{"numero_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_sha256": "aa1fb9e0fc74f7d7c7a90dc3eb7e09fe90d5a4b4d6f35a558900779514d608dd", "source_tei": "https://github.com/Princeton-CDH/bluemountain-transcriptions/blob/main/periodicals/bmtnaaq/issues/1916/10/07_01/bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01.tei.xml", "source_mets": "https://github.com/pulibrary/BlueMountain/blob/main/metadata/periodicals/bmtnaaq/issues/1916/10/07_01/bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01.mets.xml", "url_numero": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01", "articles": [{"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c001", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c001", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_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=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.1", "titre_corps": "Jacoba Van Heereskerck", "titre_sommaire": "Jacoba Van Heereskerck", "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=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.1", "debut_caractere": 101, "fin_caractere_exclue": 123, "texte": "Jacoba Van Heereskerck"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c002", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c002", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_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=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.2", "titre_corps": "The contents include:", "titre_sommaire": "The contents include:", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 1, "page_imprimee": "couv. 1", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.1", "debut_caractere": 125, "fin_caractere_exclue": 281, "texte": "The contents include:\nIn Memory of Richard Middleton\nBook of Bargains. II.—Original Sin\nNew York Squares and Places\nPassing Paris\nBonaparte and the Fair Sex"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c003", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c003", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[1133]", "page_fin": "[1133]", "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=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.3", "titre_corps": "The Victor", "titre_sommaire": "The Victor", "signature_source": "E. C. Beckwith", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "[1133]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.3", "debut_caractere": 139, "fin_caractere_exclue": 804, "texte": "The Victor\nE. C. Beckwith\npAME said to the Poet: \"Though I know you not, strive\nto win me.\"\n$ \"You shall be immortal,\" Hope told him, but Self-doubt\nand Discontent said: \"You are a failure.\"\n\"You suffer want,\" said Poverty.\n\"Give way to me,\" urged Despair.\n\"You are an idle fool,\" said his Friends.\n\"I have no need of you,\" sajd the World.\n\"You have broken me. Let me rest,\" pleaded his Soul.\n\"We are dying,\" his Dreams whispered.\n\"Grieve me no more,\" said his Heart.\n\"I leave you,\" said his Courage.\n\"I am helpless,\" said his Will.\n\"You have not tried me,\" said Oblivion.\nAnd one day when all these pressed too closely upon the\npoor Poet, he wrote his masterpiece."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c004", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c004", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[1133]", "page_fin": "1134", "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=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.4", "titre_corps": "In Memory of Richard Middleton", "titre_sommaire": "In Memory of Richard Middleton", "signature_source": "W. G. Blaikie Murdoch", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "[1133]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.3", "debut_caractere": 806, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5715, "texte": "In Memory of Richard Middleton\nBy W. G. Blaikie Murdoch\nALTHOUGH as yet, perhaps, he is little known in America,\nRichard Middleton has lately been hailed in England as\nreally great writer, alike of verse and of prose. He was a\nclerk in a London insurance office, contributing to various\nperiodicals in his spare time; but hating business, he\nrenounced it, intending to live by his pen. And, finding this\nfar from easy, he endured some years of terrible privation,\nthe result being that ultimately he took his own life, his age\nat that time being only a little past thirty. Since then his\nscattered writings have been collected and issued in book\nform, the collection amounting to five little volumes. And,\nif the pathos attaching to the author's story is responsible,\npartly, for the ardour with which these posthumous books\nof his have been welcomed, their avowed admirers include\nnumerous eminent men of letters: Mr. Arthur Machen, for\ninstance, and that fervent Shakespearian, Mr. Frank Harris,\n*Mr. Wilfred Gibson, too, himself a fine poet on occasion, has\nadded his quota to the chorus of homage; while, turning to\nMr. Henry Savage's preface to Middleton's Poems and Songs,\none finds it alleged concerning this verse: \"There is that in\nit beyond the reach of criticism.\" Mr. Savage even predicts\nimmortality for his idol, while referring in particular to the\nlatter's work as essayist and story-teller, he compares him\nfondly to Stevenson.\nAnd certainly the technical excellence of Middleton's out-\nput is dazzling. His prose contains many passages where\nthe sense, one feels, could not possibly have been more deftly\nand briefly expressed; while despite the actual quantity of his\nverse being comparatively small, surely few men since Paul\nVerlaine have written so large a number of really beautiful\npoems as he. For most poets, it must be remembered, fail\nmuch oftener than they triumph; and the artistic level\nmaintained, throughout the rank and file of their creations,\nis far from being a very high one. But open Middleton's\npoetry at random, and a lofty beauty of wording and rhythm\nis nearly always found: it is as omnipresent as skilful music\nis in Mendelsohn's work, or skilful painting in Nicolas\nLancret's. Still, does not Middleton reflect Mendelssohn's\nmost serious failing? Does he not disclose, only too often,\njust that limitation which comes near vitiating all that Lancret\ndid? And his weakness in these respects, its precise nature\nto be unfolded presently, is emphasized by Mr. Savage when,\neager to praise, he calls attention to the writer's similarity\nto two of his predecessors.\nIt must be borne in mind that every immortal work of art\nis more than the lovely expression of an emotion: it is some-\nthing which exerts a sort of hypnotic spell, the artist making\nhis audience actually experience the feeling which inspired\nhim. Nor is the true master* one who just attains the\northodox beauties of craftsmanship, but who creates a new\nworld of his own, to reign over it as suverain. The very\ngreatest, of course, have derived much of their craft from\nstudy of their predecessors; yet pondering even on those\nlesser men who truly possessed genius, it transpires quickly\nthat the name of each of these is associated closely with some\nlittle kingdom which he holds in fee, the mere mention of\nTeniers, for example, bringing to mind a certain type of\npainting, the mere mention of Charles Lamb, a certain species\nof literature. Now Lancret, notwithstanding his virtuosity,\nis always a mere regent to Watteau; while the slight original-\nity which Mendelssohn showed in Athalie and Midsummer\nNight's Dream, proved insufficient to make him an overlord\nanywhere. And, in the same way, it can hardly be said that\nMiddleton, writing invariably with such exceptional skill,\nexcels in any given line; or that his name is ever likely to\nbecome, in the mind of the world, representative of so much\nas a tiny duchy. It were foolhardy to charge him with slavish\ndiscipleship of other men, it were rash to contend that he\never distilled his work deliberately from books; for all his\nwriting appears to spring from a deep and genuine longing\nto express joys and sorrows he has actually gone through,\nand in many cases, no doubt, his resemblance to authors pre-\ndating him is merely a coincidence. However, this resemblance\nis insistent, and the echoes of literature which Middleton\nawakens somehow dull the sound of his own voice, preventing\nwhat he says from overmastering the reader's heart and will.\nIf his similarity, in a deal of his prose, to the two writers\nMr. Savage mentions, is fully as marked as Lancret's\nsimilitude to Watteau, in his verse he sometimes reminds of\nColeridge or Omar, sometimes of Tennyson, Rossetti, or\nSwinburne; while in \"Nocturne\" and \"London Night\" he\ncompetes to his disadvantage with Mr. Arthur Symons, and in\n\"Drake's Drum\" with Mr. Henry Newbolt. Often, moreover,"}, {"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "1134", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.4", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3305, "texte": "when he vents a lusty paganism, he summons thoughts of\nJohn Davidson; while many souvenirs of the Elizabethans\nare contained in his work, the following being a notable\ninstance:\n\"And life it seems is but a fitful sleeping,\nAnd we but fretful shades that dreamed before,\nThat love and are no more.\"\nScarcely is that read ere one thinks of Shakespeare's\npassage:\n\"Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,\nThat struts and frets his hour upon the stage,\nAnd then is heard no more.\"\nOr again, reading Middleton's line:\n\"We are too we are not wanted here,\"\nit is well-nigh impossible to avoid recalling this by Ernest\nDowson:\n\"Let us go hence: the night is now at hand.M\nAnd indeed of all poets it is Dowson—of whom Middleton,\naccording to Mr. Harris who knew him, was a great devotee—\nin whose realm he treads most constantly, this verse serving\nwell as a further illustration of his practice herein: &\n\"Now, in this sombre and regretful place,\nGrey when the sun has crimsoned all the west,\nWith sorrow like a mask upon my face,\nI lay my dreams to rest/'\n*\nBut if, in these respects, Middleton discloses so unfortunate\na weakenss, in another way he is eminently worthy of the\nenthusiastic praise which has been lavished on him; for es-\npecially in his stories and prose-sketches, there is always the\nfine quality of significance, or allusiveness. To be more\nexplicit, the characters in all vital fiction are more than\nbrilliant pen-portraits, each of them being, rather, an emblem\nof some force, or longing, which is perennial in life; and to\ngive a single example, is not Theodore, in Gautier's Mile, de\nMaupin, a symbol of the elements eternally constituting\nyoung manhood? Well, something of that sort lives in the\npages of Middleton, who is seldom a mere teller of tales,\nseldom a mere jester, his stories and humour having a real\nbearing, not just on life as it is to-day, but on life as it will\nalways be. And this quality in him, unmentioned as it has\nbeen by his acknowledged worshippers, sets him ahead of a\ngreat band of authors who are far better known than he—•\nmen whose works, being redolent of their own particular\nperiod, will necessarily seem oldfashioned to future genera-\ntions; while granting once more that his voice is persistently\nreminiscent, may one not well emphasize again the beauty\nof nearly everything from his hand? as witness the follow-\ning, chosen from an embarrassment of riches:\n\"Love played with us beneath the laughing trees,\nWe praised him for his eyes and silver skin,\nAnd for the little teeth that shone within\nHis ruddy lips; the bracken touched his knees,\nEarth wrapped his body on her softest breeze,\nAnd through the hours that held no count of sin\nWe kept his court, until above our din\nNight westward drove her glittering agonies.\nOh! lovely days long dead! There falls on me\nIn this dim world I may not understand\nAn echo of your sweetness; in my hand\nOne frail, sad rose inspires eternity\nWith dreams that are no more, and from the sea\nThat beats upon this grey, perplexed land,\nBlows rumours of some merry drunken band\nThat keeps your revels still in Arcady!\"\nHow eloquent is that! How diverse the music of the words!\nwhile to repeat, open Middleton at random, and beauty as\nfine as in this peom, or finer still, is almost always to be\nfound."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c005", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c005", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1134", "page_fin": "1136", "image_debut": 4, "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=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.5", "titre_corps": "The II.—Original Sin", "titre_sommaire": "The II.—Original Sin", "signature_source": "Vincent O'Sullivan ; Mildred C. McGuckin", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "1134", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.4", "debut_caractere": 3307, "fin_caractere_exclue": 6156, "texte": "The Book of Bargains\nII.—Original Sin\nBy Vincent O'Sullivan\n\n\"Sans cesse a mes cotes s'agite le Demon,\nII nage autour de moi comme un air impalpable;\nJe l'avale, et le sens qui brule mon poumon\nEt l'emplit d'un desir eternel et coupable.\"\n—Les Fleurs du Mai.\nWHEN Alphonse D'Aubert had laid down his book for the\nfifth time, having taken it up five times in his wrestle\nwith his thoughts, he decided that even UEnnemi des Lois\ncould not distract him, and so, at four o'clock in the morning,\nhe went into the streets As he crossed the deserted Boule-\nvard, a little boy drew near with a plaintive cry: \"Charite\nMonsieur!\" and Alphonse, who was almost morbidly good-\nnatured, gave him an alms, and paused for a few minutes of\npleasant talk. When he fell to his walk again, he began to\nconsider, with a sort of sick wonder, why the child who lived\nin his mind to such fell purpose, could not become to him\nas this child he had just left: as all other children,— ex-\nquisite, helpless, piteous things, craving for love and pro-\ntection. Thus it was always with him: after his blackest\nnights he was ever in the morning at his penitentials: and\nwhen the dawn was creeping over the roots of the houses, he\nforgot how feverishly he had yearned in the darkness to press\nhis long fingers on the soft throat of a child.\nWhether Alphonse was in love with Madame Dantonel or\nnot, it may be said that she was the creature he cared most\nfor on earth. Certainly, on her side, she looked for nothing\nmore tender than a friendship with this somewhat strange\nyoung man, whom, in a way of motherly tenderness, she\nregarded, with his bizarreries, his exclusiveness, his superior\nsilences, as a rather terrible child, spoilt by his excellent\nfortune in the world. At her house in the Champs Elysees he\nfound himself most readily at his ease: and this fact led him\nby the hand to the opinion, that he was never in the least\nhappy when he was not there. She was the widow of a man\nwho had been engaged with politics: Alphonse never troubled\nto inquire how engaged; only recognised the death of the\npolitical person as a relief, and as a period to the slight em-\nbarrassment with which he was wont to listen to the patrioics\n—an embarrassment which all forms of activity brought to\nhis contemplative and somewhat melancholy spirit. And after\nthat, he was never so serene, so nearly joyous, as when he\nwas in the company of Madame Dantonel and the little Clo-\ntilde, her only child, who was now four years old.\nIt was on a day when he was most delightful, when he was\ntaking life gaily, that? looking at the little girl as she played\non the floor, the stunning desire came to him to take her by\nthe throat and squeeze out her life. He took his leave in\nmanifest disturbance; and fled into the street. He was shak-\ning with horror: of a truth he loved this child, next to its"}, {"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "1135", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.5", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5021, "texte": "mother, supremely; and yet, amid his disgust, he could not\n/ stifle a lust to murder her,—a thrilling satisfaction, as he\nthought of the life ebbing from her face while he crushed\nher soft round thoat with his fingers. That was the first bad\nnight of the many bad nights to come. On the following\nafternoon he went to the house again, to try himself—to see\nhow he would \"get on'; but within five minutes he departed,\ngrinding his teeth and biting at his nails to keep down his\npassion, which was driving him to rush back to the house\nand slay the child before its mother's face. But after a\ngashtly night of torture, and sweat, and weeping, he found\n\"himself, in the morning, suddenly recovered! All his old\naffection for the child once more lived in his heart: the devil,\nit seemed, had been worsted: and it was in this glad con-\ndition that he lived for a few weeks. He had given Clotilde\nmany presents before; but now he spent hours in the toy-\nshops, finding a certain piety in thus eagerly buying, as though\nhe were making good a case with his conscience. Ah, those\nfew excellent days! How brilliant he was; how he dealt with\nthe sunshine; how airily he tossed a salute to the passengers\nin the street!\nBut it was on a dreary afternoon, when the rain was whip-\nping through the court-yard, as Alphonse stood talking lightly\nto Madame Dantonel and the child, that he suddenly knew\nto be the slave of his old passion. Oh, to crush that satin\nthroat! He made one tremendous, straining effort, and so\nbeat himself; but the effort was too much for his physical\nstrength, and he fell on the floor as if dead.\nWhen he began to get his senses, he found Madame\nDantonel bending over him with a look of sharp anxiety.\n\"Ah, my poor frieild!\" she exclaimed, \"but you have been\nfcvery ill!\"\n\"I have been ill, but now I am well,\" says Alphonse, in a\nthick voice. \"I am going away—far away from Paris.\"\n\"Going away!\" And when she got over her surprise: \"But\nwhy ?\"\n\"Because I do no good here,\" he said, getting on his feet.\n\"Because I find my life too narrow. Igo to the cafe, I chat,\nI smoke cigarettes. Good. I dine, I go to the opera, to a\nsoiree. My God!\" he cries out, \"do you call that a life?\nPlease, my dearest friend, do not prevent me. I am going\naway.\"\nShe took his hand very kindly. \"Go, if you wish it,\" she\nsaid; \"but remember that you have always two friends here.\nIs it not so, Clotilde?\"\nAlphonse was taken with a hard shudder as he went out.\nHe decided to go to England; with an ultimate thought,\nperhaps, of America. He crossed the channel in wintry and\nboisterous weather, and when he came to Dover he was well\ncontent to lie there: postponing, gratefully enough, his arrival\nat London till the next day. Tired with his tossing journey,\nhe took to his bed early; and at once fell into the profound\nsleep of fatigue, from which he awoke, about two o'clock,\nhot and trembling. The figure of the child was before him\nin the darkness of the room; the full throat, above all! was\napparent and particular. He rolled on the bed, and tore and\nbit the pillows: not before had he longed with this violent\nfrenzy to see the child stretched at his feet, looking solidly\nwhite and dead. Damp and shaking, he put on his clothes\nand went down to talk with the night-porter—a desperate\nchance under the best conditions; for a foreigner, hopeless!\nas he found. So he returned to his room, and opened his\nwindows to the raining night. A strong salt wind was singing\nup channel; and Alphonse let it get into his hair and eyes,\nfinding respite in this way, and a certain peace. Thus he spent\nthe night, till the dawn came to shew the gray, uneasy sea,\nand the gray sky. He departed, when morning had come, on\nboard the earliest packet-boat, and that evening he found\nhimself again in Paris.\nThings having come to this point, you may ask fairly: Why\ndid he not turn to the obvious remedy—self-destruction?\nYes! But upon reflection it does not seem so likely. Indeed,\nupon reflection it would appear, that when a man has a\ndesire, a fierce lust to satisfy, he prefers, however the powers\nof his soul may rebel, to live for the gratification of that\ndesire, that fierce lust. Be that as it will, the man I am\nwriting about did not contemplate suicide; did not, for a\nmoment, glance along that road of escape. But he gave a\ndainty supper, to \" which he invited some of his male\nacquaintance, and a few ladies of generous virtue. There\nsat by him a superb creature, with gleaming shoulders and\nsnapping black eyes; and as the mirth grew more disordered,\nhe laid his hand on her swelling throat and tried to tempt\nhimself to kill her in the sight of te revellers. Any one\nrather than the child! But even as he thought it, the child\nfloated before his eyes; the remembrance of the strange\nsatiety he would feel when he had choked out her life, which\nhe would not feel at all were he to kill this woman, caused\nhis hand to fall listlessly to his side; and pleading a sudden\ndizziness, he left the merrymakers to themselves."}, {"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "1136", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.6", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3017, "texte": "So on the next afternoon, we find him once more repairing\nto the Champs-Elysees and the house of Madame Dantonel.\nHe was feeling easier to-day; and he discovered at Madame\nDantoneFs, one visitor who helped to soothe his irritated\nnerves. This was an old military officer: and Alphonse found\nhis cheerfulness and honest geniality of character very\npleasant. He had sat for about twenty minutes, when\nMadame Dantonel exclaimed:—\n\"My poor little Clotilde! She has a cold, a slight sore\nthroat, and this is the time when the bonne goes down-stairs,\nso she will be quite alone. Forgive me if Igo to her.\"\nThe time had come. \"Permit me!\" said Alphonse, on his\nfeet in an instant. It was as though a stranger were talking:\nhe could no more help the words than he could help breath:\ning. \"Pray do not deprive Monsieur of your company. I\nwill go to Clothilde; it will delight me to see her, and I know\nthe room quite well.\"\nHe hardly waited for the murmured pleasure, but ran,\ntrembling with eagerness, up the stairs. The little girl was\nin bed playing with her doll, and she greeted him with a\nsmile and a glad cry. He clenched his teeth, and squeezed\nand crushed her throat till the pretty tiny face became black\nand swollen, and the poor little frame, after a shake and a\nquiver, lay quite still.\nAs he came down, he heard Madame Dantonel say good-\nbye to the visitor, and the hush of her dress as she passed\nthrough the hall.\n\"Mon Dieu! how pale you look!\" she cried, raising both\nhands. \"Is anything the matter with Clotilde?\"\n\"Clotilde is very well,\" says Alphonse.. \"But I think the\nroom was too hot for me, and I am going away now.\"\n\"Really! so soon?\" she said, genuinely sorry. And she\nheld out her hand.\n\"No! please don't shake hands with me, I am not worthy!\"\ncries Alphonse, with a wan smile, passing the matter off as\na jest. \"You will find Clotilde very well,\" he said again.\nThe door closed behind him. As the mother went upstairs\nto her child, he took his way to a chymist's shop which he\nknew of in the neighborhood.\nC IXTEEN I think I was, that day\nI met you on the sand,\nPebbles were jewels for our play\nAnd life, just fairyland\nWatching the shadow-ships pass through\nThe mists, you made me feel\nNew York, its spell, its harbor blue,\nIts pinnacles of steel.\nDreaming of life's intensity\nThe long low dunes seemed grey,\nMy loved beach lost its brilliancy\nAnd then, we went away.\nShadowed by city walls, we knew\nLove that men dream about.\nForgetting all, I lived for you\nKnowing no fear, no doubt,\nLife was complete for me, my all\nLay in my love for you;\nMan-lika you found our love-world small\nYou wanted work to do;\nInnocently I let you go,\nAwaited your caress, A\nSought you in vain, how should I know\nI must face emptiness?\nYour love had robbed me! I lay cold,\nDevoid of all desire,\nFlames that were sacred then I sold\nTo others who bought fire.\nKnowing my hunger, you sent gold,\nMy price!—l knew not then;\nCheat, was it not for one who sold\nHer life, her God, for men.\n\nMildred C. McGuckin"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c006", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c006", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1135", "page_fin": "1135", "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=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.5.1", "titre_corps": "Drawing by Aubrey Beardsley", "titre_sommaire": "Drawing by Aubrey Beardsley", "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": "1135", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.5", "debut_caractere": 5023, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5050, "texte": "Drawing by Aubrey Beardsley"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c007", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c007", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1136", "page_fin": "1136", "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=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.6", "titre_corps": "All The Days", "titre_sommaire": "All The Days", "signature_source": "Martin Brown", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "1136", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.6", "debut_caractere": 3019, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3358, "texte": "All The Days\nMartin Brown\nA GRAY day—a gay day,\nA work, a shirk, a play day;\nA day of storm-clouds and of fears,\nA day of rain and hopeless tears,\nA mad, a sad, a glad day,\nA great, a good, a bad day—\nThey're all alike—all good and blue\nIf to my heart one thought of you\nLike morning sun comes stealing in\nAnd glamours all-e3 ere it begin."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c008", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c008", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1136", "page_fin": "1136", "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=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.7", "titre_corps": "O ! pritty cowe with crumfelt heme and hair as soft as filk, We thank thee for rich, cruddelt creame and sky-blue, water'd milk. From An Old English Chap Book", "titre_sommaire": "O ! pritty cowe with crumfelt heme and hair as soft as filk, We thank thee for rich, cruddelt creame and sky-blue, water'd milk. From An Old English Chap Book", "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": "1136", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.6", "debut_caractere": 3360, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3518, "texte": "O ! pritty cowe with crumfelt heme and hair as soft as filk,\nWe thank thee for rich, cruddelt creame and sky-blue, water'd milk.\nFrom An Old English Chap Book"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c009", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c009", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1137", "page_fin": "1137", "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=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.8", "titre_corps": "Murder Will Out!", "titre_sommaire": "Murder Will Out!", "signature_source": "F. van Norstrand Groves", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "1137", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.7", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1557, "texte": "Murder Will Out!\nF. van Norstrand Groves\nOF Bohemians there are two species: The Beaux-hemians,\nc'est t-a-dire such unripe fruit as float at large in\norange and green smocks ('twould earn them the death\npenalty in Ireland, nothing less), shy at Barber Poles, wear\nCounterpane Shirts and burn Stink Pots that would offend\nthe olfactory nerves of even a Chinese river-pirate—\nand\nTHE 80-hemians (an abreviation of \"Hobo-hemians,\" the\nwhich term is scarcely ever used in Polite Society)—•\nthose poor devils we stumble over every now and then in The\nSquare, rolled-up on a bench, asleep on a newspaper, or\nlifting their drawn, splotched and anaemic faces to Heaven\nin the horrible gape of distorted repose. The poor garments\nof these Worthy People will some day shine with a Celestial\nLight, their grimy hands will feel the Clasp of Another, One\nin the middle of which there is a Great Scar. This Hand shall\nraise them frdm off the Threshold of Sorrow, shall lead them\nfrom out the Gates of Pain.\nAu lieu de burning the various brands of the concentrated\nevil odours of the Orient—they find this hardly necessary,\nas 'twere—they are forced to provide their own bad smells:\nthat well-known aroma of the Great Unwashed!\nTheir shirts—when they have any—are quite commonplace\nand fiost usually dirty. They barber at intervals—like the\nhorse!\nThese 80-hemians are a continual propitiatory offering to\nthe Great Author—lest the Hand smite their rivals Hip and\nThigh.\nWhat's the use of going farther into the matter? You\nnever can beat Heredity, nohow!"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c010", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c010", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1137", "page_fin": "1137", "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=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.9", "titre_corps": "Two Things by Marianne Moore", "titre_sommaire": "Two Things by Marianne Moore", "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": "1137", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.7", "debut_caractere": 1559, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2090, "texte": "Two Things by Marianne Moore\nHoles Bored in a Workbag by the Scissors\nA NEAT, round hole in the bank of the creek\nMeans a rat;\nThat is to say, craft, industry, resourcefulness:\nWhile\nThese indicate the unfortunate, meek\nHabitat\nOf surgery thrust home to fabricate useless\nVoids.\nApropos of Mice\nCDME in, Rat, and eat with me;\nOne must ocassionally—\nIf one would rate the rat at his true worth—\nPractise catholicity.\nand a porkrind\nStock my house—good of their kind\nBut were they not, you would oblige me? Is\nPlenty, multiplicity? *"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c011", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c011", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1137", "page_fin": "1137", "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=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.10", "titre_corps": "New York Squares and New York Places", "titre_sommaire": "New York Squares and New York Places", "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": "1137", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.7", "debut_caractere": 2092, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4044, "texte": "New York Squares and New York Places\nIT is matter of mystery to most people, especially to\nstrangers from abroad, who have been tolerably well\ninstructed in the meaning of English words—what is signified\nin this city by \"squares\" and \"places.\" Some of our squares\nhave the merit of coming near enough to that appellation, to\nbe triangles, but, very few quadrangular squares have we to\nboast of, and i fthe truth must be acknowledged, our civic\ntrigonometry should be but daintily touched upon. We are\nrather more than three-cornered in these matters, when we\ngo to the luxury of angularity at all, and still more ridiculous\nwhen we \"approach\" is incontestibly three-cornered, and the\nsame must be said of \"Franklin-square,\" unless the extra\ncritical should cantend that both of them, like the \"Dutch-'\nman's oath,\" has short corners enough to be called nine-\nsided. Good old \"Hanover-square\" is as far from that\nmathematical figure, as the cocked hat of presbyterian?\npuritan. It has one more punctum than the celebrated \"Five-\nPoints.\" It is what is called in Connecticut, \"catercornered\"\nUnion-square is an ellipsis, and the next corporation christen-\ning will probably bestow the title of \"Republican-square59\nupon a „]ocality\" laid out in imitation of a quartered orange-\npeel. As to the \"places\" in New York, the least said is the\nsoonest mended. The very word \"in that connexion\" is\n\"sickening enough to send for the doctor.\" Place, forsooth!\nWhat is there so astonishing in this apery of aristocracy that\nshould lead people into the flippancy! Waverley-place, and\nSt. Mark's-place, and Carroll-place, and \"Battery place,\" may\nall be very good \"places\" for aught we know—some of them\nare certainly inhabited by very good people to our personal\nknowledge, but we should think they would grow a little sick\nof their designation, when they look at certain other\nwhere their ambitious concitoyens have dignified their grog-\ngeries into \"places\" also."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c013", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c013", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1137", "page_fin": "1137", "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=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.12", "titre_corps": "She Called Herself A Flower", "titre_sommaire": "She Called Herself A Flower", "signature_source": "Henry Phillips", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "1137", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.7", "debut_caractere": 4046, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4441, "texte": "She Called Herself A Flower\nHenry Phillips\nYesterday—\nI saw a flower\nAnd longed to call it mine;\nTo quaff its fragrance with my lips—\nTo drink its perfumed wine!\nTo-day—\nI plucked the flower\nAnd drew it to my breast\nAnd felt its petals open wide\nAnd return each fond caress!\n'Tis Tomorrow!\nMy flower\nStands where I saw it first.\nBut in my heart it left a wound—\nThe stalk with thorn was curst! ."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c014", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c014", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1138", "page_fin": "1138", "image_debut": 8, "image_fin": 8, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.13", "titre_corps": "Passing Paris", "titre_sommaire": "Passing Paris", "signature_source": "Muriel Gielkovska", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 8, "page_imprimee": "1138", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.8", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4057, "texte": "Passing Paris\nMuriel Gielkovska\nParis, September 16 1916.\n1 HAPPENED to read in some English newspaper the\nother day that the Germans are unable to laugh at\nthemselves. The person giving expression to that view\nhad certainly never seen a German comic newspaper or\nelse had not understood it. No people in the world are,\n4 should say, so intrepidly selfflagellating. When do the\nreally laugh at themselves? When, even the\nFrench? If German humour is apt to wield the sledge-\nhammer it uses it certainly no more sparingly with its\ncompatriots than with others. In this respect Simplicis-\nsimus of Munich holds the record for the plain reason\nthat its irony reaches the maximum. A recent cartoon\ntjherin coincides with one of my few visits to picture ex-\nhibitions since the war broke out. An invincible barrier\nhas separated France from Germany for two years, yet,\nartistically speaking, Munich succeeds in keeping in\ntouch with Paris--and here let me at once point out a\ncommonly propagated error (in this country) by well-\nmeaning patriots (in peace time occasionally spelt\nchauvins) that Paris had alloved itself to be Influenced\nby Munich. I think the opposite was very much more the\ncase but the mistake originated in this wise: In Paris\nare born ideas innumerable, conceived, maybe, from an\ninfinite variety of international sources, ideas so various\nthat Paris cannot keep count of them. \"French\" art is\nan agglomeration of very different expressions, for Paris\nis ever in a state of evolution and revolution. From these\nthe expert plagiarist makes his selection and, having\nconveyed his samples home, where they undergo that\nmetamorphosis inevitable through handling in a new\nmidst, Paris fails to recognize its own progeny on its\nreappearance in the world, severed from its natural en-\nvironment and attributes.\nThese remarks were provoked by a cartoon from a\nrecent Simplicissimus which has come under my notice.\nThe legend runs thus: \"Modern Art\": \"You call that a\nstill-life subject, do you—three slips of paper on a\ndinner-cloth?\" \"Of cource, I do: one bread, one meat,\nand one butter card.\"\nThis jest was composed at Munich but the picture was\n\"'painted\" and exhibited in Paris where I saw it at the\nGallerie des Independants, 52 Rue La Boetie, not two\nmonths ago, signed Picasso. In fact I saw several \"pict-\nures\" of this description, pictures in so far as a frame\nmakes a picture. Within the frame M. Picasso had\npinned different slips of plain or coloured paper on to a\ncard-board ground and the number of this combination\ncorresponded in the catalogue to a \"dessin.\" A disciple\nof his had, to pins, preferred the glue-pot for the affixing\nof different elements such as the packings of grocery\nwares; as who should take one side of a \"Quaker oats\"\nbox, paste it on te a board with the label of, say, a whisky\nbottle, frame the whole and call it a \"nature-morte.\"\nThus the leavings and parings ordinarily thrown into the\ndust-bin can become as valuable to the modern artist\n(especially considering the increase to which palette\ncolours have been subjected) as, it is said, they are in\ncertain countries to the family cook. The devisers of\nthese curiosities are respectively called Pierre Brune and\nFrank Burty.\nThese facts are recorded in view of always adhering;\nstrictly to the principle of recognizing as Caesar's what\nis his. * * * *\nOne of our most distinguished statesmen whom I\nhappened to meet at this most interesting gallery (for\nbesides the inventions mentioned it comprises works of\nmore exacting craftsmanship, in paint, stone, and\nbronze), has just had the sorrow of losing in battle one\nof his sons to whom he had so successfully communicated\nhis own enthusiasms that the following anecdote is told\nof him : One day when out riding in the country with his\nfather he pointed to an artist at work at an easel, saying,\n'Look, father, there is Cezanne/' \"How do you know\nit is Cezanne? asked his father, M.. Denys Cochin.\n\"Why, because he's painted a Cezanne,\" answered Henri\nCochin. ■\nFrom a letter to the \"Egoist\""}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c015", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c015", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1138", "page_fin": "1138", "image_debut": 8, "image_fin": 8, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.14", "titre_corps": "The Stranger", "titre_sommaire": "The Stranger", "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": "1138", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.8", "debut_caractere": 4059, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4554, "texte": "The Stranger\nI WAS a stranger in that town,\nWhere smiling overthrows the frown.\nI never joined that joyful meet,\nThat played and lived upon the street;\nIn Knickerbocker Town.\nI was unknown among this clan;\nA hermit in the haunts\" of man;\nWho lived and fed on books galore,\nAnd missed what life was given for;\nIn Knickerbocker Town.\nAnswer my question. Tell me why\nI let this boyhood chance go by?\nThose days are passed, Today I stand,\nRegretting that I missed this land\nThis Knickerbocker Town.,"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c016", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c016", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1138", "page_fin": "1139", "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=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.15", "titre_corps": "The Psalm of Life", "titre_sommaire": "The Psalm of Life", "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": "1138", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.8", "debut_caractere": 4556, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5754, "texte": "The Psalm of Life\nI.\nAT the age of twenty-two he said to his father: \"Your\ngood advices are worthless. They never can suit\nme. They are saturated with mistrust against htimanity,\nthey are full of disappointment. But I do believe in\nhumanity. If you made bad experiences, it is your own\nfault, father! I know it and I feel it: there is only one\nthing we can depend upon in this short life, upon the\nkindness of human nature. So you better save your good\nadvices and let me work unmolested on that which you\ncall my own destruction!\"\nHe kissed his father, petted his cheek *and thought:\n\"Poor, dear fether,— how embittered he is!\"\nAnd then he went away tohis friends.\nII.\nAT the age of thirty-four he said to his wife: \"Surely\n*** it is grieving that all my friends betrayed my con-\nfidence and got the better of me. Never would I have\nbelieved it of Alexander. I would have given my last\ncent for him without hesitation and he deceived me for\na farthing. But all this won't matter. Don't I have you?\nThe love of a woman is the only thing in this undepend-\nable world one can depend upon. Let me kiss your\nbeautiful blue eyes!\"\nHe petted her cheek and thought: \"How rich I am!\nHow unmeasurably rich.\""}, {"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "1139", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 32, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1993, "texte": "III.\nAT the age of forty-five years he spoke to his French\npoodle: \"To-day is the third anniversary that she\nhas left us. And oh, what a dude was the man with whom\nshe eloped! She surely is very happy. How much have\nI loved her, and there was nothing that I would'n have\ndone for her. But perfidy seems to be an essential in\nthe female nature. If I did not have you, my dear poodle,\nI would be all alone. Your true and sincere animals are\nthe only beings one can depend upon in this false world.\nI love you my little dogf'\nHe petted the white poodle and gave him a piece of\nsugar.\nIV.\nAT the age of fifty-three he looked meditating at the\nmarble head of Apollo on his writing-desk and\nsaid: \"Yesterday I saw him on the street. He, too, recog-\nnized me instantly and jumped up on me. But soon he\nfollowed his new master and left me behind. It would\nbe easy to claim him back, as he was stolen from me—\nbut he loves his new master better than me. All that\nthey tell about the fidelity of animals is a fairy tale. Only\nupon you, you lifeless things, can one depend. I wonder\nwho created you, you beautiful marble head? I wonder\nif he ever suffered as I did.\nHe petted the cold marble and kissed it.\nV.\nAT the age of sixty-seven he died. It was of heart\nfailure. Among his possessions there was found\na piece of paper with a few lines upon it. They read:\n\"It is strange. lam starting to believe in humanity. I\nfeel that I shall love humanity if there are still a few\nmore years of wishless age in store for me. To-day I saw\na child which—' In the middle of his sentence death had\nsurprised him.\nDistant relatives divided among themselves the wel\ncome inheritance. Only a small package was passed up\nby everybody and finally thrown away. It contained: one\nout-lawed promissory n.ote, signed by one Alexander, un-\nknown to everybody. \\A woman's lock of hair, a dog\ncollar and the broken fragments of a marble figure.\nAfter the German of Karl Ettlinger, by Guido Bruno"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c018", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c018", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1139", "page_fin": "1139", "image_debut": 9, "image_fin": 9, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.17", "titre_corps": "Bonaparte and the Fair Sex", "titre_sommaire": "Bonaparte and the Fair Sex", "signature_source": "Alfred Ernest Keet", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "1139", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 1995, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5333, "texte": "Bonaparte and the Fair Sex\nBy Alfred Ernest Keet\nA CENTURY ago, Napoleon I, the \"Child of Destiny\"—as\nhe was fond calling himself—abdicated and was\nexiled to the island of Ela; only however, in a few months to\nescape therefrom in the sloop \"Inconstant\"—a name irre-\nsistibly suggestive of Fortune, whose fickleness he had ex-\nperienced. Then, on June 18, 1815, came the crushing and\nfinal blow at Waterloo, and his exile to death at St. Helena.\nNow, after the lapse of a hundred years, and with his con-\nversations, diaries, and a mass of historical docements acces-\nsible, we can get some idea of his real character and per-\nsonality and come to a dispassionate judgment of Napoleon\nthe Man.\nThough born in Corsica, a land of fierce passions and\nvengeful vendettas, • the youthful Bonaparta was somewhat\ncold and austere. None the less he quickly obtained a leader-\nship among his schoolmates, and his ambition to command,\ncoupled with his irrepressible energy and singleness of\npurpose, led him to a military career, where his audacity and\nreckless courage soon won him renown, for he had the quali-\nties of a born soldier. He rapidly became popular with the\nsoldiers, by whom he was soon to be idolized, earning his\nnickname, \"the Little Corporal,\" by his brilliant exploit on\nthe Bridge of Lodi, upon which he cooly stood though ex-\nposed to an incessant fire by the Austrians. He certainly had\nthat brand of courage which he himself called the \"2Vclock-\nin-the-morning sort.\"\nAs he rapidly ascended the ladder of success his ambition\nbecame unbounded, and atrophy of all his liner feelings re-\nsulted: the \"Child of Destiny\" became the man of iron, and,\nas he himself said, \"My hand of iron was not at the extremity\nof my arm; it was immediately connected with my head.\"\nSprung from the people, he inherited to an extraordinary\ndegree all their powers and instincts. He was the composite\nof a long line, or class, representing brain—not aristocracy.\nIt might even be said that he was the incarnation of King\nDemos.\nHe had a blind faith in his \"star,\" and sacrificed every-\nthing to his mighty ambitions, his colossal egotism exercising\nupon everyone a blighting effect. Of generous sentiments he\nhad none; he was unjust evon to his generals, and rode rough-\nshod over every obstacle to his personal aggrandizement.\nHis fiat, There shall be no alps!'* gives the key to his charac-\nter. before his mighty will even mountains must melt away.\n\"How! Impossible!\" he impatiently exclaims, \"that word is\nnot French.\" And, while he was, with brutal indifference,\nsweeping men from various official positions, filling the\nvacancies with ,new blood, he remarked: \"I want more head\nand less talk.\"\nSo, as his star became more and more in the ascendant,\nhe more and more subordinated sentiment and affection to\nhis own selfish aims. His belief in his high destiny became\nabsolute; he even because a fatalist. He refused to take\nmedicine prescribed for him by his doctor, saying: \"That\nwhich is written is written. Our days are numbered.\" But\nas a matter of fact he had no faith in physic; his invariable\nremedy for all ills was fasting and hot baths, in which he\nwould sometimes remain a couple of hours turning on the\nhot water from time to time until the room was dense vapor.\nMeantime his secretaries read to him, or received his dic-\ntation."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c019", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c019", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1140", "page_fin": "1140", "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=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.18", "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": 10, "page_imprimee": "1140", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.10", "debut_caractere": 28, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4961, "texte": "Two People\nThe Romance of One Night\nBy Guido Bruno\nWe talked nearly three hours. Of course she had taken\noff her veil and she was the most beautiful thing I ever\nhad laid my eyes upon. We decided to get married im-\nmediately after I had gotten some clothes for her. I didn't\nintend to buy ajl the things on her list. She could do that\nherself later on. We had just decided that the minister of\nthe Twelfth Street Church should be called upon to perform\nthe marriage ceremony, as the door-bell rang. I wondered\nwho it could be. She went hastily into the other room and\nI opened.\nIt was only the letter carrier. A lot of bills. I just looked\nover the bunch. \"Ha—what was that? the familiar hand-\nwriting of an art dealer. I opened the envelope. It contained\na check, eighty dollars payable to me. It wasn't much to\nstart housekeeping on but the situation was cleared. \"Here,\nNora, only the mail carrier,\" I called. Yes, she had told me\nher name, and her father's, a very well-sounding name, a\nname that spelled money in seven figures. \"There are a few\nformalities I wish you to do before we start our travel\nthrough life,\" I said, \"first of all, put all the money and all\nthe jewelry you have with you in this big envelope. I'll send\nit back to your father. I got a check here which will be\nenough for a starter. It won't be a wonderful dress I am\ngoing to bring you, but just a plain black dress your aunt's\nmaid might have worn,\" and I laughed. I wasn't afraid she\nwould change her mind and even if she wanted to, she\ncouldn't have left the apartment in a decollete evening gown\nat eleven o'clock in the morning.\nFirst of all I went to the minister and asked him to come\nto my apartment at twelve-thirty. Then I got, at the City\nHall, a marriage license. Then I went to a department store,\nbought a suit for twenty-eight dollars and fifty cents, a\nnightgown, and some toilet articles I thought of immediate\nnecessity. I went to Tiffany's and bought the plainest and\nyellowest wedding ring they have. I am a master at matching\ncolors and surely enough, the ring matched her hair. There\nwas not time to have it engraved, it could be done later. On\nmy way home, I stopped in a delicatessen store and ordered a\nlot of things sent to my apartment. The suit fitted like made\nto order. There was just one thing that I had overlooked. I\ncalled up the florist and had him send up the biggest bunch\nof violets in his store.\nNora was carried away by the spirit of her undertaking.\nShe had done her best to transform the picturesque room\ninto an orderly-looking library, or at least, it looked like one\nafter it was strongly suggested to me. She had even put\nsome new coal in the grate and everything was ready for the\nminister. She seemed so happy, and she called me Jine, and\nit seemed as if we had known each other for years. The\nminister arrived at twelve-thirty sharp. I went into the next\napartment and got a couple of witnesses. We were married\ninside of the next five minutes. I gave the ten\ndollars and asked him if he wouldn't perform the office of an\nangel of peace and delivery. I told him about the jewelry\nand the several hundred dollars in the big envelope and asked\nhim to deliver it to my father-in-law, together with our\nsincerest regards and the invitation to take tea in our apart-\nment at five o'clock. He agreed to help us to get rid of the\nvaluables and we were left alone.\nWe set the table, took the delicatessen store delicacies out\nof their wrappers and ate our first meal. We made a lot of\nplans for our future life and we were as happy as a couple\nof children that play husband and wife. She liked my coffee\nbetter, she said, than any coffee she had ever drunk before\nin her life. Father and mother-in-law arrived at five o'clock\nsharp. The dear old people didn't know how to act in Nora's\nnew residence. But he was the real father of his daughter.\nHe was \"game.\" She, of course, was a little harder to\nmanage, but we hoped the best as we dismissed them about\nseven o'clock. But both agreed that I did know how to make\ncoffee splendidly.\nWe went out for a walk. Up Fifth Avenue, around Union\nSquare with its wretched figures on the benches. On Madison\nSquare we sent a long bed line of homeless men to a lodging\nhouse. We looked at the window displays of the shops on\nFifth Avenue and turned in on Thirty-fourth Street, passing\nthe corner where we had \"met\" yesterday. We stood still\nfor a while and viewed the hustling crowds.\n\"What a drama!\" I said to her. \"Just look at all these\nmen and all these women. They all have a goal. They all\nwant to reach a destination. And while they are on their\nway, they act for us, the bystanders, a real play.\" Exactly\nlike yesterday did she thrust her arm in mine and guided me\nthrough the crowd towards the quieter Sixth Avenue.\n\"Don't we have our goal, too, and our destinations?\" 9he\nasked. \"Didn't we start rather well our performance?\"\nShe pressed my arm and we walked home."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c020", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c020", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1140", "page_fin": "1140", "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=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.19", "titre_corps": "On receiving from him A book of his poems", "titre_sommaire": "On receiving from him A book of his poems", "signature_source": "Edgar Fawcett", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "1140", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.10", "debut_caractere": 4963, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5823, "texte": "To Oscar Wilde\nOn receiving from him\nA book of his poems\nEdgar Fawcett\nYOUR volume like a Provence lute antique\nWed with a classic lyre were fitlier wrought,\nSo richly opposite its theme and thought,\nIts art so Gothic and its aim so Greek.\nTill now we had deemed that one alone might seek\nFrom Poetry what you with victory sought—\nTo blend those pure strains the Sicilian taught\nWith Spencer's line, luxurious and unique.\nNay, since your reverenced master dwells afar\nIt has been given your spirit, I am sure,\nTo pass, deep-tranced by slumber's opiate sweets,\nHigh up some white stair sheer to some white star,\nAnd meet in its immortaKvestiture\nThe splendour that men mean when they name Keats!\nFawcett tived for years in Greenwich Village\nThis poem was rescued from an old copy of The Bookman.\nRideing there refers to it as one of Fawcetfs finest frag-\nments."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c021", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c021", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1141", "page_fin": "1141", "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=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.20", "titre_corps": "Boys and Girls By Florence Gough", "titre_sommaire": "Boys and Girls By Florence Gough", "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": "1141", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.11", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 48, "texte": "Boys and Girls\nBy Florence Gough"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c022", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c022", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1143", "page_fin": "1143", "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=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.21", "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": "1143", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.13", "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 if our Centest 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-1916-10-07-01-c023", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c023", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1143", "page_fin": "1143", "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=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.22", "titre_corps": "Why I Married", "titre_sommaire": "Why I Married", "signature_source": "J.L. K", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 13, "page_imprimee": "1143", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.13", "debut_caractere": 459, "fin_caractere_exclue": 6571, "texte": "Why I Married\nMrs. J.L.K.\nWE was a chance acquaintance of Billy's. Majorie, Billy\nand I were standing in the lobby of the Astor when he\npassed, perfunctorily greeted Billy, hesitated and then\nstopped. As a matter of common courtesy Billy introduced\nus .... . and that was our introduction.\nFive months afterwards, hurrying down Fifth Avenue, I\nsuddenly found my hand being imprisoned and somebody\nsaying \"I have tried and tried to find you since our meeting\nand just as I have almost given it up, you try to walk right\nthrough me,\" and I looked up into \"his\" face. I was sur-\nprised at the enjoyment he seemed to get out of our meeting.\nCouldn't I spare a little time out of my \"butterfly existence\"\nto see him occasionally? His way of asking seemed so odd,\nand the fact that I was almost a little elated at having a man\nof his age express such plain interest in me, made me to say\n\"Yes.\" The novelty of it all appealed to me. I was only\ntwenty one and he was every bit of thirty eight.\nEach time that he asked me to see him, to talk, to walk,\nto lunch, he apologized for being so greedy, for taking my\ntime away from my young friends. He grew to be my con-\nfidant. It strengthened me to have such a marvelous con-\nfidant. He knew everything, my every thought almost, be-\ncause I told him. He knew as much about me as I knew,\nand divined more than I did. Nothing that I told him about\nmy newest love affair, about all my breathless little situations,\nseemed new to him. He simply gave me advice and stayed\nserious. I often wondered if he laughed inside, but even as\nI wondered what he thought of me, nothing could prevent me\nfrom talking, talking, and incidentally telling, telling every-\nthing. His complete understandability, without trying to draw\nme out, compelled me to not only tell him so much, but to\nconfide all my hearts closest theories and ideas, so that he\nknew me, as I said before, better than I did. But, the longer\nI knew him, the more I told him, and confieded nonsences, the\nolder he seemed to appear in my mind. I didn't like this.\nMy married cousins were planning a party of six to spend\nthe holidays at Lake . The boy who was to be my\ncomrade at arms was unable, at the last minute, to go. Woe-\nfully I related it all to \"him.\" Why couldn't he go? was his\nsolution. I thought he must be jesting, but it was arranged\nand he went. I felt a peculiar sense of mysteriousness grow-\ning upon me, a sort of elation, a sort of victory inside, at\nhaving such a different sort of escort—\"different\" was the\nonly word that could express what I felt and meant.\nI felt quite at home in my uncle's great big house, where\nwe stopped, and so it came about that long after everyone\nhad gone to bed I crept downstairs for the book I had been\nreading in order to read the thirty minutes I usually did\nbefore going to sleep. I was dressed in the knee length\ngreen silk kimono embroidered in silver and pantaloons that\nI always lounged in, in my own room, and wore heelless\nslippers. Noiselessly I crept downstairs and across the living\nroom to the couch where my book lay open. I switched on\nthe light and before I knew it, I was sitting cross legged on-\nUncle 's best and favorite Oriental pillow, at the head1:\nof the couch, reading, reading,, reading. I spied a package-\nof cigarettes that some kind person had forgotten, lighted1,\none and kept on reading and enjoying the cigarette in the dim\nlight o fthe big colored lamp on the table beside me. I lifted\nmy arms and stretched, touching the walls behind me and;\nwatching the shadow of my kimono sleeved arms and hand\nholding the cigarette on the wall beside me, when suddenly Ir\nrealized that I was not alone. Inherently a coward, I did\nnot stir, until \"he\" spoke. \"I have been watching you from\nthe piazza where I have been stealing a goodnight smoke, for\nthe last twenty minutes. Your book must be fascinating\nentice you down here in the middle of the night,\" were thfr\nwords he used.\nHe sat down at the other end of the couch facing me;\nSomething automatic in the back of my brain told me that of\ncourse I must go, but I simply stayed and sat across legged\nand started to converse. I talked and talked and talked and*\nI remember being surprised that I did not know what I wa&\ngoing to say, even while I was saying it, that I marvelled\nthat the thoughts that I was thinking, broken, darting\nthoughts, made sense and sounded well when the words came\nout of my mouth. I knew that I was talking low and tensely,\na bit fiercely, but it seemed as though someone else was\ntalking and I listened to every word that I spoke asthough I\nhad never heard or thought of it before. My voice seemed\nfar away and I wished that I could uncross my limbs because\nthey were beginning to feel icy and my hands were of ice..\nWhen I stopped to consider the expression on \"his\" face, to\nrealize that his eyes had not moved from mine from the\nminute he sat down, I wanted to laugh. I restrained myself,\nI was afraid to. I grew angry because my cigarette was;\nburnt down to the point where it was burning my fingers. The\ncigarette was all burnt down, I tossed it away and stopped\ntalking, just as if I had placed a crisp period after my last\nsentence and I sighed, because I felt an infinite sense of\nrelief when I stopped talking, like a very tired child. I was\ntired btu so wide awake, I make the slightest of gestures to\nrise, because in a minute I would go upstairs but in*\nthis minute, without warning, I found myself being crushed,\nI found my'self panting for breath under hotfierce lips, and'\nthen I found myself smiling, when it was over, at his profuse\napologies, at his pathetic discomfiture, almost fright at what\nhe had done. He frowned at my sardonic little smile\nhe could not know that demure little übtterfly me had willed,\nwilled, willed him to kiss me—just so—.\nHe was sitting in the library the next morning, reading his\nnewspaper, looking very haggard and stern. I meant to flit\nby quickly and flippantly say \"Good morning.\" I carried out\nmy plans but when I reached the piazza I found him beside\nme, having followed me. He asked me to marry him. L\nmarrid him."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c024", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c024", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1144", "page_fin": "1144", "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=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.23", "titre_corps": "In a Restaurant", "titre_sommaire": "In a Restaurant", "signature_source": "Martin Brown", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 14, "page_imprimee": "1144", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.14", "debut_caractere": 379, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1019, "texte": "In a Restaurant\nMartin Brown\nDEAR little maid across the room\nHave you a smile to sell\nFor a jewel perhaps or a glass of wine\nAnd no one will ever tell?\nNo? Ten thousand pardons then\nFor you it is just as well.\nDear little maid with the sunlit eyes\nHave you a smile to give\nTo a chap who's had nothing all day but the blues\nAnd help the poor beggar to live?\nNo? Are you sure you are right little girl,\nIs a smile so much to give?\nDear little maid with the rose-leaf mouth\nHave you a smile to lend ?\nI'll be so tender it need never know\nThat I'm not a most intimate friend.\nNo? Well perhaps it is best, little girl\nFor both of us in the end."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c025", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c025", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1144", "page_fin": "1144", "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=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.24", "titre_corps": "The Mad Hatter Has a Tea Party Every Afternoon", "titre_sommaire": "The Mad Hatter Has a Tea Party Every Afternoon", "signature_source": "Edith Unger", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 14, "page_imprimee": "1144", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.14", "debut_caractere": 1021, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1333, "texte": "Edith Unger.\nThe Mad Hatter Has a Tea Party Every Afternoon\nfrom 3 to 6 at\n250 WEST FOURTH STREET\nJust Down the Rabbit Hole From Washington Squ&m\n\"Take Some More Tea\"\n\"I've Had Nothing Yet So I Can't Take More\"\n\"You Mean You Can't Take Less, It's Very Easy to\nTake More Than Nothing.\"\n\"Nobody Asked Your Opinion\""}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c026", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c026", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[1132]", "page_fin": "[1132]", "image_debut": 2, "image_fin": 2, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.25", "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": 2, "page_imprimee": "[1132]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.2", "debut_caractere": 1185, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1526, "texte": "OSCAR WILDE\nHIS LIFE AND CONFESSIONS\nBy FRANK HARRIS\nFrank Harris (Publisher)\n3 Washington Square, New York City.\nSir:—Enclosed please find $ , for which send to the\nundersigned copies of the autographed edition ($20.00 per set) of\nOscar Wilde, by Frank Harris, ahd copies of the regular limited edition at\n$ 10.00 per set.\nName !\nA ddress ■"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c027", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c027", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1142", "page_fin": "1142", "image_debut": 12, "image_fin": 12, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.26", "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": 12, "page_imprimee": "1142", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.12", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 145, "texte": "R. EDERHEIMER PRINT CABINET\n366 FIFTH AYE., NEW YORK\nOriginal Drawings by Old Masters\nALL APPRECIATIVE VISITORS CORDIALLY INVITED"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c028", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c028", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1142", "page_fin": "1142", "image_debut": 12, "image_fin": 12, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.27", "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": 12, "page_imprimee": "1142", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.12", "debut_caractere": 147, "fin_caractere_exclue": 790, "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\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 frost\na two-dollar bill and send in your check\nto-day or give a standing order to your news-\ndealer."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c029", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c029", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1142", "page_fin": "1142", "image_debut": 12, "image_fin": 12, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.28", "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": 12, "page_imprimee": "1142", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.12", "debut_caractere": 792, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1494, "texte": "14 Stories by Maupassant,\nFor 25 cents postpaid\nStories of the Tragedy and Comedy of Life, with\nan Introduction by Paul Bourget. Prettily printed in\nlarge type on superior paper, with illustrations in color\nby Clare Victor Dwiggins. 16mo, stiff dark green\npaper cover, rough edges. (196 pages.) New York,\nM. Walter Dunne, 1914. (Pub. 50 cents.)\nComprises the following short stories: The False\nGems; Was it a Dream?; Simon's Paper; In the Moon-\nlight; The Old Maid; The Lancer's Wife; The Sequel\nto a Divorce; The Englishwoman; Sentiment; The\nFishermen; In his Sweetheart's Livery; Bertha; Dis-\ncovery; and A Message of Love.\nCONDOR'S BOOK STORE\n366 Fifth Ave.\nWrite for interesting catalogue of books."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c030", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c030", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1142", "page_fin": "1142", "image_debut": 12, "image_fin": 12, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.29", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 12, "page_imprimee": "1142", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.12", "debut_caractere": 1496, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1844, "texte": "American Thumb Prints\nMettle of Our Men and Women;\nSketches of American Woman;\nThis book was published by J. B. Lippincott Co., is\nbound in cloth, 55 cents postpaid.\nThe Pleasures of Literature and the\nSolace of Books with introduction\nBy Andrew Lang\nA choice book for the booklover and book-hunter.\n55 cents postpaid.\nFRANK BENDER, 128 Fourth Ave."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c031", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c031", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1142", "page_fin": "1142", "image_debut": 12, "image_fin": 12, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.30", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 12, "page_imprimee": "1142", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.12", "debut_caractere": 1846, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2224, "texte": "MONSIEUR\nD'EN BROCHETTE\nBeing\nAn Historical Account of Some of the\nAdventures of Huevos Pasada Par Agua,\nMarquis of Pollio Grille, Count of Pate\nde Foie Gras, and Much Else Besides.\nBY\nBert Leston Taylor\nArthur Hamilton Folwell\nand\nJohn Kendrick Bangs\nIllustrated by Frank A. Nankivell\nNEW YORK\nMC M V\nKEPPLER & SCHWARZMANN\n50 CENTS POSTPAID\nHARRY STONE\n137 Fourth Ave. New York"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c032", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c032", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1142", "page_fin": "1142", "image_debut": 12, "image_fin": 12, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.31", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 12, "page_imprimee": "1142", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.12", "debut_caractere": 2226, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2298, "texte": "VOLUME H\nBRUNO'S WEEKLY\nBound in white linen cloth\nTWO DOLLARS, postpaid"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c033", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c033", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1144", "page_fin": "1144", "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=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.32", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 14, "page_imprimee": "1144", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.14", "debut_caractere": 1335, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1606, "texte": "ROSSI 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\nthing's to wear.\nTHE PAINT BOX\n150 W. 4th St., Near 6th Ave.\nN. Y. C. Phone Spring 23"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c034", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c034", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1144", "page_fin": "1144", "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=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.33", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 14, "page_imprimee": "1144", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.14", "debut_caractere": 1608, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1974, "texte": "•RARE BOOKS\nFIRST EDITIONS\nExtra illustrated Books. Early Printed Books. Association Books. Books for Christmas Gifts.\n. \"> ' \\ |\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 collectmg now?\nAddress, E. V. Boston Transcript, Boston, Mass."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-07-01-c035", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c035", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1144", "page_fin": "1144", "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=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.34", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 14, "page_imprimee": "1144", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.14", "debut_caractere": 1976, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2370, "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-1916-10-07-01-c036", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c036", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[1145]", "page_fin": "[1145]", "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=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.35", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 15, "page_imprimee": "[1145]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.15", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2053, "texte": "m\n-\nm\na\nV/i\nJ^TL\n\\\nTi\nVZ^M*\n03\n\\\\\n■'tit'.\nnWwf -\nPO\n>#\nHarrison Fisher: $7.50\n«P\"\n&\n&\n.F=\njtj\n-^f\ns -\n!>• #\n«■ -c'~\nfUK.\n$6.00\n..\n<^rT\"-','\n-v\n• ■>\ni-oP\n■W\n£3?\nAa;ter Jor\\oh\nJtu^dawe i\nifovse\n\"' mjLitdMsSg\ntfoL\nSStfS\nSB\nsk*\nH&T;\ni\nl\\\nX\nK\nas\njfctel? '81;\nBirch: $12.00\n$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 inferests of\npublic opinion during the last two score years.\nThere is the period where New York with its cease-\nless building underground, overground and qn 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-1916-10-07-01-c037", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01#c037", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[1146]", "page_fin": "[1146]", "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=bmtnaaq19161007-01.2.36", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 16, "page_imprimee": "[1146]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.16", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4524, "texte": "Bruno Chap Books\nJ\nNo. No.\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 Crackanthorpe\nMr. Crackanthorpe had three thief gifts:\nskill in dramatic narration—a sense of sit-\nuation, a lively feeling for the value of inter-\npretation of gesture, posture, circumstance;\nsecondly, analytic skill in the conception and\npresentation of character; thirdly, descriptive\nand pictorial power, readiness of vision, with\na faculty 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 tfid intense\nas Poe's on strictly realistic lines. Tke 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 love 25\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\" .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-<\n4, tors and producers of vers libre who think %\nthemselves poets of the \"new group\" because\nthey don't write in rhyme 25\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 25\n18. Sadakichi Hartmann—Permanent Peace: Is it\na Dream?\n19. Charles Kains-Jackson—John Addington Sy-\nmonds A Portrait\nThe life-long friend of the English poet\ngives a vivid picture of the personality and\nlife and life-work of Symonds. This essay\nwritten a few days after the death of Sy-\nmonds, on the 19th of April, 1893, and was\nfirst published in the Quarto, a since forgotten\nliterary periodical of England, in 1897 25\n20. Djuna Barnes—The Book of Repulsive Wo-\nmen—Rhythms and 5 Drawings 25\n21. Edna W. Underwood—The Book of the White\nPeacocks\n22. H. Thompson Rich — Lumps of Clay—l 6\nRhythms 25\n>,23. D. Molby — Hippopotamus Tails —28 Every-\nday Musings . .25\n24. H.Thompson Rich—The Red Shame—17 War\nPoems 25\n25. Theodor Schroeder, Erothogenesis of Reli-\ngion, a bibliography 50\n26. Sadakichi Hartmann, My Rubayat 50\nAccompany each order with Cheque, small amounts, one-cent stamps\nBRUNO'S WEEKLY\n58 WASHINGTON SQUARE, N. Y. C."}]}], "pages_ocr_originales": [{"page_pdf": 1, "page_imprimee": "couv. 1", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.1", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\nEDITED BY GUIDO BRUNO IN HIS GARRET ON\nWASHINGTON SQUARE\nFive Cents October 7th 1916\n\nJacoba Van Heereskerck\n\nThe contents include:\nIn Memory of Richard Middleton\nBook of Bargains. II.—Original Sin\nNew York Squares and Places\nPassing Paris\nBonaparte and the Fair Sex"}, {"page_pdf": 2, "page_imprimee": "[1132]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.2", "texte": "Copyright by Guido Bruno, October 7th, 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\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. Write\nit down to-day and address it to the \"Contest Editor/9 Bruno's Weekly,\n58 Washington Square, New York City.\nEvery week those stories which are printed will be paid for at space rates.\nThe contest will close November Ist, 1916, and the stories should be lim-\nited to three hundred words.\nSEND YOUR STORY TO-DAY\n\nOSCAR WILDE\nHIS LIFE AND CONFESSIONS\nBy FRANK HARRIS\nFrank Harris (Publisher)\n3 Washington Square, New York City.\nSir:—Enclosed please find $ , for which send to the\nundersigned copies of the autographed edition ($20.00 per set) of\nOscar Wilde, by Frank Harris, ahd copies of the regular limited edition at\n$ 10.00 per set.\nName !\nA ddress ■"}, {"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "[1133]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.3", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\nEdited by Guido Bruno In His Garret on Washington Square\nNo. 17\nOCTOBER 7th MCMXVI\nVol. 11l\nCopyright 1916, by Guido Bruno\n\nThe Victor\nE. C. Beckwith\npAME said to the Poet: \"Though I know you not, strive\nto win me.\"\n$ \"You shall be immortal,\" Hope told him, but Self-doubt\nand Discontent said: \"You are a failure.\"\n\"You suffer want,\" said Poverty.\n\"Give way to me,\" urged Despair.\n\"You are an idle fool,\" said his Friends.\n\"I have no need of you,\" sajd the World.\n\"You have broken me. Let me rest,\" pleaded his Soul.\n\"We are dying,\" his Dreams whispered.\n\"Grieve me no more,\" said his Heart.\n\"I leave you,\" said his Courage.\n\"I am helpless,\" said his Will.\n\"You have not tried me,\" said Oblivion.\nAnd one day when all these pressed too closely upon the\npoor Poet, he wrote his masterpiece.\n\nIn Memory of Richard Middleton\nBy W. G. Blaikie Murdoch\nALTHOUGH as yet, perhaps, he is little known in America,\nRichard Middleton has lately been hailed in England as\nreally great writer, alike of verse and of prose. He was a\nclerk in a London insurance office, contributing to various\nperiodicals in his spare time; but hating business, he\nrenounced it, intending to live by his pen. And, finding this\nfar from easy, he endured some years of terrible privation,\nthe result being that ultimately he took his own life, his age\nat that time being only a little past thirty. Since then his\nscattered writings have been collected and issued in book\nform, the collection amounting to five little volumes. And,\nif the pathos attaching to the author's story is responsible,\npartly, for the ardour with which these posthumous books\nof his have been welcomed, their avowed admirers include\nnumerous eminent men of letters: Mr. Arthur Machen, for\ninstance, and that fervent Shakespearian, Mr. Frank Harris,\n*Mr. Wilfred Gibson, too, himself a fine poet on occasion, has\nadded his quota to the chorus of homage; while, turning to\nMr. Henry Savage's preface to Middleton's Poems and Songs,\none finds it alleged concerning this verse: \"There is that in\nit beyond the reach of criticism.\" Mr. Savage even predicts\nimmortality for his idol, while referring in particular to the\nlatter's work as essayist and story-teller, he compares him\nfondly to Stevenson.\nAnd certainly the technical excellence of Middleton's out-\nput is dazzling. His prose contains many passages where\nthe sense, one feels, could not possibly have been more deftly\nand briefly expressed; while despite the actual quantity of his\nverse being comparatively small, surely few men since Paul\nVerlaine have written so large a number of really beautiful\npoems as he. For most poets, it must be remembered, fail\nmuch oftener than they triumph; and the artistic level\nmaintained, throughout the rank and file of their creations,\nis far from being a very high one. But open Middleton's\npoetry at random, and a lofty beauty of wording and rhythm\nis nearly always found: it is as omnipresent as skilful music\nis in Mendelsohn's work, or skilful painting in Nicolas\nLancret's. Still, does not Middleton reflect Mendelssohn's\nmost serious failing? Does he not disclose, only too often,\njust that limitation which comes near vitiating all that Lancret\ndid? And his weakness in these respects, its precise nature\nto be unfolded presently, is emphasized by Mr. Savage when,\neager to praise, he calls attention to the writer's similarity\nto two of his predecessors.\nIt must be borne in mind that every immortal work of art\nis more than the lovely expression of an emotion: it is some-\nthing which exerts a sort of hypnotic spell, the artist making\nhis audience actually experience the feeling which inspired\nhim. Nor is the true master* one who just attains the\northodox beauties of craftsmanship, but who creates a new\nworld of his own, to reign over it as suverain. The very\ngreatest, of course, have derived much of their craft from\nstudy of their predecessors; yet pondering even on those\nlesser men who truly possessed genius, it transpires quickly\nthat the name of each of these is associated closely with some\nlittle kingdom which he holds in fee, the mere mention of\nTeniers, for example, bringing to mind a certain type of\npainting, the mere mention of Charles Lamb, a certain species\nof literature. Now Lancret, notwithstanding his virtuosity,\nis always a mere regent to Watteau; while the slight original-\nity which Mendelssohn showed in Athalie and Midsummer\nNight's Dream, proved insufficient to make him an overlord\nanywhere. And, in the same way, it can hardly be said that\nMiddleton, writing invariably with such exceptional skill,\nexcels in any given line; or that his name is ever likely to\nbecome, in the mind of the world, representative of so much\nas a tiny duchy. It were foolhardy to charge him with slavish\ndiscipleship of other men, it were rash to contend that he\never distilled his work deliberately from books; for all his\nwriting appears to spring from a deep and genuine longing\nto express joys and sorrows he has actually gone through,\nand in many cases, no doubt, his resemblance to authors pre-\ndating him is merely a coincidence. However, this resemblance\nis insistent, and the echoes of literature which Middleton\nawakens somehow dull the sound of his own voice, preventing\nwhat he says from overmastering the reader's heart and will.\nIf his similarity, in a deal of his prose, to the two writers\nMr. Savage mentions, is fully as marked as Lancret's\nsimilitude to Watteau, in his verse he sometimes reminds of\nColeridge or Omar, sometimes of Tennyson, Rossetti, or\nSwinburne; while in \"Nocturne\" and \"London Night\" he\ncompetes to his disadvantage with Mr. Arthur Symons, and in\n\"Drake's Drum\" with Mr. Henry Newbolt. Often, moreover,"}, {"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "1134", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.4", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nwhen he vents a lusty paganism, he summons thoughts of\nJohn Davidson; while many souvenirs of the Elizabethans\nare contained in his work, the following being a notable\ninstance:\n\"And life it seems is but a fitful sleeping,\nAnd we but fretful shades that dreamed before,\nThat love and are no more.\"\nScarcely is that read ere one thinks of Shakespeare's\npassage:\n\"Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,\nThat struts and frets his hour upon the stage,\nAnd then is heard no more.\"\nOr again, reading Middleton's line:\n\"We are too we are not wanted here,\"\nit is well-nigh impossible to avoid recalling this by Ernest\nDowson:\n\"Let us go hence: the night is now at hand.M\nAnd indeed of all poets it is Dowson—of whom Middleton,\naccording to Mr. Harris who knew him, was a great devotee—\nin whose realm he treads most constantly, this verse serving\nwell as a further illustration of his practice herein: &\n\"Now, in this sombre and regretful place,\nGrey when the sun has crimsoned all the west,\nWith sorrow like a mask upon my face,\nI lay my dreams to rest/'\n*\nBut if, in these respects, Middleton discloses so unfortunate\na weakenss, in another way he is eminently worthy of the\nenthusiastic praise which has been lavished on him; for es-\npecially in his stories and prose-sketches, there is always the\nfine quality of significance, or allusiveness. To be more\nexplicit, the characters in all vital fiction are more than\nbrilliant pen-portraits, each of them being, rather, an emblem\nof some force, or longing, which is perennial in life; and to\ngive a single example, is not Theodore, in Gautier's Mile, de\nMaupin, a symbol of the elements eternally constituting\nyoung manhood? Well, something of that sort lives in the\npages of Middleton, who is seldom a mere teller of tales,\nseldom a mere jester, his stories and humour having a real\nbearing, not just on life as it is to-day, but on life as it will\nalways be. And this quality in him, unmentioned as it has\nbeen by his acknowledged worshippers, sets him ahead of a\ngreat band of authors who are far better known than he—•\nmen whose works, being redolent of their own particular\nperiod, will necessarily seem oldfashioned to future genera-\ntions; while granting once more that his voice is persistently\nreminiscent, may one not well emphasize again the beauty\nof nearly everything from his hand? as witness the follow-\ning, chosen from an embarrassment of riches:\n\"Love played with us beneath the laughing trees,\nWe praised him for his eyes and silver skin,\nAnd for the little teeth that shone within\nHis ruddy lips; the bracken touched his knees,\nEarth wrapped his body on her softest breeze,\nAnd through the hours that held no count of sin\nWe kept his court, until above our din\nNight westward drove her glittering agonies.\nOh! lovely days long dead! There falls on me\nIn this dim world I may not understand\nAn echo of your sweetness; in my hand\nOne frail, sad rose inspires eternity\nWith dreams that are no more, and from the sea\nThat beats upon this grey, perplexed land,\nBlows rumours of some merry drunken band\nThat keeps your revels still in Arcady!\"\nHow eloquent is that! How diverse the music of the words!\nwhile to repeat, open Middleton at random, and beauty as\nfine as in this peom, or finer still, is almost always to be\nfound.\n\nThe Book of Bargains\nII.—Original Sin\nBy Vincent O'Sullivan\n\n\"Sans cesse a mes cotes s'agite le Demon,\nII nage autour de moi comme un air impalpable;\nJe l'avale, et le sens qui brule mon poumon\nEt l'emplit d'un desir eternel et coupable.\"\n—Les Fleurs du Mai.\nWHEN Alphonse D'Aubert had laid down his book for the\nfifth time, having taken it up five times in his wrestle\nwith his thoughts, he decided that even UEnnemi des Lois\ncould not distract him, and so, at four o'clock in the morning,\nhe went into the streets As he crossed the deserted Boule-\nvard, a little boy drew near with a plaintive cry: \"Charite\nMonsieur!\" and Alphonse, who was almost morbidly good-\nnatured, gave him an alms, and paused for a few minutes of\npleasant talk. When he fell to his walk again, he began to\nconsider, with a sort of sick wonder, why the child who lived\nin his mind to such fell purpose, could not become to him\nas this child he had just left: as all other children,— ex-\nquisite, helpless, piteous things, craving for love and pro-\ntection. Thus it was always with him: after his blackest\nnights he was ever in the morning at his penitentials: and\nwhen the dawn was creeping over the roots of the houses, he\nforgot how feverishly he had yearned in the darkness to press\nhis long fingers on the soft throat of a child.\nWhether Alphonse was in love with Madame Dantonel or\nnot, it may be said that she was the creature he cared most\nfor on earth. Certainly, on her side, she looked for nothing\nmore tender than a friendship with this somewhat strange\nyoung man, whom, in a way of motherly tenderness, she\nregarded, with his bizarreries, his exclusiveness, his superior\nsilences, as a rather terrible child, spoilt by his excellent\nfortune in the world. At her house in the Champs Elysees he\nfound himself most readily at his ease: and this fact led him\nby the hand to the opinion, that he was never in the least\nhappy when he was not there. She was the widow of a man\nwho had been engaged with politics: Alphonse never troubled\nto inquire how engaged; only recognised the death of the\npolitical person as a relief, and as a period to the slight em-\nbarrassment with which he was wont to listen to the patrioics\n—an embarrassment which all forms of activity brought to\nhis contemplative and somewhat melancholy spirit. And after\nthat, he was never so serene, so nearly joyous, as when he\nwas in the company of Madame Dantonel and the little Clo-\ntilde, her only child, who was now four years old.\nIt was on a day when he was most delightful, when he was\ntaking life gaily, that? looking at the little girl as she played\non the floor, the stunning desire came to him to take her by\nthe throat and squeeze out her life. He took his leave in\nmanifest disturbance; and fled into the street. He was shak-\ning with horror: of a truth he loved this child, next to its"}, {"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "1135", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.5", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nmother, supremely; and yet, amid his disgust, he could not\n/ stifle a lust to murder her,—a thrilling satisfaction, as he\nthought of the life ebbing from her face while he crushed\nher soft round thoat with his fingers. That was the first bad\nnight of the many bad nights to come. On the following\nafternoon he went to the house again, to try himself—to see\nhow he would \"get on'; but within five minutes he departed,\ngrinding his teeth and biting at his nails to keep down his\npassion, which was driving him to rush back to the house\nand slay the child before its mother's face. But after a\ngashtly night of torture, and sweat, and weeping, he found\n\"himself, in the morning, suddenly recovered! All his old\naffection for the child once more lived in his heart: the devil,\nit seemed, had been worsted: and it was in this glad con-\ndition that he lived for a few weeks. He had given Clotilde\nmany presents before; but now he spent hours in the toy-\nshops, finding a certain piety in thus eagerly buying, as though\nhe were making good a case with his conscience. Ah, those\nfew excellent days! How brilliant he was; how he dealt with\nthe sunshine; how airily he tossed a salute to the passengers\nin the street!\nBut it was on a dreary afternoon, when the rain was whip-\nping through the court-yard, as Alphonse stood talking lightly\nto Madame Dantonel and the child, that he suddenly knew\nto be the slave of his old passion. Oh, to crush that satin\nthroat! He made one tremendous, straining effort, and so\nbeat himself; but the effort was too much for his physical\nstrength, and he fell on the floor as if dead.\nWhen he began to get his senses, he found Madame\nDantonel bending over him with a look of sharp anxiety.\n\"Ah, my poor frieild!\" she exclaimed, \"but you have been\nfcvery ill!\"\n\"I have been ill, but now I am well,\" says Alphonse, in a\nthick voice. \"I am going away—far away from Paris.\"\n\"Going away!\" And when she got over her surprise: \"But\nwhy ?\"\n\"Because I do no good here,\" he said, getting on his feet.\n\"Because I find my life too narrow. Igo to the cafe, I chat,\nI smoke cigarettes. Good. I dine, I go to the opera, to a\nsoiree. My God!\" he cries out, \"do you call that a life?\nPlease, my dearest friend, do not prevent me. I am going\naway.\"\nShe took his hand very kindly. \"Go, if you wish it,\" she\nsaid; \"but remember that you have always two friends here.\nIs it not so, Clotilde?\"\nAlphonse was taken with a hard shudder as he went out.\nHe decided to go to England; with an ultimate thought,\nperhaps, of America. He crossed the channel in wintry and\nboisterous weather, and when he came to Dover he was well\ncontent to lie there: postponing, gratefully enough, his arrival\nat London till the next day. Tired with his tossing journey,\nhe took to his bed early; and at once fell into the profound\nsleep of fatigue, from which he awoke, about two o'clock,\nhot and trembling. The figure of the child was before him\nin the darkness of the room; the full throat, above all! was\napparent and particular. He rolled on the bed, and tore and\nbit the pillows: not before had he longed with this violent\nfrenzy to see the child stretched at his feet, looking solidly\nwhite and dead. Damp and shaking, he put on his clothes\nand went down to talk with the night-porter—a desperate\nchance under the best conditions; for a foreigner, hopeless!\nas he found. So he returned to his room, and opened his\nwindows to the raining night. A strong salt wind was singing\nup channel; and Alphonse let it get into his hair and eyes,\nfinding respite in this way, and a certain peace. Thus he spent\nthe night, till the dawn came to shew the gray, uneasy sea,\nand the gray sky. He departed, when morning had come, on\nboard the earliest packet-boat, and that evening he found\nhimself again in Paris.\nThings having come to this point, you may ask fairly: Why\ndid he not turn to the obvious remedy—self-destruction?\nYes! But upon reflection it does not seem so likely. Indeed,\nupon reflection it would appear, that when a man has a\ndesire, a fierce lust to satisfy, he prefers, however the powers\nof his soul may rebel, to live for the gratification of that\ndesire, that fierce lust. Be that as it will, the man I am\nwriting about did not contemplate suicide; did not, for a\nmoment, glance along that road of escape. But he gave a\ndainty supper, to \" which he invited some of his male\nacquaintance, and a few ladies of generous virtue. There\nsat by him a superb creature, with gleaming shoulders and\nsnapping black eyes; and as the mirth grew more disordered,\nhe laid his hand on her swelling throat and tried to tempt\nhimself to kill her in the sight of te revellers. Any one\nrather than the child! But even as he thought it, the child\nfloated before his eyes; the remembrance of the strange\nsatiety he would feel when he had choked out her life, which\nhe would not feel at all were he to kill this woman, caused\nhis hand to fall listlessly to his side; and pleading a sudden\ndizziness, he left the merrymakers to themselves.\n\nDrawing by Aubrey Beardsley"}, {"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "1136", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.6", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nSo on the next afternoon, we find him once more repairing\nto the Champs-Elysees and the house of Madame Dantonel.\nHe was feeling easier to-day; and he discovered at Madame\nDantoneFs, one visitor who helped to soothe his irritated\nnerves. This was an old military officer: and Alphonse found\nhis cheerfulness and honest geniality of character very\npleasant. He had sat for about twenty minutes, when\nMadame Dantonel exclaimed:—\n\"My poor little Clotilde! She has a cold, a slight sore\nthroat, and this is the time when the bonne goes down-stairs,\nso she will be quite alone. Forgive me if Igo to her.\"\nThe time had come. \"Permit me!\" said Alphonse, on his\nfeet in an instant. It was as though a stranger were talking:\nhe could no more help the words than he could help breath:\ning. \"Pray do not deprive Monsieur of your company. I\nwill go to Clothilde; it will delight me to see her, and I know\nthe room quite well.\"\nHe hardly waited for the murmured pleasure, but ran,\ntrembling with eagerness, up the stairs. The little girl was\nin bed playing with her doll, and she greeted him with a\nsmile and a glad cry. He clenched his teeth, and squeezed\nand crushed her throat till the pretty tiny face became black\nand swollen, and the poor little frame, after a shake and a\nquiver, lay quite still.\nAs he came down, he heard Madame Dantonel say good-\nbye to the visitor, and the hush of her dress as she passed\nthrough the hall.\n\"Mon Dieu! how pale you look!\" she cried, raising both\nhands. \"Is anything the matter with Clotilde?\"\n\"Clotilde is very well,\" says Alphonse.. \"But I think the\nroom was too hot for me, and I am going away now.\"\n\"Really! so soon?\" she said, genuinely sorry. And she\nheld out her hand.\n\"No! please don't shake hands with me, I am not worthy!\"\ncries Alphonse, with a wan smile, passing the matter off as\na jest. \"You will find Clotilde very well,\" he said again.\nThe door closed behind him. As the mother went upstairs\nto her child, he took his way to a chymist's shop which he\nknew of in the neighborhood.\nC IXTEEN I think I was, that day\nI met you on the sand,\nPebbles were jewels for our play\nAnd life, just fairyland\nWatching the shadow-ships pass through\nThe mists, you made me feel\nNew York, its spell, its harbor blue,\nIts pinnacles of steel.\nDreaming of life's intensity\nThe long low dunes seemed grey,\nMy loved beach lost its brilliancy\nAnd then, we went away.\nShadowed by city walls, we knew\nLove that men dream about.\nForgetting all, I lived for you\nKnowing no fear, no doubt,\nLife was complete for me, my all\nLay in my love for you;\nMan-lika you found our love-world small\nYou wanted work to do;\nInnocently I let you go,\nAwaited your caress, A\nSought you in vain, how should I know\nI must face emptiness?\nYour love had robbed me! I lay cold,\nDevoid of all desire,\nFlames that were sacred then I sold\nTo others who bought fire.\nKnowing my hunger, you sent gold,\nMy price!—l knew not then;\nCheat, was it not for one who sold\nHer life, her God, for men.\n\nMildred C. McGuckin\n\nAll The Days\nMartin Brown\nA GRAY day—a gay day,\nA work, a shirk, a play day;\nA day of storm-clouds and of fears,\nA day of rain and hopeless tears,\nA mad, a sad, a glad day,\nA great, a good, a bad day—\nThey're all alike—all good and blue\nIf to my heart one thought of you\nLike morning sun comes stealing in\nAnd glamours all-e3 ere it begin.\n\nO ! pritty cowe with crumfelt heme and hair as soft as filk,\nWe thank thee for rich, cruddelt creame and sky-blue, water'd milk.\nFrom An Old English Chap Book"}, {"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "1137", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.7", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nMurder Will Out!\nF. van Norstrand Groves\nOF Bohemians there are two species: The Beaux-hemians,\nc'est t-a-dire such unripe fruit as float at large in\norange and green smocks ('twould earn them the death\npenalty in Ireland, nothing less), shy at Barber Poles, wear\nCounterpane Shirts and burn Stink Pots that would offend\nthe olfactory nerves of even a Chinese river-pirate—\nand\nTHE 80-hemians (an abreviation of \"Hobo-hemians,\" the\nwhich term is scarcely ever used in Polite Society)—•\nthose poor devils we stumble over every now and then in The\nSquare, rolled-up on a bench, asleep on a newspaper, or\nlifting their drawn, splotched and anaemic faces to Heaven\nin the horrible gape of distorted repose. The poor garments\nof these Worthy People will some day shine with a Celestial\nLight, their grimy hands will feel the Clasp of Another, One\nin the middle of which there is a Great Scar. This Hand shall\nraise them frdm off the Threshold of Sorrow, shall lead them\nfrom out the Gates of Pain.\nAu lieu de burning the various brands of the concentrated\nevil odours of the Orient—they find this hardly necessary,\nas 'twere—they are forced to provide their own bad smells:\nthat well-known aroma of the Great Unwashed!\nTheir shirts—when they have any—are quite commonplace\nand fiost usually dirty. They barber at intervals—like the\nhorse!\nThese 80-hemians are a continual propitiatory offering to\nthe Great Author—lest the Hand smite their rivals Hip and\nThigh.\nWhat's the use of going farther into the matter? You\nnever can beat Heredity, nohow!\n\nTwo Things by Marianne Moore\nHoles Bored in a Workbag by the Scissors\nA NEAT, round hole in the bank of the creek\nMeans a rat;\nThat is to say, craft, industry, resourcefulness:\nWhile\nThese indicate the unfortunate, meek\nHabitat\nOf surgery thrust home to fabricate useless\nVoids.\nApropos of Mice\nCDME in, Rat, and eat with me;\nOne must ocassionally—\nIf one would rate the rat at his true worth—\nPractise catholicity.\nand a porkrind\nStock my house—good of their kind\nBut were they not, you would oblige me? Is\nPlenty, multiplicity? *\n\nNew York Squares and New York Places\nIT is matter of mystery to most people, especially to\nstrangers from abroad, who have been tolerably well\ninstructed in the meaning of English words—what is signified\nin this city by \"squares\" and \"places.\" Some of our squares\nhave the merit of coming near enough to that appellation, to\nbe triangles, but, very few quadrangular squares have we to\nboast of, and i fthe truth must be acknowledged, our civic\ntrigonometry should be but daintily touched upon. We are\nrather more than three-cornered in these matters, when we\ngo to the luxury of angularity at all, and still more ridiculous\nwhen we \"approach\" is incontestibly three-cornered, and the\nsame must be said of \"Franklin-square,\" unless the extra\ncritical should cantend that both of them, like the \"Dutch-'\nman's oath,\" has short corners enough to be called nine-\nsided. Good old \"Hanover-square\" is as far from that\nmathematical figure, as the cocked hat of presbyterian?\npuritan. It has one more punctum than the celebrated \"Five-\nPoints.\" It is what is called in Connecticut, \"catercornered\"\nUnion-square is an ellipsis, and the next corporation christen-\ning will probably bestow the title of \"Republican-square59\nupon a „]ocality\" laid out in imitation of a quartered orange-\npeel. As to the \"places\" in New York, the least said is the\nsoonest mended. The very word \"in that connexion\" is\n\"sickening enough to send for the doctor.\" Place, forsooth!\nWhat is there so astonishing in this apery of aristocracy that\nshould lead people into the flippancy! Waverley-place, and\nSt. Mark's-place, and Carroll-place, and \"Battery place,\" may\nall be very good \"places\" for aught we know—some of them\nare certainly inhabited by very good people to our personal\nknowledge, but we should think they would grow a little sick\nof their designation, when they look at certain other\nwhere their ambitious concitoyens have dignified their grog-\ngeries into \"places\" also.\n\nShe Called Herself A Flower\nHenry Phillips\nYesterday—\nI saw a flower\nAnd longed to call it mine;\nTo quaff its fragrance with my lips—\nTo drink its perfumed wine!\nTo-day—\nI plucked the flower\nAnd drew it to my breast\nAnd felt its petals open wide\nAnd return each fond caress!\n'Tis Tomorrow!\nMy flower\nStands where I saw it first.\nBut in my heart it left a wound—\nThe stalk with thorn was curst! ."}, {"page_pdf": 8, "page_imprimee": "1138", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.8", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nPassing Paris\nMuriel Gielkovska\nParis, September 16 1916.\n1 HAPPENED to read in some English newspaper the\nother day that the Germans are unable to laugh at\nthemselves. The person giving expression to that view\nhad certainly never seen a German comic newspaper or\nelse had not understood it. No people in the world are,\n4 should say, so intrepidly selfflagellating. When do the\nreally laugh at themselves? When, even the\nFrench? If German humour is apt to wield the sledge-\nhammer it uses it certainly no more sparingly with its\ncompatriots than with others. In this respect Simplicis-\nsimus of Munich holds the record for the plain reason\nthat its irony reaches the maximum. A recent cartoon\ntjherin coincides with one of my few visits to picture ex-\nhibitions since the war broke out. An invincible barrier\nhas separated France from Germany for two years, yet,\nartistically speaking, Munich succeeds in keeping in\ntouch with Paris--and here let me at once point out a\ncommonly propagated error (in this country) by well-\nmeaning patriots (in peace time occasionally spelt\nchauvins) that Paris had alloved itself to be Influenced\nby Munich. I think the opposite was very much more the\ncase but the mistake originated in this wise: In Paris\nare born ideas innumerable, conceived, maybe, from an\ninfinite variety of international sources, ideas so various\nthat Paris cannot keep count of them. \"French\" art is\nan agglomeration of very different expressions, for Paris\nis ever in a state of evolution and revolution. From these\nthe expert plagiarist makes his selection and, having\nconveyed his samples home, where they undergo that\nmetamorphosis inevitable through handling in a new\nmidst, Paris fails to recognize its own progeny on its\nreappearance in the world, severed from its natural en-\nvironment and attributes.\nThese remarks were provoked by a cartoon from a\nrecent Simplicissimus which has come under my notice.\nThe legend runs thus: \"Modern Art\": \"You call that a\nstill-life subject, do you—three slips of paper on a\ndinner-cloth?\" \"Of cource, I do: one bread, one meat,\nand one butter card.\"\nThis jest was composed at Munich but the picture was\n\"'painted\" and exhibited in Paris where I saw it at the\nGallerie des Independants, 52 Rue La Boetie, not two\nmonths ago, signed Picasso. In fact I saw several \"pict-\nures\" of this description, pictures in so far as a frame\nmakes a picture. Within the frame M. Picasso had\npinned different slips of plain or coloured paper on to a\ncard-board ground and the number of this combination\ncorresponded in the catalogue to a \"dessin.\" A disciple\nof his had, to pins, preferred the glue-pot for the affixing\nof different elements such as the packings of grocery\nwares; as who should take one side of a \"Quaker oats\"\nbox, paste it on te a board with the label of, say, a whisky\nbottle, frame the whole and call it a \"nature-morte.\"\nThus the leavings and parings ordinarily thrown into the\ndust-bin can become as valuable to the modern artist\n(especially considering the increase to which palette\ncolours have been subjected) as, it is said, they are in\ncertain countries to the family cook. The devisers of\nthese curiosities are respectively called Pierre Brune and\nFrank Burty.\nThese facts are recorded in view of always adhering;\nstrictly to the principle of recognizing as Caesar's what\nis his. * * * *\nOne of our most distinguished statesmen whom I\nhappened to meet at this most interesting gallery (for\nbesides the inventions mentioned it comprises works of\nmore exacting craftsmanship, in paint, stone, and\nbronze), has just had the sorrow of losing in battle one\nof his sons to whom he had so successfully communicated\nhis own enthusiasms that the following anecdote is told\nof him : One day when out riding in the country with his\nfather he pointed to an artist at work at an easel, saying,\n'Look, father, there is Cezanne/' \"How do you know\nit is Cezanne? asked his father, M.. Denys Cochin.\n\"Why, because he's painted a Cezanne,\" answered Henri\nCochin. ■\nFrom a letter to the \"Egoist\"\n\nThe Stranger\nI WAS a stranger in that town,\nWhere smiling overthrows the frown.\nI never joined that joyful meet,\nThat played and lived upon the street;\nIn Knickerbocker Town.\nI was unknown among this clan;\nA hermit in the haunts\" of man;\nWho lived and fed on books galore,\nAnd missed what life was given for;\nIn Knickerbocker Town.\nAnswer my question. Tell me why\nI let this boyhood chance go by?\nThose days are passed, Today I stand,\nRegretting that I missed this land\nThis Knickerbocker Town.,\n\nThe Psalm of Life\nI.\nAT the age of twenty-two he said to his father: \"Your\ngood advices are worthless. They never can suit\nme. They are saturated with mistrust against htimanity,\nthey are full of disappointment. But I do believe in\nhumanity. If you made bad experiences, it is your own\nfault, father! I know it and I feel it: there is only one\nthing we can depend upon in this short life, upon the\nkindness of human nature. So you better save your good\nadvices and let me work unmolested on that which you\ncall my own destruction!\"\nHe kissed his father, petted his cheek *and thought:\n\"Poor, dear fether,— how embittered he is!\"\nAnd then he went away tohis friends.\nII.\nAT the age of thirty-four he said to his wife: \"Surely\n*** it is grieving that all my friends betrayed my con-\nfidence and got the better of me. Never would I have\nbelieved it of Alexander. I would have given my last\ncent for him without hesitation and he deceived me for\na farthing. But all this won't matter. Don't I have you?\nThe love of a woman is the only thing in this undepend-\nable world one can depend upon. Let me kiss your\nbeautiful blue eyes!\"\nHe petted her cheek and thought: \"How rich I am!\nHow unmeasurably rich.\""}, {"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "1139", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.9", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\nTo be continued\n\nIII.\nAT the age of forty-five years he spoke to his French\npoodle: \"To-day is the third anniversary that she\nhas left us. And oh, what a dude was the man with whom\nshe eloped! She surely is very happy. How much have\nI loved her, and there was nothing that I would'n have\ndone for her. But perfidy seems to be an essential in\nthe female nature. If I did not have you, my dear poodle,\nI would be all alone. Your true and sincere animals are\nthe only beings one can depend upon in this false world.\nI love you my little dogf'\nHe petted the white poodle and gave him a piece of\nsugar.\nIV.\nAT the age of fifty-three he looked meditating at the\nmarble head of Apollo on his writing-desk and\nsaid: \"Yesterday I saw him on the street. He, too, recog-\nnized me instantly and jumped up on me. But soon he\nfollowed his new master and left me behind. It would\nbe easy to claim him back, as he was stolen from me—\nbut he loves his new master better than me. All that\nthey tell about the fidelity of animals is a fairy tale. Only\nupon you, you lifeless things, can one depend. I wonder\nwho created you, you beautiful marble head? I wonder\nif he ever suffered as I did.\nHe petted the cold marble and kissed it.\nV.\nAT the age of sixty-seven he died. It was of heart\nfailure. Among his possessions there was found\na piece of paper with a few lines upon it. They read:\n\"It is strange. lam starting to believe in humanity. I\nfeel that I shall love humanity if there are still a few\nmore years of wishless age in store for me. To-day I saw\na child which—' In the middle of his sentence death had\nsurprised him.\nDistant relatives divided among themselves the wel\ncome inheritance. Only a small package was passed up\nby everybody and finally thrown away. It contained: one\nout-lawed promissory n.ote, signed by one Alexander, un-\nknown to everybody. \\A woman's lock of hair, a dog\ncollar and the broken fragments of a marble figure.\nAfter the German of Karl Ettlinger, by Guido Bruno\n\nBonaparte and the Fair Sex\nBy Alfred Ernest Keet\nA CENTURY ago, Napoleon I, the \"Child of Destiny\"—as\nhe was fond calling himself—abdicated and was\nexiled to the island of Ela; only however, in a few months to\nescape therefrom in the sloop \"Inconstant\"—a name irre-\nsistibly suggestive of Fortune, whose fickleness he had ex-\nperienced. Then, on June 18, 1815, came the crushing and\nfinal blow at Waterloo, and his exile to death at St. Helena.\nNow, after the lapse of a hundred years, and with his con-\nversations, diaries, and a mass of historical docements acces-\nsible, we can get some idea of his real character and per-\nsonality and come to a dispassionate judgment of Napoleon\nthe Man.\nThough born in Corsica, a land of fierce passions and\nvengeful vendettas, • the youthful Bonaparta was somewhat\ncold and austere. None the less he quickly obtained a leader-\nship among his schoolmates, and his ambition to command,\ncoupled with his irrepressible energy and singleness of\npurpose, led him to a military career, where his audacity and\nreckless courage soon won him renown, for he had the quali-\nties of a born soldier. He rapidly became popular with the\nsoldiers, by whom he was soon to be idolized, earning his\nnickname, \"the Little Corporal,\" by his brilliant exploit on\nthe Bridge of Lodi, upon which he cooly stood though ex-\nposed to an incessant fire by the Austrians. He certainly had\nthat brand of courage which he himself called the \"2Vclock-\nin-the-morning sort.\"\nAs he rapidly ascended the ladder of success his ambition\nbecame unbounded, and atrophy of all his liner feelings re-\nsulted: the \"Child of Destiny\" became the man of iron, and,\nas he himself said, \"My hand of iron was not at the extremity\nof my arm; it was immediately connected with my head.\"\nSprung from the people, he inherited to an extraordinary\ndegree all their powers and instincts. He was the composite\nof a long line, or class, representing brain—not aristocracy.\nIt might even be said that he was the incarnation of King\nDemos.\nHe had a blind faith in his \"star,\" and sacrificed every-\nthing to his mighty ambitions, his colossal egotism exercising\nupon everyone a blighting effect. Of generous sentiments he\nhad none; he was unjust evon to his generals, and rode rough-\nshod over every obstacle to his personal aggrandizement.\nHis fiat, There shall be no alps!'* gives the key to his charac-\nter. before his mighty will even mountains must melt away.\n\"How! Impossible!\" he impatiently exclaims, \"that word is\nnot French.\" And, while he was, with brutal indifference,\nsweeping men from various official positions, filling the\nvacancies with ,new blood, he remarked: \"I want more head\nand less talk.\"\nSo, as his star became more and more in the ascendant,\nhe more and more subordinated sentiment and affection to\nhis own selfish aims. His belief in his high destiny became\nabsolute; he even because a fatalist. He refused to take\nmedicine prescribed for him by his doctor, saying: \"That\nwhich is written is written. Our days are numbered.\" But\nas a matter of fact he had no faith in physic; his invariable\nremedy for all ills was fasting and hot baths, in which he\nwould sometimes remain a couple of hours turning on the\nhot water from time to time until the room was dense vapor.\nMeantime his secretaries read to him, or received his dic-\ntation."}, {"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "1140", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.10", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n(Concluded)\n\nTwo People\nThe Romance of One Night\nBy Guido Bruno\nWe talked nearly three hours. Of course she had taken\noff her veil and she was the most beautiful thing I ever\nhad laid my eyes upon. We decided to get married im-\nmediately after I had gotten some clothes for her. I didn't\nintend to buy ajl the things on her list. She could do that\nherself later on. We had just decided that the minister of\nthe Twelfth Street Church should be called upon to perform\nthe marriage ceremony, as the door-bell rang. I wondered\nwho it could be. She went hastily into the other room and\nI opened.\nIt was only the letter carrier. A lot of bills. I just looked\nover the bunch. \"Ha—what was that? the familiar hand-\nwriting of an art dealer. I opened the envelope. It contained\na check, eighty dollars payable to me. It wasn't much to\nstart housekeeping on but the situation was cleared. \"Here,\nNora, only the mail carrier,\" I called. Yes, she had told me\nher name, and her father's, a very well-sounding name, a\nname that spelled money in seven figures. \"There are a few\nformalities I wish you to do before we start our travel\nthrough life,\" I said, \"first of all, put all the money and all\nthe jewelry you have with you in this big envelope. I'll send\nit back to your father. I got a check here which will be\nenough for a starter. It won't be a wonderful dress I am\ngoing to bring you, but just a plain black dress your aunt's\nmaid might have worn,\" and I laughed. I wasn't afraid she\nwould change her mind and even if she wanted to, she\ncouldn't have left the apartment in a decollete evening gown\nat eleven o'clock in the morning.\nFirst of all I went to the minister and asked him to come\nto my apartment at twelve-thirty. Then I got, at the City\nHall, a marriage license. Then I went to a department store,\nbought a suit for twenty-eight dollars and fifty cents, a\nnightgown, and some toilet articles I thought of immediate\nnecessity. I went to Tiffany's and bought the plainest and\nyellowest wedding ring they have. I am a master at matching\ncolors and surely enough, the ring matched her hair. There\nwas not time to have it engraved, it could be done later. On\nmy way home, I stopped in a delicatessen store and ordered a\nlot of things sent to my apartment. The suit fitted like made\nto order. There was just one thing that I had overlooked. I\ncalled up the florist and had him send up the biggest bunch\nof violets in his store.\nNora was carried away by the spirit of her undertaking.\nShe had done her best to transform the picturesque room\ninto an orderly-looking library, or at least, it looked like one\nafter it was strongly suggested to me. She had even put\nsome new coal in the grate and everything was ready for the\nminister. She seemed so happy, and she called me Jine, and\nit seemed as if we had known each other for years. The\nminister arrived at twelve-thirty sharp. I went into the next\napartment and got a couple of witnesses. We were married\ninside of the next five minutes. I gave the ten\ndollars and asked him if he wouldn't perform the office of an\nangel of peace and delivery. I told him about the jewelry\nand the several hundred dollars in the big envelope and asked\nhim to deliver it to my father-in-law, together with our\nsincerest regards and the invitation to take tea in our apart-\nment at five o'clock. He agreed to help us to get rid of the\nvaluables and we were left alone.\nWe set the table, took the delicatessen store delicacies out\nof their wrappers and ate our first meal. We made a lot of\nplans for our future life and we were as happy as a couple\nof children that play husband and wife. She liked my coffee\nbetter, she said, than any coffee she had ever drunk before\nin her life. Father and mother-in-law arrived at five o'clock\nsharp. The dear old people didn't know how to act in Nora's\nnew residence. But he was the real father of his daughter.\nHe was \"game.\" She, of course, was a little harder to\nmanage, but we hoped the best as we dismissed them about\nseven o'clock. But both agreed that I did know how to make\ncoffee splendidly.\nWe went out for a walk. Up Fifth Avenue, around Union\nSquare with its wretched figures on the benches. On Madison\nSquare we sent a long bed line of homeless men to a lodging\nhouse. We looked at the window displays of the shops on\nFifth Avenue and turned in on Thirty-fourth Street, passing\nthe corner where we had \"met\" yesterday. We stood still\nfor a while and viewed the hustling crowds.\n\"What a drama!\" I said to her. \"Just look at all these\nmen and all these women. They all have a goal. They all\nwant to reach a destination. And while they are on their\nway, they act for us, the bystanders, a real play.\" Exactly\nlike yesterday did she thrust her arm in mine and guided me\nthrough the crowd towards the quieter Sixth Avenue.\n\"Don't we have our goal, too, and our destinations?\" 9he\nasked. \"Didn't we start rather well our performance?\"\nShe pressed my arm and we walked home.\n\nTo Oscar Wilde\nOn receiving from him\nA book of his poems\nEdgar Fawcett\nYOUR volume like a Provence lute antique\nWed with a classic lyre were fitlier wrought,\nSo richly opposite its theme and thought,\nIts art so Gothic and its aim so Greek.\nTill now we had deemed that one alone might seek\nFrom Poetry what you with victory sought—\nTo blend those pure strains the Sicilian taught\nWith Spencer's line, luxurious and unique.\nNay, since your reverenced master dwells afar\nIt has been given your spirit, I am sure,\nTo pass, deep-tranced by slumber's opiate sweets,\nHigh up some white stair sheer to some white star,\nAnd meet in its immortaKvestiture\nThe splendour that men mean when they name Keats!\nFawcett tived for years in Greenwich Village\nThis poem was rescued from an old copy of The Bookman.\nRideing there refers to it as one of Fawcetfs finest frag-\nments."}, {"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "1141", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.11", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nBoys and Girls\nBy Florence Gough"}, {"page_pdf": 12, "page_imprimee": "1142", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.12", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nR. EDERHEIMER PRINT CABINET\n366 FIFTH AYE., NEW YORK\nOriginal Drawings by Old Masters\nALL APPRECIATIVE VISITORS CORDIALLY INVITED\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\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 frost\na two-dollar bill and send in your check\nto-day or give a standing order to your news-\ndealer.\n\n14 Stories by Maupassant,\nFor 25 cents postpaid\nStories of the Tragedy and Comedy of Life, with\nan Introduction by Paul Bourget. Prettily printed in\nlarge type on superior paper, with illustrations in color\nby Clare Victor Dwiggins. 16mo, stiff dark green\npaper cover, rough edges. (196 pages.) New York,\nM. Walter Dunne, 1914. (Pub. 50 cents.)\nComprises the following short stories: The False\nGems; Was it a Dream?; Simon's Paper; In the Moon-\nlight; The Old Maid; The Lancer's Wife; The Sequel\nto a Divorce; The Englishwoman; Sentiment; The\nFishermen; In his Sweetheart's Livery; Bertha; Dis-\ncovery; and A Message of Love.\nCONDOR'S BOOK STORE\n366 Fifth Ave.\nWrite for interesting catalogue of books.\n\nAmerican Thumb Prints\nMettle of Our Men and Women;\nSketches of American Woman;\nThis book was published by J. B. Lippincott Co., is\nbound in cloth, 55 cents postpaid.\nThe Pleasures of Literature and the\nSolace of Books with introduction\nBy Andrew Lang\nA choice book for the booklover and book-hunter.\n55 cents postpaid.\nFRANK BENDER, 128 Fourth Ave.\n\nMONSIEUR\nD'EN BROCHETTE\nBeing\nAn Historical Account of Some of the\nAdventures of Huevos Pasada Par Agua,\nMarquis of Pollio Grille, Count of Pate\nde Foie Gras, and Much Else Besides.\nBY\nBert Leston Taylor\nArthur Hamilton Folwell\nand\nJohn Kendrick Bangs\nIllustrated by Frank A. Nankivell\nNEW YORK\nMC M V\nKEPPLER & SCHWARZMANN\n50 CENTS POSTPAID\nHARRY STONE\n137 Fourth Ave. New York\n\nVOLUME H\nBRUNO'S WEEKLY\nBound in white linen cloth\nTWO DOLLARS, postpaid"}, {"page_pdf": 13, "page_imprimee": "1143", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.13", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nWhy and How I Got Married\nMany hundred stories, brief and lengthy accounts, arrive every week at the desk if our Centest 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\nWhy I Married\nMrs. J.L.K.\nWE was a chance acquaintance of Billy's. Majorie, Billy\nand I were standing in the lobby of the Astor when he\npassed, perfunctorily greeted Billy, hesitated and then\nstopped. As a matter of common courtesy Billy introduced\nus .... . and that was our introduction.\nFive months afterwards, hurrying down Fifth Avenue, I\nsuddenly found my hand being imprisoned and somebody\nsaying \"I have tried and tried to find you since our meeting\nand just as I have almost given it up, you try to walk right\nthrough me,\" and I looked up into \"his\" face. I was sur-\nprised at the enjoyment he seemed to get out of our meeting.\nCouldn't I spare a little time out of my \"butterfly existence\"\nto see him occasionally? His way of asking seemed so odd,\nand the fact that I was almost a little elated at having a man\nof his age express such plain interest in me, made me to say\n\"Yes.\" The novelty of it all appealed to me. I was only\ntwenty one and he was every bit of thirty eight.\nEach time that he asked me to see him, to talk, to walk,\nto lunch, he apologized for being so greedy, for taking my\ntime away from my young friends. He grew to be my con-\nfidant. It strengthened me to have such a marvelous con-\nfidant. He knew everything, my every thought almost, be-\ncause I told him. He knew as much about me as I knew,\nand divined more than I did. Nothing that I told him about\nmy newest love affair, about all my breathless little situations,\nseemed new to him. He simply gave me advice and stayed\nserious. I often wondered if he laughed inside, but even as\nI wondered what he thought of me, nothing could prevent me\nfrom talking, talking, and incidentally telling, telling every-\nthing. His complete understandability, without trying to draw\nme out, compelled me to not only tell him so much, but to\nconfide all my hearts closest theories and ideas, so that he\nknew me, as I said before, better than I did. But, the longer\nI knew him, the more I told him, and confieded nonsences, the\nolder he seemed to appear in my mind. I didn't like this.\nMy married cousins were planning a party of six to spend\nthe holidays at Lake . The boy who was to be my\ncomrade at arms was unable, at the last minute, to go. Woe-\nfully I related it all to \"him.\" Why couldn't he go? was his\nsolution. I thought he must be jesting, but it was arranged\nand he went. I felt a peculiar sense of mysteriousness grow-\ning upon me, a sort of elation, a sort of victory inside, at\nhaving such a different sort of escort—\"different\" was the\nonly word that could express what I felt and meant.\nI felt quite at home in my uncle's great big house, where\nwe stopped, and so it came about that long after everyone\nhad gone to bed I crept downstairs for the book I had been\nreading in order to read the thirty minutes I usually did\nbefore going to sleep. I was dressed in the knee length\ngreen silk kimono embroidered in silver and pantaloons that\nI always lounged in, in my own room, and wore heelless\nslippers. Noiselessly I crept downstairs and across the living\nroom to the couch where my book lay open. I switched on\nthe light and before I knew it, I was sitting cross legged on-\nUncle 's best and favorite Oriental pillow, at the head1:\nof the couch, reading, reading,, reading. I spied a package-\nof cigarettes that some kind person had forgotten, lighted1,\none and kept on reading and enjoying the cigarette in the dim\nlight o fthe big colored lamp on the table beside me. I lifted\nmy arms and stretched, touching the walls behind me and;\nwatching the shadow of my kimono sleeved arms and hand\nholding the cigarette on the wall beside me, when suddenly Ir\nrealized that I was not alone. Inherently a coward, I did\nnot stir, until \"he\" spoke. \"I have been watching you from\nthe piazza where I have been stealing a goodnight smoke, for\nthe last twenty minutes. Your book must be fascinating\nentice you down here in the middle of the night,\" were thfr\nwords he used.\nHe sat down at the other end of the couch facing me;\nSomething automatic in the back of my brain told me that of\ncourse I must go, but I simply stayed and sat across legged\nand started to converse. I talked and talked and talked and*\nI remember being surprised that I did not know what I wa&\ngoing to say, even while I was saying it, that I marvelled\nthat the thoughts that I was thinking, broken, darting\nthoughts, made sense and sounded well when the words came\nout of my mouth. I knew that I was talking low and tensely,\na bit fiercely, but it seemed as though someone else was\ntalking and I listened to every word that I spoke asthough I\nhad never heard or thought of it before. My voice seemed\nfar away and I wished that I could uncross my limbs because\nthey were beginning to feel icy and my hands were of ice..\nWhen I stopped to consider the expression on \"his\" face, to\nrealize that his eyes had not moved from mine from the\nminute he sat down, I wanted to laugh. I restrained myself,\nI was afraid to. I grew angry because my cigarette was;\nburnt down to the point where it was burning my fingers. The\ncigarette was all burnt down, I tossed it away and stopped\ntalking, just as if I had placed a crisp period after my last\nsentence and I sighed, because I felt an infinite sense of\nrelief when I stopped talking, like a very tired child. I was\ntired btu so wide awake, I make the slightest of gestures to\nrise, because in a minute I would go upstairs but in*\nthis minute, without warning, I found myself being crushed,\nI found my'self panting for breath under hotfierce lips, and'\nthen I found myself smiling, when it was over, at his profuse\napologies, at his pathetic discomfiture, almost fright at what\nhe had done. He frowned at my sardonic little smile\nhe could not know that demure little übtterfly me had willed,\nwilled, willed him to kiss me—just so—.\nHe was sitting in the library the next morning, reading his\nnewspaper, looking very haggard and stern. I meant to flit\nby quickly and flippantly say \"Good morning.\" I carried out\nmy plans but when I reached the piazza I found him beside\nme, having followed me. He asked me to marry him. L\nmarrid him."}, {"page_pdf": 14, "page_imprimee": "1144", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.14", "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 Squire, 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\n«3rd, 1897.\n\nIn a Restaurant\nMartin Brown\nDEAR little maid across the room\nHave you a smile to sell\nFor a jewel perhaps or a glass of wine\nAnd no one will ever tell?\nNo? Ten thousand pardons then\nFor you it is just as well.\nDear little maid with the sunlit eyes\nHave you a smile to give\nTo a chap who's had nothing all day but the blues\nAnd help the poor beggar to live?\nNo? Are you sure you are right little girl,\nIs a smile so much to give?\nDear little maid with the rose-leaf mouth\nHave you a smile to lend ?\nI'll be so tender it need never know\nThat I'm not a most intimate friend.\nNo? Well perhaps it is best, little girl\nFor both of us in the end.\n\nEdith Unger.\nThe Mad Hatter Has a Tea Party Every Afternoon\nfrom 3 to 6 at\n250 WEST FOURTH STREET\nJust Down the Rabbit Hole From Washington Squ&m\n\"Take Some More Tea\"\n\"I've Had Nothing Yet So I Can't Take More\"\n\"You Mean You Can't Take Less, It's Very Easy to\nTake More Than Nothing.\"\n\"Nobody Asked Your Opinion\"\n\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\nthing's to wear.\nTHE PAINT BOX\n150 W. 4th St., Near 6th Ave.\nN. Y. C. Phone Spring 23\n\n•RARE BOOKS\nFIRST EDITIONS\nExtra illustrated Books. Early Printed Books. Association Books. Books for Christmas Gifts.\n. \"> ' \\ |\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 collectmg now?\nAddress, E. V. Boston Transcript, Boston, Mass.\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": "[1145]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.15", "texte": "m\n-\nm\na\nV/i\nJ^TL\n\\\nTi\nVZ^M*\n03\n\\\\\n■'tit'.\nnWwf -\nPO\n>#\nHarrison Fisher: $7.50\n«P\"\n&\n&\n.F=\njtj\n-^f\ns -\n!>• #\n«■ -c'~\nfUK.\n$6.00\n..\n<^rT\"-','\n-v\n• ■>\ni-oP\n■W\n£3?\nAa;ter Jor\\oh\nJtu^dawe i\nifovse\n\"' mjLitdMsSg\ntfoL\nSStfS\nSB\nsk*\nH&T;\ni\nl\\\nX\nK\nas\njfctel? '81;\nBirch: $12.00\n$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 inferests of\npublic opinion during the last two score years.\nThere is the period where New York with its cease-\nless building underground, overground and qn 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": "[1146]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161007-01.1.16", "texte": "Bruno Chap Books\nJ\nNo. No.\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 Crackanthorpe\nMr. Crackanthorpe had three thief gifts:\nskill in dramatic narration—a sense of sit-\nuation, a lively feeling for the value of inter-\npretation of gesture, posture, circumstance;\nsecondly, analytic skill in the conception and\npresentation of character; thirdly, descriptive\nand pictorial power, readiness of vision, with\na faculty 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 tfid intense\nas Poe's on strictly realistic lines. Tke 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 love 25\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\" .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-<\n4, tors and producers of vers libre who think %\nthemselves poets of the \"new group\" because\nthey don't write in rhyme 25\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 25\n18. Sadakichi Hartmann—Permanent Peace: Is it\na Dream?\n19. Charles Kains-Jackson—John Addington Sy-\nmonds A Portrait\nThe life-long friend of the English poet\ngives a vivid picture of the personality and\nlife and life-work of Symonds. This essay\nwritten a few days after the death of Sy-\nmonds, on the 19th of April, 1893, and was\nfirst published in the Quarto, a since forgotten\nliterary periodical of England, in 1897 25\n20. Djuna Barnes—The Book of Repulsive Wo-\nmen—Rhythms and 5 Drawings 25\n21. Edna W. Underwood—The Book of the White\nPeacocks\n22. H. Thompson Rich — Lumps of Clay—l 6\nRhythms 25\n>,23. D. Molby — Hippopotamus Tails —28 Every-\nday Musings . .25\n24. H.Thompson Rich—The Red Shame—17 War\nPoems 25\n25. Theodor Schroeder, Erothogenesis of Reli-\ngion, a bibliography 50\n26. Sadakichi Hartmann, My Rubayat 50\nAccompany each order with Cheque, small amounts, one-cent stamps\nBRUNO'S WEEKLY\n58 WASHINGTON SQUARE, N. Y. C."}]}