{"numero_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_sha256": "25ca27ede96983974d6ddbc598de445225e9c85eb58cb30a351ef37cbd42fef0", "source_tei": "https://github.com/Princeton-CDH/bluemountain-transcriptions/blob/main/periodicals/bmtnaaq/issues/1916/09/23_01/bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01.tei.xml", "source_mets": "https://github.com/pulibrary/BlueMountain/blob/main/metadata/periodicals/bmtnaaq/issues/1916/09/23_01/bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01.mets.xml", "url_numero": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01", "articles": [{"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c001", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c001", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "couv. 1", "page_fin": "couv. 1", "image_debut": 1, "image_fin": 1, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.1", "titre_corps": "Sadakichi", "titre_sommaire": "Sadakichi", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 1, "page_imprimee": "couv. 1", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.1", "debut_caractere": 98, "fin_caractere_exclue": 107, "texte": "Sadakichi"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c002", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c002", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[1001]", "page_fin": "[1001]", "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=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.2", "titre_corps": "To Sadakichi Hartmann", "titre_sommaire": "To Sadakichi Hartmann", "signature_source": "George Sylvester Viereck", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "[1001]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.3", "debut_caractere": 110, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1152, "texte": "To Sadakichi Hartmann\nGeorge Sylvester Viereck\nIMMORTAL Master!\nWhose poor mortal hand\nPenned \"Christ\" and \"Buddha.\"\nWith rapt admiration I read—\nNay—drank—-\nThe silvery splendor of thy luminous lines,\nAnd drunk with Beauty, was no longer Clay.\nThy language—\nIs stately and ornate—\nAs ever was Greece and Rome,\nAnd as clear as the limbs of the goddess\nWho rose from the white sea foam.\nI watched thy soul in its endless flight\nTo heights unknown in Heaven and Hell,\nBeyond the mystic rose, beyond the night.\nMusic came floating through endless space\nAnd the Vale of Sound I entered in.\nSound as sweet as the songs of the swallow\nThat through the woodland sings—\nIn the time of the wakening of Spring—\nWhen the red rose is blooming and blushing,\nBlooming and blushing with Love and with Sin—\nBeautiful, Scarlet Sin.\nAnd then—\nI heard music—\nThe music of Odors.\nOdors sweeter by far than those\nOf the poppy and the rose—\nOr the pale lilies of the Lesbian Shore—\nAnd in my breast there was a yearning,\nAnd then I awoke, and saw thy star no more."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c003", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c003", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[1001]", "page_fin": "1002", "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=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.3", "titre_corps": "A Contemporary Study", "titre_sommaire": "A Contemporary Study", "signature_source": "Renouf Whelpley", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "[1001]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.3", "debut_caractere": 1154, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3056, "texte": "Sadakichi Hartmann\nA Contemporary Study\n\nFEW men ever started so brilliantly or held out fairer\npromise. When he published his drama Christ—\nwritten at the age of twenty—there was every reason to\nbelieve that a great word-artist was born unto us, and\nthat American literature was about to have a \"Dela-\ncroix,\" or rather a \"Monticelli of letters.\"\nBut his fine rush soon slackened and the expected\nmasterpieces did not materialize. He has written\ncopiously, mostly on art, but his literary output is\nappallingly small. Only now and then, at long intervals,\na poem or short story. And then of course his Whistler\nBook. Still, art-writing does not represent him at his\nbest.\nWhy this idleness! Well, it is not of his own doing,\nrather due to the lack of enthusiasm in contemporary\npublishers, editors, and printers. Most of his manuscripts\nlie still unpublished in the drawers of his desk, and some\nmay have gone astray in some trunk left for a board bill.\nTwo of his books, \"Conversations with Walt. Whitman\"\nand \"My Theory of Soul Atoms,\" although printed, were\nnever put on the market. Reason: lack of cash on\ndelivery. They were returned to the printer and sold by\nweight.\nAnd all this was caused by the trouble he had with\n\"Christ.\" The author was ostracised and his fiery piece\nof work, full of boldness and dash, and splendid in color,\nwas allowed to languish in the \"locked shelves\" of our\nlibraries. Not a single American writer was far-sighted\nor independent enough to champion it. * Now, it brings\na premium of five dollars at auction sales. The same\nfarce through the ages.\nAnd Sadakichi with his seven unpublished books! He\nis still the same fanatic in quest of glory and daily bread.\nHe may have lost some of his belief in man and human-\nity, but not his faith in his dreams and his talent.\nThe son of a German father and a Japanese mother,\nof a burgomaster's son from Mecklenburg, the only"}, {"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "1002", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.4", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3858, "texte": "European state without a Constitution, and the daughter\nof a Tonin, a roving soldier of Old Japan. Surely a weird\ncombination that had to produce something out of the\nordinary. Sadakichi is much more Japanese than Ger-\nman. His style is extravagant but suave. Some of his\nshort stories are as excessive and intense as Poe's, on\nstrictly realistic lines. The utmost bounds of expression\nare reached, even his originality is aggressive. His\ndramas—will they ever be accepted! Their splendor is\nall fire and flame, nothing short of barbarous. His poems,\non the other hand, are all filigree work, the most difficult\nforms, dripping with technique to express a vague vista,\ncolor and motion in words. And the best efforts of this\nman were buried in obscure or inaccessible publications.\nHis whole conduct of life is full of contradictions.\nWhat else can one expect! When Gottschalk, the actor,\nmet him for the first time, he exclaimed in despair \"With\nthe face of an Oriental, the brain and accent of a Ger-\nman, the wiry build of an American, and the manners of\na Frenchman—who is this man?\" He attempts to be\nRabelaisean in his indulgences, with the constitution of\nCharles IX. An invalid half his life, often spending\nthree days of every week in bed, \"my ailments are ex-\nceeded only by my debts\" he laughs, and then indulging\nin some tour de force, of writing seventeen hours in a\nstretch, or dissipating three nights without sleep, or dano-\ning a solo of the Blue Danube Valtz with an encore of\nOffenbach's La Belle Helene at some public ball. In-\ncredible!\nLook at his face. Handsome? Not a bit. Downright\nugly, not unlike Zangwill. At times tired and sordid\nlooking, A veritable gargoyle. And then suddenly it\nwill brighten as if lit up by some inner flame, with a play\nof features as subtle and unfathomable as Eastern\nphilosophy. \"Why did you not become an actor?\" he is\nfrequently asked. \"Because I chose to be an author,\"\nis his answer.\nHe has written so much about other people that few\nmay have written about him. Of course there are reams\nof press notices, but they do not count. Among the more\nserious estimates I came across articles by Anne Throop,\nA. Craig (apparently the same person), Roland Rood,\nEdith Mable Hancock, Viereck, Otto Soubron, J. Conrad,\nthe novelist, Vance Thompson, and shorter pragraphs\nby Philip Hale, Huneker, Richard Hovey, William\nMarion Reedy, George Brandes, Remy de Gourmont.\nThey all seem to agree on two points, expressed best,\nperhaps, in the two commonplace definitions of \"unusual\nability\" and \"extraordinary personality.\" They do not\nattempt to place him, nor get they at the real Sadakichi.\nHe is evasive. He is frank, but allows nobody to come\nvery close to him. He has no pose and dresses in the\nsimplest least noticeable manner, like a man who likes\nto mingle with the crowd without attracting attention.\nHe never speaks about his works to strangers. There\nis no frippery about him, nor the assumption of a place\nhe cannot fill. \"I have certain gifts\" he sighs, \"so I\nhave to live up to them. The public apparently gives me\nplenty of time to finish my work. Perhaps it is all for the\nbetter. Of course, I would like to see my stuff pub-\nlished. But as far as an audience is concerned, it is\nvery indifferent to me whether I find it among my con-\ntemporaries or among their grandchildren.\" And what\nshould one read to get better acquainted with this\nmodern knight of La Mancha? Read this short story\n\"The Practice Clavier,\" \"The Lady of the Yellow Yon-\nquils\" or \"Nancy Pennington,\" his poem \"Sea-\nNocturne,\" some of his art essays on sculpture, perfume,\nfireworks, and finally his Buddha, \"a thing all color,\nsound and incense,\" as Vance Thompson has said, a\nstrange mixture of lyrical pantheism, of Shelley and the\nIbsen of the Peer Gynt period.\nYou will not burn incense before a false god."}, {"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "1002", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.4", "debut_caractere": 3913, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3928, "texte": "Renouf Whelpley"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c004", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c004", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[1001]", "page_fin": "[1001]", "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=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.3.1", "titre_corps": "Sadakichi", "titre_sommaire": "Sadakichi", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "[1001]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.3", "debut_caractere": 3058, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3067, "texte": "Sadakichi"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c005", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c005", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1002", "page_fin": "1002", "image_debut": 4, "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=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.3.2", "titre_corps": "Sadakichi in critical attitude during a First Night", "titre_sommaire": "Sadakichi in critical attitude during a First Night", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "1002", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.4", "debut_caractere": 3860, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3911, "texte": "Sadakichi in critical attitude during a First Night"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c006", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c006", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1002", "page_fin": "1002", "image_debut": 4, "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=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.4", "titre_corps": "\"Beloved, When My Dust Is Blown \"", "titre_sommaire": "\"Beloved, When My Dust Is Blown \"", "signature_source": "Herbert S. Gorman", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "1002", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.4", "debut_caractere": 3930, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4389, "texte": "\"Beloved, When My Dust Is Blown \"\nHerbert S. Gorman\nBELOVED, when my dust is blown\nBefore the coursers of the wind,\nAnd out upon the darkness blind\nMy vagrant soul fares forth alone.\nRemember me a little while\nAnd think that I shall speak to you\nIn every bird that scales the blue,\nAnd, dreaming of me, gladly smile.\nI shall be near as oft of yore,\nFor, being dead, I shall not die;\nAnd each glad wind that hurries by\nShall blow my laughter through your door."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c007", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c007", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1003", "page_fin": "1003", "image_debut": 5, "image_fin": 5, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.5", "titre_corps": "Creation", "titre_sommaire": "Creation", "signature_source": "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": "1003", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.5", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4899, "texte": "Creation\nBy Guido Bruno\nLOVE was seated at the bay window of the tower room\nand looked down to the Earth which was to you a\nlabyrinth of a thousand recesses. /She saw you grope\nyour way and stumble and fall. She saw how you raised\nyourself again looking for a new path. And again you\nstumbled.\nLove smiled meaningly. But you could not find your\nway in the chaos. The things that surrounded you\nseemed to have false names; darkness hovered above\neverything and a confusion of voices that caused pain\nto your nerves. Love leaned far out of the gilded window\nand her eyes followed you—you who had disappeared in\nthe darkness of a rugged, steep road.\n\"The silly child!\" she said to her boy, who was seated\nat her feet playing with a long string of emeralds that\nfastened with golden clasps the mantle around her\nshoulders: pink fantasie. \"Why can't she be patient\nand wait? Does she have to create pain and sorrow and\ndisappointments for herself?\n\"She is meant for him. She must be his. And then\nshe will be quiet and happy and content and in him she\nwill find everything that she was looking for in vain all\nthis time.\"\n\"Let her . . . .\" remarked Father Time, who was lying\nmotionless on his big divan breathing quietly so that his\nlong white beard rose and sank in even intervals. \"She\nmust experience how it feels before one is born.\"\n\"But it is tiresome to have to witness the same old\nplay again and again. All of them went through it. All\nof them for thousands of years. And still it is always a\npleasure for my old eyes to see how the two have to find\ntheir way after their real birth in the light, wide, beauti-\nful world. Not everyone can wait until the time arrives,\nbut I can. And therefore they call me Father Time.\"\n\"Oh, look!\" cried Love, with her clear, wonderful\nsounding voice that creates revolutions in the hearts of\nman, that proclaims a dawn of creation.\nFather Time knew its meaning. Slowly and with\ndignity he arose—even if he is in a hurry he never for-\ngets to be deliberate and dignified. With measured steps\nhe approached the window. The boy leaned far over the\nwindow-sill after he had brushed aside some flowers that\nwere in his way.\nDark lay the world deep below.\nAll looked down in the direction in which Love pointed\nwith her finger. A broad golden band was on her finger\n—a serious symbol of truth.\nIn a badly-lighted room, among many people whose\nnames meant nothing, were you. And I was there. High,\nhigh above us sounded a wonderful voice.\nLove said: \"Let there be light.\"\n\"You looked into my eyes and I looked into yours.\n\"You were born.\n\"And I was born.\n\"You took my hand. Together we wandered through\nthe world. Everything became new in shape. We called\nit by its right name. We found straight streets and even\nways. We didn't stumble any more. We did not fall.\n\"And so we are on our pilgrimage, side by side. Every\nday is a new day of creation. We are the creators.\nEverywhere we see light and order. You found your own\nworld and you brought it to me. And I found my own\nworld and I brought it to you. The world is ours. We\nare its creators.\nThe window high up there is closed. The boy clung\nto the skirts of Love and followed her. Love left her\npalace and took possession of her new home. She moved\nin into your heart. Then again she paid me a visit and\nstayed a while. Now we never know where she is.\nSometimes you think her with me and sometimes I feel\nshe must be with you. And she wishes to be with both\nof us.\nLove wants to lay her head to rest in your heart, and\nshe wants to bathe her graceful little feet in my red,\nwarm heart-blood.\nAnd in the evening when the stars and the moon can-\nnot look any longer into the room, when we embrace,\nbreast against breast: when your trembling fingers glide\nthrough my hair, when I caress your smooth soft skin\nwith the tips of my fingers: when you are close, close\nto me, your lips on mine: one body and one heart\nDo you feel how she caresses your heart with her\nlong, silky eyelashes? And how wonderful it feels if she\nkicks her little feet in my heart's blood, if she lets the\nheavy, excited blood-drops glide through her tiny, ivory\ntoes.\nFather Time is settled again comfortably on his divan.\nHe put a new soft pillow under his head and seems to\nfeel at ease. He strokes lovingly his beard and murmurs:\n\"It is nice to be quiet and sedate and to progress thought-\nfully into the immeasurable unknown. But love has it\nstill better than I—even if she has to walk out into the\ncold, into wind and weather.\n\"She builds for herself a little red palace, she rests\nher head upon the wild heart-throb of the world, that\nshe created, and bathes her little feet in the hot blood\nof pure passion. Slowly his eyelids drop over his tired\neyes and patiently he will wait another term of eternity.\nBut the world is ours.\nYours and mine.\nHow luminous Love is!\nMore luminous than a thousand suns.\nAugust 10th 1909."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c008", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c008", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1003", "page_fin": "1003", "image_debut": 5, "image_fin": 5, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.6", "titre_corps": "Clara Tice: Her Portrait", "titre_sommaire": "Clara Tice: Her Portrait", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "1003", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.5", "debut_caractere": 4901, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4925, "texte": "Clara Tice: Her Portrait"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c009", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c009", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1004", "page_fin": "1004", "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=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.7", "titre_corps": "Two Things by Elizabeth M. Walker", "titre_sommaire": "Two Things by Elizabeth M. Walker", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "1004", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.6", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 826, "texte": "Two Things by Elizabeth M. Walker\nMan\nINTO the world I came, unasked,\nIt matters not by what intent,\nBut if I claim not power here\nMy life were idly spent.\nThe earth is mine, the air I breathe\nIs mine to conquer. I can give\nThe ocean back a challenge. I\nAm Master while I live.\nI know not if I die to-night,\nOf if I greet the morning sun;\nIt matters not,—but while I live\nI say, \"My will be done!\"\nA Prayer\nGOD: My back aches and the baby cries; my man's\ndrunk; I can't keep the children clean; we ain't got\nno money—and no bread. My stockins is all wore out and\nthe Aid won't help me because the Friendly did. Jennie\nruns the streets and the children can't play in the Park be-\ncause of no clothes. Oh God, why do they knit for the\nBelgians and the churches say 'Blessed are the Poor for of\nthem was Christ'?\""}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c010", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c010", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1004", "page_fin": "1004", "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=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.8", "titre_corps": "The Fable of the Fire and the Furnace", "titre_sommaire": "The Fable of the Fire and the Furnace", "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": 6, "page_imprimee": "1004", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.6", "debut_caractere": 828, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1787, "texte": "The Fable of the Fire and the\nFurnace\nH. Thompson Rich\nTHERE was once a great fool of 3. Fire, who went wan-\ndering hither and thither about the world, with no\nthought at all in his silly head of settling down and ending\nhis vagrant days.\nOne morning he came upon a curious individual seated by\nthe roadside, tall and stout, and dark.\n\"Why, upon my word!\" he erclaimed in derision. \"Such\na foolish fellow, to be sitting there dreaming when the whole\nworld is before you. Who are you, anyway?\"\n\"I am a Furnace,\" replied the strange personage in a gruff\nvoice, angry no doubt at being disturbed. \"And who might\nyou be?\"\nThe haughty Fire puffed himself out and pompously\nstated his claim to pride, dwelling rather tediously upon the\nvarious convolutions of his pedigree.\nWhen he had concluded, the Furnace laughed heartily*\n\"Foolish one,\" he said, \"give up your wandering and stay\nwith me, for together we can do many things. What a pity\nwe have not met before!\""}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c011", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c011", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1004", "page_fin": "1004", "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=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.9", "titre_corps": "Silhouettes", "titre_sommaire": "Silhouettes", "signature_source": "John E. Rosser", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "1004", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.6", "debut_caractere": 1789, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4996, "texte": "Silhouettes\nBy John E. Rosser\nRoom 44\nI AM just an ordinary hotel room—somewhat out of\ndate in my appointments. For two-score years men\nand women have eddied into me and out again. I know\nLife.\nWhen people come in and close my door, they doff\ntheir masks and are themselves. With me they play no\nroles.\nI know the stertorous snoring of them weary in body\nand soul, of them with whom the Great Battle has gone\nhard. To these I am a mother, soothing them to sleep,\nif I may.\nI know the restless tossing and moaning of them who\nhave taken that which is not theirs, pausing with me in\ntheir flight to the end of the world. To these, whether\nI will or not, I am a monster of a thousand eyes, a\nthousand ears, and a thousand tongues.\nI have seen strong men Hay aside their brave smiles\nat the door and fling themselves upon the bed, sobbing\nlike children.\nSometimes they come in twos.\nThat uneven splotch there by the dresser is where she\nlay. Nervous and trembling she had entered with\nhim. . . The door was forced open—you can see the lock\nis fairly new—and the Other Man began firing. She did\nnot speak, merely covering her face with her hands. On\nthe third finger of her left hand she wore two rings.\nAt the little table there by the window a President\nwas made. They sat facing each other over the table—\nthe Strong Man and the Weakling. Finally, the Strong\nMan, with a soft voice but a firm jaw, told the Weakling\nhe would do. . . What was all the voting for?\nI have seen a smoothly smiling man enter with a\nyoung girl whose eyes were wide like those of a newly\ncaptured doe. . . First she repeated the Pater Noster.\nTo some I have been not an eddy but the entrance to\nthe Great Harbor. The glass there on the table has been\nto some the Chalice of the Long Sleep. One used\nthe knife; another bound a towel tightly about her\nthroat; still another held his face beneath the water of\nthe bath. Revolvers—how many? No matter how they\ntook their leave, all looked long and steadfastly at them-\nselves in the mirror before they went.\nI know Life.\nThus the World\nWITH a clangor of bell, hissing of steam and griding\nof wheels the Limited came to a stop beneath the\nstation shed. The guards rolled back the gates and the\nhurrying, bustling, laughing, growling crowd began\nscuffing past the ticket punchers toward the waiting\ntrain. . . In the crowd, yet not of it, a middle-aged\nwoman, her black bonnet veiled with crepe still redolent\nof the shop, leaned heavily on the arm of a man whose\nface was white and drawn. Her body shook with silent\nsobs. Slowly, and as if she would not although she\nmust, she turned her eyes toward a stream of express\ntrucks which were being trundled alongside the baggage\ncoaches of the Limited.\n\"Oh, Tom!\" she gasped, \"where is our Genevieve?\"\nThe man merely pressed her arm against his side, and\nconvulsively crumpled the tickets in his hand.\nUp ahead the train baggage master grumbled out an\noath as his eyes ran over the profusion of boxes and\nbundles that were to be taken on. He saw that one\ntruck bearing a long box of gray-painted wood was\ncaught in a jam some distance from a car door.\n\"Hey, Bill \" he called to the conductor, \"back her up\na bit; we gotta take on this stiff \""}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c012", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c012", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1005", "page_fin": "1005", "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=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.10", "titre_corps": "THE VAMPIRE; A Nocturn in Black By Djuno Barnes", "titre_sommaire": "THE VAMPIRE; A Nocturn in Black By Djuno Barnes", "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": "1005", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.7", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 63, "texte": "THE VAMPIRE; A Nocturn in Black By Djuno Barnes"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c013", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c013", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1005", "page_fin": "1005", "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=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.11", "titre_corps": "The Princess of the Looms", "titre_sommaire": "The Princess of the Looms", "signature_source": "Lillian George", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "1005", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.7", "debut_caractere": 65, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5330, "texte": "The Princess of the Looms\nBy Lillian George\nONCE upon a time there was a Princess, who lived in a\ntower high above the city. The people called the crest\nupon which her castle rested the strange hill, but the wise\nmen who lived in the mountains and were reputed to know\nall things, called it the \"Hill of Dreams.\"\nThe Princess was very fair indeed and most industrious.\nDay after day she wove wondrous tapestries; prints of fair\nladies and brave knights; vivid and changeful scenes of hills\nand dales; rivers and streams; flying banners and gay\nprocessions; and ever leading the retinue was the same\npicture of a fair young Prince in full armour, mounted on\na snow white charger.\nThese she wove in the day hours when the sun was bright,\nbut at night when the moon shown silver and cool into her\nwindow, she drew the silver bolt across the oaken door\nand took from her carven chest of ivory, a jewel casket—a\ncasket most delicately wrought in curious designs. Turning\nthe golden lock with a silver key, she drew forth between\nher snow-white fingers a rope of pearls measuring its length\nthrice around her slender throat.\n\"My pearls,\" she said, _ \"my beautiful thought pearls,\nstrung in the shadowed solitude of night, I shall wear you\nfor him, my Prince, when he comes. None other shall be-\nhold you.\"\nNext, lovingly she drew a ruby ring, that flashed its burn-\ning warmth into the moon-lit room.\n\"My heart's desire,\" she said, \"I shall wear you on my\nwedding night when he is here, my Prince. You shall light\njoy into his eyes, and none other shall behold you till they\nhave rested on your beauty.\"\nTwo white diamonds, gleaming as twin stars, fashioned\nin a crown of amethysts, she placed upon her flowing hair.\n\"White glow of faithfulness,\" she said, \"I shall wear you\nfor him. You shall burn into his soul the light of fidelity,\nand none other shall behold you. Dearer than all you shall\nbe to me, for even in death you shall rest upon my brow.'*\nDay after day she wove the tapestry of many weaves;\nnight after night she looked upon the dream jewels of her\ncasket, but the Prince did not appear. Never upon the road\ndid she hear the footfall of the white charger, never in the\nbreeze of morn or eye behold the gay feather floating from\nhis helmet; till on a day, the Princess growing weary of her\nweaving and her waiting, went down the long stair steps of\nthe tower into the fragrance of her gardens, hoping to be\nrefreshed there by the fragrance of the first spring flowers,\nto look into the untroubled blue of the heavens, and to listen\nto the happy thoughtless birds singing in the budding\nbranches. There in her garden she espied a young gardener\nturning the moist earth with a heavy spade.\n\"What do you plant, young gardener?\" she said, and he*\nlooking up in amazement to behold the pale Princess stand-\ning beside him, answered,—\"I plant lilies, Your Grace, early\nlilies.\"\nWhen he looked up at her with great large dark eyes,,\nfilled with an eloquence of innocence and youth, simple\nliving and unpretentious bravery and undaunted manhood,\nher own eyes filled suddenly with tears, her lips trembled*\nher cheeks turned whiter than the lily bloom, for she knew\nhim—the face she had woven, the face she had dreamed,\nher Prince in the face of a gardener. Yet she spoke bravely,\ncommandingly, as a queen should.\n\"Come young gardener to me in my tower tonight at\nmoonlight.\"\nThat night the young gardener, as he was bid, climbed\nwonderingly the tower stairs. Green moss clung to his\ngarments, drops of the gentle dew of evening glistened in\nhis dark hair. There in the moonlight at the casement,\nstanding arrayed in all her beautious dream jewels, he be-\nheld the Princess. The young gardener fell upon his knees,\nthinking indeed a Saint had fallen from heaven, so beautiful\nwas she, with such a strange light within her eyes, and over\nher the moonbeems gleamed as upon a shrine.\n\"Oh, most lovely one, most glorious one, you honor my\nhumbleness so to bless my vision. My children shall know112\nof this, and my childrens' children, and I shall be great in\nthe eyes of them that come after me for the sake of your\ngoodness.\"\n\"Your children,\" said the Princess, and she sighed a sigh\nthat sounded like diying winds of the bleak Autumn, winds\nthat sing at the tops of pine trees.\n\"I hope,\" said the gardener, much embarrassed and\nabashed, \"for, Your Highness, I marry in June a little maiden\nin your service, a little maiden ...\"\nEnough\" said the Princess,'\"Give this to your happy\nbride from me.\" And she took from her finger the red ruby\nof her heart's desire.\nDay by day the Princess weaves her tapestries; gay ladies\nand brave gentlemen; brooks and streams; sunlight and\nstars; but never at the head of the procession is seen the\nportrait of the young Prince on the wihte charger in full\narmour. Yet, even as the sunlight changes into dusk she\nweaves in the gold of its last fading ray the portrait of the\nyoung gardener bending over a bed of young lilies. At\nnight when the moon is shining into the casement of the\ntower, it touches a little silver key around the thoat of The\nPrincess, hung there by a golden chain. The carven casket\nof jewels is unopened, the lock is rusted, and the Princess\ndreams over and over only of the gardener and the gardner's\nchildren."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c014", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c014", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1006", "page_fin": "1007", "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=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.12", "titre_corps": "With Six Illustrations From His Collection", "titre_sommaire": "With Six Illustrations From His Collection", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 8, "page_imprimee": "1006", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.8", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2492, "texte": "Harry Stone: The Possessor of\n60,000 Original Drawings\nWith Six Illustrations From His Collection\nANEW type of bookseller has developed during the\nlast twenty-five years—a man who combines part\nof the knowledge of the antiquarian of yore with the\n'qualities the modern collector and book buyer will re-\nquest from his agent. Books and literary property have\nbecome commercial values equal to stocks which are\nlisted upon the stock exchange: subject to corners\ncreated by shrewd buyers and holders, to fluctuations\ncaused by selling en masse. The successful rare-book\ndealer of today must operate with his wares like a stock\nbroker. The banker who starts with business with a\nlimited capital and operates on a legal interest basis has\nvery little chance to become rich. But if he succeeds\nin acquiring with his limited capital the entire stock of\na mine which proves a success after he acquired it has\nequal chances to make money as the rare-book dealer\nwho has had the good fortune to buy for a farthing the\nentire literary property of a man who proves a celebrity\nafter his death and whose manuscripts are worth a\nhundred times their weight in gold.\nHarry Stone is a book dealer of the new type. He\nacquired his knowledge here and there. The desire to\nwander from his earliest youth made him pass the\nentrance exam into the university of hard knocks. He\nalwayst loved books. He was always buying books.\nEagerly he absorbed books on books, articles about\nhooks and authors and . . . Auction Prices Current.\nArter he had acquired a collection of curious books\nwhich would fill the shelves of a store he\nstarred his shop on Fourth Avenue, that avenue that once\nled to the Astor Library and that was lined with book-\nshops on both sides.\nHe not only appreciated the commercial value of\nbooks, but he read them. Especially those that were\nscarce and more valued than other works by the same\nauthors. And he learned to respect the men who wrote\nthese books. His shop became the gathering-place of\nliterateurs. Wrecked hopes of authors and publishers\nfound in Stone's shop a safe harbor. He paid a fair\nprice for everything of value offered him and soon he\nwas known as the dealer in quaint and curious books\nand pamphlets.\nGood fortune knocked on his door. One rich find came\nafter another. He was able to supply collectors and\nother book dealers with long-sought-after items.\nRecently he acquired the most complete collection of\nAmerican drawings by magazine illustrators that was"}, {"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "1007", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1090, "texte": "ever gathered under one roof. Sixty thousand specimens\nof American and foreign artists whose works have ap-\npeared in American illustrated magazines he bought\nfrom the files of leading publishers.\nIn an astonishingly short time he made himself\nacquainted with his new field. He became a walking\nencyclopaedia of American illustrators. He searched\nlibraries and other resourches for biographical data of\nlesser-known artists whose works are included in his\ncollection. He studied the different periods of art\ndevelopment in America and again he made his shop\nnot only the gathering-place of his customers but aa\ninteresting meeting-place of artists and of connoisseur®.\nHe is very young—not thirty yet—a bright young\nfellow with a keen sense of appreciation; because he\nknows that only the good will stand the proof of time\nand will last and will eventually become a good invest-\nment. He knows the border-line between artist and\nbusinessman; he never transgresses into foreign ter-\nritory, and therefore one can call him justly an idealist,\nat times—when he talks about art."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c021", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c021", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1008", "page_fin": "1009", "image_debut": 10, "image_fin": 11, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.14", "titre_corps": "Oscar Wilde: Poems In His Praise", "titre_sommaire": "Oscar Wilde: Poems In His Praise", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "1008", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.10", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 6167, "texte": "Oscar Wilde: Poems In His Praise\n\nOde to Oscar Wilde\nWILLIAM SALISBURY\n7\\/0 Pantheon proclaims you great,\n* * No fervid orators bestow\nJa florid words the tribute of the state,\nAnd yet we crown you—we, who know.\nWith wreaths of immaterial bays,\nEternal laurel leaves that naught\nCan fade, we garland you to rule always\nA prince, a royal prince of thought.\nWho else with wisdom could such wit combine\nTo give us volumes in a single line? v\nMot merely British, nor yet Erse\nAre you, and vain it were to seek\nA likeness to your wondrous prose or verse\nOutside the pages of some Greek.\nWhat Aristotle taught, you knew,\nAnd what Anacreon. Your pen\nWith facile grace Pindaric odes could do,\nOr make the sophists live again.\nWith you we join the Dionysiac dance\nla revels lighted by a moonbeam's lance.\nOld Hellas gave your spirit birth,\nAnd in the flesh, mayhap, you walked\nAmid the choicest spirits of the earth\nAnd with Academicians talked.\nOr fair Aspasia cried \"a hit!\"\nAnd all at her symposium laughed,\nRepeating epigrams of Wildean wit\ni4s to your health their goblets quaffed:—>\n\"O Pericles! just listen—how correct:\n'Brute reason hits below the intellect'.\"\nReincarnated in our time,\nApostle of the highest creed\nIn art, you wrote for Beauty's sake; sublime\nIn thought, you met our souls' great need.\nAloof, removed from common strife,\nContemning common folk's applause,\nYou reached at last so weird a plane of life\nYou hated nature's common laws.\nImmortal man, yet gripped by spirits fell.\nWith head in heaven, but with feet in hell!\nYet, e'en philosophers loved so,\n'Tis said; and it is true, though sad,\nThat Dante and great Michel Angelo\nWere likewise just a little mad.\nAnd these, and others who are great\nIn art, we judge by art alone. z\nWe love them for the beauty they create.\nWe let them call their souls their own.\nAnd so we love YOU, Oscar Wilde. Your name\nIs great, and amaranthine is your fame. m t c,rießm?r\n\nTo Sebastian Melmoth\nJOHN W. DRAPER\n/KNOW thee well: 1 know thy worth, thy sin.\nIf \"Beauty save the world\" as Gorki said.\nThen of that saving grace thy soul hath been;\nAnd, when before the Final Judgment dread,\nThey spirit comes, Eternal Loveliness\nShall place a crown of laurel on thy head;\nAnd, though thy sin be great, thine art shall dress\nThee in the panoply of infinite peace.\nOf Beauty on the world, that cannot cease.\nThe lamp of beauty, suffering no decrease,\nShall luminate the angels. As for thee,\nGod is the Judge: let men wait silently.\n\nC 33\nHAROLD H. CRONE\nJUTE has woven rose-vines\nAbout the empty heart of night,\nAnd vented his long mellowed wines\nOf dreaming on the desert white\nWith searing sophistry.\nAnd he tented with far thruths he would form\nThe transient bosoms from the thorny tree.\nO Materna! to enrich thy gold head\nAnd wavering shoulders with a new light shed\nFrom penitence, must needs bring pain,\nAnd with it song of minor, broken strain.\nBut you who hear the lamp whisper thru night\nCan trace paths tear-wet, and forget all blight.\n\nOscar Wilde\nJUBAL AGMENON\nA POLISHED, bright, and glistening gem\nWhose luster, hid beneath a mold\nOf darkened mystery, doth gleam,\nAnd everlasting sway doth hold.\nGreat Genius—ah, that mystic king,\nWho holds the fate of cowering Man,\nWho blazes trails with strokes that ring,\nWho crumbles e'en the strongest ban,\nHelped trim the light and fired the flame,\nAnd bade it shine through clouds of scorn;\nRaised high above the stars the name\nOf him who unto woe was born.\nHowever ugly be the vine,\nShall it, condemned, uprooted be,\nIf rich and luscious is its wine?\nShall it not stand at Justice's plea?\nMen cursed the mold God placed him in;\nThey formed the rules that gave\nThe power to further curse his \"sin\"\nAnd placed him in unhallowed grave.\nAnd then they called their verdict wise,\nForgetting he was still God's kin\nThey judged him by their puny size;\nHe knew that he would win.\nOh God be kind to such as they\nWho disregard Thy plans expressed\nIn forms of clay, and firm array\nTo stamp out at their wild behest.\nYes, God be kind, for many more\nWhom Thou hast made like this poor child,\nThough none may to his great heights soar,\nSink. God have pity! God be mild!\nt t t n a j a u/r it* xr\n\nImpressions of Oscar Wilde\nALLAN NORTON\nGALLOON ED with gaiety the Unicorn\nIs mad with music and his self-made mask,\nAnd yet his tired feet have time to bask\nAnd his hands wit to blow the beaten horn.\nNow, as he plays, there treaks a shining pool\nOf poesy—while in the floating pond\nThe flowers tremble, for with his gray wand\nSwans become swine, and swine are beautiful.\nForger of fame, man follows his own ass\nInto oblivion. And yet the glass\nEmptied of living is more full sometimes\nOf sunshine things and star-spun tribute rhymes.\nFor you the moons are still, peace has no poise.\nOne day you fell—and did not make a noise.\n(from Saloon Sonnets: with Sunday flootings)\n\nAnd So I Have Not Seen Your Face: To Oscar Wilde\nALLAN NORTON\nBETTER to have lived, one day\nWith you than all the months of May,\nThan all the years of reddest fruit\nOn which the centuries take root,\nThan all the thousand years to come\nWhen Christ shall call to Christendom,\nThan all the endless eons to be\nThe windmills of eternity.\n0 happy to have lived with you!\nAnd lived and loved and died with you,\nAnd sat beside the side of you,\nAnd known that in the heaven's hue\nThere was no color like your eye,\nNo voice your own could not outvie,\nNo value in the whispered word\nOf bird or wind you had not heard.\n1 would have given all my soul\nAnd all my heart and all the whole\nHigh avenues of my desire\nTo have bqen near to . you entire.\nI would have given my renown\nTo lift upon your heart a crown,\nI would have given all my name\nTo add a finger to your fame.\nWe fled toother out of space\nAnd our fulfilment was this earth,\nBut nature gave you first your birth,\nAnd so I have not seen your face.\nNor ever have I felt your hand\nOr looked upon your outward mien—\nAh, such a little bridge did stand\nOur lives between.\nI would have given all my soul,\nThrice turned my back fupon the goal,\nFor one right moment like a gem\nBut to have touched your garment's hem.\n(from Saloon Sonnets: with Sunday flootings)"}, {"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "1009", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.11", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1200, "texte": "To Oscar Wilde\nALFRED DOUGLAS\n/DREAMED of you last night, 1 saw your face\nAll radiant and unshadowed of distress,\nAnd as of old, in measured tunefulness,\nI heard your golden Voice and marked you trace\nUnder the common thing the hidden grace9\nAnd conjure wonder out of emptiness,\nTill mean things put on Beauty like a dress,\nAnd all the world was an enchanted place.\nAnd so I knew that it was well with you,\nAnd that unprisoned, gloriously free,\nAcross the dark you stretched me out your hand.\nAnd all the spite of besotted crew,\n(Scrabling on pillars of Eternity)\nHow small it seems! Love made me understand.\nDecember 10. 1900\nFrom Frank Harris' \"Oscar Wilde : His Life and Confessions \"\n\nA Great City at Night\nJAMES WALDO FAWCETT\nCOOL languid city,\nSick with sleep,\nDark hearted, silent.\nMystic, deep,\nWild haunted, tortured,\nAged of wrong,\nSordid, repulsive,\nTheme of song.\n\nA Rebel\nFLORA H. WANDELL\nSHUT up in a citadel,\nO, poor throbbing heart,\nLike a prisoner you dwell,\nA Rebel from the start.\nShut up in its cage,\nWith its battered wings,\nThe bird frets in rage;\nYet, still it sings.\nSo the heart defiant\nChafes against the wrong,\nA rebellious termageant;\nStill sings its song."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c022", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c022", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1008", "page_fin": "1008", "image_debut": 10, "image_fin": 10, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.14.1", "titre_corps": "Ode to Oscar Wilde", "titre_sommaire": "Ode to Oscar Wilde", "signature_source": "WILLIAM SALISBURY", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "1008", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.10", "debut_caractere": 50, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1939, "texte": "Ode to Oscar Wilde\nWILLIAM SALISBURY\n7\\/0 Pantheon proclaims you great,\n* * No fervid orators bestow\nJa florid words the tribute of the state,\nAnd yet we crown you—we, who know.\nWith wreaths of immaterial bays,\nEternal laurel leaves that naught\nCan fade, we garland you to rule always\nA prince, a royal prince of thought.\nWho else with wisdom could such wit combine\nTo give us volumes in a single line? v\nMot merely British, nor yet Erse\nAre you, and vain it were to seek\nA likeness to your wondrous prose or verse\nOutside the pages of some Greek.\nWhat Aristotle taught, you knew,\nAnd what Anacreon. Your pen\nWith facile grace Pindaric odes could do,\nOr make the sophists live again.\nWith you we join the Dionysiac dance\nla revels lighted by a moonbeam's lance.\nOld Hellas gave your spirit birth,\nAnd in the flesh, mayhap, you walked\nAmid the choicest spirits of the earth\nAnd with Academicians talked.\nOr fair Aspasia cried \"a hit!\"\nAnd all at her symposium laughed,\nRepeating epigrams of Wildean wit\ni4s to your health their goblets quaffed:—>\n\"O Pericles! just listen—how correct:\n'Brute reason hits below the intellect'.\"\nReincarnated in our time,\nApostle of the highest creed\nIn art, you wrote for Beauty's sake; sublime\nIn thought, you met our souls' great need.\nAloof, removed from common strife,\nContemning common folk's applause,\nYou reached at last so weird a plane of life\nYou hated nature's common laws.\nImmortal man, yet gripped by spirits fell.\nWith head in heaven, but with feet in hell!\nYet, e'en philosophers loved so,\n'Tis said; and it is true, though sad,\nThat Dante and great Michel Angelo\nWere likewise just a little mad.\nAnd these, and others who are great\nIn art, we judge by art alone. z\nWe love them for the beauty they create.\nWe let them call their souls their own.\nAnd so we love YOU, Oscar Wilde. Your name\nIs great, and amaranthine is your fame. m t c,rießm?r"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c023", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c023", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1008", "page_fin": "1008", "image_debut": 10, "image_fin": 10, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.14.2", "titre_corps": "To Sebastian Melmoth", "titre_sommaire": "To Sebastian Melmoth", "signature_source": "JOHN W. DRAPER", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "1008", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.10", "debut_caractere": 1941, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2490, "texte": "To Sebastian Melmoth\nJOHN W. DRAPER\n/KNOW thee well: 1 know thy worth, thy sin.\nIf \"Beauty save the world\" as Gorki said.\nThen of that saving grace thy soul hath been;\nAnd, when before the Final Judgment dread,\nThey spirit comes, Eternal Loveliness\nShall place a crown of laurel on thy head;\nAnd, though thy sin be great, thine art shall dress\nThee in the panoply of infinite peace.\nOf Beauty on the world, that cannot cease.\nThe lamp of beauty, suffering no decrease,\nShall luminate the angels. As for thee,\nGod is the Judge: let men wait silently."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c024", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c024", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1008", "page_fin": "1008", "image_debut": 10, "image_fin": 10, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.14.3", "titre_corps": "C 33", "titre_sommaire": "C 33", "signature_source": "HAROLD H. CRONE", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "1008", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.10", "debut_caractere": 2492, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3004, "texte": "C 33\nHAROLD H. CRONE\nJUTE has woven rose-vines\nAbout the empty heart of night,\nAnd vented his long mellowed wines\nOf dreaming on the desert white\nWith searing sophistry.\nAnd he tented with far thruths he would form\nThe transient bosoms from the thorny tree.\nO Materna! to enrich thy gold head\nAnd wavering shoulders with a new light shed\nFrom penitence, must needs bring pain,\nAnd with it song of minor, broken strain.\nBut you who hear the lamp whisper thru night\nCan trace paths tear-wet, and forget all blight."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c025", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c025", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1008", "page_fin": "1008", "image_debut": 10, "image_fin": 10, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.14.4", "titre_corps": "Oscar Wilde", "titre_sommaire": "Oscar Wilde", "signature_source": "JUBAL AGMENON", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "1008", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.10", "debut_caractere": 3006, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4194, "texte": "Oscar Wilde\nJUBAL AGMENON\nA POLISHED, bright, and glistening gem\nWhose luster, hid beneath a mold\nOf darkened mystery, doth gleam,\nAnd everlasting sway doth hold.\nGreat Genius—ah, that mystic king,\nWho holds the fate of cowering Man,\nWho blazes trails with strokes that ring,\nWho crumbles e'en the strongest ban,\nHelped trim the light and fired the flame,\nAnd bade it shine through clouds of scorn;\nRaised high above the stars the name\nOf him who unto woe was born.\nHowever ugly be the vine,\nShall it, condemned, uprooted be,\nIf rich and luscious is its wine?\nShall it not stand at Justice's plea?\nMen cursed the mold God placed him in;\nThey formed the rules that gave\nThe power to further curse his \"sin\"\nAnd placed him in unhallowed grave.\nAnd then they called their verdict wise,\nForgetting he was still God's kin\nThey judged him by their puny size;\nHe knew that he would win.\nOh God be kind to such as they\nWho disregard Thy plans expressed\nIn forms of clay, and firm array\nTo stamp out at their wild behest.\nYes, God be kind, for many more\nWhom Thou hast made like this poor child,\nThough none may to his great heights soar,\nSink. God have pity! God be mild!\nt t t n a j a u/r it* xr"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c026", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c026", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1008", "page_fin": "1008", "image_debut": 10, "image_fin": 10, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.14.5", "titre_corps": "Impressions of Oscar Wilde", "titre_sommaire": "Impressions of Oscar Wilde", "signature_source": "ALLAN NORTON", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "1008", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.10", "debut_caractere": 4196, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4867, "texte": "Impressions of Oscar Wilde\nALLAN NORTON\nGALLOON ED with gaiety the Unicorn\nIs mad with music and his self-made mask,\nAnd yet his tired feet have time to bask\nAnd his hands wit to blow the beaten horn.\nNow, as he plays, there treaks a shining pool\nOf poesy—while in the floating pond\nThe flowers tremble, for with his gray wand\nSwans become swine, and swine are beautiful.\nForger of fame, man follows his own ass\nInto oblivion. And yet the glass\nEmptied of living is more full sometimes\nOf sunshine things and star-spun tribute rhymes.\nFor you the moons are still, peace has no poise.\nOne day you fell—and did not make a noise.\n(from Saloon Sonnets: with Sunday flootings)"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c027", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c027", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1008", "page_fin": "1008", "image_debut": 10, "image_fin": 10, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.14.6", "titre_corps": "And So I Have Not Seen Your Face: To Oscar Wilde", "titre_sommaire": "And So I Have Not Seen Your Face: To Oscar Wilde", "signature_source": "ALLAN NORTON", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "1008", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.10", "debut_caractere": 4869, "fin_caractere_exclue": 6167, "texte": "And So I Have Not Seen Your Face: To Oscar Wilde\nALLAN NORTON\nBETTER to have lived, one day\nWith you than all the months of May,\nThan all the years of reddest fruit\nOn which the centuries take root,\nThan all the thousand years to come\nWhen Christ shall call to Christendom,\nThan all the endless eons to be\nThe windmills of eternity.\n0 happy to have lived with you!\nAnd lived and loved and died with you,\nAnd sat beside the side of you,\nAnd known that in the heaven's hue\nThere was no color like your eye,\nNo voice your own could not outvie,\nNo value in the whispered word\nOf bird or wind you had not heard.\n1 would have given all my soul\nAnd all my heart and all the whole\nHigh avenues of my desire\nTo have bqen near to . you entire.\nI would have given my renown\nTo lift upon your heart a crown,\nI would have given all my name\nTo add a finger to your fame.\nWe fled toother out of space\nAnd our fulfilment was this earth,\nBut nature gave you first your birth,\nAnd so I have not seen your face.\nNor ever have I felt your hand\nOr looked upon your outward mien—\nAh, such a little bridge did stand\nOur lives between.\nI would have given all my soul,\nThrice turned my back fupon the goal,\nFor one right moment like a gem\nBut to have touched your garment's hem.\n(from Saloon Sonnets: with Sunday flootings)"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c028", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c028", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1009", "page_fin": "1009", "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=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.14.7", "titre_corps": "To Oscar Wilde", "titre_sommaire": "To Oscar Wilde", "signature_source": "ALFRED DOUGLAS", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "1009", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.11", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 703, "texte": "To Oscar Wilde\nALFRED DOUGLAS\n/DREAMED of you last night, 1 saw your face\nAll radiant and unshadowed of distress,\nAnd as of old, in measured tunefulness,\nI heard your golden Voice and marked you trace\nUnder the common thing the hidden grace9\nAnd conjure wonder out of emptiness,\nTill mean things put on Beauty like a dress,\nAnd all the world was an enchanted place.\nAnd so I knew that it was well with you,\nAnd that unprisoned, gloriously free,\nAcross the dark you stretched me out your hand.\nAnd all the spite of besotted crew,\n(Scrabling on pillars of Eternity)\nHow small it seems! Love made me understand.\nDecember 10. 1900\nFrom Frank Harris' \"Oscar Wilde : His Life and Confessions \""}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c029", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c029", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1009", "page_fin": "1009", "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=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.14.8", "titre_corps": "A Great City at Night", "titre_sommaire": "A Great City at Night", "signature_source": "JAMES WALDO FAWCETT", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "1009", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.11", "debut_caractere": 705, "fin_caractere_exclue": 891, "texte": "A Great City at Night\nJAMES WALDO FAWCETT\nCOOL languid city,\nSick with sleep,\nDark hearted, silent.\nMystic, deep,\nWild haunted, tortured,\nAged of wrong,\nSordid, repulsive,\nTheme of song."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c030", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c030", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1009", "page_fin": "1009", "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=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.14.9", "titre_corps": "A Rebel", "titre_sommaire": "A Rebel", "signature_source": "FLORA H. WANDELL", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "1009", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.11", "debut_caractere": 893, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1200, "texte": "A Rebel\nFLORA H. WANDELL\nSHUT up in a citadel,\nO, poor throbbing heart,\nLike a prisoner you dwell,\nA Rebel from the start.\nShut up in its cage,\nWith its battered wings,\nThe bird frets in rage;\nYet, still it sings.\nSo the heart defiant\nChafes against the wrong,\nA rebellious termageant;\nStill sings its song."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c031", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c031", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1009", "page_fin": "1009", "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=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.15", "titre_corps": "Contemporary Caricature of Oscar Wilde", "titre_sommaire": "Contemporary Caricature of Oscar Wilde", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "1009", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.11", "debut_caractere": 2570, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2608, "texte": "Contemporary Caricature of Oscar Wilde"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c032", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c032", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1009", "page_fin": "1009", "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=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.16", "titre_corps": "HC. BUNNER, justly resurrected lately by our", "titre_sommaire": "HC. BUNNER, justly resurrected lately by our", "signature_source": "H C. Bunner", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "1009", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.11", "debut_caractere": 1202, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2282, "texte": "H C. Bunner\nHC. BUNNER, justly resurrected lately by our\n• distinguished contemporary, Puck, wrote some\ncharming verses on the fly leaves of his books which he\ndedicated to some of his friends. In an old scrap book\nI found his silhouette, reproduced here, and a collection\nof these verses from which I select the following few.\nOn a fly leaf of a copy of \"More Short Sixes\" for Mr.\nAdolph Schwartzmann, the publisher of Puck:\nYou encouraged this child of the tale-tellers brain;\nSo it's not very strange that it seeks you again,\nTo bear the best greetings its father can send\nOn behalf of the book, to the book's kindest friend.\nA Western paper copied Mr. Brunner's poem, \"Oner\nTwo, Three!\" and credited it to Eugene Field, where-\nupos Mr. Brunner sent Mr. Field the following metrical\nprotest:\nNutleyy New Jersey,\nJan. 27, 1893.\nTo Eugene Field.\nConcerning a Ewe Lamb.\nO You who sing so many songs\nThat please so many, many kids,\nWhose Mus's offspring come in throngs\nThat Fate to my poor Muse forbids—\nThey give to You, (and take from Me,)\nMy one lone little \"One, Two, Three !\""}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c034", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c034", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1009", "page_fin": "1010", "image_debut": 11, "image_fin": 12, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.17", "titre_corps": "The Romance of One Night", "titre_sommaire": "The Romance of One Night", "signature_source": "Guido Bruno", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "1009", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.11", "debut_caractere": 2284, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2568, "texte": "Two People\nThe Romance of One Night\nBy Guido Bruno\n(Continued from last issue)\nAND so I decided to start a new life. Fate put me\nin a feathered nest and put golden chains around\nmy hands. I will destroy to-night what my birth gave\nme and I, myself, will give birth to my new life. And"}, {"page_pdf": 12, "page_imprimee": "1010", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.12", "debut_caractere": 34, "fin_caractere_exclue": 6486, "texte": "I want you to help me do it. We were at a reception\nto-night. I bade father and mother goodj-night. They\nthought I was going upstairs to retire. Nobody saw me\nslip out of the house. I didn't dare to go to my room\nto change my clothes for fear of being detected. 1 had\npacked my satchel in the afternoon and placed it securely\nunder the hall tree.\n\"Therefore, I want you to keep me safely in a place\nwhere I can hide for about eight days, during which time,\nI will transform myself into a working girl who won't\nbe any different from any other girl that earns her liv-\ning. I will get a position, and I have also my definite\nplans about my future vocation. All I am concerned\nabout at present is to avoid being detected and brought\nback to my home. You will understand easily why I\ndon't want you to see my face or know my name. My\ndisappearance from my, home will be noticed in the\nmorning. At first they will try to locate me quietly.\nThey naturally will not succeed. So they will have to\nturn to the police and it won't be long until the papers\nwill be filled with the mysterious disappearance of one\nof New York's heiresses. If you never saw my face and\n1 didn't tell you my name, you can never be blamed and\ncan even declare on oath that you didn't know me, and\nnever saw me. Now tell me again that you will have\nthe courage to help me. You don't want me to mention\nmoney but I have all my jewelry with me which is at\nleast twenty-five thousand dollars worth, and I took it\nfrom home just for the one purpose, to give it to the\nman who is going to help me create my new life. Will\nyou be this man?\"\nI reassured her and then I said, \"I will have a cup of\ncoffee and then I am going to leave you. You'll have\nto make yourself comfortable as well as you can. Did\nyou leave a message for your parents? They will be\nterribly frightened in the morning when they discover\nyour absence. Did you think of that?\"\nShe said she had left a note explaining what she had\nintended to do and I believe she was sincere in her\nregret to cause me all that trouble. But she seemed\nmightily relieved to know that I would leave her sole\nmistress of the apartment for the remainder of the night.\nI drank a cup of coffee, showed her to her bedroom,\ninstructed her to let the water run for a while if she\nwanted a cold drink, and made myself ready to leave.\n\"Now, if you'll give me twenty-five cents, I shall send\nyou up some breakfast to-morrow morning. I wish I\ncould extend real hospitality to you but I told you, I\nhaven't got a penny to my name, and so you'll have to\npay your own board.\"\nWe shook hands, I left the apartment.\nI had lied when I said I would put up with a friend.\nI had a lot of acquaintances but was not intimate enough\nwith anybody to bring him out of bed at two o'clock in\nthe morning and ask for a night's lodging. And so I\nstrolled down towards Washington Square, picked out a\nbench far away from the electric light, in a dark corner,\nand settled myself comfortably for the night.\nThe poor thing! I thought. How plucky she is. And\nhow crazy. And I always thought of her hands and I\nwondered if she was asleep or pondering over the future\nproblems of her life. I believed she was asleep. She\nwas conscious of doing the right thing. She evidently\nwas sure she had solved the problem of her life: earning\ntheir own living! just to think if they could realize their\ndreams as quickly and happily as that little fool that was\nsleeping in my bed.\nLittle fool! I despised myself for having thought in\nthis way of her. It was getting cold and I decided to\nwalk for a while. I thought of myself. I thought of all\nthat had happened since I left the club. What did she\nsay? We had a right to spend our money that we receive\nin fair exchange for our work?\nWhy had I refused that offer? Why had I refused to\nexecute the arch of the bridge? Because it was against\nmy pride to commercialize my art. Commercialize my\nart? I thought of the millions that perhaps would delight\nto look at it, and I thought of the man whose name it\nwould bear and to whose memory it was to be erected:\nand they told me that there was a lot of more work in the\nfuture to be done for the public and to be paid for by the\npublic. Of course, I had other plans for the future. But\nwas I justified to live a life such as I had done until\nnow? Just working at what I pleased to and whenever\nI pleased to. Finding a Macaenas once in awhile and\nliving regularly on credit. Wasn't my life very similar\nto the life this strange girl had thrown overboard dis-\ngustedly tonight? After all, was it cowardice that\nprevented me from putting my talent and my ability of\nexecution at the disposal of the public as a fair exchange\nfor my living expenses?\nI must have walked miles. I found myself in the\nneighborhood of my club/ I dropped in. Nobody was\nin the library. Walking had made me hungry and I\nordered a big breakfast. I was sitting long in a com-\nfortable chair, thinking and dozing. It was almost seven\no'clock as I left the building to go back to my apartment.\nI felt happy and gay as I hadn't felt for a long while.\nI stopped in at a little lunch room on Sixth Avenue\nwiiere I was known and had them put a twenty-five cent\nbreakfast on a tray, cover it up with a napkin, and I\ncarried it upstairs to my apartment. I rang my own bell\nand my guest opened. She wore one of my pajama\nsuits, my bathrobe and a black veil over her face. She\nassured-me she had slept as fine as never before in her\nlife and was very, very hungry.\nI repaired to the bathroom and proposed to her to take\nbreakfast while I was taking a morning plunge and\nchanging my clothes.\nShe really had eaten all that was on the plates. I felt\nsplendid. The sun was shining through the high windows\nand the room with its old-fashioned furniture and the\nfireplace in front of us looked real cozy to me.\n\"I was not as discreet,\" she said, \"as you might have\nexpected me to be. I woke up early in the morning and\nhaving nothing to dress in, I poked about your things.\nI know who you are and you are not a stranger to me.\nI know you from that marble statue you exhibited last\nyear. A friend of my family who knows you, told us\nabout your eccentricities. Is it true that you refused to\nexecute work that would have brought you thousands of\ndollars because you wouldn't commercialize your art?\nI felt a bit uneasy and did not reply. The black veil\non her face irritated me for the first time and I wondered\nwhat color her eyes might be."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c035", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c035", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1011", "page_fin": "1011", "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=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.18", "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": 13, "page_imprimee": "1011", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.13", "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-1916-09-23-01-c036", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c036", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1011", "page_fin": "1011", "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=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.19", "titre_corps": "A Simple Tale", "titre_sommaire": "A Simple Tale", "signature_source": "A. G., (New Rochelle, N. Y", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 13, "page_imprimee": "1011", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.13", "debut_caractere": 459, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2187, "texte": "A Simple Tale\nA. G., (New Rochelle, N. Y.)\nPart I.\nWE meet at a soiree in October 1879, she was a charm-\ning Brunette, her naive bashfulness completely\n•aptivated me.\nMy age was 21 and she 18.\nI expressed my love to my father, who objected for\nreasons as follows \"you should look for an heiress not a\npoor girl for a wife.\"\nTo disobey his wishes was out of the question, so I left\nmy home in London and embarked for America on the steam-\nship Algeria in December 1879 to seek wife and fortune.\nPart II.\nI accepted a position as travelling salesman for a\nPhiladelphia manufacturer, and in the winter of 1881 while\nin Moncton, N. B. I picked up a bunch of keys the inscrip-\ntion on the metal tag read Marietta B . . ~ Shadiac, N. B.\nI had but 20 minutes to get the last train, I paid my hotel\nbill, quickly packed my bag, and soon alighted on the Shadiac\nstation platform, I enquired where the person lived whose\nname I above mentioned, and was informed she was the\ndistrict surveyor's daughter who lived five minutes walk\nfrom the station.\nKnocking at the door it was opened by the most beautiful\ngirl I had ever before or since seen, imagine her supreme\njoy to get her keys returned and mine being invited by her\nto come in and meet her parents and brother.\nPart III.\nWe were married the following Spring in Boston and after\na joyful life of 15 years she died leaving me three beautiful\n©hildreri.\nPart IV.\nAfter a lonely four years I again married and my happiness\nis overflowing being blessed with another child, my wife\nadores the four children, keeps up a constant correspondence\nand sends many presents to the mother of my first wife.\nMoral:\nMarry when nature, association and cultivation are com-\nbined with a gentle face."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c037", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c037", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1011", "page_fin": "1011", "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=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.20", "titre_corps": "Sweet Memories", "titre_sommaire": "Sweet Memories", "signature_source": "An artist's widow, (West Hoboken, N. J", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 13, "page_imprimee": "1011", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.13", "debut_caractere": 2189, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5442, "texte": "Sweet Memories\nAn artist's widow, (West Hoboken, N. J.)\nIN November 1881 a middle-aged man rented our hall bed-\nroom. Mother being a widow let the room to help out\nwith the rent. I being the oldest of four was her main sup-\nport. Looking on the practical side, I asked had he paid\nrent for same in advance. To her no not yet. I imagined\nall sorts of things especially as he had immediately taken\npossession and was at that moment sitting in the parlor.\nIt being cold I went into see the fire and incidently look\nour new lodger over. Judge my surprise to see him sitting\nbefore an easel sketching a portrait of a lady. Oh an artist;\n\"Yes when trade is dull.\" For he was a house-painter as\nwell. Is don't know where my manners were as I forgot to\n%\nsay good evening or how do you do. I don't think he noticed\nor had any manners himself just then for he asked me to play\nsomething for him saying he was very fond of music. As I\nopened the piano he placed the maiden's prayer before me.\nI played it through; when finishing he thanked me, excusing:\nhimself he retired to his room taking his easel with him. I\nwas astonished at his abruptness, I told Mother she surely\nhad a lunatic for a lodger. We did not see him again for\nseveral days. Not until Mother asked him for the room rent\nat the expiration of the week. He looked so pale and when\nMother asked if he were ill he said no rather curtly that he\nwas working hard to get his picture finished as it would be\ndone in a few days would she wait? Of course she would\nwait, as we were just going to have supper would he not\njoin us. After a little persuasion he said just a cup of tea\nif we did not mind as he was cold. As we surmised he was\ndown in Lard street we prevailed upon him to eat some\nsupper. I then suggested he use the parlor where it was\nwarmer than his room to complete his work. That we would\nnot disturb him. Of course it was only sympathy for a poor\nold fellow down on his luck. Thanksgiving-day came he did\nnot leave his room. When dinner was ready I asked him to\njoin us, after some persuasion he came. After dinner I\nplayed again for him. He brought out his violin and played.\nThe next day his picture was finished. He paid Mother for\none month in advance and became a regular boarder. After\nwhich we spent many pleasant evenings sometimes home.\nOftimes a concert, the theatre or church. Christmas we were\nengaged to be married but said nothing to my family. In\nMay one Sunday at supper our boarder suggested he and I\ntake a car ride. We stopped at a parsonage and were married;\nby a Methodist minister. When we entered the parsonage\nthe moon was shining brightly, when we came out the rain\nwas coming down in torrents. My husband borrowed <m>\numbrella. When we reached home Mother scolded fearing;\nmy new dress and hat had been ruined. My husband laughed\nsaying he guessed he could replace them if spoiled. Poor\nold Mother became furious, she felt insulted. \"Never mind\nMother, don't be angry I married Lizzie to-night to keep her\nfrom being a fussy old maid. Introducing me as his wife\nhe handed her the marriage certificate to read as proof. Now\nat the age of 62 I am toiling for my living. Yet often long\nfor the happy courtship days and the few happy wedded\nyears we spent together."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c038", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c038", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1002", "page_fin": "1002", "image_debut": 4, "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=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.21", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "1002", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.4", "debut_caractere": 4391, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4570, "texte": "A Kew Zola of American Literature\ndepicting the Youth of the Savior.\nBy C. SADAKICHI HARTMANN.\nlk>ok\nOP THE SEASON.\nThe Talk tf the Day. PRICE 50 CENTS.\nFirst announcement of book"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c039", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c039", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1011", "page_fin": "1011", "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=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.22", "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": 13, "page_imprimee": "1011", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.13", "debut_caractere": 5444, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5517, "texte": "VOLUME II\nBRUNO'S WEEKLY\nBound in white linen cloth\nTWO DOLLARS, postpaid"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c040", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c040", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1012", "page_fin": "1012", "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=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.23", "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": 14, "page_imprimee": "1012", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.14", "debut_caractere": 379, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1028, "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 provef\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-dollar bill and send in your check\nto-day or give a standing order to your news-\ndealer."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c041", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c041", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1012", "page_fin": "1012", "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=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.24", "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": 14, "page_imprimee": "1012", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.14", "debut_caractere": 1030, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1615, "texte": "The Mad Hatter Has a Tea Party Every Afternoon\nRoom 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.\"\ni'Nobody Asked Your Opinion\" Edith Unger.\nROSSI BROTHERS\n58 Washington Square\nUnderneath the Garret\nICE CREAM AND TOBACCO\nFLORENCE GOUGH\nShows Smart Millinery for Grown Ups—Mother\nGoose's Millinery for Children and other unique\nthings to wear.\nTHE PAINT BOX\n150 W. 4th St., Near 6th Ave.\nN. Y. C. Phone Spring 23"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c042", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c042", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1012", "page_fin": "1012", "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=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.25", "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": 14, "page_imprimee": "1012", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.14", "debut_caractere": 1617, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1971, "texte": "RARE BOOKS\nExtra Illustrated Books. Early Printed Books. Association Books. Books for Christmas Gifts.\nPurchased singly or in sets for people who have neither time nor opportunity to select for themselves,\nor for those who have not access to the best book marts. Why not begin collecting now?\nAddress, E. V. Boston Transcript, Boston, Mass.\nFIRST EDITION"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c043", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c043", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1012", "page_fin": "1012", "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=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.26", "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": 14, "page_imprimee": "1012", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.14", "debut_caractere": 1973, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2367, "texte": "There 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 Greenwich Village has not been sacrificed\non the altar of commercialism\nPhone: Stuyvesant 4570\nA postal will bring you, with our compliments,\nan interesting little biography of Mr. Thos. A.\nEdison."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c044", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c044", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[1013]", "page_fin": "[1013]", "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=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.27", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 15, "page_imprimee": "[1013]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.15", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2020, "texte": "&\nm\nmm\nIt\n■m\n112: ?!\nm.\n$5.00\nTHE SPIRIT OF XMAJ.^S\nc? 8\n€\ns\n$5.00\n• K-?Wk f*y is % 1 */\n*?t i » ' ' ■ ' ?\n«*;;■\nV: =\nin^\ngMm *iif\n'/ ;■ ■ ' ~'\n- > .' - ' : ■ . •:■ '%\n*M£Ttf\n$5.00\n1\nr\n\\ :l i. ,'/\n.\nw,\n'¥■\nfcWWR\n<5J\n(//\nA#\n£? *\na\nx-\nf $5.00\nSIXTY THOUSAND ORIGINAL\nDRAWINGS OF AMERICAN\nILLUSTRATORS\nRose O'Neil, Opper, Harrison Fisher, Barton, Cassel\nPughes, Hassmann, Crawford, and Many Other\nAmerican and Foreign Illustrators Whose Drawings\nHave Appeared in the Foremost American Illustrated\nMagazines from 1880 up to Date\nI HAVE purchased the original drawings and\npaintings which you have seen reproduced on\nthe pages of Puck and other prominent periodicals\nduring the last thirty-six years. They are a splendid\ncollection of the early work and of the best work\nof America's foremost artists. They show the\nevolution of the American comic paper from its\ninfancy to its present standard as well as the in-\ndividual evolution of the artists. They are an\nunique kaleidoscope of the manifold interests of\npublic opinion during the last two score years.\nThere is the period where New York with its cease-\nless building underground, overground and on the\nsurface was the target of constant banter. There\nare the political cartoons, a conclusive demonstra-\ntion why Cleveland or Roosevelt or Taft had to be\nelected and why Bryan and Roosevelt were\ndefeated.\nRARELY will there be an opportunity again to\npurchase these originals, welcome in the den,\nin the library of a private home, and appropriate\non the walls of public libraries, of museums and of\npublic schools, at such low prices as I am offering\nthem now. Many are priced as low as twenty-five\ncents. Only a few are marked higher than ten\ndollars.\nYou are invited to call at my store and view the\ncollection leisurely or inquire about the work of\nillustrators you like. I will gladly quote you\npictures and prices.\nHARRY STONE,\nBOOKS and DRAWINGS\n137 FOURTH AVENUE, NEW YORK\nFor Three Dollars I will send you post-paid Ten Original Drawings of American Illustrators."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-09-23-01-c045", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01#c045", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-09-23_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[1014]", "page_fin": "[1014]", "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=bmtnaaq19160923-01.2.28", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 16, "page_imprimee": "[1014]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.16", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4526, "texte": "Bruno Chap Books\nNo.\n1. The Harlot's House, by Oscar Wilde\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 wings\nbefore he stings and annoys 25\n3. Mushrooms, by Alfred Kreymborg\nMr. Kreymborg's Mushrooms are recognized\npoetry. The Mushroom stands for a simple\nexpression of thought in simple musical\nrhythm. Mr. Kreymborg is one man who\nspeaks to his fellow-men—just to the one who\nmight find in four or six simple lines of\nrhythm the revelation of the rhythm and the\nharmony of his own simple life 50\n4. Tahiti, by Robert Carlton Brown .25\n5. Four Letters, by Oscar Wilde .25\n6. Anarchists, by Guido Bruno .25\n7* To My Mother, by Alfred Kreymborg .25\n8. Vignettes, by Hubert Craclcanthorpe\nMr. Crackanthorpe had three ehief gifts:\nskill in dramatic narration—a 4sense 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 ef sifting and selecting its reports.\nLionel Johnson, in Acad., March 20, 1897 50\n9. Tanka and Haika, 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 robing 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 intense\nas Poe's on strictly realistic lines. The utmost\nbounds of expression are reached, even his\noriginality is aggressive 25\n10. Richard Wagner, the Egoist, by Guido Bruno .25\n11. Edna the Girl of the Street, by Alfred\nKreymborg 25\nCause: our social conditions.\nMotive: just to live.\nProblem: eternal.\nSolution: none 25\n12. Songs of the Cosmos, by Charles Keeler\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 blood,\ntinted by the golden sun, formed and shaped\nby hands who know the labors and pains of\nmillions scented with good-will towards every-\nbody and emitted with pure 10ve... 25\nNo.\n13. Teaspoons and Violet Leaves, by Guido Bruno $1.00\n14. The Tragedy in the Birdhouse, by Guido Bruno .50\n15. Exotics, 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\"\n.25\n16. Imagists, by Richard Aldington\nOne of the original group of the English\nImagists tells 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\n17. Lord Alfred Douglas—Salome: A Critique,\nthe Beauty of Unpunctuality: an Essay and\nThree Poems\nThere was a time when Lord Alfred Douglas\nwould have laughed at the idea that he would\nwrite a book explaining away his friendship\nwith Oscar Wilde. As editor of \"The Spirit\nLamp,\" a magazine published by James\nThornton, High Street, Oxford, and edited by\nLord Alfred Douglas, he seemed to be a\ndiligent imitator of his friend Oscar. He\nimitated his style in prose and in poetry.\nWhenever he received a contribution from\nOscar Wilde it was the main and leading\nfeature of the issue\n.25\n.25\n18. Sadakichi Hartmann-\na Dream?\n19. Charles Kains-Jackson-\nmonds A Portrait\n-Permanent Peace: Is it\n-John Addington Sy-\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 forgotten\nliterary periodical of England, in 1897\n20. Djuna Barnes—The Book of Repulsive Wo-\nmen—Rhythms and 5 Drawings\n21. Edna W. Underwood—The Book of the White\nPeacocks\n22. H. Thompson Rich — Lumps of Clay—l 6\nRhythms\n23. D. Molby — Hippopotamus Tails —28 Every-\nv day Musings\n24. H.Thompson Rich—The Red Shame—17 War\nPoems s\n25. Theodor Schroeder, Erothogenesis of Reli-\ngion, a bibliography\n26. Sadakichi Hartmann, My Rubayat\n.25\n.25\n.25\n.25\n.25\n.50\n.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=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.1", "texte": "siuras to\nEDITED BY GUIDO BRUNO IN HIS GARRET ON\nWASHINGTON SQUARE\nFive Cents September 23d 1916\n\nSadakichi"}, {"page_pdf": 2, "page_imprimee": "[1000]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.2", "texte": "Copyright by Guido Bruno, September 23d, 1916. Original\nmatter, including all drawings, may not be reproduced with-\nout permission of Guido Bruno; but that permission may\nbe assumed if credit is given to author and Bruno's Weekly.\nOne Hundred Dollars for the\nStory of Your Marriage\n• i i. •\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 not\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 lives. We know your story will be enjoyed by lots of others. Writ®\nit down to-day and address it to the \"Contest Editor,\" Bruno's Weekly,\n/ t s ■ S\n58 Washington Square, New York City.\n' , * . ,• • ' ' , • ) . ' _ . < , ' •' 'A Mf&feVli\nEvery week those stories which are printed will be paid for at space rates.\nThe contest will close on October 1st, 1916, and the stories should be lim-\nited to three hundred words.\nSEND YOUR STORY TO-DAY"}, {"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "[1001]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.3", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\nEdited by Guido Bruno in His Garret on Washington Square\nNo. 15\nSEPTEMBER 23d MCMXVI\nVol. 11l\n\nTo Sadakichi Hartmann\nGeorge Sylvester Viereck\nIMMORTAL Master!\nWhose poor mortal hand\nPenned \"Christ\" and \"Buddha.\"\nWith rapt admiration I read—\nNay—drank—-\nThe silvery splendor of thy luminous lines,\nAnd drunk with Beauty, was no longer Clay.\nThy language—\nIs stately and ornate—\nAs ever was Greece and Rome,\nAnd as clear as the limbs of the goddess\nWho rose from the white sea foam.\nI watched thy soul in its endless flight\nTo heights unknown in Heaven and Hell,\nBeyond the mystic rose, beyond the night.\nMusic came floating through endless space\nAnd the Vale of Sound I entered in.\nSound as sweet as the songs of the swallow\nThat through the woodland sings—\nIn the time of the wakening of Spring—\nWhen the red rose is blooming and blushing,\nBlooming and blushing with Love and with Sin—\nBeautiful, Scarlet Sin.\nAnd then—\nI heard music—\nThe music of Odors.\nOdors sweeter by far than those\nOf the poppy and the rose—\nOr the pale lilies of the Lesbian Shore—\nAnd in my breast there was a yearning,\nAnd then I awoke, and saw thy star no more.\n\nSadakichi Hartmann\nA Contemporary Study\n\nFEW men ever started so brilliantly or held out fairer\npromise. When he published his drama Christ—\nwritten at the age of twenty—there was every reason to\nbelieve that a great word-artist was born unto us, and\nthat American literature was about to have a \"Dela-\ncroix,\" or rather a \"Monticelli of letters.\"\nBut his fine rush soon slackened and the expected\nmasterpieces did not materialize. He has written\ncopiously, mostly on art, but his literary output is\nappallingly small. Only now and then, at long intervals,\na poem or short story. And then of course his Whistler\nBook. Still, art-writing does not represent him at his\nbest.\nWhy this idleness! Well, it is not of his own doing,\nrather due to the lack of enthusiasm in contemporary\npublishers, editors, and printers. Most of his manuscripts\nlie still unpublished in the drawers of his desk, and some\nmay have gone astray in some trunk left for a board bill.\nTwo of his books, \"Conversations with Walt. Whitman\"\nand \"My Theory of Soul Atoms,\" although printed, were\nnever put on the market. Reason: lack of cash on\ndelivery. They were returned to the printer and sold by\nweight.\nAnd all this was caused by the trouble he had with\n\"Christ.\" The author was ostracised and his fiery piece\nof work, full of boldness and dash, and splendid in color,\nwas allowed to languish in the \"locked shelves\" of our\nlibraries. Not a single American writer was far-sighted\nor independent enough to champion it. * Now, it brings\na premium of five dollars at auction sales. The same\nfarce through the ages.\nAnd Sadakichi with his seven unpublished books! He\nis still the same fanatic in quest of glory and daily bread.\nHe may have lost some of his belief in man and human-\nity, but not his faith in his dreams and his talent.\nThe son of a German father and a Japanese mother,\nof a burgomaster's son from Mecklenburg, the only\n\nSadakichi"}, {"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "1002", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.4", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nEuropean state without a Constitution, and the daughter\nof a Tonin, a roving soldier of Old Japan. Surely a weird\ncombination that had to produce something out of the\nordinary. Sadakichi is much more Japanese than Ger-\nman. His style is extravagant but suave. Some of his\nshort stories are as excessive and intense as Poe's, on\nstrictly realistic lines. The utmost bounds of expression\nare reached, even his originality is aggressive. His\ndramas—will they ever be accepted! Their splendor is\nall fire and flame, nothing short of barbarous. His poems,\non the other hand, are all filigree work, the most difficult\nforms, dripping with technique to express a vague vista,\ncolor and motion in words. And the best efforts of this\nman were buried in obscure or inaccessible publications.\nHis whole conduct of life is full of contradictions.\nWhat else can one expect! When Gottschalk, the actor,\nmet him for the first time, he exclaimed in despair \"With\nthe face of an Oriental, the brain and accent of a Ger-\nman, the wiry build of an American, and the manners of\na Frenchman—who is this man?\" He attempts to be\nRabelaisean in his indulgences, with the constitution of\nCharles IX. An invalid half his life, often spending\nthree days of every week in bed, \"my ailments are ex-\nceeded only by my debts\" he laughs, and then indulging\nin some tour de force, of writing seventeen hours in a\nstretch, or dissipating three nights without sleep, or dano-\ning a solo of the Blue Danube Valtz with an encore of\nOffenbach's La Belle Helene at some public ball. In-\ncredible!\nLook at his face. Handsome? Not a bit. Downright\nugly, not unlike Zangwill. At times tired and sordid\nlooking, A veritable gargoyle. And then suddenly it\nwill brighten as if lit up by some inner flame, with a play\nof features as subtle and unfathomable as Eastern\nphilosophy. \"Why did you not become an actor?\" he is\nfrequently asked. \"Because I chose to be an author,\"\nis his answer.\nHe has written so much about other people that few\nmay have written about him. Of course there are reams\nof press notices, but they do not count. Among the more\nserious estimates I came across articles by Anne Throop,\nA. Craig (apparently the same person), Roland Rood,\nEdith Mable Hancock, Viereck, Otto Soubron, J. Conrad,\nthe novelist, Vance Thompson, and shorter pragraphs\nby Philip Hale, Huneker, Richard Hovey, William\nMarion Reedy, George Brandes, Remy de Gourmont.\nThey all seem to agree on two points, expressed best,\nperhaps, in the two commonplace definitions of \"unusual\nability\" and \"extraordinary personality.\" They do not\nattempt to place him, nor get they at the real Sadakichi.\nHe is evasive. He is frank, but allows nobody to come\nvery close to him. He has no pose and dresses in the\nsimplest least noticeable manner, like a man who likes\nto mingle with the crowd without attracting attention.\nHe never speaks about his works to strangers. There\nis no frippery about him, nor the assumption of a place\nhe cannot fill. \"I have certain gifts\" he sighs, \"so I\nhave to live up to them. The public apparently gives me\nplenty of time to finish my work. Perhaps it is all for the\nbetter. Of course, I would like to see my stuff pub-\nlished. But as far as an audience is concerned, it is\nvery indifferent to me whether I find it among my con-\ntemporaries or among their grandchildren.\" And what\nshould one read to get better acquainted with this\nmodern knight of La Mancha? Read this short story\n\"The Practice Clavier,\" \"The Lady of the Yellow Yon-\nquils\" or \"Nancy Pennington,\" his poem \"Sea-\nNocturne,\" some of his art essays on sculpture, perfume,\nfireworks, and finally his Buddha, \"a thing all color,\nsound and incense,\" as Vance Thompson has said, a\nstrange mixture of lyrical pantheism, of Shelley and the\nIbsen of the Peer Gynt period.\nYou will not burn incense before a false god.\n\nSadakichi in critical attitude during a First Night\n\nRenouf Whelpley\n\n\"Beloved, When My Dust Is Blown \"\nHerbert S. Gorman\nBELOVED, when my dust is blown\nBefore the coursers of the wind,\nAnd out upon the darkness blind\nMy vagrant soul fares forth alone.\nRemember me a little while\nAnd think that I shall speak to you\nIn every bird that scales the blue,\nAnd, dreaming of me, gladly smile.\nI shall be near as oft of yore,\nFor, being dead, I shall not die;\nAnd each glad wind that hurries by\nShall blow my laughter through your door.\n\nA Kew Zola of American Literature\ndepicting the Youth of the Savior.\nBy C. SADAKICHI HARTMANN.\nlk>ok\nOP THE SEASON.\nThe Talk tf the Day. PRICE 50 CENTS.\nFirst announcement of book"}, {"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "1003", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.5", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nCreation\nBy Guido Bruno\nLOVE was seated at the bay window of the tower room\nand looked down to the Earth which was to you a\nlabyrinth of a thousand recesses. /She saw you grope\nyour way and stumble and fall. She saw how you raised\nyourself again looking for a new path. And again you\nstumbled.\nLove smiled meaningly. But you could not find your\nway in the chaos. The things that surrounded you\nseemed to have false names; darkness hovered above\neverything and a confusion of voices that caused pain\nto your nerves. Love leaned far out of the gilded window\nand her eyes followed you—you who had disappeared in\nthe darkness of a rugged, steep road.\n\"The silly child!\" she said to her boy, who was seated\nat her feet playing with a long string of emeralds that\nfastened with golden clasps the mantle around her\nshoulders: pink fantasie. \"Why can't she be patient\nand wait? Does she have to create pain and sorrow and\ndisappointments for herself?\n\"She is meant for him. She must be his. And then\nshe will be quiet and happy and content and in him she\nwill find everything that she was looking for in vain all\nthis time.\"\n\"Let her . . . .\" remarked Father Time, who was lying\nmotionless on his big divan breathing quietly so that his\nlong white beard rose and sank in even intervals. \"She\nmust experience how it feels before one is born.\"\n\"But it is tiresome to have to witness the same old\nplay again and again. All of them went through it. All\nof them for thousands of years. And still it is always a\npleasure for my old eyes to see how the two have to find\ntheir way after their real birth in the light, wide, beauti-\nful world. Not everyone can wait until the time arrives,\nbut I can. And therefore they call me Father Time.\"\n\"Oh, look!\" cried Love, with her clear, wonderful\nsounding voice that creates revolutions in the hearts of\nman, that proclaims a dawn of creation.\nFather Time knew its meaning. Slowly and with\ndignity he arose—even if he is in a hurry he never for-\ngets to be deliberate and dignified. With measured steps\nhe approached the window. The boy leaned far over the\nwindow-sill after he had brushed aside some flowers that\nwere in his way.\nDark lay the world deep below.\nAll looked down in the direction in which Love pointed\nwith her finger. A broad golden band was on her finger\n—a serious symbol of truth.\nIn a badly-lighted room, among many people whose\nnames meant nothing, were you. And I was there. High,\nhigh above us sounded a wonderful voice.\nLove said: \"Let there be light.\"\n\"You looked into my eyes and I looked into yours.\n\"You were born.\n\"And I was born.\n\"You took my hand. Together we wandered through\nthe world. Everything became new in shape. We called\nit by its right name. We found straight streets and even\nways. We didn't stumble any more. We did not fall.\n\"And so we are on our pilgrimage, side by side. Every\nday is a new day of creation. We are the creators.\nEverywhere we see light and order. You found your own\nworld and you brought it to me. And I found my own\nworld and I brought it to you. The world is ours. We\nare its creators.\nThe window high up there is closed. The boy clung\nto the skirts of Love and followed her. Love left her\npalace and took possession of her new home. She moved\nin into your heart. Then again she paid me a visit and\nstayed a while. Now we never know where she is.\nSometimes you think her with me and sometimes I feel\nshe must be with you. And she wishes to be with both\nof us.\nLove wants to lay her head to rest in your heart, and\nshe wants to bathe her graceful little feet in my red,\nwarm heart-blood.\nAnd in the evening when the stars and the moon can-\nnot look any longer into the room, when we embrace,\nbreast against breast: when your trembling fingers glide\nthrough my hair, when I caress your smooth soft skin\nwith the tips of my fingers: when you are close, close\nto me, your lips on mine: one body and one heart\nDo you feel how she caresses your heart with her\nlong, silky eyelashes? And how wonderful it feels if she\nkicks her little feet in my heart's blood, if she lets the\nheavy, excited blood-drops glide through her tiny, ivory\ntoes.\nFather Time is settled again comfortably on his divan.\nHe put a new soft pillow under his head and seems to\nfeel at ease. He strokes lovingly his beard and murmurs:\n\"It is nice to be quiet and sedate and to progress thought-\nfully into the immeasurable unknown. But love has it\nstill better than I—even if she has to walk out into the\ncold, into wind and weather.\n\"She builds for herself a little red palace, she rests\nher head upon the wild heart-throb of the world, that\nshe created, and bathes her little feet in the hot blood\nof pure passion. Slowly his eyelids drop over his tired\neyes and patiently he will wait another term of eternity.\nBut the world is ours.\nYours and mine.\nHow luminous Love is!\nMore luminous than a thousand suns.\nAugust 10th 1909.\n\nClara Tice: Her Portrait"}, {"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "1004", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.6", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nTwo Things by Elizabeth M. Walker\nMan\nINTO the world I came, unasked,\nIt matters not by what intent,\nBut if I claim not power here\nMy life were idly spent.\nThe earth is mine, the air I breathe\nIs mine to conquer. I can give\nThe ocean back a challenge. I\nAm Master while I live.\nI know not if I die to-night,\nOf if I greet the morning sun;\nIt matters not,—but while I live\nI say, \"My will be done!\"\nA Prayer\nGOD: My back aches and the baby cries; my man's\ndrunk; I can't keep the children clean; we ain't got\nno money—and no bread. My stockins is all wore out and\nthe Aid won't help me because the Friendly did. Jennie\nruns the streets and the children can't play in the Park be-\ncause of no clothes. Oh God, why do they knit for the\nBelgians and the churches say 'Blessed are the Poor for of\nthem was Christ'?\"\n\nThe Fable of the Fire and the\nFurnace\nH. Thompson Rich\nTHERE was once a great fool of 3. Fire, who went wan-\ndering hither and thither about the world, with no\nthought at all in his silly head of settling down and ending\nhis vagrant days.\nOne morning he came upon a curious individual seated by\nthe roadside, tall and stout, and dark.\n\"Why, upon my word!\" he erclaimed in derision. \"Such\na foolish fellow, to be sitting there dreaming when the whole\nworld is before you. Who are you, anyway?\"\n\"I am a Furnace,\" replied the strange personage in a gruff\nvoice, angry no doubt at being disturbed. \"And who might\nyou be?\"\nThe haughty Fire puffed himself out and pompously\nstated his claim to pride, dwelling rather tediously upon the\nvarious convolutions of his pedigree.\nWhen he had concluded, the Furnace laughed heartily*\n\"Foolish one,\" he said, \"give up your wandering and stay\nwith me, for together we can do many things. What a pity\nwe have not met before!\"\n\nSilhouettes\nBy John E. Rosser\nRoom 44\nI AM just an ordinary hotel room—somewhat out of\ndate in my appointments. For two-score years men\nand women have eddied into me and out again. I know\nLife.\nWhen people come in and close my door, they doff\ntheir masks and are themselves. With me they play no\nroles.\nI know the stertorous snoring of them weary in body\nand soul, of them with whom the Great Battle has gone\nhard. To these I am a mother, soothing them to sleep,\nif I may.\nI know the restless tossing and moaning of them who\nhave taken that which is not theirs, pausing with me in\ntheir flight to the end of the world. To these, whether\nI will or not, I am a monster of a thousand eyes, a\nthousand ears, and a thousand tongues.\nI have seen strong men Hay aside their brave smiles\nat the door and fling themselves upon the bed, sobbing\nlike children.\nSometimes they come in twos.\nThat uneven splotch there by the dresser is where she\nlay. Nervous and trembling she had entered with\nhim. . . The door was forced open—you can see the lock\nis fairly new—and the Other Man began firing. She did\nnot speak, merely covering her face with her hands. On\nthe third finger of her left hand she wore two rings.\nAt the little table there by the window a President\nwas made. They sat facing each other over the table—\nthe Strong Man and the Weakling. Finally, the Strong\nMan, with a soft voice but a firm jaw, told the Weakling\nhe would do. . . What was all the voting for?\nI have seen a smoothly smiling man enter with a\nyoung girl whose eyes were wide like those of a newly\ncaptured doe. . . First she repeated the Pater Noster.\nTo some I have been not an eddy but the entrance to\nthe Great Harbor. The glass there on the table has been\nto some the Chalice of the Long Sleep. One used\nthe knife; another bound a towel tightly about her\nthroat; still another held his face beneath the water of\nthe bath. Revolvers—how many? No matter how they\ntook their leave, all looked long and steadfastly at them-\nselves in the mirror before they went.\nI know Life.\nThus the World\nWITH a clangor of bell, hissing of steam and griding\nof wheels the Limited came to a stop beneath the\nstation shed. The guards rolled back the gates and the\nhurrying, bustling, laughing, growling crowd began\nscuffing past the ticket punchers toward the waiting\ntrain. . . In the crowd, yet not of it, a middle-aged\nwoman, her black bonnet veiled with crepe still redolent\nof the shop, leaned heavily on the arm of a man whose\nface was white and drawn. Her body shook with silent\nsobs. Slowly, and as if she would not although she\nmust, she turned her eyes toward a stream of express\ntrucks which were being trundled alongside the baggage\ncoaches of the Limited.\n\"Oh, Tom!\" she gasped, \"where is our Genevieve?\"\nThe man merely pressed her arm against his side, and\nconvulsively crumpled the tickets in his hand.\nUp ahead the train baggage master grumbled out an\noath as his eyes ran over the profusion of boxes and\nbundles that were to be taken on. He saw that one\ntruck bearing a long box of gray-painted wood was\ncaught in a jam some distance from a car door.\n\"Hey, Bill \" he called to the conductor, \"back her up\na bit; we gotta take on this stiff \""}, {"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "1005", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.7", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nTHE VAMPIRE; A Nocturn in Black By Djuno Barnes\n\nThe Princess of the Looms\nBy Lillian George\nONCE upon a time there was a Princess, who lived in a\ntower high above the city. The people called the crest\nupon which her castle rested the strange hill, but the wise\nmen who lived in the mountains and were reputed to know\nall things, called it the \"Hill of Dreams.\"\nThe Princess was very fair indeed and most industrious.\nDay after day she wove wondrous tapestries; prints of fair\nladies and brave knights; vivid and changeful scenes of hills\nand dales; rivers and streams; flying banners and gay\nprocessions; and ever leading the retinue was the same\npicture of a fair young Prince in full armour, mounted on\na snow white charger.\nThese she wove in the day hours when the sun was bright,\nbut at night when the moon shown silver and cool into her\nwindow, she drew the silver bolt across the oaken door\nand took from her carven chest of ivory, a jewel casket—a\ncasket most delicately wrought in curious designs. Turning\nthe golden lock with a silver key, she drew forth between\nher snow-white fingers a rope of pearls measuring its length\nthrice around her slender throat.\n\"My pearls,\" she said, _ \"my beautiful thought pearls,\nstrung in the shadowed solitude of night, I shall wear you\nfor him, my Prince, when he comes. None other shall be-\nhold you.\"\nNext, lovingly she drew a ruby ring, that flashed its burn-\ning warmth into the moon-lit room.\n\"My heart's desire,\" she said, \"I shall wear you on my\nwedding night when he is here, my Prince. You shall light\njoy into his eyes, and none other shall behold you till they\nhave rested on your beauty.\"\nTwo white diamonds, gleaming as twin stars, fashioned\nin a crown of amethysts, she placed upon her flowing hair.\n\"White glow of faithfulness,\" she said, \"I shall wear you\nfor him. You shall burn into his soul the light of fidelity,\nand none other shall behold you. Dearer than all you shall\nbe to me, for even in death you shall rest upon my brow.'*\nDay after day she wove the tapestry of many weaves;\nnight after night she looked upon the dream jewels of her\ncasket, but the Prince did not appear. Never upon the road\ndid she hear the footfall of the white charger, never in the\nbreeze of morn or eye behold the gay feather floating from\nhis helmet; till on a day, the Princess growing weary of her\nweaving and her waiting, went down the long stair steps of\nthe tower into the fragrance of her gardens, hoping to be\nrefreshed there by the fragrance of the first spring flowers,\nto look into the untroubled blue of the heavens, and to listen\nto the happy thoughtless birds singing in the budding\nbranches. There in her garden she espied a young gardener\nturning the moist earth with a heavy spade.\n\"What do you plant, young gardener?\" she said, and he*\nlooking up in amazement to behold the pale Princess stand-\ning beside him, answered,—\"I plant lilies, Your Grace, early\nlilies.\"\nWhen he looked up at her with great large dark eyes,,\nfilled with an eloquence of innocence and youth, simple\nliving and unpretentious bravery and undaunted manhood,\nher own eyes filled suddenly with tears, her lips trembled*\nher cheeks turned whiter than the lily bloom, for she knew\nhim—the face she had woven, the face she had dreamed,\nher Prince in the face of a gardener. Yet she spoke bravely,\ncommandingly, as a queen should.\n\"Come young gardener to me in my tower tonight at\nmoonlight.\"\nThat night the young gardener, as he was bid, climbed\nwonderingly the tower stairs. Green moss clung to his\ngarments, drops of the gentle dew of evening glistened in\nhis dark hair. There in the moonlight at the casement,\nstanding arrayed in all her beautious dream jewels, he be-\nheld the Princess. The young gardener fell upon his knees,\nthinking indeed a Saint had fallen from heaven, so beautiful\nwas she, with such a strange light within her eyes, and over\nher the moonbeems gleamed as upon a shrine.\n\"Oh, most lovely one, most glorious one, you honor my\nhumbleness so to bless my vision. My children shall know112\nof this, and my childrens' children, and I shall be great in\nthe eyes of them that come after me for the sake of your\ngoodness.\"\n\"Your children,\" said the Princess, and she sighed a sigh\nthat sounded like diying winds of the bleak Autumn, winds\nthat sing at the tops of pine trees.\n\"I hope,\" said the gardener, much embarrassed and\nabashed, \"for, Your Highness, I marry in June a little maiden\nin your service, a little maiden ...\"\nEnough\" said the Princess,'\"Give this to your happy\nbride from me.\" And she took from her finger the red ruby\nof her heart's desire.\nDay by day the Princess weaves her tapestries; gay ladies\nand brave gentlemen; brooks and streams; sunlight and\nstars; but never at the head of the procession is seen the\nportrait of the young Prince on the wihte charger in full\narmour. Yet, even as the sunlight changes into dusk she\nweaves in the gold of its last fading ray the portrait of the\nyoung gardener bending over a bed of young lilies. At\nnight when the moon is shining into the casement of the\ntower, it touches a little silver key around the thoat of The\nPrincess, hung there by a golden chain. The carven casket\nof jewels is unopened, the lock is rusted, and the Princess\ndreams over and over only of the gardener and the gardner's\nchildren."}, {"page_pdf": 8, "page_imprimee": "1006", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.8", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nHarry Stone: The Possessor of\n60,000 Original Drawings\nWith Six Illustrations From His Collection\nANEW type of bookseller has developed during the\nlast twenty-five years—a man who combines part\nof the knowledge of the antiquarian of yore with the\n'qualities the modern collector and book buyer will re-\nquest from his agent. Books and literary property have\nbecome commercial values equal to stocks which are\nlisted upon the stock exchange: subject to corners\ncreated by shrewd buyers and holders, to fluctuations\ncaused by selling en masse. The successful rare-book\ndealer of today must operate with his wares like a stock\nbroker. The banker who starts with business with a\nlimited capital and operates on a legal interest basis has\nvery little chance to become rich. But if he succeeds\nin acquiring with his limited capital the entire stock of\na mine which proves a success after he acquired it has\nequal chances to make money as the rare-book dealer\nwho has had the good fortune to buy for a farthing the\nentire literary property of a man who proves a celebrity\nafter his death and whose manuscripts are worth a\nhundred times their weight in gold.\nHarry Stone is a book dealer of the new type. He\nacquired his knowledge here and there. The desire to\nwander from his earliest youth made him pass the\nentrance exam into the university of hard knocks. He\nalwayst loved books. He was always buying books.\nEagerly he absorbed books on books, articles about\nhooks and authors and . . . Auction Prices Current.\nArter he had acquired a collection of curious books\nwhich would fill the shelves of a store he\nstarred his shop on Fourth Avenue, that avenue that once\nled to the Astor Library and that was lined with book-\nshops on both sides.\nHe not only appreciated the commercial value of\nbooks, but he read them. Especially those that were\nscarce and more valued than other works by the same\nauthors. And he learned to respect the men who wrote\nthese books. His shop became the gathering-place of\nliterateurs. Wrecked hopes of authors and publishers\nfound in Stone's shop a safe harbor. He paid a fair\nprice for everything of value offered him and soon he\nwas known as the dealer in quaint and curious books\nand pamphlets.\nGood fortune knocked on his door. One rich find came\nafter another. He was able to supply collectors and\nother book dealers with long-sought-after items.\nRecently he acquired the most complete collection of\nAmerican drawings by magazine illustrators that was"}, {"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "1007", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.9", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\never gathered under one roof. Sixty thousand specimens\nof American and foreign artists whose works have ap-\npeared in American illustrated magazines he bought\nfrom the files of leading publishers.\nIn an astonishingly short time he made himself\nacquainted with his new field. He became a walking\nencyclopaedia of American illustrators. He searched\nlibraries and other resourches for biographical data of\nlesser-known artists whose works are included in his\ncollection. He studied the different periods of art\ndevelopment in America and again he made his shop\nnot only the gathering-place of his customers but aa\ninteresting meeting-place of artists and of connoisseur®.\nHe is very young—not thirty yet—a bright young\nfellow with a keen sense of appreciation; because he\nknows that only the good will stand the proof of time\nand will last and will eventually become a good invest-\nment. He knows the border-line between artist and\nbusinessman; he never transgresses into foreign ter-\nritory, and therefore one can call him justly an idealist,\nat times—when he talks about art."}, {"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "1008", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.10", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nOscar Wilde: Poems In His Praise\n\nOde to Oscar Wilde\nWILLIAM SALISBURY\n7\\/0 Pantheon proclaims you great,\n* * No fervid orators bestow\nJa florid words the tribute of the state,\nAnd yet we crown you—we, who know.\nWith wreaths of immaterial bays,\nEternal laurel leaves that naught\nCan fade, we garland you to rule always\nA prince, a royal prince of thought.\nWho else with wisdom could such wit combine\nTo give us volumes in a single line? v\nMot merely British, nor yet Erse\nAre you, and vain it were to seek\nA likeness to your wondrous prose or verse\nOutside the pages of some Greek.\nWhat Aristotle taught, you knew,\nAnd what Anacreon. Your pen\nWith facile grace Pindaric odes could do,\nOr make the sophists live again.\nWith you we join the Dionysiac dance\nla revels lighted by a moonbeam's lance.\nOld Hellas gave your spirit birth,\nAnd in the flesh, mayhap, you walked\nAmid the choicest spirits of the earth\nAnd with Academicians talked.\nOr fair Aspasia cried \"a hit!\"\nAnd all at her symposium laughed,\nRepeating epigrams of Wildean wit\ni4s to your health their goblets quaffed:—>\n\"O Pericles! just listen—how correct:\n'Brute reason hits below the intellect'.\"\nReincarnated in our time,\nApostle of the highest creed\nIn art, you wrote for Beauty's sake; sublime\nIn thought, you met our souls' great need.\nAloof, removed from common strife,\nContemning common folk's applause,\nYou reached at last so weird a plane of life\nYou hated nature's common laws.\nImmortal man, yet gripped by spirits fell.\nWith head in heaven, but with feet in hell!\nYet, e'en philosophers loved so,\n'Tis said; and it is true, though sad,\nThat Dante and great Michel Angelo\nWere likewise just a little mad.\nAnd these, and others who are great\nIn art, we judge by art alone. z\nWe love them for the beauty they create.\nWe let them call their souls their own.\nAnd so we love YOU, Oscar Wilde. Your name\nIs great, and amaranthine is your fame. m t c,rießm?r\n\nTo Sebastian Melmoth\nJOHN W. DRAPER\n/KNOW thee well: 1 know thy worth, thy sin.\nIf \"Beauty save the world\" as Gorki said.\nThen of that saving grace thy soul hath been;\nAnd, when before the Final Judgment dread,\nThey spirit comes, Eternal Loveliness\nShall place a crown of laurel on thy head;\nAnd, though thy sin be great, thine art shall dress\nThee in the panoply of infinite peace.\nOf Beauty on the world, that cannot cease.\nThe lamp of beauty, suffering no decrease,\nShall luminate the angels. As for thee,\nGod is the Judge: let men wait silently.\n\nC 33\nHAROLD H. CRONE\nJUTE has woven rose-vines\nAbout the empty heart of night,\nAnd vented his long mellowed wines\nOf dreaming on the desert white\nWith searing sophistry.\nAnd he tented with far thruths he would form\nThe transient bosoms from the thorny tree.\nO Materna! to enrich thy gold head\nAnd wavering shoulders with a new light shed\nFrom penitence, must needs bring pain,\nAnd with it song of minor, broken strain.\nBut you who hear the lamp whisper thru night\nCan trace paths tear-wet, and forget all blight.\n\nOscar Wilde\nJUBAL AGMENON\nA POLISHED, bright, and glistening gem\nWhose luster, hid beneath a mold\nOf darkened mystery, doth gleam,\nAnd everlasting sway doth hold.\nGreat Genius—ah, that mystic king,\nWho holds the fate of cowering Man,\nWho blazes trails with strokes that ring,\nWho crumbles e'en the strongest ban,\nHelped trim the light and fired the flame,\nAnd bade it shine through clouds of scorn;\nRaised high above the stars the name\nOf him who unto woe was born.\nHowever ugly be the vine,\nShall it, condemned, uprooted be,\nIf rich and luscious is its wine?\nShall it not stand at Justice's plea?\nMen cursed the mold God placed him in;\nThey formed the rules that gave\nThe power to further curse his \"sin\"\nAnd placed him in unhallowed grave.\nAnd then they called their verdict wise,\nForgetting he was still God's kin\nThey judged him by their puny size;\nHe knew that he would win.\nOh God be kind to such as they\nWho disregard Thy plans expressed\nIn forms of clay, and firm array\nTo stamp out at their wild behest.\nYes, God be kind, for many more\nWhom Thou hast made like this poor child,\nThough none may to his great heights soar,\nSink. God have pity! God be mild!\nt t t n a j a u/r it* xr\n\nImpressions of Oscar Wilde\nALLAN NORTON\nGALLOON ED with gaiety the Unicorn\nIs mad with music and his self-made mask,\nAnd yet his tired feet have time to bask\nAnd his hands wit to blow the beaten horn.\nNow, as he plays, there treaks a shining pool\nOf poesy—while in the floating pond\nThe flowers tremble, for with his gray wand\nSwans become swine, and swine are beautiful.\nForger of fame, man follows his own ass\nInto oblivion. And yet the glass\nEmptied of living is more full sometimes\nOf sunshine things and star-spun tribute rhymes.\nFor you the moons are still, peace has no poise.\nOne day you fell—and did not make a noise.\n(from Saloon Sonnets: with Sunday flootings)\n\nAnd So I Have Not Seen Your Face: To Oscar Wilde\nALLAN NORTON\nBETTER to have lived, one day\nWith you than all the months of May,\nThan all the years of reddest fruit\nOn which the centuries take root,\nThan all the thousand years to come\nWhen Christ shall call to Christendom,\nThan all the endless eons to be\nThe windmills of eternity.\n0 happy to have lived with you!\nAnd lived and loved and died with you,\nAnd sat beside the side of you,\nAnd known that in the heaven's hue\nThere was no color like your eye,\nNo voice your own could not outvie,\nNo value in the whispered word\nOf bird or wind you had not heard.\n1 would have given all my soul\nAnd all my heart and all the whole\nHigh avenues of my desire\nTo have bqen near to . you entire.\nI would have given my renown\nTo lift upon your heart a crown,\nI would have given all my name\nTo add a finger to your fame.\nWe fled toother out of space\nAnd our fulfilment was this earth,\nBut nature gave you first your birth,\nAnd so I have not seen your face.\nNor ever have I felt your hand\nOr looked upon your outward mien—\nAh, such a little bridge did stand\nOur lives between.\nI would have given all my soul,\nThrice turned my back fupon the goal,\nFor one right moment like a gem\nBut to have touched your garment's hem.\n(from Saloon Sonnets: with Sunday flootings)"}, {"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "1009", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.11", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nTo Oscar Wilde\nALFRED DOUGLAS\n/DREAMED of you last night, 1 saw your face\nAll radiant and unshadowed of distress,\nAnd as of old, in measured tunefulness,\nI heard your golden Voice and marked you trace\nUnder the common thing the hidden grace9\nAnd conjure wonder out of emptiness,\nTill mean things put on Beauty like a dress,\nAnd all the world was an enchanted place.\nAnd so I knew that it was well with you,\nAnd that unprisoned, gloriously free,\nAcross the dark you stretched me out your hand.\nAnd all the spite of besotted crew,\n(Scrabling on pillars of Eternity)\nHow small it seems! Love made me understand.\nDecember 10. 1900\nFrom Frank Harris' \"Oscar Wilde : His Life and Confessions \"\n\nA Great City at Night\nJAMES WALDO FAWCETT\nCOOL languid city,\nSick with sleep,\nDark hearted, silent.\nMystic, deep,\nWild haunted, tortured,\nAged of wrong,\nSordid, repulsive,\nTheme of song.\n\nA Rebel\nFLORA H. WANDELL\nSHUT up in a citadel,\nO, poor throbbing heart,\nLike a prisoner you dwell,\nA Rebel from the start.\nShut up in its cage,\nWith its battered wings,\nThe bird frets in rage;\nYet, still it sings.\nSo the heart defiant\nChafes against the wrong,\nA rebellious termageant;\nStill sings its song.\n\nH C. Bunner\nHC. BUNNER, justly resurrected lately by our\n• distinguished contemporary, Puck, wrote some\ncharming verses on the fly leaves of his books which he\ndedicated to some of his friends. In an old scrap book\nI found his silhouette, reproduced here, and a collection\nof these verses from which I select the following few.\nOn a fly leaf of a copy of \"More Short Sixes\" for Mr.\nAdolph Schwartzmann, the publisher of Puck:\nYou encouraged this child of the tale-tellers brain;\nSo it's not very strange that it seeks you again,\nTo bear the best greetings its father can send\nOn behalf of the book, to the book's kindest friend.\nA Western paper copied Mr. Brunner's poem, \"Oner\nTwo, Three!\" and credited it to Eugene Field, where-\nupos Mr. Brunner sent Mr. Field the following metrical\nprotest:\nNutleyy New Jersey,\nJan. 27, 1893.\nTo Eugene Field.\nConcerning a Ewe Lamb.\nO You who sing so many songs\nThat please so many, many kids,\nWhose Mus's offspring come in throngs\nThat Fate to my poor Muse forbids—\nThey give to You, (and take from Me,)\nMy one lone little \"One, Two, Three !\"\n\nTwo People\nThe Romance of One Night\nBy Guido Bruno\n(Continued from last issue)\nAND so I decided to start a new life. Fate put me\nin a feathered nest and put golden chains around\nmy hands. I will destroy to-night what my birth gave\nme and I, myself, will give birth to my new life. And\n\nContemporary Caricature of Oscar Wilde"}, {"page_pdf": 12, "page_imprimee": "1010", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.12", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n(To be continued)\n\nI want you to help me do it. We were at a reception\nto-night. I bade father and mother goodj-night. They\nthought I was going upstairs to retire. Nobody saw me\nslip out of the house. I didn't dare to go to my room\nto change my clothes for fear of being detected. 1 had\npacked my satchel in the afternoon and placed it securely\nunder the hall tree.\n\"Therefore, I want you to keep me safely in a place\nwhere I can hide for about eight days, during which time,\nI will transform myself into a working girl who won't\nbe any different from any other girl that earns her liv-\ning. I will get a position, and I have also my definite\nplans about my future vocation. All I am concerned\nabout at present is to avoid being detected and brought\nback to my home. You will understand easily why I\ndon't want you to see my face or know my name. My\ndisappearance from my, home will be noticed in the\nmorning. At first they will try to locate me quietly.\nThey naturally will not succeed. So they will have to\nturn to the police and it won't be long until the papers\nwill be filled with the mysterious disappearance of one\nof New York's heiresses. If you never saw my face and\n1 didn't tell you my name, you can never be blamed and\ncan even declare on oath that you didn't know me, and\nnever saw me. Now tell me again that you will have\nthe courage to help me. You don't want me to mention\nmoney but I have all my jewelry with me which is at\nleast twenty-five thousand dollars worth, and I took it\nfrom home just for the one purpose, to give it to the\nman who is going to help me create my new life. Will\nyou be this man?\"\nI reassured her and then I said, \"I will have a cup of\ncoffee and then I am going to leave you. You'll have\nto make yourself comfortable as well as you can. Did\nyou leave a message for your parents? They will be\nterribly frightened in the morning when they discover\nyour absence. Did you think of that?\"\nShe said she had left a note explaining what she had\nintended to do and I believe she was sincere in her\nregret to cause me all that trouble. But she seemed\nmightily relieved to know that I would leave her sole\nmistress of the apartment for the remainder of the night.\nI drank a cup of coffee, showed her to her bedroom,\ninstructed her to let the water run for a while if she\nwanted a cold drink, and made myself ready to leave.\n\"Now, if you'll give me twenty-five cents, I shall send\nyou up some breakfast to-morrow morning. I wish I\ncould extend real hospitality to you but I told you, I\nhaven't got a penny to my name, and so you'll have to\npay your own board.\"\nWe shook hands, I left the apartment.\nI had lied when I said I would put up with a friend.\nI had a lot of acquaintances but was not intimate enough\nwith anybody to bring him out of bed at two o'clock in\nthe morning and ask for a night's lodging. And so I\nstrolled down towards Washington Square, picked out a\nbench far away from the electric light, in a dark corner,\nand settled myself comfortably for the night.\nThe poor thing! I thought. How plucky she is. And\nhow crazy. And I always thought of her hands and I\nwondered if she was asleep or pondering over the future\nproblems of her life. I believed she was asleep. She\nwas conscious of doing the right thing. She evidently\nwas sure she had solved the problem of her life: earning\ntheir own living! just to think if they could realize their\ndreams as quickly and happily as that little fool that was\nsleeping in my bed.\nLittle fool! I despised myself for having thought in\nthis way of her. It was getting cold and I decided to\nwalk for a while. I thought of myself. I thought of all\nthat had happened since I left the club. What did she\nsay? We had a right to spend our money that we receive\nin fair exchange for our work?\nWhy had I refused that offer? Why had I refused to\nexecute the arch of the bridge? Because it was against\nmy pride to commercialize my art. Commercialize my\nart? I thought of the millions that perhaps would delight\nto look at it, and I thought of the man whose name it\nwould bear and to whose memory it was to be erected:\nand they told me that there was a lot of more work in the\nfuture to be done for the public and to be paid for by the\npublic. Of course, I had other plans for the future. But\nwas I justified to live a life such as I had done until\nnow? Just working at what I pleased to and whenever\nI pleased to. Finding a Macaenas once in awhile and\nliving regularly on credit. Wasn't my life very similar\nto the life this strange girl had thrown overboard dis-\ngustedly tonight? After all, was it cowardice that\nprevented me from putting my talent and my ability of\nexecution at the disposal of the public as a fair exchange\nfor my living expenses?\nI must have walked miles. I found myself in the\nneighborhood of my club/ I dropped in. Nobody was\nin the library. Walking had made me hungry and I\nordered a big breakfast. I was sitting long in a com-\nfortable chair, thinking and dozing. It was almost seven\no'clock as I left the building to go back to my apartment.\nI felt happy and gay as I hadn't felt for a long while.\nI stopped in at a little lunch room on Sixth Avenue\nwiiere I was known and had them put a twenty-five cent\nbreakfast on a tray, cover it up with a napkin, and I\ncarried it upstairs to my apartment. I rang my own bell\nand my guest opened. She wore one of my pajama\nsuits, my bathrobe and a black veil over her face. She\nassured-me she had slept as fine as never before in her\nlife and was very, very hungry.\nI repaired to the bathroom and proposed to her to take\nbreakfast while I was taking a morning plunge and\nchanging my clothes.\nShe really had eaten all that was on the plates. I felt\nsplendid. The sun was shining through the high windows\nand the room with its old-fashioned furniture and the\nfireplace in front of us looked real cozy to me.\n\"I was not as discreet,\" she said, \"as you might have\nexpected me to be. I woke up early in the morning and\nhaving nothing to dress in, I poked about your things.\nI know who you are and you are not a stranger to me.\nI know you from that marble statue you exhibited last\nyear. A friend of my family who knows you, told us\nabout your eccentricities. Is it true that you refused to\nexecute work that would have brought you thousands of\ndollars because you wouldn't commercialize your art?\nI felt a bit uneasy and did not reply. The black veil\non her face irritated me for the first time and I wondered\nwhat color her eyes might be."}, {"page_pdf": 13, "page_imprimee": "1011", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.13", "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\nA Simple Tale\nA. G., (New Rochelle, N. Y.)\nPart I.\nWE meet at a soiree in October 1879, she was a charm-\ning Brunette, her naive bashfulness completely\n•aptivated me.\nMy age was 21 and she 18.\nI expressed my love to my father, who objected for\nreasons as follows \"you should look for an heiress not a\npoor girl for a wife.\"\nTo disobey his wishes was out of the question, so I left\nmy home in London and embarked for America on the steam-\nship Algeria in December 1879 to seek wife and fortune.\nPart II.\nI accepted a position as travelling salesman for a\nPhiladelphia manufacturer, and in the winter of 1881 while\nin Moncton, N. B. I picked up a bunch of keys the inscrip-\ntion on the metal tag read Marietta B . . ~ Shadiac, N. B.\nI had but 20 minutes to get the last train, I paid my hotel\nbill, quickly packed my bag, and soon alighted on the Shadiac\nstation platform, I enquired where the person lived whose\nname I above mentioned, and was informed she was the\ndistrict surveyor's daughter who lived five minutes walk\nfrom the station.\nKnocking at the door it was opened by the most beautiful\ngirl I had ever before or since seen, imagine her supreme\njoy to get her keys returned and mine being invited by her\nto come in and meet her parents and brother.\nPart III.\nWe were married the following Spring in Boston and after\na joyful life of 15 years she died leaving me three beautiful\n©hildreri.\nPart IV.\nAfter a lonely four years I again married and my happiness\nis overflowing being blessed with another child, my wife\nadores the four children, keeps up a constant correspondence\nand sends many presents to the mother of my first wife.\nMoral:\nMarry when nature, association and cultivation are com-\nbined with a gentle face.\n\nSweet Memories\nAn artist's widow, (West Hoboken, N. J.)\nIN November 1881 a middle-aged man rented our hall bed-\nroom. Mother being a widow let the room to help out\nwith the rent. I being the oldest of four was her main sup-\nport. Looking on the practical side, I asked had he paid\nrent for same in advance. To her no not yet. I imagined\nall sorts of things especially as he had immediately taken\npossession and was at that moment sitting in the parlor.\nIt being cold I went into see the fire and incidently look\nour new lodger over. Judge my surprise to see him sitting\nbefore an easel sketching a portrait of a lady. Oh an artist;\n\"Yes when trade is dull.\" For he was a house-painter as\nwell. Is don't know where my manners were as I forgot to\n%\nsay good evening or how do you do. I don't think he noticed\nor had any manners himself just then for he asked me to play\nsomething for him saying he was very fond of music. As I\nopened the piano he placed the maiden's prayer before me.\nI played it through; when finishing he thanked me, excusing:\nhimself he retired to his room taking his easel with him. I\nwas astonished at his abruptness, I told Mother she surely\nhad a lunatic for a lodger. We did not see him again for\nseveral days. Not until Mother asked him for the room rent\nat the expiration of the week. He looked so pale and when\nMother asked if he were ill he said no rather curtly that he\nwas working hard to get his picture finished as it would be\ndone in a few days would she wait? Of course she would\nwait, as we were just going to have supper would he not\njoin us. After a little persuasion he said just a cup of tea\nif we did not mind as he was cold. As we surmised he was\ndown in Lard street we prevailed upon him to eat some\nsupper. I then suggested he use the parlor where it was\nwarmer than his room to complete his work. That we would\nnot disturb him. Of course it was only sympathy for a poor\nold fellow down on his luck. Thanksgiving-day came he did\nnot leave his room. When dinner was ready I asked him to\njoin us, after some persuasion he came. After dinner I\nplayed again for him. He brought out his violin and played.\nThe next day his picture was finished. He paid Mother for\none month in advance and became a regular boarder. After\nwhich we spent many pleasant evenings sometimes home.\nOftimes a concert, the theatre or church. Christmas we were\nengaged to be married but said nothing to my family. In\nMay one Sunday at supper our boarder suggested he and I\ntake a car ride. We stopped at a parsonage and were married;\nby a Methodist minister. When we entered the parsonage\nthe moon was shining brightly, when we came out the rain\nwas coming down in torrents. My husband borrowed <m>\numbrella. When we reached home Mother scolded fearing;\nmy new dress and hat had been ruined. My husband laughed\nsaying he guessed he could replace them if spoiled. Poor\nold Mother became furious, she felt insulted. \"Never mind\nMother, don't be angry I married Lizzie to-night to keep her\nfrom being a fussy old maid. Introducing me as his wife\nhe handed her the marriage certificate to read as proof. Now\nat the age of 62 I am toiling for my living. Yet often long\nfor the happy courtship days and the few happy wedded\nyears we spent together.\n\nVOLUME II\nBRUNO'S WEEKLY\nBound in white linen cloth\nTWO DOLLARS, postpaid"}, {"page_pdf": 14, "page_imprimee": "1012", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.14", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\nBruno's Weekly, published weekly by Bruno's Weekly, Inc. Charles Edison, Pres.; Guido Bruno, Vice-Pres.;\nWalter L. 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 of March\nvSrd, 1897.\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 provef\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-dollar bill and send in your check\nto-day or give a standing order to your news-\ndealer.\n\nThe Mad Hatter Has a Tea Party Every Afternoon\nRoom 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.\"\ni'Nobody Asked Your Opinion\" Edith Unger.\nROSSI BROTHERS\n58 Washington Square\nUnderneath the Garret\nICE CREAM AND TOBACCO\nFLORENCE GOUGH\nShows Smart Millinery for Grown Ups—Mother\nGoose's Millinery for Children and other unique\nthings to wear.\nTHE PAINT BOX\n150 W. 4th St., Near 6th Ave.\nN. Y. C. Phone Spring 23\n\nRARE BOOKS\nExtra Illustrated Books. Early Printed Books. Association Books. Books for Christmas Gifts.\nPurchased singly or in sets for people who have neither time nor opportunity to select for themselves,\nor for those who have not access to the best book marts. Why not begin collecting now?\nAddress, E. V. Boston Transcript, Boston, Mass.\nFIRST EDITION\n\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 Greenwich Village has not been sacrificed\non the altar of commercialism\nPhone: Stuyvesant 4570\nA postal will bring you, with our compliments,\nan interesting little biography of Mr. Thos. A.\nEdison."}, {"page_pdf": 15, "page_imprimee": "[1013]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.15", "texte": "&\nm\nmm\nIt\n■m\n112: ?!\nm.\n$5.00\nTHE SPIRIT OF XMAJ.^S\nc? 8\n€\ns\n$5.00\n• K-?Wk f*y is % 1 */\n*?t i » ' ' ■ ' ?\n«*;;■\nV: =\nin^\ngMm *iif\n'/ ;■ ■ ' ~'\n- > .' - ' : ■ . •:■ '%\n*M£Ttf\n$5.00\n1\nr\n\\ :l i. ,'/\n.\nw,\n'¥■\nfcWWR\n<5J\n(//\nA#\n£? *\na\nx-\nf $5.00\nSIXTY THOUSAND ORIGINAL\nDRAWINGS OF AMERICAN\nILLUSTRATORS\nRose O'Neil, Opper, Harrison Fisher, Barton, Cassel\nPughes, Hassmann, Crawford, and Many Other\nAmerican and Foreign Illustrators Whose Drawings\nHave Appeared in the Foremost American Illustrated\nMagazines from 1880 up to Date\nI HAVE purchased the original drawings and\npaintings which you have seen reproduced on\nthe pages of Puck and other prominent periodicals\nduring the last thirty-six years. They are a splendid\ncollection of the early work and of the best work\nof America's foremost artists. They show the\nevolution of the American comic paper from its\ninfancy to its present standard as well as the in-\ndividual evolution of the artists. They are an\nunique kaleidoscope of the manifold interests of\npublic opinion during the last two score years.\nThere is the period where New York with its cease-\nless building underground, overground and on the\nsurface was the target of constant banter. There\nare the political cartoons, a conclusive demonstra-\ntion why Cleveland or Roosevelt or Taft had to be\nelected and why Bryan and Roosevelt were\ndefeated.\nRARELY will there be an opportunity again to\npurchase these originals, welcome in the den,\nin the library of a private home, and appropriate\non the walls of public libraries, of museums and of\npublic schools, at such low prices as I am offering\nthem now. Many are priced as low as twenty-five\ncents. Only a few are marked higher than ten\ndollars.\nYou are invited to call at my store and view the\ncollection leisurely or inquire about the work of\nillustrators you like. I will gladly quote you\npictures and prices.\nHARRY STONE,\nBOOKS and DRAWINGS\n137 FOURTH AVENUE, NEW YORK\nFor Three Dollars I will send you post-paid Ten Original Drawings of American Illustrators."}, {"page_pdf": 16, "page_imprimee": "[1014]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160923-01.1.16", "texte": "Bruno Chap Books\nNo.\n1. The Harlot's House, by Oscar Wilde\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 wings\nbefore he stings and annoys 25\n3. Mushrooms, by Alfred Kreymborg\nMr. Kreymborg's Mushrooms are recognized\npoetry. The Mushroom stands for a simple\nexpression of thought in simple musical\nrhythm. Mr. Kreymborg is one man who\nspeaks to his fellow-men—just to the one who\nmight find in four or six simple lines of\nrhythm the revelation of the rhythm and the\nharmony of his own simple life 50\n4. Tahiti, by Robert Carlton Brown .25\n5. Four Letters, by Oscar Wilde .25\n6. Anarchists, by Guido Bruno .25\n7* To My Mother, by Alfred Kreymborg .25\n8. Vignettes, by Hubert Craclcanthorpe\nMr. Crackanthorpe had three ehief gifts:\nskill in dramatic narration—a 4sense 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 ef sifting and selecting its reports.\nLionel Johnson, in Acad., March 20, 1897 50\n9. Tanka and Haika, 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 robing 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 intense\nas Poe's on strictly realistic lines. The utmost\nbounds of expression are reached, even his\noriginality is aggressive 25\n10. Richard Wagner, the Egoist, by Guido Bruno .25\n11. Edna the Girl of the Street, by Alfred\nKreymborg 25\nCause: our social conditions.\nMotive: just to live.\nProblem: eternal.\nSolution: none 25\n12. Songs of the Cosmos, by Charles Keeler\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 blood,\ntinted by the golden sun, formed and shaped\nby hands who know the labors and pains of\nmillions scented with good-will towards every-\nbody and emitted with pure 10ve... 25\nNo.\n13. Teaspoons and Violet Leaves, by Guido Bruno $1.00\n14. The Tragedy in the Birdhouse, by Guido Bruno .50\n15. Exotics, 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\"\n.25\n16. Imagists, by Richard Aldington\nOne of the original group of the English\nImagists tells 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\n17. Lord Alfred Douglas—Salome: A Critique,\nthe Beauty of Unpunctuality: an Essay and\nThree Poems\nThere was a time when Lord Alfred Douglas\nwould have laughed at the idea that he would\nwrite a book explaining away his friendship\nwith Oscar Wilde. As editor of \"The Spirit\nLamp,\" a magazine published by James\nThornton, High Street, Oxford, and edited by\nLord Alfred Douglas, he seemed to be a\ndiligent imitator of his friend Oscar. He\nimitated his style in prose and in poetry.\nWhenever he received a contribution from\nOscar Wilde it was the main and leading\nfeature of the issue\n.25\n.25\n18. Sadakichi Hartmann-\na Dream?\n19. Charles Kains-Jackson-\nmonds A Portrait\n-Permanent Peace: Is it\n-John Addington Sy-\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 forgotten\nliterary periodical of England, in 1897\n20. Djuna Barnes—The Book of Repulsive Wo-\nmen—Rhythms and 5 Drawings\n21. Edna W. Underwood—The Book of the White\nPeacocks\n22. H. Thompson Rich — Lumps of Clay—l 6\nRhythms\n23. D. Molby — Hippopotamus Tails —28 Every-\nv day Musings\n24. H.Thompson Rich—The Red Shame—17 War\nPoems s\n25. Theodor Schroeder, Erothogenesis of Reli-\ngion, a bibliography\n26. Sadakichi Hartmann, My Rubayat\n.25\n.25\n.25\n.25\n.25\n.50\n.50\nAccompany each order with Cheque, small amounts, one-cent stamps\nBRUNO'S WEEKLY\n58 WASHINGTON SQUARE, N. Y. C."}]}