promises to remain so for years to come.\nWilliam Cullen Bryant, the poet and one-time editor of\nthe N. Y. Evening Postj once lived at Vice-Chancellor\nMcCown's, near the junction of Warren and Church\nStreets. One of his successors, the late Mr. E. L. Godkin,\nwhose editorials in the Post were sui generis, lived on\n10th Street; and the late Dr. Gilder, editor of the Ceutury,\nhad a city residence on Bth Street, not far from Mrs.\nSchuyler van Rensselaer's, the friend and entertainer of\nRobert Louis Stevenson when in New York en route to\nSamoa; while in Clinton Place lived the late John Gilmer\nSpeed, a grand-nephew of the poet, John Keats, a copious\nwriter for the periodicals, and once editor of Leslie's\nWeekly. A few of the old houses yet remaining in Uni-\nversity Place have sheltered, or entertained as guests,\nCaptain Boynton, whose daring, if not desperate, deeds\nare so graphically described in\"The War Maker;\" James\nHopper, the story writer; Robert Edgren, and others;\nwhile close by lives the artist, Gibran, Rodin's friend.\nAlban Jasper Conant, who died recently, agea 93, lived\non W. 10th St. He was a poet and artist, and painted\nLincoln's portrait before and after he became president.\nIn Washington Square, almost within the shadow of\nNew York University, Robert V/. Chambers lived, and\nhere came, fresh home Europe's sanguinary strife, the late\nRichard Harding Davis, another of my steamer ac-\nquaintances. In Macdougal Alley, among other studios,\nwas that of Mrs. Whitney (Gertrude Vanderbilt), and\nGaudens, the designer of the Buffalo nickel. Mrs. Whit-\nney's studio is now on West Bth Street. In this zone, too,\nde Thulstrup, the artist, and the sculptor, William Ord-\nway Partridge had their studios. At a reception at Mr.\nPartridge's old Fourth Avenue studio, I once met one\nof our greatest actresses, Julia Marlowe (Mrs. Sothern),\nwhom I had first seen in the West when she made her\ndebut in \"Romeo and Juliet.\"\nI was once John Gilmer Speed's guest at the Player's\nClub, in Gramercy Park, where, among other curiosities,\nI saw Edwin Booth's bedroom, which is preserved exactly\nas it was when the great Shakspearean interpreter died.\nWhich reminds me of the first time I saw Booth. It was\nat Kansas City, Mo., at the Warder Grand Opera House\n—before the theatre had been completed. Booth and\nBarrett were the stars in \"Hamlet;\" it was zero weather,\nand the roof of the opera house had not been put on.\nThere were few or no stage properties, and the poor ghost\ndid the best he could in a sheet. The somewhat sparse\naudience witnessed the play, the while enwrapped in great-\ncoats and furs and standing around stoves-—the stars\ntwinkling overhead!\nI was once a guest for a few days at the famous old\nFifth Avenue Hotel. I was sitting in Amen Corner one\nmorning, just about to leave the hotel for my steamer,\nwhen a tall gentleman, in a Prince Albert coat and beaver\nhat, came into the rotunda from the street. I recognized\nhim instantly as Major McKiniey. Just as he reached\nthe desk, another gentleman, similarly attired, stepped up\nto him, saying: \"Hello, Governor!\" and engaged him in\nconversation, only a few feet away from where I sat.\nThen the ex-Governor glanced around, and seeing that I\nwas the sole occupant of Amen Corner, sat down beside\nme, the while chatting with his host who remained stand-\ning. A few minutes later they strolled toward the reading\nroom and bar. The Major was immaculately attired, his\nbuttoned-up and closely fitting Prince Albert setting off\nhis stalwart figure to the best advantage, giving him a\nmost impressive presence. This was the only occasion on\nwhich I saw the distinguished man who later became our\nPresident, and who, years afterward, in the full flush of\nmanhood, met his death at the hands of an assassin. I\nwas only in the twenties when this rencontre took place,\nbut it remains vividly in my memory.\nI have mentioned Washington Irving's old home on\nIrving Place. I once saw, at one of the Astor Estate\noffices, the ledgers he used to keep, just before Mr. Astor\nsent him with a full purse to Europe, where he wrote\nhis \"Sketch Book.\" Through the influence of Sir Walter\nScott he found a publisher in England, and, of course,\nthe only true first edition of the \"Sketch Book,\" is this,\nthe English one. Fitz-Greene Halleck, the poet, it will\nbe remembered, was a superintendent of the Astor Estate\non 26th Street.\nThus, in the course of a quarter century's residence in\nand about the heart of New York City, it was my good\nfortune to meet no less than two men of mark who became\nChief Magistrates of the Nation, many authors, artists,\nsculptors, journalists and actors already famous, or who\nquickly joined the Immortals, and a glittering galaxy of\ndistinguished men and women from all parts of the world.\n\nAlfred Ernest Keet"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c005", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c005", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "937", "page_fin": "938", "image_debut": 5, "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.5", "titre_corps": "The Or Theory and Practice", "titre_sommaire": "The Or Theory and Practice", "signature_source": "After the German of Rudolph Hauser by Guido Bruno", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "937", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.5", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1208, "texte": "The Three Socialists\nOr Theory and Practice\n\nupon a time three men were living in a big\ncity, all three working men and very ardent Social-\nists. The first one was employed in a machine factory.\nHe was a good and clever mechanic and earned quite a\nbit of money. Each payday he received his seventy or\neighty dollars which averaged every month about a\nhundred and fifty. He was single and had nobody else\nto take care of but himself. Therefore he was well-to-do.\nThe second was an honest and good man; but no matter\nhow hard he worked he never received more than forty-\nfive dollars on his payday. That made ninety dollars\neach month and he had to support his wife and two\nchildren. He had to figure very closely in order to supply\nhis own and his family's daily needs. While they did\nnot suffer actual hunger, they didn't know much of the\ngood things of life.\nBut the third of the friends was a poor, worn-out day\nlaborer, He had never earned more than ten or twelve\ndollars a week. On a miserable fifty dollars, he had to\nlook after his always sickly wife and his five small\nchildren. Such is often the luck of the poor. Five hungry\nchildren ask for a lot of bread. But the poor father coulJ"}, {"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "938", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.6", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2173, "texte": "hardly satisfy the hunger of his children, and that was\nharder than his own privations and they were hard enough.\nOnce the Socialists were sitting together and discussing\nthe sad fate of the working classes. The mechanic, who\nhad mastered the art of talking equally as well as he had\nmastered his trade, cursed capitalists and those who had\ngained the riches of the world. The second working man\nwas busy seconding his comrade and only the poor day\nlaborer, burdened by his big misery, kept silent.\nFinally he, too, spoke: \"Why did we affiliate ourselves\nwith this great movement that proposes to create for us\nlivable conditions? Above all, that we may know how to\nhelp ourselves! That we may become cojointly respon-\nsible. And because the fulfilment of our wishes lies in the\nfar future, as all of us know, we should help ourselves in\nthe meanwhile, and do among us, one to the other, what\nlater on the Government is supposed to do for us. Come\non, let us be practical for once; and all of us will profit.\nYou,\" he spoke to the first one, \"are earning every year\n$1,800; added to this,\"he spoke to the second, \"your\nwages will make $2,760. And if I count the few cents\nI am earning into it, we have $3,360. That is a nice\namount of money.\"\n\"What are you driving at?\" asked both friends\ncuriously. •\n\"What I am driving at is,\" continued the day laborer,\n\"let us take our wages and start a community house-\nkeeping. There will be twelve mouths to feed. But Ido\nbelieve that we could swing it very nicely on our joint\nearnings. There would be no more privations for our\nchildren, and no one could educate them to be good peo-\nple. And, of course, we, too, ourselves would be very\nmuch better off.n\nThe poor day laborer ceased talking and looked half-\nembarrassed and half happy at his comrades.\nThe second laborer calculated for awhile and then he\nsaid: \"It is a good idea and I would be very glad to con-\nsider it providing my wife does not object.\"\nBut the mechanic who had been the most ardent ex-\npounder of Socialism among them rose and grumbled:\n\"Go to h , confounded beggars!\"\nAnd he left abruptly.\n\nAfter the German of Rudolph Hauser by Guido Bruno."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c006", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c006", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "938", "page_fin": "938", "image_debut": 6, "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.6", "titre_corps": "Two Tales by N. Shebonev", "titre_sommaire": "Two Tales by N. Shebonev", "signature_source": "Translated from the Russian by Mark Weinbaum", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "938", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.6", "debut_caractere": 2175, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3623, "texte": "Two Tales by N. Shebonev\nTranslated from the Russian by Mark Weinbaum\nWhich One\n| LOVE them both.\n* One is a tall, graceful brunette with burning eyes\nthat know how to express sadness.\nThe other is a frail, little blonde with a tender half-\nchildish body and gray, little eyes.\nI love them in like manner.\nAnd they love me.\nOne of them, Martha, occupies herself with earthly\nthings.\nThe other, Maria, thinks more about heaven and soul.\nYou ask me which is Martha and which is Maria, the\nBlonde or the Brunette.\nWhich is Martha?\nAh, I don't know yet myself which one will be to-day\nmy Martha and which—Maria.\nThis depends always upon myself.\nThe Murderer\nYF7HAT would you do if a woman would turn false\nto you?\n\"I should kill her,\" answered my friend.\nTo-day he came to me.\nI understood at once that a terrible thing had happened.\nHe was pale. Even his lips were white.\n\"What's the matter with you?\"\n\"She! ...\"\n\"Turned false?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"And you killed her?\"\n\"Worse.\"\n? ? ?\n• • •\n\"A thousand times worse.\"\n? ? ?\n\"I hit her.\"\nWe kept silence.\n\"You did not have the courage to kill her?'*\n\"To strike a woman one requires more courage than\nto kill her.\"\nHe fell upon the chair.\n\"To strike a woman is a greater crime than to kill her.\"\nHis eyes flashed, his hands trembled, his teeth beat\nlike the roll of a drum, and like a madman he repeated:\n\"I am worse than a murderer! Worse than a murderer!\nWorse than a murderer!\"\n\"Ycu are worse thar 3 murderer! . ."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c007", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c007", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "938", "page_fin": "938", "image_debut": 6, "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.7", "titre_corps": "Baby's Jealousy", "titre_sommaire": "Baby's Jealousy", "signature_source": "A. Milo Bennett", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "938", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.6", "debut_caractere": 3625, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3889, "texte": "Baby's Jealousy\nA. Milo Bennett\nD ABY'S eyes are sad to-night,\nHer sobs are very near,\n\"Papa kiss me fond good night,\nFor I love you, papa dear,\nAn' you don't love me one bit,\nCause Pauline and Margie sat,\nAn' you laughed and let 'em sit,\nWhere I wanted to be at.\""}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c008", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c008", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "938", "page_fin": "938", "image_debut": 6, "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.8", "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": 6, "page_imprimee": "938", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.6", "debut_caractere": 3891, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4705, "texte": "Replated Platitudes\nJulius Doerner\nThe penalty of being a generation ahead of your time,\nris to become the fool of your own generation, to become,\nperchance, the prophet of all future generations.\nThose, who having no business, make a business of pur-\nsuing activities which have no purpose, give a purpose to\nthose who make a business of pursuing those whose life\nhas no purpose.\nAnd now the lives of flint and Eliot yet remind us\nhow so often age with wisdom may at variance be.\n'Tis from foolish little fictions that great \"fictions\"\noften flow, and the famous factions out of frantic frictions\ngrow.\nIt may be only war \"when Greek meets Greek;\" but\nthat war is certainly hell, when woman meets woman with\nthe hair flying at $5.00 an ounce.\n\"The early worm\" is, to challenge the early bird to\nprove its prowess."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c009", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c009", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "939", "page_fin": "939", "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.9", "titre_corps": "An III Wind Blowing T. T. Heine in Simplicissimus", "titre_sommaire": "An III Wind Blowing T. T. Heine in Simplicissimus", "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": "939", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.7", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 65, "texte": "An III Wind Blowing\nT. T. Heine in Simplicissimus"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c010", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c010", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "939", "page_fin": "939", "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.10", "titre_corps": "The Promise", "titre_sommaire": "The Promise", "signature_source": "T. W. H. Crosland", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "939", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.7", "debut_caractere": 67, "fin_caractere_exclue": 686, "texte": "The Promise\nT. W. H. Crosland\nOU know my pains, you see me in the hell\n* Through which I toil, hurt and uncomforted,\nYou see on what base errands I am sped,\nAnd what I reap where we sowed asphodel;\nAnd my songs are of sorrow, and I tell,\nKnowing no other, tales of grief and dread;\nThough I be warm I am as good as dead, *\nAnd always we can hear my passing bell.\nAnd yet, dear Spirit, you who have kind eyes\nThat meet disaster with a child's amaze,\nYou who have got a wild jose for your lips\nAnd are all fashioned out of Paradise;\nYou shall stand safe beside the sapphire bays,\nAnd I will show you all our golden ships."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c011", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c011", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "940", "page_fin": "941", "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.11", "titre_corps": "Creation: Recess in Space", "titre_sommaire": "Creation: Recess in Space", "signature_source": "Cora Bennett", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 8, "page_imprimee": "940", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.8", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5193, "texte": "Creation: Recess in Space\nBy Cora Bennett\n(Comet wandering idly about a darkened universe\nstumbles against Sun. He scrambles to his feet,\napologetic.)\nCOMET—What's the matter, Mr. Sun? Why aren't\nyou shining?\nSUN—I feel as if I would never shine again. I'm so\nblue.\nCOMET—Oh, you're not blue! You're yellow!\nSUN—I may look yellow but I assure you I'm blue.\nCOMET—What's the matter.\nSUN—Earth's breaking my heart.\n(Comet peers toward the paths of the planets.)\nCOMET—She looks mighty proper from here.\nSUN—Yes, she always looks proper but the truth is\nshe's . . rotten. She took fifty million years to grow\nthat dreadful Humanity.\nCOMET—(Feeling about for comfortable place to\nrecline in.) What is Humanity?\nSUN—(Shuddering.) A thing that destroys itself.\nCOMET—(Coolly.) Why not burn her up and be\ndone with it?\n(Sun sighs, shifts his position but does not lift his head.)\nSUN—That would be going to fire-mist. And you\ncan't do that for yourself. Some one has got to do it\nfor you. Besides I can't think of destroying my child.\nYou see when I was a fiery young ball I threw off a ring.\nThat ring broke into pieces that began to whirl and make\nsomething of themselves and I found myself the father\nof eight fulj-grown children. And of all these Earth\ngives me the most trouble. She's . . .\nCOMET—(Pointing toward Earth.) See!\nSUN—(Listing his head a little.) The clouds are\npassing. Soon I'll have to shine again for Earth.\n(Between Earth and Sun three fair clouds dance until\nthey are chased from the sky by Rainbow.)\nCOMET—What are clouds, anyhow?\nSUN—Mists out of ocean. But these fly high and call\nthemselves clouds. Byt if they happen to bump up against\na cool mountain side, they'll pretty soon get back to\nwhere they came from. They're a part of Earth's game.\nCOMET—What are you going to do with her?\n(Sun lifts his head and the universe is flooded with\nlight.)\nSUN—Suppose you go and tell her I want her. I\nthink I'll have it out with her.\nCOMET—I'm off!\n(Enter Uranus.)\nURANUS—I've something I want to ask you, father!\nSUN—You're certainly losing what little manners you\never had, son. But who do you want?\nURANUS—(With determination.) I want to know\nwhere the stars come from!\nSUN—-(Embarrassed.) I have told you twice before,\nthey came floating down the River of Time in a silver box.\n(Uranus makes a gesture of disgust.)\nURANUS—I'm too old for that kind of fairy tale,\nfather. Besides I hear whispers among older children\n. . . I want to know the truth!\nSUN — (With resignation.) Well, if you must know,\nthe stars are what I am, (Chokes with embarrassment.)\nthe centers of other solar systems. (He clears his throat\nand looks away.)\nURANUS—But what are they made of? That's what\nI want to know!\nSUN—Summoning all his composure; in a whisper.)\nThe wrecks of other worlds! (Shudders with relief.)\nBut don't—for all you do, let Time or Space know that\nI have destroyed your innocence and if you catch any of\nthe little ones talking about such things in out-of-the-way\ncorners come straight and tell me. But don't discuss\nthe matter with them. Turn you back and walk away.\nURANUS—But, father, I think there is nothing\nwrong—\nSUN—Hush! Here comes Earth. You think there is\nnothing wrong because you are young. (Enter Earth\ntrailing draperies of purplish-black cloud lined with sil-\nver.) Sit down, daughter.\nEARTH—(lndignant.) I won't sit, father! I'm\ntired of the way you and my big brothers treat me!\nURANUS—You deserve it! See what you've done!\nSUN—(Sadly.) Was Humanity in you?\nEARTH—(With conviction.) It was! (Suddenly\nmelting.) It takes so long to make something good,\nfather! It took a billion years to make a pair of hands!\n(Uranus shudders. Comet enters but seems in doubt\nabout remaining.)\nURANUS—Hands that kill!\nEARTH—Hands that save!\n(Sun is greatly impressed.)\nSUN—Hands that save! Why—that would be a\nmiracle!\nEARTH—(Joyously.) Life is full of miracles! See,\nfather! See brother! See! (She shakes from her drapery\ninnumerable cocoons that come twisting out of its folds.\nThey dance grotesquely keeping step to the faint music\nof the farther constallations. Suddenly a little flower-\nwreathed creature appears among them. It touches them\nand straightway the cocoons change into a host of brilliant\nbutterflies, dancing to the song of the morning stars.)\nCOMET—It's beautiful!\nSUN—Yes, there's beauty in you, Earth—there's no\ndoubt about that! But where's the good of you?\n(In spite of the efforts of Earth to keep her covered,\nOcean frees herself from the black clouds and stands\nstreaming before Sun.)\nOCEAN—Please do not scold Earth, Father Sun! It\nis I that am responsible for dreadful Humanity! If I\nhad not in the black depths of my pride and ambition,\nspawned creatures that hunger and crawl and love and\ndream, Earth would have remained to this day a peaceable\nmass of stone and water! Forgive—(Earth succeeds in\nenveloping Ocean with her black mantle. She then shakes\nfrom the silver lining a nymph and a god of the wood.\nCOMET—(Excited^.) See! There's Humanity!\n(The two creatures of Earth begin a love-dance.)\nEARTH—(Triumphantly.) Youth is good!\n(Sun begins to expand and grows magnificently\nbrilliant. The love-dance over the nymph and god hide"}, {"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "941", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 592, "texte": "again in the silver lining.)\nALL THE PLANETS—(Clapping their hands.)\nMore Humanity! We want more Humanity!\nSUN—(Highly gratified.) I've some hope of you yet,\nEarth! Some day maybe you'll know how to get along\nwithout killing!\nEARTH—Time! I must have Ti\n(Sun springs to his feet, suddenly aware of his re-\nsponsibility.)\nSUN—Time! I've stopped the affairs of the universe\nfor a hundred billionth of a second! Back to place—all\nof you!\n(The planets whirl into line and begin to spin gayly\naround the sun with their moons intheir wake and Comet\ndarting mischievously among them.)"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c012", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c012", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "941", "page_fin": "941", "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.12", "titre_corps": "Frec Vers Diva by R. S", "titre_sommaire": "Frec Vers Diva by R. S", "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": "941", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 594, "fin_caractere_exclue": 616, "texte": "Frec Vers Diva by R. S"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c013", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c013", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "941", "page_fin": "941", "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.13", "titre_corps": "His Faithful Cat", "titre_sommaire": "His Faithful Cat", "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": "941", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 618, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1195, "texte": "His Faithful Cat\nA SHORT time ago a poor Irishman applied at the\noffice of a charitable institution in Manchester for\nrelief, and, upon some doubt being expressed as to whether\nhe was a proper object for charity, he enforced his suit\nwith much earnestness: \"Ouch, your honor,\" said he,\n\"shure Fd be starved to death long since, but for my cat.\"\n\"But for what?\" asked his astonished interrogator. \"My\ncat,\" rejoined the Irishman. \"Your cat, how so?\" \"Shure,\nyour honor, I sold her eleven times over for sixpence a\ntirand she was always at home again before Fd got\nthere meself.\""}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c014", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c014", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "941", "page_fin": "941", "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.14", "titre_corps": "''A dentist, love, makes teeth of bone,", "titre_sommaire": "''A dentist, love, makes teeth of bone,", "signature_source": "M. R", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "941", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 1197, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1345, "texte": "M. R.\n''A dentist, love, makes teeth of bone,\nFor those whom fate has left without;\nAnd finds provision for his own,\nBy pulling other people's out.\""}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c015", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c015", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "941", "page_fin": "941", "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.15", "titre_corps": "\"Why,\" said a country clergyman to one of his flock,", "titre_sommaire": "\"Why,\" said a country clergyman to one of his flock,", "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": "941", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 1347, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1632, "texte": "\"Why,\" said a country clergyman to one of his flock,\n\"do you always sleep in your pew when I am in the pul-\npit, while you are all attention to every stranger I invite?\"\n\"Because, sir, when you preach I am sure all's right, but\nI can't trust a stranger without keeping a good lookout.\""}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c016", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c016", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "941", "page_fin": "941", "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.16", "titre_corps": "After Paul Verlaine", "titre_sommaire": "After Paul Verlaine", "signature_source": "Ernest Dawson", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "941", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 1634, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2368, "texte": "After Paul Verlaine\nErnest Dawson\nI NTO the lonely park all frozen fast,\nAwhile ago there were two forms who passed.\nLo, are their lips fallen and their eyes dead,\nHardly shall a man hear the words they said.\nInto the lonely park, all frozen fast,\nThere came two shadows who recall the past.\n\"Dost thou remember our old ecstacy?\"\nWherefore should I possess that memory?\"—\nDoth thine heart beat at my sole name alway?\nStill dost thou see my soul in visions?\" \"Nay!\"\n\"They were fair days of joy unspeakable,\nWhereon our lips were joined?\"—\"l cannot tell.\"\nnot the heavens blue, was not hope high?\"—\n\"Hope has fled vanquished down the darkling sky.\"\nSo through the barren oats they wandered,\nAnd the night only heard the words they said."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c017", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c017", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "941", "page_fin": "941", "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.17", "titre_corps": "Minetta Lane", "titre_sommaire": "Minetta Lane", "signature_source": "Frank Owen Payne", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "941", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 2370, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2821, "texte": "Minetta Lane\nFrank Owen Payne\nIT ERE once a babbling brooklet flowed\nAmong the rocks and rushes;\nHere once the ferns and alders grew\nWhile sweetly sang the thrushes;\nHere once the minnows all unseen\nDarted in shoals through water green.\nThe brooklet's bed is cobble-paved.\nWhere once flowed crystal waters\nThe curb-stone's fetid length extends •\nAnd bounds the reeking gutters.\nThe junk-man's cart adorns the spot\nWhere once bloomed the forget-me-not."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c018", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c018", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "941", "page_fin": "941", "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.18", "titre_corps": "The Female Kaleidoscope", "titre_sommaire": "The Female Kaleidoscope", "signature_source": "Paul Rubin", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "941", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 2823, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3145, "texte": "The Female Kaleidoscope\nPaul Rubin\nJ_|E was thinking of Nietzsche-—of his theory of destruction.\nShe thought also of the selfishness of humanity—and dwelt\non the brutality of independence, when suddenly she burst forth\nto her companion, \"I'm going to buy a new small hat. This\nlarge one I'm wearing now, is most annoying!\""}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c019", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c019", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "941", "page_fin": "941", "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.19", "titre_corps": "Epitaph engraved on a tombstone in a church yard in", "titre_sommaire": "Epitaph engraved on a tombstone in a church yard in", "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": "941", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 3147, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3298, "texte": "Epitaph engraved on a tombstone in a church yard in\nConnecticut:\n\"Here lies Pat Steel, that's very true:—\nWho was he?—what was he?—what's that to you?\""}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c020", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c020", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "941", "page_fin": "941", "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.20", "titre_corps": "Wallstreet", "titre_sommaire": "Wallstreet", "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": "941", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 3300, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3413, "texte": "Wallstreet\nWhen they were poor, they robbed all mankind—and\nas soon as they became rich, they robbed one another."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c021", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c021", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "942", "page_fin": "944", "image_debut": 10, "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.21", "titre_corps": "The Cuala Press", "titre_sommaire": "The Cuala Press", "signature_source": "W. G. Blaikie Murdoch", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "942", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.10", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3222, "texte": "The Cuala Press\n\nWith Five Illustrations by Jack B. Yeats\n{SUPPOSE that every man, caring at all seriously for\nthe fine arts, finds that many pictures he now loves\ndeeply, many poems or pieces of music, crept into his life\nwithout his cognizance. For instance, try as I may, I\ncannot recall when and where Milton first thrilled me,\nthough I know it was long before I was out of my teens.\nAnd I cannot recollect the exact time when the endless\nbeautiful buildings in Edinburgh, my home for over thirty\nyears, commenced giving me intense delight; while equally\ndim in my memory is the period, a later one presumably,\nwhen there came to me a precise knowledge concerning\nthe architects of all these structures. But there are many\nthings, on the other hand, my initial acquaintance with\nwhich stands out in my mind, clear as the details in an old\nDutch or Flemish painting; and of such are the slender\nbooks, printed so artistically by hand at the Cuala Press,\nIreland.\nAn Ideal Room\nIt was in a tiny study that I first saw these books, this\nstudy being in a house in MaidaJVale, a part of London\nof which Paul Verlaine writes, in one of his poems. Nor\nis it surprising that he should have been interested in\nMaida Vale, for it was long the home of Arthur Symons,\nthan whom no man did more to introduce Verlaine to\nBritish readers; and it was Symons, in fact, who originally\nshowed me the Cuala books. In his study, the walls were\na faint, delicate green; while there was a writing-desk,\nquite possibly from the hand of Chippendale himself, and\non the oak mantelpiece stood some little gems by the\nTanagra sculptors. The whole effect was infinitely quiet\nand charming, constituting an ideal place in which to dis-\ncuss aesthetics; and here, then, on one occasion after\nspeaking at length of Mozart, we chanced to begin talking\nof the art of book-production; for it is an art, although\nthe generality of publishers seem unaware of the fact.\nThe Vale and Kelmscott productions were duly applauded,\nwhile I referred enthusiastically to those of the Eragny\nPress, conducted by my friend, Lucien Pissarro. And\nthen, going to one of his bookshelves, Symons produced\na Cuala volume, which delighted me at once, inasmuch\nas it disclosed qualities foreign, or largely foreign, to the\nbooks of those other hand-presses aforesaid. That is to\nsay, it was wholly simple, its beauty of a restful, un-\nobtrusive, almost severe kind, so that the slim, graceful\nvolume seemed to harmonize faultlessly with the room\nenshrining it. And thus, to this day, I nearly always\nthink of that tasteful reticent study in Maida Vale,\nwhen I see a Cuala book.\nVaried Achievements\nA rare gift of artistry in book-production has been\nsalient for long in Ireland: that wonderful island to which\nthe English and Scottish owe so much, though neither\nrace is over fond of acknowledging the debt. At a remote,\nmediaeval period, England being then virtually devoid of\nartists of any kind, a band of Irish monks wrought that\nBook of Kells, still justly considered one of the prodigies\nof illumination; while a little later, Columba and other\nmissionaries from Ireland coming to Scotland, there\ndawned there a talented group of illuminators, evincing"}, {"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "943", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.11", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3752, "texte": "direct obligations to the Hibernian school. Nevertheless,\nduring the nineteenth century and for long prior, little\nfine printing was done in Ireland; and the Cuala Press,\nlike many analogous ventures, owed its inception in con-\nsiderable degree to William Morris. With his magnetic\npersonality, Morris gathered round him numerous\ndisciples, inculcating in them his devotion to old printing,\namong those who early came under his spell in this way\nbeing Mr. Emery Walker, nowadays known as .the best\nmaker of process-blocks in London. And it was with\nmuch assistance from Mr. Walker, if not actually at his\nsuggestion, that Miss Elizabeth Yeats, a sister of W. B.\nYeats, started hand-printing at the village of Dundrum,\nnear Dublin, marshalling girls of the neighbourhood to\naid her in type-setting and the like. Originally known as\n'the Dun Emer, the press issued its first book in 1903, this\nvirgin effort being a collection of poems of Mr. W. B.\nYeats, In the Seven Woods; and since then about a score\nof volumes have been published at Dundrum, the authors\nrepresented being nearly all Irish. Katherine Tynan and\nI. M. Synge, William Allingham, Douglas Hyde, and the\nexquisite poet, \"A. E.\"— books by all these have been\nprinted by Miss Yeats, who has not confined herself to\nthis branch of activities, however. For throughout a num-\nber of years she issued a small, illustrated magazine, The\nBroadsheet, its name subsequently changed to The Broad-\nside ; while she also prints' book-plates extensively, and has\nbeen singularly fortunate in gathering round her fine\nartists to help with these departments of her work. One\nof the most memorable Cuala book-plates was designed by\nMiss Pamela Colman-Smith, another expert in black-and-\nwhite who has served the press well being Miss Eileen\nGreig. But, of all those associated with Miss Yeats in\nthis wray, of all those who have contributed illustration\nto her magazine aforesaid, none is to be compared with\nher brother, Jack Yeats. And, had she done nothing but\nhelp to make his work widely known, she would still have\nachieved something great.\nJack Yeats\nThe contrast between the brothers Yeats is a curious\nand striking one. The poet, who is perhaps the better-\nknown of the two, is essentially an artistic worker, it\nbeing clear that he weighs his every phras3 elaborately;\nwhile there are passages, in his writing, signifying his\npossession of as keen a love of fine technique, for its own\nsake, as was manifested by Keats, Tennyson or Rossetti;\nSwinburne Vrigil or Catullus. Now, although Jack\nYeats is a draughtsman of superb vigour, fully comparable\nin this relation to Hals or Rubens or Kokusai, looking\nat his work it is felt that he thinks little about drawing\nand design themselves. I once showed George Moore a\nbook-plate by Jack Yeats, wherein was figured an Irish\ncottage, its owner in the act of going out, but looking\nbackwards very fondjy into his room. \"It gives a beauti-\nful sense of home,\" said Moore, whose criticism of pic-\ntures, as of literature, is often finely illuminating; and,\nin those words, I think he attained something of an\nepitome of Jack Yeats' genius. For this artist is pre-\noccupied always, or nearly always, not with a definite\ndesire to create beauty, but with expressing the actual\nntiment of,his topic, its inner significance; and in what\nendless instances his subject has-given up its soul to him,\nas it were. Look, for instance, at the book-plate designed\nfor Lennox Robinson, showing a hand drawing back a\ncurtain, which discloses a cozy study, with an arm-chair,\nand a table laden with books beside the fire. Dominique\nIngres would have lavished his skill on that hand, making\nit a marvel of inherent beauty, as likewise more certainly\n112"}, {"page_pdf": 12, "page_imprimee": "944", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.12", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1782, "texte": "would the divine Watteau, who would further have\ncharged the curtain with rhythm. But neither hand, nor\ncurtain has appealed to Yeats, who has drawn both\ncasually, if not badly} and his little picture owes its fascina~\ntion, almost exclusively, to the wholly adequate sense it\nconveys of the cozy, firelit abode, with its invitation to\nrest and dream. Like Turner, Yeats will frequently\nmake a tiny landscape or seascape appear vast and bound-\nless; while in his work of this sort he ever contrives to\nperpetuate that mystery which is an integral part of\nnature, he ever contrives to reincarnate the emotions\nwhich the scene he shows awakened in him. And, were\nI asked to single out two things by the artist which are\nspecially wonderful in this way, I should name unhesi-\ntatingly the book-plate done for May Sabina Stock, to-\ngether with that yet finer one delineating a man standing\non the edge of a cliff, the sea stretching away beyond\nhim, while beneath is written in Irish the beautiful and\nthrilling phrase:\n\"Come to me, O bright heart; come to me, O heart!\nThere are dark clouds over Ard-na-Righ.\"\nSimplicity\nHow simple and straightforward those lines are! And\nto revert to a note I struck before, it is simplicity which\nforms the crowning quality in Miss Yeats' printing. Des-\ntitute of those elaborations which, lovely in themselves,\ntend withal to mar the productions of Morris, Ricketts\nand Ashbee, the Cuala books might well be compared to\nthose of that prince of English typographers, John Basker-\nville. Only, it is never to him that my thoughts go, when\nseeing these slim, elegant volumes; and I think instead\nof Arthur Symons' study in Maida Vale, perhaps recollect-\ning also the poem in which Verlaine writes of that place.\n\nW. G. Blaikie Murdoch."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c027", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c027", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "943", "page_fin": "943", "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.21.6", "titre_corps": "Designed by Pamela Coleman-Smith", "titre_sommaire": "Designed by Pamela Coleman-Smith", "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": "943", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.11", "debut_caractere": 3754, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3786, "texte": "Designed by Pamela Coleman-Smith"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c028", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c028", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "944", "page_fin": "944", "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.22", "titre_corps": "II.—The Sorrow of a Little Violet", "titre_sommaire": "II.—The Sorrow of a Little Violet", "signature_source": "Guido Bruno", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 12, "page_imprimee": "944", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.12", "debut_caractere": 1784, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4486, "texte": "Pastels in Prose\nII.—The Sorrow of a Little Violet\nGuido Bruno\nA CONNOISEUR of the real and the beautiful\n** strolled through the pleasaunces of his gardens on a\nsunny Spring afternoon. The tender grass had been daring\nand the little blades were sticking out of the brown earth-\ncrumbs here and there and reminded one of the scarce\nyellow feathers of recently born geese. Bushes and trees\nwere still naked and looked rather sordid towards the\nplacid blue heaven. A handfuL of highly polished leaves\nstood close together at the knotty root of an old ahd white-\nbranched tree. They looked like remnants of last year's\nsummer glory. Their stems were short; they had the ,\nshape of a heart and they almost lay on the dark withered\nmoss.\nThe trained eyes of the connoiseur detected something\nbeautiful right beneath, or among those old unpleasant\nlooking leaves. He stopped, he bent over, and lo! he had\nbroken a violet; the first one perhaps of the year. The\nbeautiful little head bowed down modestly; it was deep\nblue, wonderful like the deep blue eyes of one true woman.\nHe caressed it; He took it home. Busy were the ser-\nvants of his household for the rest of the afternoon. In\nthe sunniest window, a wonderfully chiselled silver re-\nceptacle was placed. Vases scented with rare and costly\nodors from still rarer and mystic flowers of the Orient\nwere prepared 'for its bath. Two slaves were in constant\nattendance to look after the comfort and the needs of the\nnewcomer.\nThe little violet was tired. It closed its leaves for a\nlong restful night. Early in the morning, almost with the\nfirst rays of the new sun, the connoisseur came to the little\nviolet. It lay there in its receptacle filled with perfumed\nwaters. It seemed sad, $o sad.\n\"Dear little violet/' cried the connoiseur, and took it\nin his hands and fondled it and covered its little leaves\nwith kisses, \"Are you not happy in your new home?\"\n\"Yes,\" but this answer sounded like the manifestation\nof utter despair and hopelessness.\n\"Did I not provide for you the most wonderful part of\nmy house? Did I not give you the rarest perfumes for\nyour bath? Did I not send the most skilled among my\nservants to look after your needs? What is it I over-\nlooked, my dear little violet? There is no wish on earth 1\nthat I will not make come true for you the instant you\nname it.\"\nThere was no answer from the violet. And the silence\nwas heavy. The little golden fays danced merrily upon\nthe silver vases and gold receptacles. The violet did not\nanswer yet.\n\"Or is it because I broke you, and you are full of\nregret?\"\n4lNo, not that;\" whispered the violet and its little head\ndrooped down deep on its stem.\n\"I am sad because I never can be broken again.\""}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c029", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c029", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "944", "page_fin": "944", "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.23", "titre_corps": "FINIS", "titre_sommaire": "FINIS", "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": "944", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.12", "debut_caractere": 4488, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4493, "texte": "FINIS"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c030", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c030", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "945", "page_fin": "947", "image_debut": 13, "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.24", "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": 13, "page_imprimee": "945", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.13", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3994, "texte": "In Our Village\n\nJharity in General\nF is highly deplorable that someone always must suffer\n. that some one else may enjoy the self-elevating satis-\naction of being charitable and benevolent. Organized\nrharities contribute daily their share to the humiliation\nmd the downfall of human kind. Forgotten is the old\nyroverb \"let not your right hand know what your left\nI land doeth.\" The right hand is destined to-day to regis-\ner, to card index and to file in elaborate efficiency systems\nwhatever the left hand is supposed to give. How won-\nlerfully simple would it be if there were offices of humane\norganizations where a fellowman in distress could come\nrcror help. Where he could state,\"I am homeless\" and the\nfiome would be provided for him. Where he could say,\nTI am sick,\" and a physician's skill and a druggist's as-\nsistance would be his. Where one could go if he reached\nJthe parting of the ways, desiring to turn to the right and\nknowing his need for a guide. Even if nine out of ten\nwould be taking unfair advantage for selfish reasons of the\ngood heartedness and kindness of their community, to\nhave been a \"neighbor\"' to the tenth, the deserving one\n. . . humanity would be richly repaid.\nIdeal conditions have only one function: to remain the\nultimate goal of efficiency business of our day.\nThe same tender-hearted men and women who turn\npurple with indignant rage if the word vivisection is even\nmentioned contribute money and personal efforts toward\nthe establishment of our gigantic torture chambers and\nexperimental stations, cold charitable institutions where\nhuman kind becomes the raw material for a standard pro-\nduct supposedly useful to all other humanity; where the\n.voice of the heart is silenced and cold business methods,\ncalculation and speculation are offered as bal;m upon bleed-\ning wounds inflicted by humanity and* as a miserable\nexchange for confidence, trust, hope and love. The feel-\ning of the individual towards the individual is throttled\nto make the social worker efficient, to make the seeker\nfor help a deserving entry upon the card index.\nLittle wheels move big wheels. The big wheels move\nthe hands of the clock. The hands of the clock rotate\nand rotate in their prescribed circles. We see the hands\nonly and we expect them to be at certain points at certain\ntimes. There is some mysterious connection between us\nwho watch the hands move in their circles and the little\ninvisible wheels which move the hands. Some day one\nwill arise among the vast multitudes of watchers who will\nlay a loving hand upon one of those smallest invisible\nwheels . . and lo! a great change will come over\nfall . . .\nWashington Square's Amusements for Man and Beast\nWashington Square was recently chosen by some makers\nppf happiness in this world as a field of operation. The\nlatest arrival on the battlefield where hearts and human\ncompassions are pierced by the poisoned daggers of\n\"neighborly love\" is the New York Women's League for\nHomeless Animals\nLast Wednesday noon they arrived with nine cages,\none dog catcher and a comfortable chair on which he can\nsit and smoke and dream about the kindness of his\npatronesses. Homeless cats and dogs are this time the\nobjects of charity. They deprive all stray animals in\nthe neighborhood of the possibility of eventually finding\nsome food in a garbage can or in the gutter. They lock\nthem up in these two-by-four cages, exposed in the most\nprominent place on the Square to sun and heat. It is a\npitiful sight to see these little dogs and cats behind the\nbars. Their eyes are sad, glazed from thirst, their tongues.\nhanging out, their little lungs working painfully. Hordes\nof children are standing around the cages and teasing the\nanimals as New York children of tenement districts are\nmost likely to do. Shady trees are right near by and the\nwatchman's chair has found a place there where it is cool.\nA fountain is not two steps away from the cages and- the\nwatchman has his drinking glass under his chair. But"}, {"page_pdf": 14, "page_imprimee": "946", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.14", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5529, "texte": "there is no receptacle or dish to serve water for those poor\ncreatures, afflicted by the \"neighborly love\" of the New\nYork women of the League for Animals. In these cages\nthey ai;e forced to remain all day^—little bits of kittens\nwhich in gleeful play left the yard where their mother is\nsearching anxiously for them, dogs which look quite harm-\nless . . . Why do not these benevolent women direct\ntheir attention to the big rats of this neighborhood? Why\ndo not they clean tenement houses of bedbugs and other\nvermin? Why do not they start a city wide campaign\nagainst cockroaches which invade poor man's'grocery shops\nali over town? If something living has to be hurt, why not\ndo away with some plague of humanity ? Or why not\ntransfer these dogs and cats immediately \"to the death\nchambers they have built for them in other parts of the\ncity? Why not deliver them mercifully from life to\ndeath instantly? Or is this shameful exhibition of thirsty\nand hungry animals upon the children's playground of\nWashington Square meant as an educational uplift for\nthe school children during vacation times? Whatever\nspace is left for the playground for the children of Green-\nwich Village by the all absorbing bus company, is now\ntaken up by these damnable cages.\nShould not these animals be granted at least'a shady\nplace, if they must be in cages, a drink of water once in\na while and a square meal?\nA very zealous young man gathers every even-\ning around eight o'clock a large number of passersby\nabout him on the Northwest' corner of Washington\nSquare and Fifth Avenue, preaching to them from\na chair on equality of man and the futility of divinity\nand of churches. While exactly at the same hour the\nill-blown sounds of a cornet invite the faithful to look\nat moving pictures on the corner of Thompson St.and\nWashington Square,—at moving pictures illustrating in\nrather a grotesque way the Scriptures. What do they\nknow about God and man?\nAt the same time a band of musicians furnished by the\ncity government, amuses the crowds in the park. Classic\nmusic and ragtime interchange as happily as moods and\nthe masses are amused. A bit of music means so much\nin the life of everybody. It awakens so much good in\nthe hearts of people. It brings back memories. It lulls\ninto forgetfulness. It creates hopes. Truly these band\nconcerts are to a good many of their listeners a much\nneeded soul bath.\nIf you really think that the hand organ man is a pest\nthat one can get rid of by handing over an abolus, you have\nnot the children's version of the* story. What a cabaret\nmeans to you after dinner, the hand organ man means to\nthe ragged little tots who, after their evening repast,\npopulate Bleecker Street and the other thoroughfares that\nlead to the Square. Around these hand organs are the\nsocial centres where little girls meet little Soys and dance\nand admire and feel, perhaps for the first time in their\nlives, what desire, possession and envy mean.\nAt the foot of the Garibaldi monument a very dignified\nM gentleman, with white side whiskers, assisted by a\nvery pretty girl in a gray Quaker habit, proclaims every\nevening the happiness of an ideal world where there will\nbe no money, no individual ownership, and therefore no\nquarrels and hatred, and nothing but gentleness and love\nin abundance. He, too, finds his group of diligent listeners.\nHe looks so happy that one is almost convinced that h<\nbelieves,his prophecies, if only he would not pass aroum\nevery once in awhile some pamphlets which he wishes J\nsell for ten cents each. Once, after one of his meeting\nhad closed, I saw him walking homewards witl) his blondi\ncompanion and a big bunch of his pamphlets under hi<\narm. His face was not happy. What a paradox! Tha\nthe man who preaches universal happiness Eased upor\nthe abolishment of the circulation of money should b<\ncrestfallen because the money did not circulate in hi\ndirection on this evening!\nStrolling along about the Square and taking in the sight\nhumanitarians and their humane objects provide for us*\nwe will meet that funny old lady who carries some baU\nclothes in a paper bag and who will try to sell us\nknitted baby bootees. Of course, no one takes the offel\nseriously and a good many hand her a penny. We an\ngood friends, this old woman and myself. And so, once\nhanding out some small coin to her, I asked her to show\nme those bootees. She had only a single one in her papei\nbag, and that was time worn. She told me she made it\nabout twenty-five years ago for that boy of hers who\nwent away some dozen years ago. She believes firmh\nthat one of these days he will come back to his old mother.\nAnd then, she will put the boo,tee in her chest drawer as\na memory of her years of trouble and sorrow. Where\nthere is hope there is life!\nA new fad was started by some sightseer who invaded\nthe Village on a bus a few days ago. He threw a fev|\npennies among a crowd of boys who were loitering abou|\nthe bus station. And he was well repaid, viewing from\nthe height of his bus seat, the turmoil of fists and feet\nand heads jumbled in a tight mass. It was quite a spectacij\nfor eyes and ears. Our street arabs seem now penn\\!\nhungry whenever one of those swaggering sea-faring buse.'f\npass through the Square.\nSuch are the innocent amusements Washington Square\nhas in store for man and beast, night and day, watchedS\nover vigilantly by Tom and Dominick, the faithful cops\nof our neighborhood.\nJack Flanagan has become famous notwithstanding the\nfact that he arrived only two months ago from Australia."}, {"page_pdf": 15, "page_imprimee": "947", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.15", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1756, "texte": "here are several letters for him in the Garret which will\n: his for a call.\nOscar Caesare and his bride, who was Miss Margaret\n)rter and who aspires to be Miss O. Henry, looked in\nin last week for one of the romantic abodes that one\nas supposed to find for cheap money in our neighbor-\ned (so often mentioned and made immortal by her\nther, O. Henry.) The real estate shark is the big wall\nGreenwich Village between the romance of a quaint\n>me in an odd house and one's pocketbook. Only an\nRistic soap manufacturer may build a bridge over it with\ns money. The Caesares believe in a fair exchange of\nlues and therefore they will live somewhere in the\nburbs. Caesare has lived in Greenwich Village for\nmost ten years and he knows the real estate shark better\nrhaps than does anybody else. If his experiences had\n)t been so tragic, they would be really funny.\nA certain girl, who thinks life is not worth living\nithout an automobile, and whose husband has quite a\nntrary conception, decided upon a unique course for\naking him yield to her demands. She devotes at present\n1 her time to the study of the art of running an auto-\nobile and she feels sure that her husband is too much\nan efficient business man to let her acquired knowledge\n; idle after she shall have acquired her chauffeur's li-\nnse. But there are moments in which she feels quite\nizy about the outcome of her adventure.\nEdith Unger closed up her Mad Hatter's shop and went\nr a fourteen days' vacation to the country. She will\nre-open the Rabbit's Hole sometime after the first of\nSeptember.\nAnton Hellman, longtime resident of the Benedict\nApartments, will open his interior decorating establishment\non Eighth Street. He has leased the floor right above the\nCandlestick Tea Room."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c031", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c031", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "945", "page_fin": "945", "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.24.1", "titre_corps": "Landlord \"Artlover' and Phlianthropist by Jack Flanagan", "titre_sommaire": "Landlord \"Artlover' and Phlianthropist by Jack Flanagan", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 13, "page_imprimee": "945", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.13", "debut_caractere": 3996, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4051, "texte": "Landlord \"Artlover' and Phlianthropist by Jack\nFlanagan"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c032", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c032", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "946", "page_fin": "946", "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.24.2", "titre_corps": "Ragpicker's Cellar in the Village, suitable as Studio, TeaJ room or Artshop (Rent: as much as the landlord can get)", "titre_sommaire": "Ragpicker's Cellar in the Village, suitable as Studio, TeaJ room or Artshop (Rent: as much as the landlord can get)", "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": "946", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.14", "debut_caractere": 5531, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5646, "texte": "Ragpicker's Cellar in the Village, suitable as Studio, TeaJ\nroom or Artshop (Rent: as much as the landlord can get)"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c033", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c033", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "947", "page_fin": "947", "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.25", "titre_corps": "A very interesting Oscar Wilde item is offered in a", "titre_sommaire": "A very interesting Oscar Wilde item is offered in a", "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": "947", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.15", "debut_caractere": 1758, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2757, "texte": "A very interesting Oscar Wilde item is offered in a\nrecent catalog of W. Heifer & Sons, Booksellers, Cam-\nbridge, England. It is a large paper copy of the first\nedition of his picture of \"Dorian Gray,\" published in 1891\nin a limited edition of twp hundred and fifty copies, of\nwhich each was numbered and signed by the author.\nInlaid is an unpublished letter from the author concern-\ning the characters in the book.\nThe autograph letter signed in full, is written to Mr.\nRalph Payne, with addressed envelope, undated (Febru-\nary 12th, 1894), 4 pp. cr Bvo.\nWhatever influence \"Dorian Gray,\" the masterpiece\nof Oscar Wilde, may 7exercise on the reader, there can\nbe no doubt that to some extent, Oscar Wilde at the time\nof writing was portraying himself, and this letter supplies\nthe key to the Author's mind, as may be seen by the fol-\nlowing short extract from the letter:\n\"Basil Hallward is what I think I am—-\nLord Henry what the world thinks—me—\n. what I would like to be—in other ages—\nperhaps/'"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c034", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c034", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "947", "page_fin": "947", "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.26", "titre_corps": "Postcards drawn by Artists in the German Trenches", "titre_sommaire": "Postcards drawn by Artists in the German Trenches", "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": "947", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.15", "debut_caractere": 2759, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2808, "texte": "Postcards drawn by Artists in the German Trenches"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c035", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c035", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "948", "page_fin": "948", "image_debut": 16, "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.27", "titre_corps": "Why and How I Got Married", "titre_sommaire": "Why and How I Got Married", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 16, "page_imprimee": "948", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.16", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 457, "texte": "Why and How I Got Married\nMany hundred stories, brief and lengthy accounts, arrive every week at the desk of our Contest Editor. Most\nof them testify that marriage, even in our commonplace age, preserves its old romance and that to relate a story of\nhow Grandfather took Grandmother urges the pen into hands not otherwise ambitious of literary achievement. A\nhandful of these stories will be chosen every week for the perusal of our readers."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c036", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c036", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "948", "page_fin": "948", "image_debut": 16, "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.28", "titre_corps": "Seven Years' Friendship", "titre_sommaire": "Seven Years' Friendship", "signature_source": "F. H. T. (Baltimore", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 16, "page_imprimee": "948", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.16", "debut_caractere": 459, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1968, "texte": "Seven Years' Friendship\nF. H. T. (Baltimore)\nI T was not a romance but an awakening.\n*■ It was not a culmination of a seven year courtship, but\na jolting, yet pleasurable discovery that after seven years of\nfirm friendship that I had found my imaginary ideal in the\nform of the slip of a girl by my side.\nWe had often discussed her marriage to another youth, one\nof whom I held in the highest respect, and one whose talents\nwould and will undoubtedly place him high in the business\nworld.\nIt was a Spring evening in the woods of Maryland, returning\nto the city after a delightful party. Frogs in a nearby marsh\ncroaked their weird mystic chants, and the breeze rustled\nmusically through the trees. With the rush of a tidal wave,\nduring a lull in the conversation, the thought of this girl marry-\ning someone else, rushed upon my previously dull mind, pulling\nat every heart string. To ask her for her hand seemed an\nimpossibility, and the very thought choked in my throat. I\nstopped abruptly and she paused too. For the minute the frogs\nceased their croaking and the breeze halted. Somehow she\nseemed to know and stepped a wee bit closer. Her arm touched\nmine and in the next instant I held her to me. \"Tomorrow?\"\nI questioned and she nodded her assent.\nThat was the only word that passed between us and on the\nmorrow we slipped to Ellicott city, a suburb of Baltimore and\nwere married. Since I have not known a moment of sorrow,\nand feel that I was guided on that Spring night by an unknown\nsympathetic hand."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c037", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c037", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "948", "page_fin": "948", "image_debut": 16, "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.29", "titre_corps": "Class Distinction", "titre_sommaire": "Class Distinction", "signature_source": "Brooklyn", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 16, "page_imprimee": "948", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.16", "debut_caractere": 1970, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3537, "texte": "Class Distinction\n\"Brooklyn\"\nrjp HIRTEEN Years ago. I was the son of a wealthy family.\nWhen I came home one evening, a new maid opened the\ndoor. She was beautiful and seemed like a lady masquerading.\nOne glance from her quickly-lowered eyes made my heart turn\nin my breast and I was hers from that moment. Then began\na strange courtship. I would steal down in the early morning,\nwhen she was setting the table, before the rest were up. She\nrefused to listen to me and threatened to tell my folks if I did\nnot leave her alone. But somehow, I knew she cared for me.\nHer presence in the house was a delicious agony and I was\npersistent. On her nights off, I used to wait down on the\ncorner. And finally one night, she cried, and begged me to\nleave her alone, that I was too good for her. But I knew\nbetter and took her in my arms, and in six weeks after she first\nopened the door to me, we were married.\nThe family were horrified and cast me out, out of their home\nand out of their business. I didn't care, I had my love and was\ncontent. We started housekeeping in a tenement with a bed,\na table, two hard chairs and a one-burner gas stove. Our\nmoney went while I walked the streets looking for work. For\ntwo days we lived on half a loaf of rye bread and water. I\nfinally got a job at hard, unaccustomed labor, for ten dollars\na week. We were very happy, she and I. Since then, the\nbaby came, and sickness and hard times and all sorts of troubles\nbut my little maid and I are still truly wedded and content\nand it is thirteen years since she first opened the door to me."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c038", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c038", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "948", "page_fin": "948", "image_debut": 16, "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.30", "titre_corps": "Love or Friendship?", "titre_sommaire": "Love or Friendship?", "signature_source": "C. W. J. (Montreal", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 16, "page_imprimee": "948", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.16", "debut_caractere": 3539, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4988, "texte": "Love or Friendship?\nC. W. J. (Montreal)\nWAS attending a Medical College in New York. Not having\nmany acquaintances in the city, I readily accepted the invij\ntation of a classmate to visit him at his Home and meet 1™\npeople. * J |\nThere I met his sister—*young and attractive looking. Wit;\nfew acquaintances and a slender purse, I did not care to taki\nin the pleasure places of New York, but became a constan\nvisitor at my friend's house, and was thrown more and mon\nin contact with his sister. Our friendship terminated ii\nmarriage. Our courtship, which was of a rather length\nnature—my wife waiting some four years until I secured m;\ndegree—was of the conventional kind—books, theatres occasion\nally and flowers.\nI recollect what great pleasure I used to derive from putting\npretty inscriptions on the front leaves of the books—a few tende:\nlines of some poet or a few touching words in Latin from mj\nlimited store. I don't know whether I married for love, trui\nlove, or whether I married because I mistook friendship foi\nlove. Perhaps the latter. I have three children and earn j\ncomfortable living. My wife takes life calmly and seems quit\ncentered on herself. She seems to want to get the most out o\nlife for herself.\nOften I wonder whether I would be happier and more cJJj\ntented had I remained single. Married life has become for me\nso dull, so monotonous. It lacks the sympathy, the affection anc\nco-operation that I fondly looked forward to."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c039", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c039", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "948", "page_fin": "948", "image_debut": 16, "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.31", "titre_corps": "The Romance on the Boat to Babloa", "titre_sommaire": "The Romance on the Boat to Babloa", "signature_source": "C. (Detroit", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 16, "page_imprimee": "948", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.16", "debut_caractere": 4990, "fin_caractere_exclue": 6546, "texte": "The Romance on the Boat to Babloa\nMrs. C. (Detroit)\nULY 4, 1914, a girl friend and myself boarded a Detroi\nFerry for an afternoon ride. The boat was crowded t(\ncapacity. My husband, Mr. C. * and his friend, then botl\nstrangers to us, offered us chairs. A conversation followed\nAfter the ride both young men suggested supper and a moon;\nlight ride. After a little hesitation we accepted the invitation\nDuring the evening I was relating some of my trips througl\nthe west. Mr. C had covered the same territory anc\ndared me to marry him and take up a claim in Montana. Ij\nfun I took the dare. We talked so much about our claims arj\nplans that our friends took it seriously and the following evil\ning, they pinned tags on us ''just married.\" m|\nThe next ten days Mr. C made ardent love to me\ndared me to keep my promise of the first evening. On 41\n15th of July he asked me if I was ready to accompany him\nthe minister. Laughingly, I said yes, picked up my hat, said\nI am ready. Before I realized the serious step I was taking\nI was married to him by an E minister. Waking up to th(\nfact that I was married, I asked to be taken home. I refused t\nsee my husband for three days. After thinking it all over\ndecided to be game and make good my vows. That's why an\nhow I was married. After a brief honeymoon we settled dowj\nand the result is I am as happy as any contented marrie-\nwoman can be. I have an ideal husband. I could not havl\n.\nfound a better one. I wouldn't advise every girl to marry aj\nI did for I don't believe there are many fellows like my husi\nband."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c040", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c040", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "949", "page_fin": "950", "image_debut": 17, "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.32", "titre_corps": "The Fairy and the Spider", "titre_sommaire": "The Fairy and the Spider", "signature_source": "Betty Graeme", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 17, "page_imprimee": "949", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.17", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5798, "texte": "The Fairy and the Spider\nBy Betty Graeme\n\"Here we go, Luby-Lou\nHere we go, Luby-Lou,\"\nsang the soiled children in the square, moving in unison\nwith the rhythm, quite unmindful that their paradise was\nbounded on all sides by ugly red brick houses. Their\nshrill voices were as glad as if their faces had been freshly.\nwashed with morning dew and their ragged raiment made\n* whole. For, if water be scarce in the quarter, so are\nmirrors and if one's frock be frayed one has only to hold\none's head high above such sartorial shortcomings.\n\"I put my right foot in,\nI I take my right foot out,\nI make my foot go tap, tap, tap,\nAnd turn myself around.\"\nchorused the voices.\nTo be sure the last line didn't rhyme but in New York\nthere is no time for mending rhymes. New ones are born\nevery minute, but no one will stop to learn them as long\nas the old ones hang together.\nBut the bad rhyme got on Miss West's nerves. The\nconstant repetition jarred like a newly crowned tooth that\nthe dentist has confused with the bill and made too high.\n\"Children, would you like me to tell you a fairy story?\"\nshe asked.\n\"Oh, yes, Miss West,\" they answered politely, \"we\nwould like it very much,\" which was not at all true, but\n- what they had been taught was expected of them.\n' \"Well, then, once upon a time a fairy came to New\nYork—\"\n\"Not to New York!\" they exclaimed, laughing de-\nrisively.\n\"Yes, indeed,\" she maintained firmly, \"though nobody\nwould ever have known it. You see, in New York no\none believes in fairies because no one ever sees them; and\nno one ever sees them because no one believes in them.\nThis fairy disguised herself so she wouldn't be recognized\nby any stranger from the country. She folded up her\nwings and tucked them into her tailor suit. She did up\nher hair and hid her fairy wand in an umbrella. She\neven painted her face so she would look like the rest of\nher sex. And no one even suspected her.\"\n\"But, Miss Wild West, why should a fairy come to\nNew York?\" they cried in bewilderment.\n\"Ah, you may well ask. You see, my dears, this fairy\n■j|ad got lost and, as no one knew the way back to fairy-\nBind, they all told her that New York was just like Jairy-\n|land. So, of course, she went there.\"\n\"And is it?\" inquired the children anxiously.\n\"Oh, no,\" she reassured them. \"And that was very\nhard on the fairy. Instead of the illumination being made\nBy lovely phosphorescent lanterns swung gaily about by\nwill-o'-the-wisps and fireflies, glaring artificial lights\nsnapped on and off in a dizzy and unbeautiful manner.\nAnd instead of being spontaneous and highly contagious,\nall the mirth was made to order and very, very depressing.\nInstead of dancing in fairy rings on the greensward mid\ntinkling bluebells and fairy music, she found them dancing\non hardwood squares in the midst of clinking glasses and\nugly sounds that made the ears ache. Instead of happy,\n* smiling faces on all sides there was only the leer of the\nlicentious and the greed of the avaricious.\n\"Poor little fairy, she was so sorry and disappointed.\nShe wandered all up and down the narrow dirty streets\ncrying her eyes out. The pavements hurt her feet and\nthe people hurt her pride of race.\"\n\"Poor little fairy,\" echoed the children. Vaguely they\ntoo understood how she felt. \"Did she die?\"\n\"No, just as her heart began to beat so faintly she\nthought it was going to stop, she stumbled blindly into\na garret. There in one corner she saw a great black spider\nspinning a web.\"\n\"A spider!\" cried the children in alarm.\n\"Yes. 'Of course, being va fairy, she wasn't afraid of\nspiders even though this one made terrible faces at her\nand waved his arms in' a most threatening manner.\n\"What is the matter with you,\" inquired the spider,\n\"Are you trying to flood my garret with salt water or\ndid you float in on a high tide ? Grrrrrrr! I know what.\nYou are a woman and all women are inferior to men.\nA woman like you needs to Jbe thrown on the floor* and\ntrrrrampled upon. That is what I should do with you.\"\nThe fairy was so amused she burst right out laughing.\n\"I was crying because New York is so ugly,\" she said.\n\"But now I don't seem to mind so much. I haven't been\namused before but I am beginning to be.\"\n\"New York is not ugly,\" said the spider with emphasis.\n\"You are a woman and you don't know anything about\nit. Women are inferior—\"\n\"You said that before,\" said the fairy, \"and I didn't\nbelieve you then.\"\n\"But I can prove it!\" shrieked the spider.\n\"Well, who cares if you can,\" said the fairy, \"I can\nprove that you are knock-kneed but I'm too polite.\"\n\"I hate politeness,\" said the spider, spinning another\nthread. \"Why should we lie to \"feach other? But you\nare a woman, and women, like all inferiors, lie.\"\n\"I heard you the first time,\" said the fairy. \"Women\nonly lie to hold their own with men. It is a nice world,\ndon't you think?\"\nYou see she had forgotten all about her tears.\n\"Well, I don't. No, I don't. It is a big piece of sticky\nfly paper. All these horrid human insects that swarm\nhere think are tasting sweetness, but they are just\nconsuming sugared poison. Besides it hurts my wings.\"\n\"What does a woman know of wings?\" growled the\nspider. \"No woman ever had wings. Woman is infer—\"\n\"Why harp on it?\" said the fairy. \"If her upper\nregister is a bit thin it doesn't help to have a man hammer\non it all the time.\"\n\"So you don't like New York because you've gotten\nyour wings singed?\"\n\"I suppose so!\" agreed the fairy, amiably. \"Besides it\nhas broken my heart.\"\n\"Heart,\" sniffed the spider, if spiders can sniff. \"I'll\nprove to you that a woman doesn't know anything about\na heart. Where is your heart?\"\n\"If you please, I keep my heart just where you keep\nyours, in my vanity case.\"\n\"We will leave my heart out of ,the discussion,\" said\nthe spider, weaving busily. \"So they have run over your"}, {"page_pdf": 18, "page_imprimee": "950", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.18", "debut_caractere": 381, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2601, "texte": "vanity case and busted it, have they ? But, being a woman,\nit is quite as serious as though it had been your heart.\"\n\"It is more serious,\" replied the fairy. \"If it had been\nmy heart I would have covered it up and no one would\never have known. But since it is my vanity case, every-\nbody can see that New York has put a crimp in it.\"\n\"Just like a woman,\" snapped the spider, biting off a\nthread and beginning at another corner of the web. \"They\nare fit for nothing but to be mothers of the race.\"\n\"How funny you are,\" laughed the fairy. \"One would\nthink that no inferior being would be fit for so high a\nmission. It must be a terrible handicap to the race, too.\nI suppose mothers are because the fathers cant be, eh?\"\n\"That is almost enough,\" said the spider, frowning\nfiercely, \"I told you I had a headache.\"\n\"Then I must be going,\" said the fairy. \"I couldn't\nthink of staying and sharing it with you. There is never\nroom for anything else on a man's mind when he has\nhimself and a headache on it. Goodbye.\"\nSuddenly, as the fairy was turning herself out, a shaft\nof sunlight fell athwart the room and bathed the garret\nin its mellow glow. It was then that the fairy made a\ngreat discovery. She saw that the spider was not a spider\nat all, but a big hearted, sympathetic writer man. The\nreason he looked so black and ugly was because he was\nall covered over with ink from trying to tell people about\nthe beauty and romance and savor of life which they were\noverlooking in their mad rush to the grave. The web\nhe was so industriously weaving was made all of silver\nthreads. It glistened in the sunlight with the glint of\ngolden deeds, the sparkle of jewelled hopes and pearls of\nthought that mark the path of inspiration.\n\"As she gazed, the fairy felt her own tired, crushed\nwings stir faintly and, adjusting her somewhat battered\nstraw hat at the angle at wrhich she usually wore her\nfairy crown, she fluttered away.\"\n\"Is that all?\" asked the children.\n\"Well, yes, that is all I seem to remember,\" replied\nMiss Wild West, somewhat abashed.\n\"I don't think much of it,\" exclaimed a grimy urchin.\n\"You just orter hear the Injun stories my Uncle Bob kin\ntell.\"\n\"I don't think so awfully much of it myself,\" said\nMiss West."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c041", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c041", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "950", "page_fin": "950", "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.33", "titre_corps": "TO YOU, GENTLE READER", "titre_sommaire": "TO YOU, GENTLE READER", "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": "950", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.18", "debut_caractere": 2603, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3252, "texte": "TO YOU, GENTLE READER\nKindly give your standing order for Bruno's\nWeekly to your newsdealer, if you do not\nwish to send us directly a subscription. The\npresent paper prices are such that it proves\ndisastrous for a magazine to print more\ncopies than are needed for its regular sub-\nscription circulation and for a supply of\nunreturnable orders of news companies and\nmagazine agencies.\nAlso we cannot supply you with back num-\nbers which you have missed on the news-\nstands.\nTherefore, if you like the contents of\nBruno's Weekly, release your clutches from\na two-collar bill and send in your check\nto-day or give a standing order to your news-\ndealer."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c042", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c042", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "950", "page_fin": "950", "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.34", "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": 18, "page_imprimee": "950", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.18", "debut_caractere": 3254, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4029, "texte": "ROSSI BROTHERS\n58 Washington Square\nUnderneath the Garret\nICE CREAM AND TOBACCO\nThe Mad Hatter Has a Tea Party Every Afternoon\nFrom 3 to 6 at\n150 WEST FOURTH STREET\nJust Down the Rabbit Hole From Washington Square\n\"Take Some More Tea\"\n\"I've Had Nothing Yet So I Can't Take More\"\n\"You Mean You Can't Take Less, It's Very Easy to\nTake More Than Nothing.\"\n\"Nobody Asked Your Opinion\" Edith Unger.\nIiBUYI\nSingle volumes, small lots, and libraries; autograph letters of known literary men\nartists, drawings, pictures and engravings. Address\n\"COIJJECTOR,\" Care of Bruno's Weekly, 58 Washington S®\nEdith Haynes Thompson\nHER SHOP\nContaining Many Quaint and Beautiful Things\n58 WASHINGTON SQUARE SOUTH\nHours: 1 to 5.30 P. M.\nj. 112. McCarthy\nPAINTINGS AND\nANTIQUES\n30 WEST 46th STREET"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c043", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c043", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[951]", "page_fin": "[951]", "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.35", "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": "[951]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.19", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1258, "texte": "Rare Books\nFirst Editions\nExtra Illustrated Books. Early Printed Books. Association Books. Books for Christmas Gifts.\nNidwied singly or in sets for people who have no ither time nor opportunity to select for themsahre%\nm for those who have not access to die best book marts. Why not begn collecting now?\nAddress, E. V. Boston Transcript, Boston, Mass.\nUsing a book\nIN WHICH\nwe say just what we think. Published every month by Norman-Bel Geddes at 171 Wilson Avenue\nki Detroit, Michigan. It is a little book uniquely illustrated. Write for sample copy.\nHOTEL BREVOQRT CAFE LAFAYET\nFifth Avenue University Place\nRAYMOND ORTEIG, INC.\nThe Two French Hotels and Restaurants of New York\nGONFARONE'S\n40 West Bth Street\nTABLE D'HOTE\nMl\n'Eating places are literary landmarks\" said O. Henry, speaking of Gonfarone's in one of his\nunexcelled Greenwich Village Stories.\nI\nI\nThere can be no pleasanter place to hear that remarkable ■\nEdison Record Number (82536) than\nTHE DIAMOND DISC SHOP\nat Number 10 Fifth Avenue\nIn this store, at least, the delightful atmosphere of Old Grrawkfa Village has not heaei sacrificed\non the altar of coxnmercialmaa\nA postal will bring you, with our compfimeafe,\nan interesting little biography of Mr. That. A.\nPhone: Stufvesant 4570 Edison"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-26-01-c044", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01#c044", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-26_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[952]", "page_fin": "[952]", "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=bmtnaaq19160826-01.2.36", "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": 20, "page_imprimee": "[952]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.20", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4555, "texte": "Bruno Chap Books\n•50\n.25\n.25\n.25\n.25\n1. The Harlot's House, by Oscar Widle\nThe first American reprint of one of the\nmost wonderful poems of the author. ...... $ .25\n2. Setting Hens, Frogs' Legs* by D. Molby\nD. Molby, passes the white elephant un-\nremarked, but writes an essay on the mos-\nquito's neck and the rhythm of his little\nwings before he stings and annoys.. . .25\n3. Mushrooms, by Alfred Kreymborg\nMr. Kreymborg*s Mushrooms are recog-\nnized poetry. The Mushroom stands for a\nsimple expression of thought in simple mu-\nsical rhythm. Mr. Kreymborg is one man\nwho speaks to his fellow-men—just to the\none who might find in four or six simple\nlines of rhythm the revelation of the rhythm\nand the harmony of his own simple life....\n4. Tahiti, by Robert Carlton Brown\n5. Four Letters, by Oscar Wilde\n6. Anarchists, by Cuido Bruno\n7. To My Mother, by Alfred Kreymborg\n8. Vignettes, by Hubert Crackanthorpe\nMr. Crackanthorpe had three chief gifts:\nskill in dramatic narration—a sense of sit-\nuation, a lively feeling for the value of inter-\npretation of gesture, posture, circumstance;\nsecondly, analytic skill in the conception and\npresentation of character; thirdly, descriptive\nand pictorial power, readiness of vision, with\na faculty of sifting and selecting its reports.\nLionel Johnson, in Acad., March 20, 1897. •\n$. Tasks and Hsuka, by Sadakichi Hartmann\nThe son of a German father and a Japa-\nnese mother, of a burgomaster's son from\nMecklenburg, the only European state with*\nout a Constitution, and the daughter of a\nronin, a roving soldier of Old Japan. Sada-\nkichi is much more Japanese than German.\nHis style is extravagant but suave. Some of\nhis short stories are as excessive and intense\nas Foe's, on strictly realistic lines. The ut-\nmost bounds of expression are reached, even\nhis originality is aggressive\nlidtardi Wagner, the Egoist, by Guido Bruno\nEdna, the Girl of the Street, by Alfred Kreymborg\nCause: our social conditions.\nMotive: just to live.\nProblem: eternal.\nSolution: none\nSongs of the Cosmos, by Charles Keeter\nLike the weaver of wonderful brocades, he\nselected thread after thread and up loomed\nthose wonderful pictures before my eyes,\ncreations of simple words, dipped in red\nblood, tinted by the golden sun, formed and\nshaped by hands who know the labors and\npains of millions scented with good-will\ntowards everybody and emitted with pure love\nNo.\n13.\n14.\n15.\n16.\n17.\n.50\nIS.\n19.\n.25\n.25\n.25\n20.\n21.\n22.\n23.\n24.\n25.\n.25 26.\nTeaspoons and Violet Leaves, by Guido Bruno 1.00\nThe Tragedy in therßirdhouse, Tby Guido Bruno\n.50\nExotics, by John W. Draper\nIt lay a luscious yellow band\nCreaming upon umbrageous green\nThe spray was satin to the hand;\nAnd to the eye a topaz bright,\nAnd dazzling as the noonday sand.\nFrom\"The Yellow Orchid'* .25\nImagists, by Richard Aldington\nOne of the original group of the English\nImagists tells all about Imagism and its aims.\nThis paper deals a severe blow to all imita-\ntors and producers of vers libre who think\nthemselves poets of the \"new group\" because\nthey don't write in rhyme , .25\nLord Alfred Douglas—Salome: A Critique,\nthe Beauty of Unpunctuality: an Essay and\nThree Poems\nThere was a time when Lord Alfred\nDouglas would have laughed at the idea that\nhe would write a book explaining away his\nfriendship with Oscar Wilde. As editor of\n\"The Spirit Lamp,\" a magazine published\nby James Thornton, High Street, Oxford,\nand edited by Lord Alfred Douglas, he\nseemed to be a diligent imitator of his friend\nOscar. He imitated his style in prose and in\npoetry. Whenever he received a contribu-\ntion from Oscar Wilde it was the main and\nleading feature of the issue .25\nSadakichi Hartmann—Permanent Peace: Is It a\nDream?\nCharles Kains-Jackson—Jotra Aldington Syinonds\nA Portrait\nThe life-long friend of the English poet\ngives a vivid picture of the personality and\nlife and life-work of Symonds. This essay\nwritten a few days after the death of Sy-\nmonds, on the 19th of April, 1893, and was\nfirst published in the Quarto , a since for-\ngotten literary periodical of England, in\n1897 25\nDjuna Barnes—The Book of Repulsive We*\nmen—Rhythms and 5 Drawings 25\nEdna W. Underwood—The Book of the White\nPeacocks .25\nH. Thompson Rich—Lumps of Clay—l 6 Rhythms\n.25\nD. Molby — Hippopotamus Tails —28 Every-day\nMusings .25\nH. Thompson Rich—The Red Shame—l 7 War\nPoems .. ......... .25\nTheodor Schroeder, Erothogenesis of Religion, a\nbibliography .50\nSadakichi Hartmann, My Rubayat * .50\nAccompany each order with Cheque, small amounts, one-cent stamps\nBRUNO'S WEEKLY\n58 WASHINGTON SQUARE, N. Y. C."}]}], "pages_ocr_originales": [{"page_pdf": 1, "page_imprimee": "couv. 1", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.1", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\nEDITED BY GUIDO BRUNO IN HIS GARRET ON\nWASHINGTON SQUARE\nFive Cents August 26th, 1916\nW. & G."}, {"page_pdf": 2, "page_imprimee": "[934]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.2", "texte": "Copyright by Guide Brua*. Aug. 26th, 1916. Crisp®®! matter*\ntncittdiog «Jf <lf««riavi, mf net be reproduced without pereuiMW\n«112 Guid« Bruiw; but (hat pecauMmi may be iMwned if credit\nk fires te aufher and Brume's Weekly.\nOne Hundred Dollars for the\nStory of Your Marriage\nt\nBruno's Weekly will pay one hundred dollars for the best story setting\nforth why and how you were married.\nWe don't want literary masterpieces or extraordinary stories of adven-\nture. But there is a lot of romance and fragrance about those days\nwhen you two met. You know you like to recall those times even If\neverything has changed since.\nWrite down your story just as simply as it happened. We shall no®\nuse your name if you do not wish us to do so.\nThere is no better fiction than the one Fate writes upon the pages of\nour lires. We know your story will be enjoyed by lots of others. Write\nit down to-day and address it to the \"Contest Editor,9' Bruno's Weekly,\n53 Washington Square, New York City.\nEvery 'week those stories which are printed will be paid for at space\nrates. The contest will close on October Ist, 1916, and the stories\nshould be limited to three hundred words.\nSEND YOUR STORY TO-DAY"}, {"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "[935]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.3", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\nEdited by Guido Bruno in His Garret on Washington Square\nNo. 11\nAUGUST 26th, MCMXVI\nVol. 11l\nCopyright 1916, by Qui do Bruno\n\nPrayer\nH. Thompson Rich.\nEurope is all one tomb! The awful words\nMake the most hardened ones among us sigh;\n*\nAnd still the soldier multitudes come by,\nCold legions with their life-blood turned to curds.\nFor they have seen their fellows' desperate herds\nStumble upon the stricken plain and die;\nAnd they have known the buzzards' long, harsh cry—\nAnd they have missed the music of the birds.\nGod send us healing pity of green grass,\nAnd heartening of flowers, and help of trees,\nTo bury the Red Shame forever more;\nAnd they whose bodies perish, they who pass\nOut of the World and over unknown seas—\nSend them forgetfulness of Death and War.\n\nIn the Footprints of Genius\n\n\"Fantastic wreck of simpler things,\nShe sits beside the haughty sea\nAnd calls the whole world to her knee.\"\nFrom \"Manhattan ,\" by Hamlin Garland\nSINCE the year 1609, when that worthy and \"Irre-\ncoverable discoverer, Master Hendrick Hudson,\"\ndiscovered the Hudson River in his little vessel the \"Half\nMoon,\" the city of Manhattan has undergone more than\nrevolutionary changes; and within her bounds we see\nto-day the natives of every clime. She is kaleidoscopic) in\nher multifarious types. From the European nobleman,\nwho crosses the pond to besiege the hearts of American\nbeauties, down to the swarthy Italian organ-grinder, there\nis a vast and varied assortment; and in battalions they\ncome in quest of liberty and lucre in the land of the\nGolden Fleece. For New York is poor man's\nparadise, the rich man's Mecca; and from every land they\nhasten to mix in Broadway's busy throng.\nIt is a trite saving that \"all roads lead to New York,\"\nand assuredly most people gravitate in her direction sooner\nor later. A stroll down Broadway—the world's highway\n—is pretty sure to result in an encounter with an ac-\nquaintance—a steamer friend or railroad companion, the\nman or girl you lately met in Paris or Panama, or perhaps\na college chum. Its gloomy canyons yield many a delight-\nful rencontre, for, to an extent true of few other of the\nworld's great metropolises, New York is a lodestone for\ntalent, and within its circumscribed limits are geniuses—\nor embyro geniuses—drawn through her golden portals\nfrom every part of the universe. In the hothouse air of\nthe metropolis, they either flower or wither in the making.\nThus is it that in New York boarding houses, or hotels,\none meets, in the course of years, so many people destined\nto great careers. It was in a typical New York boarding-\nhouse, at No. — E. 17th St., that I met the American\nWinston Churchill of St. Louis. It was a three-story\nbrown stone front, its interior arrangements—niched walls\nand frescoed ceilings—the only remaining vestiges of\nformer grandeur. Some opulent merchant prince lived\nand died in it. But now the niches empty, the frescoing\nfaded and stained, and a gloomy air of departed greatness\npervades it. Mr. Churchill, then on the editorial staff\nof \"The Army and Navy Journal,\" sat next to me at the\nlong center table in the high-ceiled dining room, and\nspeedily became acquainted, as journalists do. His room\nwas across the hall from mine, and one evening he dropped\ninto see me with the manuscript of what was probably his\nfirst story (\"Mr. Pennington's Courtship\"), which he\nasked me to read, seeking my opinion, as an editor of\nThe Forumj of it.\nAs I read, I quickly realized his talent as a fictionist,\nand warmly complimented him upon his effort. In fact\nI waxed enthusiastic overi it, telling him it had the real\n\"gray matter\" in it. My praise had a good effect upon\nhim, and he become more cheerful, more optimistic. He\nhad seemed rather downhearted at first. I then showed\nhim one of my efforts at short-story writing, he compli-\nmenting me especially upon my \"extraordinary fluency.\"\nHe regretted his own want of it, telling me how difficult\nit was for him to round out and polish his paragraphs,\nexcept with infinite labor.\nA week orN so later he jubilantly told me he had taken\nhis story to Dr. Gilder, the editor of the Century, close\nby in Union Square, who had accepted it and paid him\n$75 cash for it. Soon afterward I lost him, for he went\nto Brisben Walker's Cosmopolitan, later retiring to coun-\ntry life to produce his long succession of alliteratively\nentitled novels: Celebrity, Richard Carvelf Crisis, Cross-\ning, Coniston, Crewe's Career, Modern Chronicle, etc.,\nall written in Coniston, N. H.\nIn this same house, for meals came occasionally the\nbeautiful and highly gifted Margaret Anglin, then be-\nginning her studies of the histrionic art. Another visitor\nat rare intervals to some clever actresses living in the\nhouse, was a sister of the ever-popular Blanche Ring.\nAn amusing incident happened in this boarding-house\none day. A \"Disagreeable Man\" among the boarders, lost\nhis temper in his vain efforts to cut his steak, and sar-\nastically asked the waitress to bring him an axe. The\ngirl, in a matter of fact way, passed his order on to the\nlandlady, who was busy superintending the food-distri-\nbution close by a dumb-waiter, leading to the kitchen.\nIn a loud voice she instantly called down the sh&ft: \"Send\nup an axe on a tray for Mr. Grumbler.\" The growler did\nnot wait for it, but precipitately made his escape amid the\nlaughter of the other boarders.\nOn the same street a few doors below, in Washington\nIrving's old home, lived in those days Elsie de Wolfe;\nwhile hard by, on the corner of Union Square and Fourth\nAvenue stood the old Everett House, a great haunt of\ncelebrities, domestic and foreign. .1 frequently saw Dr. Gil-\nder there, and the now American Ambassador to England,"}, {"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "936", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.4", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nWalter H. Page (then editing the Forum), and a host\nox other editors and publishers. Mr. Munsey was close\nby, at 111 Fifth Avenue, the Forum going to the same\nbuilding from Union Square, where for many years its\ntitle in gigantic gilded letters crowned a building almost\nnext door to the Century.\nI once paid a visit to Hall Caine, the notorious author\nof \"The Manxman/' \"The Christian,\" etc., at the Everett,\nwhere he was a guest during his American lecture tour\nunder the direction of the celebrated Major Pond, whose\noffice was in the Everett. I found him with his wife and\nlittle son (\"Little Sunlocks,\" as his father called him),\nand his reception of me was most courteous. Charles\nDickens stayed at this hostelry, also the great African ex-\nplorer, H. M. Stanley, whom, by the way, I met on ship-\nboard, in the nineties, when crossing the Atlantic with his\nbride, the beautiful Dorothy Tennant. A year or two\nlater, while again in England, curiously enough, I en-\ncountered Mr. and Mrs. Stanley one misty morning in\nWaterloo Place. How small the world is!\nAbout this period, I met a pleasant talker and most\ncompanionable man in Paul du Chaillu, the famous author\nof \"The Land of the Midnight Sun,\" etc. And a little\nlater occurred my first rencontre with the future author\nof \"African Game Trails.\" Then one morning dropped in\nupon me the famous editor of Le Revue des deux Mondes,\naccompanied by his brilliant and accomplished contributor\nand coadjutor, Mme. Blanc-Bentzon, who has so much to\nfamiliarize the French reading and thinking public with\nAmerican authors. The Brevoort Hotel, near Washing-\nton Arch, entertained M. Ferdinand Brunetiere during\nth is American visit.\nCountless other celebrities either lived or visited in this\ndistrict of Manhattan, from 18th Street, down to Wash-\nington Square South, for many years the abode or workship\nof men and women of talent. It is a literary and artistic\nzone, and promises to remain so for years to come.\nWilliam Cullen Bryant, the poet and one-time editor of\nthe N. Y. Evening Postj once lived at Vice-Chancellor\nMcCown's, near the junction of Warren and Church\nStreets. One of his successors, the late Mr. E. L. Godkin,\nwhose editorials in the Post were sui generis, lived on\n10th Street; and the late Dr. Gilder, editor of the Ceutury,\nhad a city residence on Bth Street, not far from Mrs.\nSchuyler van Rensselaer's, the friend and entertainer of\nRobert Louis Stevenson when in New York en route to\nSamoa; while in Clinton Place lived the late John Gilmer\nSpeed, a grand-nephew of the poet, John Keats, a copious\nwriter for the periodicals, and once editor of Leslie's\nWeekly. A few of the old houses yet remaining in Uni-\nversity Place have sheltered, or entertained as guests,\nCaptain Boynton, whose daring, if not desperate, deeds\nare so graphically described in\"The War Maker;\" James\nHopper, the story writer; Robert Edgren, and others;\nwhile close by lives the artist, Gibran, Rodin's friend.\nAlban Jasper Conant, who died recently, agea 93, lived\non W. 10th St. He was a poet and artist, and painted\nLincoln's portrait before and after he became president.\nIn Washington Square, almost within the shadow of\nNew York University, Robert V/. Chambers lived, and\nhere came, fresh home Europe's sanguinary strife, the late\nRichard Harding Davis, another of my steamer ac-\nquaintances. In Macdougal Alley, among other studios,\nwas that of Mrs. Whitney (Gertrude Vanderbilt), and\nGaudens, the designer of the Buffalo nickel. Mrs. Whit-\nney's studio is now on West Bth Street. In this zone, too,\nde Thulstrup, the artist, and the sculptor, William Ord-\nway Partridge had their studios. At a reception at Mr.\nPartridge's old Fourth Avenue studio, I once met one\nof our greatest actresses, Julia Marlowe (Mrs. Sothern),\nwhom I had first seen in the West when she made her\ndebut in \"Romeo and Juliet.\"\nI was once John Gilmer Speed's guest at the Player's\nClub, in Gramercy Park, where, among other curiosities,\nI saw Edwin Booth's bedroom, which is preserved exactly\nas it was when the great Shakspearean interpreter died.\nWhich reminds me of the first time I saw Booth. It was\nat Kansas City, Mo., at the Warder Grand Opera House\n—before the theatre had been completed. Booth and\nBarrett were the stars in \"Hamlet;\" it was zero weather,\nand the roof of the opera house had not been put on.\nThere were few or no stage properties, and the poor ghost\ndid the best he could in a sheet. The somewhat sparse\naudience witnessed the play, the while enwrapped in great-\ncoats and furs and standing around stoves-—the stars\ntwinkling overhead!\nI was once a guest for a few days at the famous old\nFifth Avenue Hotel. I was sitting in Amen Corner one\nmorning, just about to leave the hotel for my steamer,\nwhen a tall gentleman, in a Prince Albert coat and beaver\nhat, came into the rotunda from the street. I recognized\nhim instantly as Major McKiniey. Just as he reached\nthe desk, another gentleman, similarly attired, stepped up\nto him, saying: \"Hello, Governor!\" and engaged him in\nconversation, only a few feet away from where I sat.\nThen the ex-Governor glanced around, and seeing that I\nwas the sole occupant of Amen Corner, sat down beside\nme, the while chatting with his host who remained stand-\ning. A few minutes later they strolled toward the reading\nroom and bar. The Major was immaculately attired, his\nbuttoned-up and closely fitting Prince Albert setting off\nhis stalwart figure to the best advantage, giving him a\nmost impressive presence. This was the only occasion on\nwhich I saw the distinguished man who later became our\nPresident, and who, years afterward, in the full flush of\nmanhood, met his death at the hands of an assassin. I\nwas only in the twenties when this rencontre took place,\nbut it remains vividly in my memory.\nI have mentioned Washington Irving's old home on\nIrving Place. I once saw, at one of the Astor Estate\noffices, the ledgers he used to keep, just before Mr. Astor\nsent him with a full purse to Europe, where he wrote\nhis \"Sketch Book.\" Through the influence of Sir Walter\nScott he found a publisher in England, and, of course,\nthe only true first edition of the \"Sketch Book,\" is this,\nthe English one. Fitz-Greene Halleck, the poet, it will\nbe remembered, was a superintendent of the Astor Estate\non 26th Street.\nThus, in the course of a quarter century's residence in\nand about the heart of New York City, it was my good\nfortune to meet no less than two men of mark who became\nChief Magistrates of the Nation, many authors, artists,\nsculptors, journalists and actors already famous, or who\nquickly joined the Immortals, and a glittering galaxy of\ndistinguished men and women from all parts of the world.\n\nAlfred Ernest Keet"}, {"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "937", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.5", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nThe Three Socialists\nOr Theory and Practice\n\nupon a time three men were living in a big\ncity, all three working men and very ardent Social-\nists. The first one was employed in a machine factory.\nHe was a good and clever mechanic and earned quite a\nbit of money. Each payday he received his seventy or\neighty dollars which averaged every month about a\nhundred and fifty. He was single and had nobody else\nto take care of but himself. Therefore he was well-to-do.\nThe second was an honest and good man; but no matter\nhow hard he worked he never received more than forty-\nfive dollars on his payday. That made ninety dollars\neach month and he had to support his wife and two\nchildren. He had to figure very closely in order to supply\nhis own and his family's daily needs. While they did\nnot suffer actual hunger, they didn't know much of the\ngood things of life.\nBut the third of the friends was a poor, worn-out day\nlaborer, He had never earned more than ten or twelve\ndollars a week. On a miserable fifty dollars, he had to\nlook after his always sickly wife and his five small\nchildren. Such is often the luck of the poor. Five hungry\nchildren ask for a lot of bread. But the poor father coulJ"}, {"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "938", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.6", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nhardly satisfy the hunger of his children, and that was\nharder than his own privations and they were hard enough.\nOnce the Socialists were sitting together and discussing\nthe sad fate of the working classes. The mechanic, who\nhad mastered the art of talking equally as well as he had\nmastered his trade, cursed capitalists and those who had\ngained the riches of the world. The second working man\nwas busy seconding his comrade and only the poor day\nlaborer, burdened by his big misery, kept silent.\nFinally he, too, spoke: \"Why did we affiliate ourselves\nwith this great movement that proposes to create for us\nlivable conditions? Above all, that we may know how to\nhelp ourselves! That we may become cojointly respon-\nsible. And because the fulfilment of our wishes lies in the\nfar future, as all of us know, we should help ourselves in\nthe meanwhile, and do among us, one to the other, what\nlater on the Government is supposed to do for us. Come\non, let us be practical for once; and all of us will profit.\nYou,\" he spoke to the first one, \"are earning every year\n$1,800; added to this,\"he spoke to the second, \"your\nwages will make $2,760. And if I count the few cents\nI am earning into it, we have $3,360. That is a nice\namount of money.\"\n\"What are you driving at?\" asked both friends\ncuriously. •\n\"What I am driving at is,\" continued the day laborer,\n\"let us take our wages and start a community house-\nkeeping. There will be twelve mouths to feed. But Ido\nbelieve that we could swing it very nicely on our joint\nearnings. There would be no more privations for our\nchildren, and no one could educate them to be good peo-\nple. And, of course, we, too, ourselves would be very\nmuch better off.n\nThe poor day laborer ceased talking and looked half-\nembarrassed and half happy at his comrades.\nThe second laborer calculated for awhile and then he\nsaid: \"It is a good idea and I would be very glad to con-\nsider it providing my wife does not object.\"\nBut the mechanic who had been the most ardent ex-\npounder of Socialism among them rose and grumbled:\n\"Go to h , confounded beggars!\"\nAnd he left abruptly.\n\nAfter the German of Rudolph Hauser by Guido Bruno.\n\nTwo Tales by N. Shebonev\nTranslated from the Russian by Mark Weinbaum\nWhich One\n| LOVE them both.\n* One is a tall, graceful brunette with burning eyes\nthat know how to express sadness.\nThe other is a frail, little blonde with a tender half-\nchildish body and gray, little eyes.\nI love them in like manner.\nAnd they love me.\nOne of them, Martha, occupies herself with earthly\nthings.\nThe other, Maria, thinks more about heaven and soul.\nYou ask me which is Martha and which is Maria, the\nBlonde or the Brunette.\nWhich is Martha?\nAh, I don't know yet myself which one will be to-day\nmy Martha and which—Maria.\nThis depends always upon myself.\nThe Murderer\nYF7HAT would you do if a woman would turn false\nto you?\n\"I should kill her,\" answered my friend.\nTo-day he came to me.\nI understood at once that a terrible thing had happened.\nHe was pale. Even his lips were white.\n\"What's the matter with you?\"\n\"She! ...\"\n\"Turned false?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"And you killed her?\"\n\"Worse.\"\n? ? ?\n• • •\n\"A thousand times worse.\"\n? ? ?\n\"I hit her.\"\nWe kept silence.\n\"You did not have the courage to kill her?'*\n\"To strike a woman one requires more courage than\nto kill her.\"\nHe fell upon the chair.\n\"To strike a woman is a greater crime than to kill her.\"\nHis eyes flashed, his hands trembled, his teeth beat\nlike the roll of a drum, and like a madman he repeated:\n\"I am worse than a murderer! Worse than a murderer!\nWorse than a murderer!\"\n\"Ycu are worse thar 3 murderer! . .\n\nBaby's Jealousy\nA. Milo Bennett\nD ABY'S eyes are sad to-night,\nHer sobs are very near,\n\"Papa kiss me fond good night,\nFor I love you, papa dear,\nAn' you don't love me one bit,\nCause Pauline and Margie sat,\nAn' you laughed and let 'em sit,\nWhere I wanted to be at.\"\n\nReplated Platitudes\nJulius Doerner\nThe penalty of being a generation ahead of your time,\nris to become the fool of your own generation, to become,\nperchance, the prophet of all future generations.\nThose, who having no business, make a business of pur-\nsuing activities which have no purpose, give a purpose to\nthose who make a business of pursuing those whose life\nhas no purpose.\nAnd now the lives of flint and Eliot yet remind us\nhow so often age with wisdom may at variance be.\n'Tis from foolish little fictions that great \"fictions\"\noften flow, and the famous factions out of frantic frictions\ngrow.\nIt may be only war \"when Greek meets Greek;\" but\nthat war is certainly hell, when woman meets woman with\nthe hair flying at $5.00 an ounce.\n\"The early worm\" is, to challenge the early bird to\nprove its prowess."}, {"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "939", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.7", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nAn III Wind Blowing\nT. T. Heine in Simplicissimus\n\nThe Promise\nT. W. H. Crosland\nOU know my pains, you see me in the hell\n* Through which I toil, hurt and uncomforted,\nYou see on what base errands I am sped,\nAnd what I reap where we sowed asphodel;\nAnd my songs are of sorrow, and I tell,\nKnowing no other, tales of grief and dread;\nThough I be warm I am as good as dead, *\nAnd always we can hear my passing bell.\nAnd yet, dear Spirit, you who have kind eyes\nThat meet disaster with a child's amaze,\nYou who have got a wild jose for your lips\nAnd are all fashioned out of Paradise;\nYou shall stand safe beside the sapphire bays,\nAnd I will show you all our golden ships."}, {"page_pdf": 8, "page_imprimee": "940", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.8", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nCreation: Recess in Space\nBy Cora Bennett\n(Comet wandering idly about a darkened universe\nstumbles against Sun. He scrambles to his feet,\napologetic.)\nCOMET—What's the matter, Mr. Sun? Why aren't\nyou shining?\nSUN—I feel as if I would never shine again. I'm so\nblue.\nCOMET—Oh, you're not blue! You're yellow!\nSUN—I may look yellow but I assure you I'm blue.\nCOMET—What's the matter.\nSUN—Earth's breaking my heart.\n(Comet peers toward the paths of the planets.)\nCOMET—She looks mighty proper from here.\nSUN—Yes, she always looks proper but the truth is\nshe's . . rotten. She took fifty million years to grow\nthat dreadful Humanity.\nCOMET—(Feeling about for comfortable place to\nrecline in.) What is Humanity?\nSUN—(Shuddering.) A thing that destroys itself.\nCOMET—(Coolly.) Why not burn her up and be\ndone with it?\n(Sun sighs, shifts his position but does not lift his head.)\nSUN—That would be going to fire-mist. And you\ncan't do that for yourself. Some one has got to do it\nfor you. Besides I can't think of destroying my child.\nYou see when I was a fiery young ball I threw off a ring.\nThat ring broke into pieces that began to whirl and make\nsomething of themselves and I found myself the father\nof eight fulj-grown children. And of all these Earth\ngives me the most trouble. She's . . .\nCOMET—(Pointing toward Earth.) See!\nSUN—(Listing his head a little.) The clouds are\npassing. Soon I'll have to shine again for Earth.\n(Between Earth and Sun three fair clouds dance until\nthey are chased from the sky by Rainbow.)\nCOMET—What are clouds, anyhow?\nSUN—Mists out of ocean. But these fly high and call\nthemselves clouds. Byt if they happen to bump up against\na cool mountain side, they'll pretty soon get back to\nwhere they came from. They're a part of Earth's game.\nCOMET—What are you going to do with her?\n(Sun lifts his head and the universe is flooded with\nlight.)\nSUN—Suppose you go and tell her I want her. I\nthink I'll have it out with her.\nCOMET—I'm off!\n(Enter Uranus.)\nURANUS—I've something I want to ask you, father!\nSUN—You're certainly losing what little manners you\never had, son. But who do you want?\nURANUS—(With determination.) I want to know\nwhere the stars come from!\nSUN—-(Embarrassed.) I have told you twice before,\nthey came floating down the River of Time in a silver box.\n(Uranus makes a gesture of disgust.)\nURANUS—I'm too old for that kind of fairy tale,\nfather. Besides I hear whispers among older children\n. . . I want to know the truth!\nSUN — (With resignation.) Well, if you must know,\nthe stars are what I am, (Chokes with embarrassment.)\nthe centers of other solar systems. (He clears his throat\nand looks away.)\nURANUS—But what are they made of? That's what\nI want to know!\nSUN—Summoning all his composure; in a whisper.)\nThe wrecks of other worlds! (Shudders with relief.)\nBut don't—for all you do, let Time or Space know that\nI have destroyed your innocence and if you catch any of\nthe little ones talking about such things in out-of-the-way\ncorners come straight and tell me. But don't discuss\nthe matter with them. Turn you back and walk away.\nURANUS—But, father, I think there is nothing\nwrong—\nSUN—Hush! Here comes Earth. You think there is\nnothing wrong because you are young. (Enter Earth\ntrailing draperies of purplish-black cloud lined with sil-\nver.) Sit down, daughter.\nEARTH—(lndignant.) I won't sit, father! I'm\ntired of the way you and my big brothers treat me!\nURANUS—You deserve it! See what you've done!\nSUN—(Sadly.) Was Humanity in you?\nEARTH—(With conviction.) It was! (Suddenly\nmelting.) It takes so long to make something good,\nfather! It took a billion years to make a pair of hands!\n(Uranus shudders. Comet enters but seems in doubt\nabout remaining.)\nURANUS—Hands that kill!\nEARTH—Hands that save!\n(Sun is greatly impressed.)\nSUN—Hands that save! Why—that would be a\nmiracle!\nEARTH—(Joyously.) Life is full of miracles! See,\nfather! See brother! See! (She shakes from her drapery\ninnumerable cocoons that come twisting out of its folds.\nThey dance grotesquely keeping step to the faint music\nof the farther constallations. Suddenly a little flower-\nwreathed creature appears among them. It touches them\nand straightway the cocoons change into a host of brilliant\nbutterflies, dancing to the song of the morning stars.)\nCOMET—It's beautiful!\nSUN—Yes, there's beauty in you, Earth—there's no\ndoubt about that! But where's the good of you?\n(In spite of the efforts of Earth to keep her covered,\nOcean frees herself from the black clouds and stands\nstreaming before Sun.)\nOCEAN—Please do not scold Earth, Father Sun! It\nis I that am responsible for dreadful Humanity! If I\nhad not in the black depths of my pride and ambition,\nspawned creatures that hunger and crawl and love and\ndream, Earth would have remained to this day a peaceable\nmass of stone and water! Forgive—(Earth succeeds in\nenveloping Ocean with her black mantle. She then shakes\nfrom the silver lining a nymph and a god of the wood.\nCOMET—(Excited^.) See! There's Humanity!\n(The two creatures of Earth begin a love-dance.)\nEARTH—(Triumphantly.) Youth is good!\n(Sun begins to expand and grows magnificently\nbrilliant. The love-dance over the nymph and god hide"}, {"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "941", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.9", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nagain in the silver lining.)\nALL THE PLANETS—(Clapping their hands.)\nMore Humanity! We want more Humanity!\nSUN—(Highly gratified.) I've some hope of you yet,\nEarth! Some day maybe you'll know how to get along\nwithout killing!\nEARTH—Time! I must have Ti\n(Sun springs to his feet, suddenly aware of his re-\nsponsibility.)\nSUN—Time! I've stopped the affairs of the universe\nfor a hundred billionth of a second! Back to place—all\nof you!\n(The planets whirl into line and begin to spin gayly\naround the sun with their moons intheir wake and Comet\ndarting mischievously among them.)\n\nFrec Vers Diva by R. S\n\nHis Faithful Cat\nA SHORT time ago a poor Irishman applied at the\noffice of a charitable institution in Manchester for\nrelief, and, upon some doubt being expressed as to whether\nhe was a proper object for charity, he enforced his suit\nwith much earnestness: \"Ouch, your honor,\" said he,\n\"shure Fd be starved to death long since, but for my cat.\"\n\"But for what?\" asked his astonished interrogator. \"My\ncat,\" rejoined the Irishman. \"Your cat, how so?\" \"Shure,\nyour honor, I sold her eleven times over for sixpence a\ntirand she was always at home again before Fd got\nthere meself.\"\n\nM. R.\n''A dentist, love, makes teeth of bone,\nFor those whom fate has left without;\nAnd finds provision for his own,\nBy pulling other people's out.\"\n\n\"Why,\" said a country clergyman to one of his flock,\n\"do you always sleep in your pew when I am in the pul-\npit, while you are all attention to every stranger I invite?\"\n\"Because, sir, when you preach I am sure all's right, but\nI can't trust a stranger without keeping a good lookout.\"\n\nAfter Paul Verlaine\nErnest Dawson\nI NTO the lonely park all frozen fast,\nAwhile ago there were two forms who passed.\nLo, are their lips fallen and their eyes dead,\nHardly shall a man hear the words they said.\nInto the lonely park, all frozen fast,\nThere came two shadows who recall the past.\n\"Dost thou remember our old ecstacy?\"\nWherefore should I possess that memory?\"—\nDoth thine heart beat at my sole name alway?\nStill dost thou see my soul in visions?\" \"Nay!\"\n\"They were fair days of joy unspeakable,\nWhereon our lips were joined?\"—\"l cannot tell.\"\nnot the heavens blue, was not hope high?\"—\n\"Hope has fled vanquished down the darkling sky.\"\nSo through the barren oats they wandered,\nAnd the night only heard the words they said.\n\nMinetta Lane\nFrank Owen Payne\nIT ERE once a babbling brooklet flowed\nAmong the rocks and rushes;\nHere once the ferns and alders grew\nWhile sweetly sang the thrushes;\nHere once the minnows all unseen\nDarted in shoals through water green.\nThe brooklet's bed is cobble-paved.\nWhere once flowed crystal waters\nThe curb-stone's fetid length extends •\nAnd bounds the reeking gutters.\nThe junk-man's cart adorns the spot\nWhere once bloomed the forget-me-not.\n\nThe Female Kaleidoscope\nPaul Rubin\nJ_|E was thinking of Nietzsche-—of his theory of destruction.\nShe thought also of the selfishness of humanity—and dwelt\non the brutality of independence, when suddenly she burst forth\nto her companion, \"I'm going to buy a new small hat. This\nlarge one I'm wearing now, is most annoying!\"\n\nEpitaph engraved on a tombstone in a church yard in\nConnecticut:\n\"Here lies Pat Steel, that's very true:—\nWho was he?—what was he?—what's that to you?\"\n\nWallstreet\nWhen they were poor, they robbed all mankind—and\nas soon as they became rich, they robbed one another."}, {"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "942", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.10", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nThe Cuala Press\n\nWith Five Illustrations by Jack B. Yeats\n{SUPPOSE that every man, caring at all seriously for\nthe fine arts, finds that many pictures he now loves\ndeeply, many poems or pieces of music, crept into his life\nwithout his cognizance. For instance, try as I may, I\ncannot recall when and where Milton first thrilled me,\nthough I know it was long before I was out of my teens.\nAnd I cannot recollect the exact time when the endless\nbeautiful buildings in Edinburgh, my home for over thirty\nyears, commenced giving me intense delight; while equally\ndim in my memory is the period, a later one presumably,\nwhen there came to me a precise knowledge concerning\nthe architects of all these structures. But there are many\nthings, on the other hand, my initial acquaintance with\nwhich stands out in my mind, clear as the details in an old\nDutch or Flemish painting; and of such are the slender\nbooks, printed so artistically by hand at the Cuala Press,\nIreland.\nAn Ideal Room\nIt was in a tiny study that I first saw these books, this\nstudy being in a house in MaidaJVale, a part of London\nof which Paul Verlaine writes, in one of his poems. Nor\nis it surprising that he should have been interested in\nMaida Vale, for it was long the home of Arthur Symons,\nthan whom no man did more to introduce Verlaine to\nBritish readers; and it was Symons, in fact, who originally\nshowed me the Cuala books. In his study, the walls were\na faint, delicate green; while there was a writing-desk,\nquite possibly from the hand of Chippendale himself, and\non the oak mantelpiece stood some little gems by the\nTanagra sculptors. The whole effect was infinitely quiet\nand charming, constituting an ideal place in which to dis-\ncuss aesthetics; and here, then, on one occasion after\nspeaking at length of Mozart, we chanced to begin talking\nof the art of book-production; for it is an art, although\nthe generality of publishers seem unaware of the fact.\nThe Vale and Kelmscott productions were duly applauded,\nwhile I referred enthusiastically to those of the Eragny\nPress, conducted by my friend, Lucien Pissarro. And\nthen, going to one of his bookshelves, Symons produced\na Cuala volume, which delighted me at once, inasmuch\nas it disclosed qualities foreign, or largely foreign, to the\nbooks of those other hand-presses aforesaid. That is to\nsay, it was wholly simple, its beauty of a restful, un-\nobtrusive, almost severe kind, so that the slim, graceful\nvolume seemed to harmonize faultlessly with the room\nenshrining it. And thus, to this day, I nearly always\nthink of that tasteful reticent study in Maida Vale,\nwhen I see a Cuala book.\nVaried Achievements\nA rare gift of artistry in book-production has been\nsalient for long in Ireland: that wonderful island to which\nthe English and Scottish owe so much, though neither\nrace is over fond of acknowledging the debt. At a remote,\nmediaeval period, England being then virtually devoid of\nartists of any kind, a band of Irish monks wrought that\nBook of Kells, still justly considered one of the prodigies\nof illumination; while a little later, Columba and other\nmissionaries from Ireland coming to Scotland, there\ndawned there a talented group of illuminators, evincing"}, {"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "943", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.11", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\ndirect obligations to the Hibernian school. Nevertheless,\nduring the nineteenth century and for long prior, little\nfine printing was done in Ireland; and the Cuala Press,\nlike many analogous ventures, owed its inception in con-\nsiderable degree to William Morris. With his magnetic\npersonality, Morris gathered round him numerous\ndisciples, inculcating in them his devotion to old printing,\namong those who early came under his spell in this way\nbeing Mr. Emery Walker, nowadays known as .the best\nmaker of process-blocks in London. And it was with\nmuch assistance from Mr. Walker, if not actually at his\nsuggestion, that Miss Elizabeth Yeats, a sister of W. B.\nYeats, started hand-printing at the village of Dundrum,\nnear Dublin, marshalling girls of the neighbourhood to\naid her in type-setting and the like. Originally known as\n'the Dun Emer, the press issued its first book in 1903, this\nvirgin effort being a collection of poems of Mr. W. B.\nYeats, In the Seven Woods; and since then about a score\nof volumes have been published at Dundrum, the authors\nrepresented being nearly all Irish. Katherine Tynan and\nI. M. Synge, William Allingham, Douglas Hyde, and the\nexquisite poet, \"A. E.\"— books by all these have been\nprinted by Miss Yeats, who has not confined herself to\nthis branch of activities, however. For throughout a num-\nber of years she issued a small, illustrated magazine, The\nBroadsheet, its name subsequently changed to The Broad-\nside ; while she also prints' book-plates extensively, and has\nbeen singularly fortunate in gathering round her fine\nartists to help with these departments of her work. One\nof the most memorable Cuala book-plates was designed by\nMiss Pamela Colman-Smith, another expert in black-and-\nwhite who has served the press well being Miss Eileen\nGreig. But, of all those associated with Miss Yeats in\nthis wray, of all those who have contributed illustration\nto her magazine aforesaid, none is to be compared with\nher brother, Jack Yeats. And, had she done nothing but\nhelp to make his work widely known, she would still have\nachieved something great.\nJack Yeats\nThe contrast between the brothers Yeats is a curious\nand striking one. The poet, who is perhaps the better-\nknown of the two, is essentially an artistic worker, it\nbeing clear that he weighs his every phras3 elaborately;\nwhile there are passages, in his writing, signifying his\npossession of as keen a love of fine technique, for its own\nsake, as was manifested by Keats, Tennyson or Rossetti;\nSwinburne Vrigil or Catullus. Now, although Jack\nYeats is a draughtsman of superb vigour, fully comparable\nin this relation to Hals or Rubens or Kokusai, looking\nat his work it is felt that he thinks little about drawing\nand design themselves. I once showed George Moore a\nbook-plate by Jack Yeats, wherein was figured an Irish\ncottage, its owner in the act of going out, but looking\nbackwards very fondjy into his room. \"It gives a beauti-\nful sense of home,\" said Moore, whose criticism of pic-\ntures, as of literature, is often finely illuminating; and,\nin those words, I think he attained something of an\nepitome of Jack Yeats' genius. For this artist is pre-\noccupied always, or nearly always, not with a definite\ndesire to create beauty, but with expressing the actual\nntiment of,his topic, its inner significance; and in what\nendless instances his subject has-given up its soul to him,\nas it were. Look, for instance, at the book-plate designed\nfor Lennox Robinson, showing a hand drawing back a\ncurtain, which discloses a cozy study, with an arm-chair,\nand a table laden with books beside the fire. Dominique\nIngres would have lavished his skill on that hand, making\nit a marvel of inherent beauty, as likewise more certainly\n112\n\nDesigned by Pamela Coleman-Smith"}, {"page_pdf": 12, "page_imprimee": "944", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.12", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nwould the divine Watteau, who would further have\ncharged the curtain with rhythm. But neither hand, nor\ncurtain has appealed to Yeats, who has drawn both\ncasually, if not badly} and his little picture owes its fascina~\ntion, almost exclusively, to the wholly adequate sense it\nconveys of the cozy, firelit abode, with its invitation to\nrest and dream. Like Turner, Yeats will frequently\nmake a tiny landscape or seascape appear vast and bound-\nless; while in his work of this sort he ever contrives to\nperpetuate that mystery which is an integral part of\nnature, he ever contrives to reincarnate the emotions\nwhich the scene he shows awakened in him. And, were\nI asked to single out two things by the artist which are\nspecially wonderful in this way, I should name unhesi-\ntatingly the book-plate done for May Sabina Stock, to-\ngether with that yet finer one delineating a man standing\non the edge of a cliff, the sea stretching away beyond\nhim, while beneath is written in Irish the beautiful and\nthrilling phrase:\n\"Come to me, O bright heart; come to me, O heart!\nThere are dark clouds over Ard-na-Righ.\"\nSimplicity\nHow simple and straightforward those lines are! And\nto revert to a note I struck before, it is simplicity which\nforms the crowning quality in Miss Yeats' printing. Des-\ntitute of those elaborations which, lovely in themselves,\ntend withal to mar the productions of Morris, Ricketts\nand Ashbee, the Cuala books might well be compared to\nthose of that prince of English typographers, John Basker-\nville. Only, it is never to him that my thoughts go, when\nseeing these slim, elegant volumes; and I think instead\nof Arthur Symons' study in Maida Vale, perhaps recollect-\ning also the poem in which Verlaine writes of that place.\n\nW. G. Blaikie Murdoch.\n\nPastels in Prose\nII.—The Sorrow of a Little Violet\nGuido Bruno\nA CONNOISEUR of the real and the beautiful\n** strolled through the pleasaunces of his gardens on a\nsunny Spring afternoon. The tender grass had been daring\nand the little blades were sticking out of the brown earth-\ncrumbs here and there and reminded one of the scarce\nyellow feathers of recently born geese. Bushes and trees\nwere still naked and looked rather sordid towards the\nplacid blue heaven. A handfuL of highly polished leaves\nstood close together at the knotty root of an old ahd white-\nbranched tree. They looked like remnants of last year's\nsummer glory. Their stems were short; they had the ,\nshape of a heart and they almost lay on the dark withered\nmoss.\nThe trained eyes of the connoiseur detected something\nbeautiful right beneath, or among those old unpleasant\nlooking leaves. He stopped, he bent over, and lo! he had\nbroken a violet; the first one perhaps of the year. The\nbeautiful little head bowed down modestly; it was deep\nblue, wonderful like the deep blue eyes of one true woman.\nHe caressed it; He took it home. Busy were the ser-\nvants of his household for the rest of the afternoon. In\nthe sunniest window, a wonderfully chiselled silver re-\nceptacle was placed. Vases scented with rare and costly\nodors from still rarer and mystic flowers of the Orient\nwere prepared 'for its bath. Two slaves were in constant\nattendance to look after the comfort and the needs of the\nnewcomer.\nThe little violet was tired. It closed its leaves for a\nlong restful night. Early in the morning, almost with the\nfirst rays of the new sun, the connoisseur came to the little\nviolet. It lay there in its receptacle filled with perfumed\nwaters. It seemed sad, $o sad.\n\"Dear little violet/' cried the connoiseur, and took it\nin his hands and fondled it and covered its little leaves\nwith kisses, \"Are you not happy in your new home?\"\n\"Yes,\" but this answer sounded like the manifestation\nof utter despair and hopelessness.\n\"Did I not provide for you the most wonderful part of\nmy house? Did I not give you the rarest perfumes for\nyour bath? Did I not send the most skilled among my\nservants to look after your needs? What is it I over-\nlooked, my dear little violet? There is no wish on earth 1\nthat I will not make come true for you the instant you\nname it.\"\nThere was no answer from the violet. And the silence\nwas heavy. The little golden fays danced merrily upon\nthe silver vases and gold receptacles. The violet did not\nanswer yet.\n\"Or is it because I broke you, and you are full of\nregret?\"\n4lNo, not that;\" whispered the violet and its little head\ndrooped down deep on its stem.\n\"I am sad because I never can be broken again.\"\n\nFINIS"}, {"page_pdf": 13, "page_imprimee": "945", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.13", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nIn Our Village\n\nJharity in General\nF is highly deplorable that someone always must suffer\n. that some one else may enjoy the self-elevating satis-\naction of being charitable and benevolent. Organized\nrharities contribute daily their share to the humiliation\nmd the downfall of human kind. Forgotten is the old\nyroverb \"let not your right hand know what your left\nI land doeth.\" The right hand is destined to-day to regis-\ner, to card index and to file in elaborate efficiency systems\nwhatever the left hand is supposed to give. How won-\nlerfully simple would it be if there were offices of humane\norganizations where a fellowman in distress could come\nrcror help. Where he could state,\"I am homeless\" and the\nfiome would be provided for him. Where he could say,\nTI am sick,\" and a physician's skill and a druggist's as-\nsistance would be his. Where one could go if he reached\nJthe parting of the ways, desiring to turn to the right and\nknowing his need for a guide. Even if nine out of ten\nwould be taking unfair advantage for selfish reasons of the\ngood heartedness and kindness of their community, to\nhave been a \"neighbor\"' to the tenth, the deserving one\n. . . humanity would be richly repaid.\nIdeal conditions have only one function: to remain the\nultimate goal of efficiency business of our day.\nThe same tender-hearted men and women who turn\npurple with indignant rage if the word vivisection is even\nmentioned contribute money and personal efforts toward\nthe establishment of our gigantic torture chambers and\nexperimental stations, cold charitable institutions where\nhuman kind becomes the raw material for a standard pro-\nduct supposedly useful to all other humanity; where the\n.voice of the heart is silenced and cold business methods,\ncalculation and speculation are offered as bal;m upon bleed-\ning wounds inflicted by humanity and* as a miserable\nexchange for confidence, trust, hope and love. The feel-\ning of the individual towards the individual is throttled\nto make the social worker efficient, to make the seeker\nfor help a deserving entry upon the card index.\nLittle wheels move big wheels. The big wheels move\nthe hands of the clock. The hands of the clock rotate\nand rotate in their prescribed circles. We see the hands\nonly and we expect them to be at certain points at certain\ntimes. There is some mysterious connection between us\nwho watch the hands move in their circles and the little\ninvisible wheels which move the hands. Some day one\nwill arise among the vast multitudes of watchers who will\nlay a loving hand upon one of those smallest invisible\nwheels . . and lo! a great change will come over\nfall . . .\nWashington Square's Amusements for Man and Beast\nWashington Square was recently chosen by some makers\nppf happiness in this world as a field of operation. The\nlatest arrival on the battlefield where hearts and human\ncompassions are pierced by the poisoned daggers of\n\"neighborly love\" is the New York Women's League for\nHomeless Animals\nLast Wednesday noon they arrived with nine cages,\none dog catcher and a comfortable chair on which he can\nsit and smoke and dream about the kindness of his\npatronesses. Homeless cats and dogs are this time the\nobjects of charity. They deprive all stray animals in\nthe neighborhood of the possibility of eventually finding\nsome food in a garbage can or in the gutter. They lock\nthem up in these two-by-four cages, exposed in the most\nprominent place on the Square to sun and heat. It is a\npitiful sight to see these little dogs and cats behind the\nbars. Their eyes are sad, glazed from thirst, their tongues.\nhanging out, their little lungs working painfully. Hordes\nof children are standing around the cages and teasing the\nanimals as New York children of tenement districts are\nmost likely to do. Shady trees are right near by and the\nwatchman's chair has found a place there where it is cool.\nA fountain is not two steps away from the cages and- the\nwatchman has his drinking glass under his chair. But\n\nLandlord \"Artlover' and Phlianthropist by Jack\nFlanagan"}, {"page_pdf": 14, "page_imprimee": "946", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.14", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nthere is no receptacle or dish to serve water for those poor\ncreatures, afflicted by the \"neighborly love\" of the New\nYork women of the League for Animals. In these cages\nthey ai;e forced to remain all day^—little bits of kittens\nwhich in gleeful play left the yard where their mother is\nsearching anxiously for them, dogs which look quite harm-\nless . . . Why do not these benevolent women direct\ntheir attention to the big rats of this neighborhood? Why\ndo not they clean tenement houses of bedbugs and other\nvermin? Why do not they start a city wide campaign\nagainst cockroaches which invade poor man's'grocery shops\nali over town? If something living has to be hurt, why not\ndo away with some plague of humanity ? Or why not\ntransfer these dogs and cats immediately \"to the death\nchambers they have built for them in other parts of the\ncity? Why not deliver them mercifully from life to\ndeath instantly? Or is this shameful exhibition of thirsty\nand hungry animals upon the children's playground of\nWashington Square meant as an educational uplift for\nthe school children during vacation times? Whatever\nspace is left for the playground for the children of Green-\nwich Village by the all absorbing bus company, is now\ntaken up by these damnable cages.\nShould not these animals be granted at least'a shady\nplace, if they must be in cages, a drink of water once in\na while and a square meal?\nA very zealous young man gathers every even-\ning around eight o'clock a large number of passersby\nabout him on the Northwest' corner of Washington\nSquare and Fifth Avenue, preaching to them from\na chair on equality of man and the futility of divinity\nand of churches. While exactly at the same hour the\nill-blown sounds of a cornet invite the faithful to look\nat moving pictures on the corner of Thompson St.and\nWashington Square,—at moving pictures illustrating in\nrather a grotesque way the Scriptures. What do they\nknow about God and man?\nAt the same time a band of musicians furnished by the\ncity government, amuses the crowds in the park. Classic\nmusic and ragtime interchange as happily as moods and\nthe masses are amused. A bit of music means so much\nin the life of everybody. It awakens so much good in\nthe hearts of people. It brings back memories. It lulls\ninto forgetfulness. It creates hopes. Truly these band\nconcerts are to a good many of their listeners a much\nneeded soul bath.\nIf you really think that the hand organ man is a pest\nthat one can get rid of by handing over an abolus, you have\nnot the children's version of the* story. What a cabaret\nmeans to you after dinner, the hand organ man means to\nthe ragged little tots who, after their evening repast,\npopulate Bleecker Street and the other thoroughfares that\nlead to the Square. Around these hand organs are the\nsocial centres where little girls meet little Soys and dance\nand admire and feel, perhaps for the first time in their\nlives, what desire, possession and envy mean.\nAt the foot of the Garibaldi monument a very dignified\nM gentleman, with white side whiskers, assisted by a\nvery pretty girl in a gray Quaker habit, proclaims every\nevening the happiness of an ideal world where there will\nbe no money, no individual ownership, and therefore no\nquarrels and hatred, and nothing but gentleness and love\nin abundance. He, too, finds his group of diligent listeners.\nHe looks so happy that one is almost convinced that h<\nbelieves,his prophecies, if only he would not pass aroum\nevery once in awhile some pamphlets which he wishes J\nsell for ten cents each. Once, after one of his meeting\nhad closed, I saw him walking homewards witl) his blondi\ncompanion and a big bunch of his pamphlets under hi<\narm. His face was not happy. What a paradox! Tha\nthe man who preaches universal happiness Eased upor\nthe abolishment of the circulation of money should b<\ncrestfallen because the money did not circulate in hi\ndirection on this evening!\nStrolling along about the Square and taking in the sight\nhumanitarians and their humane objects provide for us*\nwe will meet that funny old lady who carries some baU\nclothes in a paper bag and who will try to sell us\nknitted baby bootees. Of course, no one takes the offel\nseriously and a good many hand her a penny. We an\ngood friends, this old woman and myself. And so, once\nhanding out some small coin to her, I asked her to show\nme those bootees. She had only a single one in her papei\nbag, and that was time worn. She told me she made it\nabout twenty-five years ago for that boy of hers who\nwent away some dozen years ago. She believes firmh\nthat one of these days he will come back to his old mother.\nAnd then, she will put the boo,tee in her chest drawer as\na memory of her years of trouble and sorrow. Where\nthere is hope there is life!\nA new fad was started by some sightseer who invaded\nthe Village on a bus a few days ago. He threw a fev|\npennies among a crowd of boys who were loitering abou|\nthe bus station. And he was well repaid, viewing from\nthe height of his bus seat, the turmoil of fists and feet\nand heads jumbled in a tight mass. It was quite a spectacij\nfor eyes and ears. Our street arabs seem now penn\\!\nhungry whenever one of those swaggering sea-faring buse.'f\npass through the Square.\nSuch are the innocent amusements Washington Square\nhas in store for man and beast, night and day, watchedS\nover vigilantly by Tom and Dominick, the faithful cops\nof our neighborhood.\nJack Flanagan has become famous notwithstanding the\nfact that he arrived only two months ago from Australia.\n\nRagpicker's Cellar in the Village, suitable as Studio, TeaJ\nroom or Artshop (Rent: as much as the landlord can get)"}, {"page_pdf": 15, "page_imprimee": "947", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.15", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nhere are several letters for him in the Garret which will\n: his for a call.\nOscar Caesare and his bride, who was Miss Margaret\n)rter and who aspires to be Miss O. Henry, looked in\nin last week for one of the romantic abodes that one\nas supposed to find for cheap money in our neighbor-\ned (so often mentioned and made immortal by her\nther, O. Henry.) The real estate shark is the big wall\nGreenwich Village between the romance of a quaint\n>me in an odd house and one's pocketbook. Only an\nRistic soap manufacturer may build a bridge over it with\ns money. The Caesares believe in a fair exchange of\nlues and therefore they will live somewhere in the\nburbs. Caesare has lived in Greenwich Village for\nmost ten years and he knows the real estate shark better\nrhaps than does anybody else. If his experiences had\n)t been so tragic, they would be really funny.\nA certain girl, who thinks life is not worth living\nithout an automobile, and whose husband has quite a\nntrary conception, decided upon a unique course for\naking him yield to her demands. She devotes at present\n1 her time to the study of the art of running an auto-\nobile and she feels sure that her husband is too much\nan efficient business man to let her acquired knowledge\n; idle after she shall have acquired her chauffeur's li-\nnse. But there are moments in which she feels quite\nizy about the outcome of her adventure.\nEdith Unger closed up her Mad Hatter's shop and went\nr a fourteen days' vacation to the country. She will\nre-open the Rabbit's Hole sometime after the first of\nSeptember.\nAnton Hellman, longtime resident of the Benedict\nApartments, will open his interior decorating establishment\non Eighth Street. He has leased the floor right above the\nCandlestick Tea Room.\n\nA very interesting Oscar Wilde item is offered in a\nrecent catalog of W. Heifer & Sons, Booksellers, Cam-\nbridge, England. It is a large paper copy of the first\nedition of his picture of \"Dorian Gray,\" published in 1891\nin a limited edition of twp hundred and fifty copies, of\nwhich each was numbered and signed by the author.\nInlaid is an unpublished letter from the author concern-\ning the characters in the book.\nThe autograph letter signed in full, is written to Mr.\nRalph Payne, with addressed envelope, undated (Febru-\nary 12th, 1894), 4 pp. cr Bvo.\nWhatever influence \"Dorian Gray,\" the masterpiece\nof Oscar Wilde, may 7exercise on the reader, there can\nbe no doubt that to some extent, Oscar Wilde at the time\nof writing was portraying himself, and this letter supplies\nthe key to the Author's mind, as may be seen by the fol-\nlowing short extract from the letter:\n\"Basil Hallward is what I think I am—-\nLord Henry what the world thinks—me—\n. what I would like to be—in other ages—\nperhaps/'\n\nPostcards drawn by Artists in the German Trenches"}, {"page_pdf": 16, "page_imprimee": "948", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.16", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nWhy and How I Got Married\nMany hundred stories, brief and lengthy accounts, arrive every week at the desk of our Contest Editor. Most\nof them testify that marriage, even in our commonplace age, preserves its old romance and that to relate a story of\nhow Grandfather took Grandmother urges the pen into hands not otherwise ambitious of literary achievement. A\nhandful of these stories will be chosen every week for the perusal of our readers.\n\nSeven Years' Friendship\nF. H. T. (Baltimore)\nI T was not a romance but an awakening.\n*■ It was not a culmination of a seven year courtship, but\na jolting, yet pleasurable discovery that after seven years of\nfirm friendship that I had found my imaginary ideal in the\nform of the slip of a girl by my side.\nWe had often discussed her marriage to another youth, one\nof whom I held in the highest respect, and one whose talents\nwould and will undoubtedly place him high in the business\nworld.\nIt was a Spring evening in the woods of Maryland, returning\nto the city after a delightful party. Frogs in a nearby marsh\ncroaked their weird mystic chants, and the breeze rustled\nmusically through the trees. With the rush of a tidal wave,\nduring a lull in the conversation, the thought of this girl marry-\ning someone else, rushed upon my previously dull mind, pulling\nat every heart string. To ask her for her hand seemed an\nimpossibility, and the very thought choked in my throat. I\nstopped abruptly and she paused too. For the minute the frogs\nceased their croaking and the breeze halted. Somehow she\nseemed to know and stepped a wee bit closer. Her arm touched\nmine and in the next instant I held her to me. \"Tomorrow?\"\nI questioned and she nodded her assent.\nThat was the only word that passed between us and on the\nmorrow we slipped to Ellicott city, a suburb of Baltimore and\nwere married. Since I have not known a moment of sorrow,\nand feel that I was guided on that Spring night by an unknown\nsympathetic hand.\n\nClass Distinction\n\"Brooklyn\"\nrjp HIRTEEN Years ago. I was the son of a wealthy family.\nWhen I came home one evening, a new maid opened the\ndoor. She was beautiful and seemed like a lady masquerading.\nOne glance from her quickly-lowered eyes made my heart turn\nin my breast and I was hers from that moment. Then began\na strange courtship. I would steal down in the early morning,\nwhen she was setting the table, before the rest were up. She\nrefused to listen to me and threatened to tell my folks if I did\nnot leave her alone. But somehow, I knew she cared for me.\nHer presence in the house was a delicious agony and I was\npersistent. On her nights off, I used to wait down on the\ncorner. And finally one night, she cried, and begged me to\nleave her alone, that I was too good for her. But I knew\nbetter and took her in my arms, and in six weeks after she first\nopened the door to me, we were married.\nThe family were horrified and cast me out, out of their home\nand out of their business. I didn't care, I had my love and was\ncontent. We started housekeeping in a tenement with a bed,\na table, two hard chairs and a one-burner gas stove. Our\nmoney went while I walked the streets looking for work. For\ntwo days we lived on half a loaf of rye bread and water. I\nfinally got a job at hard, unaccustomed labor, for ten dollars\na week. We were very happy, she and I. Since then, the\nbaby came, and sickness and hard times and all sorts of troubles\nbut my little maid and I are still truly wedded and content\nand it is thirteen years since she first opened the door to me.\n\nLove or Friendship?\nC. W. J. (Montreal)\nWAS attending a Medical College in New York. Not having\nmany acquaintances in the city, I readily accepted the invij\ntation of a classmate to visit him at his Home and meet 1™\npeople. * J |\nThere I met his sister—*young and attractive looking. Wit;\nfew acquaintances and a slender purse, I did not care to taki\nin the pleasure places of New York, but became a constan\nvisitor at my friend's house, and was thrown more and mon\nin contact with his sister. Our friendship terminated ii\nmarriage. Our courtship, which was of a rather length\nnature—my wife waiting some four years until I secured m;\ndegree—was of the conventional kind—books, theatres occasion\nally and flowers.\nI recollect what great pleasure I used to derive from putting\npretty inscriptions on the front leaves of the books—a few tende:\nlines of some poet or a few touching words in Latin from mj\nlimited store. I don't know whether I married for love, trui\nlove, or whether I married because I mistook friendship foi\nlove. Perhaps the latter. I have three children and earn j\ncomfortable living. My wife takes life calmly and seems quit\ncentered on herself. She seems to want to get the most out o\nlife for herself.\nOften I wonder whether I would be happier and more cJJj\ntented had I remained single. Married life has become for me\nso dull, so monotonous. It lacks the sympathy, the affection anc\nco-operation that I fondly looked forward to.\n\nThe Romance on the Boat to Babloa\nMrs. C. (Detroit)\nULY 4, 1914, a girl friend and myself boarded a Detroi\nFerry for an afternoon ride. The boat was crowded t(\ncapacity. My husband, Mr. C. * and his friend, then botl\nstrangers to us, offered us chairs. A conversation followed\nAfter the ride both young men suggested supper and a moon;\nlight ride. After a little hesitation we accepted the invitation\nDuring the evening I was relating some of my trips througl\nthe west. Mr. C had covered the same territory anc\ndared me to marry him and take up a claim in Montana. Ij\nfun I took the dare. We talked so much about our claims arj\nplans that our friends took it seriously and the following evil\ning, they pinned tags on us ''just married.\" m|\nThe next ten days Mr. C made ardent love to me\ndared me to keep my promise of the first evening. On 41\n15th of July he asked me if I was ready to accompany him\nthe minister. Laughingly, I said yes, picked up my hat, said\nI am ready. Before I realized the serious step I was taking\nI was married to him by an E minister. Waking up to th(\nfact that I was married, I asked to be taken home. I refused t\nsee my husband for three days. After thinking it all over\ndecided to be game and make good my vows. That's why an\nhow I was married. After a brief honeymoon we settled dowj\nand the result is I am as happy as any contented marrie-\nwoman can be. I have an ideal husband. I could not havl\n.\nfound a better one. I wouldn't advise every girl to marry aj\nI did for I don't believe there are many fellows like my husi\nband."}, {"page_pdf": 17, "page_imprimee": "949", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.17", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nThe Fairy and the Spider\nBy Betty Graeme\n\"Here we go, Luby-Lou\nHere we go, Luby-Lou,\"\nsang the soiled children in the square, moving in unison\nwith the rhythm, quite unmindful that their paradise was\nbounded on all sides by ugly red brick houses. Their\nshrill voices were as glad as if their faces had been freshly.\nwashed with morning dew and their ragged raiment made\n* whole. For, if water be scarce in the quarter, so are\nmirrors and if one's frock be frayed one has only to hold\none's head high above such sartorial shortcomings.\n\"I put my right foot in,\nI I take my right foot out,\nI make my foot go tap, tap, tap,\nAnd turn myself around.\"\nchorused the voices.\nTo be sure the last line didn't rhyme but in New York\nthere is no time for mending rhymes. New ones are born\nevery minute, but no one will stop to learn them as long\nas the old ones hang together.\nBut the bad rhyme got on Miss West's nerves. The\nconstant repetition jarred like a newly crowned tooth that\nthe dentist has confused with the bill and made too high.\n\"Children, would you like me to tell you a fairy story?\"\nshe asked.\n\"Oh, yes, Miss West,\" they answered politely, \"we\nwould like it very much,\" which was not at all true, but\n- what they had been taught was expected of them.\n' \"Well, then, once upon a time a fairy came to New\nYork—\"\n\"Not to New York!\" they exclaimed, laughing de-\nrisively.\n\"Yes, indeed,\" she maintained firmly, \"though nobody\nwould ever have known it. You see, in New York no\none believes in fairies because no one ever sees them; and\nno one ever sees them because no one believes in them.\nThis fairy disguised herself so she wouldn't be recognized\nby any stranger from the country. She folded up her\nwings and tucked them into her tailor suit. She did up\nher hair and hid her fairy wand in an umbrella. She\neven painted her face so she would look like the rest of\nher sex. And no one even suspected her.\"\n\"But, Miss Wild West, why should a fairy come to\nNew York?\" they cried in bewilderment.\n\"Ah, you may well ask. You see, my dears, this fairy\n■j|ad got lost and, as no one knew the way back to fairy-\nBind, they all told her that New York was just like Jairy-\n|land. So, of course, she went there.\"\n\"And is it?\" inquired the children anxiously.\n\"Oh, no,\" she reassured them. \"And that was very\nhard on the fairy. Instead of the illumination being made\nBy lovely phosphorescent lanterns swung gaily about by\nwill-o'-the-wisps and fireflies, glaring artificial lights\nsnapped on and off in a dizzy and unbeautiful manner.\nAnd instead of being spontaneous and highly contagious,\nall the mirth was made to order and very, very depressing.\nInstead of dancing in fairy rings on the greensward mid\ntinkling bluebells and fairy music, she found them dancing\non hardwood squares in the midst of clinking glasses and\nugly sounds that made the ears ache. Instead of happy,\n* smiling faces on all sides there was only the leer of the\nlicentious and the greed of the avaricious.\n\"Poor little fairy, she was so sorry and disappointed.\nShe wandered all up and down the narrow dirty streets\ncrying her eyes out. The pavements hurt her feet and\nthe people hurt her pride of race.\"\n\"Poor little fairy,\" echoed the children. Vaguely they\ntoo understood how she felt. \"Did she die?\"\n\"No, just as her heart began to beat so faintly she\nthought it was going to stop, she stumbled blindly into\na garret. There in one corner she saw a great black spider\nspinning a web.\"\n\"A spider!\" cried the children in alarm.\n\"Yes. 'Of course, being va fairy, she wasn't afraid of\nspiders even though this one made terrible faces at her\nand waved his arms in' a most threatening manner.\n\"What is the matter with you,\" inquired the spider,\n\"Are you trying to flood my garret with salt water or\ndid you float in on a high tide ? Grrrrrrr! I know what.\nYou are a woman and all women are inferior to men.\nA woman like you needs to Jbe thrown on the floor* and\ntrrrrampled upon. That is what I should do with you.\"\nThe fairy was so amused she burst right out laughing.\n\"I was crying because New York is so ugly,\" she said.\n\"But now I don't seem to mind so much. I haven't been\namused before but I am beginning to be.\"\n\"New York is not ugly,\" said the spider with emphasis.\n\"You are a woman and you don't know anything about\nit. Women are inferior—\"\n\"You said that before,\" said the fairy, \"and I didn't\nbelieve you then.\"\n\"But I can prove it!\" shrieked the spider.\n\"Well, who cares if you can,\" said the fairy, \"I can\nprove that you are knock-kneed but I'm too polite.\"\n\"I hate politeness,\" said the spider, spinning another\nthread. \"Why should we lie to \"feach other? But you\nare a woman, and women, like all inferiors, lie.\"\n\"I heard you the first time,\" said the fairy. \"Women\nonly lie to hold their own with men. It is a nice world,\ndon't you think?\"\nYou see she had forgotten all about her tears.\n\"Well, I don't. No, I don't. It is a big piece of sticky\nfly paper. All these horrid human insects that swarm\nhere think are tasting sweetness, but they are just\nconsuming sugared poison. Besides it hurts my wings.\"\n\"What does a woman know of wings?\" growled the\nspider. \"No woman ever had wings. Woman is infer—\"\n\"Why harp on it?\" said the fairy. \"If her upper\nregister is a bit thin it doesn't help to have a man hammer\non it all the time.\"\n\"So you don't like New York because you've gotten\nyour wings singed?\"\n\"I suppose so!\" agreed the fairy, amiably. \"Besides it\nhas broken my heart.\"\n\"Heart,\" sniffed the spider, if spiders can sniff. \"I'll\nprove to you that a woman doesn't know anything about\na heart. Where is your heart?\"\n\"If you please, I keep my heart just where you keep\nyours, in my vanity case.\"\n\"We will leave my heart out of ,the discussion,\" said\nthe spider, weaving busily. \"So they have run over your"}, {"page_pdf": 18, "page_imprimee": "950", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.18", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\nBruno's Weekly, published weekly fey Bruno's Weekly, Inc. Charles Ediso», Pres.; Guido Bruno, Vice-Pres.;\nWalter Ij. Eckert, Sec. and Treas., at 58 Washington Square, New York City.- Edited and written by Guido\nBruno. 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\nvanity case and busted it, have they ? But, being a woman,\nit is quite as serious as though it had been your heart.\"\n\"It is more serious,\" replied the fairy. \"If it had been\nmy heart I would have covered it up and no one would\never have known. But since it is my vanity case, every-\nbody can see that New York has put a crimp in it.\"\n\"Just like a woman,\" snapped the spider, biting off a\nthread and beginning at another corner of the web. \"They\nare fit for nothing but to be mothers of the race.\"\n\"How funny you are,\" laughed the fairy. \"One would\nthink that no inferior being would be fit for so high a\nmission. It must be a terrible handicap to the race, too.\nI suppose mothers are because the fathers cant be, eh?\"\n\"That is almost enough,\" said the spider, frowning\nfiercely, \"I told you I had a headache.\"\n\"Then I must be going,\" said the fairy. \"I couldn't\nthink of staying and sharing it with you. There is never\nroom for anything else on a man's mind when he has\nhimself and a headache on it. Goodbye.\"\nSuddenly, as the fairy was turning herself out, a shaft\nof sunlight fell athwart the room and bathed the garret\nin its mellow glow. It was then that the fairy made a\ngreat discovery. She saw that the spider was not a spider\nat all, but a big hearted, sympathetic writer man. The\nreason he looked so black and ugly was because he was\nall covered over with ink from trying to tell people about\nthe beauty and romance and savor of life which they were\noverlooking in their mad rush to the grave. The web\nhe was so industriously weaving was made all of silver\nthreads. It glistened in the sunlight with the glint of\ngolden deeds, the sparkle of jewelled hopes and pearls of\nthought that mark the path of inspiration.\n\"As she gazed, the fairy felt her own tired, crushed\nwings stir faintly and, adjusting her somewhat battered\nstraw hat at the angle at wrhich she usually wore her\nfairy crown, she fluttered away.\"\n\"Is that all?\" asked the children.\n\"Well, yes, that is all I seem to remember,\" replied\nMiss Wild West, somewhat abashed.\n\"I don't think much of it,\" exclaimed a grimy urchin.\n\"You just orter hear the Injun stories my Uncle Bob kin\ntell.\"\n\"I don't think so awfully much of it myself,\" said\nMiss West.\n\nTO YOU, GENTLE READER\nKindly give your standing order for Bruno's\nWeekly to your newsdealer, if you do not\nwish to send us directly a subscription. The\npresent paper prices are such that it proves\ndisastrous for a magazine to print more\ncopies than are needed for its regular sub-\nscription circulation and for a supply of\nunreturnable orders of news companies and\nmagazine agencies.\nAlso we cannot supply you with back num-\nbers which you have missed on the news-\nstands.\nTherefore, if you like the contents of\nBruno's Weekly, release your clutches from\na two-collar bill and send in your check\nto-day or give a standing order to your news-\ndealer.\n\nROSSI BROTHERS\n58 Washington Square\nUnderneath the Garret\nICE CREAM AND TOBACCO\nThe Mad Hatter Has a Tea Party Every Afternoon\nFrom 3 to 6 at\n150 WEST FOURTH STREET\nJust Down the Rabbit Hole From Washington Square\n\"Take Some More Tea\"\n\"I've Had Nothing Yet So I Can't Take More\"\n\"You Mean You Can't Take Less, It's Very Easy to\nTake More Than Nothing.\"\n\"Nobody Asked Your Opinion\" Edith Unger.\nIiBUYI\nSingle volumes, small lots, and libraries; autograph letters of known literary men\nartists, drawings, pictures and engravings. Address\n\"COIJJECTOR,\" Care of Bruno's Weekly, 58 Washington S®\nEdith Haynes Thompson\nHER SHOP\nContaining Many Quaint and Beautiful Things\n58 WASHINGTON SQUARE SOUTH\nHours: 1 to 5.30 P. M.\nj. 112. McCarthy\nPAINTINGS AND\nANTIQUES\n30 WEST 46th STREET"}, {"page_pdf": 19, "page_imprimee": "[951]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.19", "texte": "Rare Books\nFirst Editions\nExtra Illustrated Books. Early Printed Books. Association Books. Books for Christmas Gifts.\nNidwied singly or in sets for people who have no ither time nor opportunity to select for themsahre%\nm for those who have not access to die best book marts. Why not begn collecting now?\nAddress, E. V. Boston Transcript, Boston, Mass.\nUsing a book\nIN WHICH\nwe say just what we think. Published every month by Norman-Bel Geddes at 171 Wilson Avenue\nki Detroit, Michigan. It is a little book uniquely illustrated. Write for sample copy.\nHOTEL BREVOQRT CAFE LAFAYET\nFifth Avenue University Place\nRAYMOND ORTEIG, INC.\nThe Two French Hotels and Restaurants of New York\nGONFARONE'S\n40 West Bth Street\nTABLE D'HOTE\nMl\n'Eating places are literary landmarks\" said O. Henry, speaking of Gonfarone's in one of his\nunexcelled Greenwich Village Stories.\nI\nI\nThere can be no pleasanter place to hear that remarkable ■\nEdison Record Number (82536) than\nTHE DIAMOND DISC SHOP\nat Number 10 Fifth Avenue\nIn this store, at least, the delightful atmosphere of Old Grrawkfa Village has not heaei sacrificed\non the altar of coxnmercialmaa\nA postal will bring you, with our compfimeafe,\nan interesting little biography of Mr. That. A.\nPhone: Stufvesant 4570 Edison"}, {"page_pdf": 20, "page_imprimee": "[952]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160826-01.1.20", "texte": "Bruno Chap Books\n•50\n.25\n.25\n.25\n.25\n1. The Harlot's House, by Oscar Widle\nThe first American reprint of one of the\nmost wonderful poems of the author. ...... $ .25\n2. Setting Hens, Frogs' Legs* by D. Molby\nD. Molby, passes the white elephant un-\nremarked, but writes an essay on the mos-\nquito's neck and the rhythm of his little\nwings before he stings and annoys.. . .25\n3. Mushrooms, by Alfred Kreymborg\nMr. Kreymborg*s Mushrooms are recog-\nnized poetry. The Mushroom stands for a\nsimple expression of thought in simple mu-\nsical rhythm. Mr. Kreymborg is one man\nwho speaks to his fellow-men—just to the\none who might find in four or six simple\nlines of rhythm the revelation of the rhythm\nand the harmony of his own simple life....\n4. Tahiti, by Robert Carlton Brown\n5. Four Letters, by Oscar Wilde\n6. Anarchists, by Cuido Bruno\n7. To My Mother, by Alfred Kreymborg\n8. Vignettes, by Hubert Crackanthorpe\nMr. Crackanthorpe had three chief gifts:\nskill in dramatic narration—a sense of sit-\nuation, a lively feeling for the value of inter-\npretation of gesture, posture, circumstance;\nsecondly, analytic skill in the conception and\npresentation of character; thirdly, descriptive\nand pictorial power, readiness of vision, with\na faculty of sifting and selecting its reports.\nLionel Johnson, in Acad., March 20, 1897. •\n$. Tasks and Hsuka, by Sadakichi Hartmann\nThe son of a German father and a Japa-\nnese mother, of a burgomaster's son from\nMecklenburg, the only European state with*\nout a Constitution, and the daughter of a\nronin, a roving soldier of Old Japan. Sada-\nkichi is much more Japanese than German.\nHis style is extravagant but suave. Some of\nhis short stories are as excessive and intense\nas Foe's, on strictly realistic lines. The ut-\nmost bounds of expression are reached, even\nhis originality is aggressive\nlidtardi Wagner, the Egoist, by Guido Bruno\nEdna, the Girl of the Street, by Alfred Kreymborg\nCause: our social conditions.\nMotive: just to live.\nProblem: eternal.\nSolution: none\nSongs of the Cosmos, by Charles Keeter\nLike the weaver of wonderful brocades, he\nselected thread after thread and up loomed\nthose wonderful pictures before my eyes,\ncreations of simple words, dipped in red\nblood, tinted by the golden sun, formed and\nshaped by hands who know the labors and\npains of millions scented with good-will\ntowards everybody and emitted with pure love\nNo.\n13.\n14.\n15.\n16.\n17.\n.50\nIS.\n19.\n.25\n.25\n.25\n20.\n21.\n22.\n23.\n24.\n25.\n.25 26.\nTeaspoons and Violet Leaves, by Guido Bruno 1.00\nThe Tragedy in therßirdhouse, Tby Guido Bruno\n.50\nExotics, by John W. Draper\nIt lay a luscious yellow band\nCreaming upon umbrageous green\nThe spray was satin to the hand;\nAnd to the eye a topaz bright,\nAnd dazzling as the noonday sand.\nFrom\"The Yellow Orchid'* .25\nImagists, by Richard Aldington\nOne of the original group of the English\nImagists tells all about Imagism and its aims.\nThis paper deals a severe blow to all imita-\ntors and producers of vers libre who think\nthemselves poets of the \"new group\" because\nthey don't write in rhyme , .25\nLord Alfred Douglas—Salome: A Critique,\nthe Beauty of Unpunctuality: an Essay and\nThree Poems\nThere was a time when Lord Alfred\nDouglas would have laughed at the idea that\nhe would write a book explaining away his\nfriendship with Oscar Wilde. As editor of\n\"The Spirit Lamp,\" a magazine published\nby James Thornton, High Street, Oxford,\nand edited by Lord Alfred Douglas, he\nseemed to be a diligent imitator of his friend\nOscar. He imitated his style in prose and in\npoetry. Whenever he received a contribu-\ntion from Oscar Wilde it was the main and\nleading feature of the issue .25\nSadakichi Hartmann—Permanent Peace: Is It a\nDream?\nCharles Kains-Jackson—Jotra Aldington Syinonds\nA Portrait\nThe life-long friend of the English poet\ngives a vivid picture of the personality and\nlife and life-work of Symonds. This essay\nwritten a few days after the death of Sy-\nmonds, on the 19th of April, 1893, and was\nfirst published in the Quarto , a since for-\ngotten literary periodical of England, in\n1897 25\nDjuna Barnes—The Book of Repulsive We*\nmen—Rhythms and 5 Drawings 25\nEdna W. Underwood—The Book of the White\nPeacocks .25\nH. Thompson Rich—Lumps of Clay—l 6 Rhythms\n.25\nD. Molby — Hippopotamus Tails —28 Every-day\nMusings .25\nH. Thompson Rich—The Red Shame—l 7 War\nPoems .. ......... .25\nTheodor Schroeder, Erothogenesis of Religion, a\nbibliography .50\nSadakichi Hartmann, My Rubayat * .50\nAccompany each order with Cheque, small amounts, one-cent stamps\nBRUNO'S WEEKLY\n58 WASHINGTON SQUARE, N. Y. C."}]}