SIDE TALKS WITH THE PHILISTINES: BEING SOUL EASEMENT AND WISDOM INCIDENTALLY.

The Sons of Melchizedek are a most peculiar people.

So far as I know the Society for Psychic Research has not yet taken up the subject of these men who are without beginning of days or end of time. Yet surely it is a most vital theme. These beings who were never born and cannot die form a tribe that obeys no natural edict—they are a law unto themselves. They appear and disappear, like Clangingharp, to reappear again. Like vagrant comets, their orbit cannot be determined.

They are visible only under peculiar and extraordinary conditions. They materialize at will and disappear without explanation. After a lecture I have seen one of them rush forward and greet the speaker with a glow that must have gladdened the orator’s heart for months. In fact, your son of Melchizedek is an orator himself and therefore knows the orator’s need for a fervent word of appreciation after his “effort.”

Once at a Methodist love feast, when there was a lull in the program and the minister asked “And is there not just one more who is willing to add a word of testimony?” I felt a slight cold feeling go over me and knew at once that the Unknown was rising to his feet behind. I heard him clear his throat and begin with “My friends, I have been thinking while sitting here,” in a low, musical voice—a voice all a-tremble with fervor. He spoke for fully fifteen minutes—spoke with ease, and to the point. At first there was a craning of necks and whispered questions as to who he was; but this was soon lost in admiration. After the service he shook hands with many, then disappeared, none knew where.

This mysterious being often helps to carry in the piano, and in crowded street cars he has been known to supply the necessary nickle when ladies could not find their pockets. When old gentlemen fall in a fit on the street, he is on hand. Should a woman faint in church, he gently carries her out. He opens the windows in cars, and looks after the ventilator at all times, and at barbecues and outdoor public meetings he calls up the stranger to the feast, introducing shy countrymen to others still more shy, thus thawing the social ice and making all secure.

When church debts are to be raised he sometimes arises in his seat and subscribes a large amount. At mass meetings where volunteers are called for to pass the hat he always responds. He greets you cordially on the railway train, shaking hands as he passes; asks after the wife and babies and shames you into smirking idiocy because you cannot call him by name, and as he departs he waves his hand and charges you thus: “Take care yourself, old man!”

He is always large, usually stout, and the true type has a dun colored chin whisker. At least he should have.

He carries a glow of good nature that warms like wine; he is never cast down, nor is his heart dismayed. At country funerals he often appears, consoles the friends, takes care of the flowers, and arranges the chairs in a column circle against the wall. At the churchyard he walks with uncovered head by the side of the clergyman, fetches the reins from the nearest team to lower the coffin, and handles the shovel with an unction that savors of joy.

Surely, the Sons of Melchizedek, although not Philistines, are Peculiar Persons.

She—“Don’t you think him rather thick-headed?”

He—(Who has lately been presented with a book of Familiar Quotations) “Yes, indeed: his head is as thick as leaves in Vallombrosa.”

The most biting bit of irony that passes as a current coin is that reference to Boston as a city of culture—or it would be, were it not for the insight shown in Paragraphs.

There were two Ballestiers. The good one, beloved of the gods (and men), died young; but the one that resides near Brattleboro will probably live to be a hundred. Rudyard benefitted the man and as a sure result got his enmity. He is just literary enough in his instincts to read his brother-in-law’s books for gibes and jeers at himself. He imagines that every villain in the Kipling books is a black attempt to paint a Beatty Ballestier portrait: not knowing that an author (like Diety) creates in his own image. So the Ballestier reads and rages and cuts hickory clubs and lies in wait for Mowgli, who dares not venture out of sight of the bungalow except after dark. Has Rudyard Kipling written the best he ever will? is a question that the bad Ballestier proposes to answer by sending the soul of Kipling to join that of Tomlinson. Some folks are saying “Good hunting to you, Kaa Ballestier,” but Kipling in the meantime has had the rogue elephant put under bonds to keep the peace, this as preliminary to the killing, should the rogue continue to fool around the ’rickshaw.

In the story of “Kate Carnegie,” now running in The Bookman, Ian Maclaren uses the exclamation “Dod!” about three times to a page. This is understood to be a little advertising scheme suggested by Mr. MacArthur. Your Scot is a very thrifty person.

Mr. Percival Pollard who fights in the Commissariat, and once received a red badge, by being bumbasted with a pie (although he swears ’twas a tart) is uttering rank heresy in the New York Journal concerning Stephen Crane. The statement is made that Crane is only a producer of “Bloomingdale symbolistic hash.” But now behold Mr. Pollard has discovered Nankivell “King of Colorists and Past Master of all living Draughtsmen”—bless my soul! when up pops a writer in the Art Amateur and declares that the only fit man to illustrate The Black Riders is this same Nankivell.

They do say that ’Enery James has resolved to write a novel with an incident. Gosh!

Is it true that a folio periodical issued in Philadelphia is to have a serial story entitled, “People Who Have Bored Me,” and that the first chapters will be written by Mr. Howells, with comments on Scott, Dickens, Thackeray, Dumas, Shakespeare, Moses, Phidias, the critics of the daily papers and Henry Clay?

“Algernon wondered vaguely if he had done right in leaving the handkerchief where she had dropped it, on the center table. If only it had been the arm chair, now, what a different complexion it would have put upon this dilemma—if it was a dilemma—no, hardly a dilemma, rather a quandary, or even a question. And she—did she, too, brood upon the handkerchief? Did she justify herself in dropping it, in the way she did? He arose, wearily. ‘I dunno,’ he said, defiantly, yet hopelessly, and sat down.”—Advance sheets from H. James.

That the Stage has fallen into a very bad way none dispute, and under present conditions I cannot do better than to commend this ordinance, passed in London in 1642, to the earnest consideration of His Honor, the Mayor, and the Honorable Common Council of the City of New York:

Whereas the Acts of Stage-Plays, Interludes and Common Plays, Condemned by Ancient Heathens, and much less to be tolerated amongst Professors of the Christian Religion, is the occasion of many and sundry great vices and disorders, tending to the high provocation of God’s wrath and displeasure, and to the disturbance of the peace:

Therefore, for the better suppression of the said Stage-Plays, Interludes, and Common Plays, It is Ordered and Ordained by the Lords and Commons in this present Parliament Assembled, and by Authority of the same, That all Stage-Players, and Players of Interludes, and common Plays, are hereby declared to be Rogues, and punishable, within the Statutes of the thirty-ninth year of the Reign of Queen Elizabeth, and the seventh year of the Reign of King James, and liable unto the pains and penalties therein contained, and proscribed against according to the said Statutes.

And it is further Ordered and Ordained by the Authority aforesaid, That the Lord Mayor, Justices of the peace, and Sheriffs of the City of London and Westminster, and of the Counties of Middlesex and Surrey, or any two or more of them, shall, and may, and are hereby, Authorized and required to pull down and demolish, or cause or procure to be pulled down and demolished all Stage Galleries, Seats, and Boxes, erected or used, or which shall be erected and used for the acting or playing, or seeing acted or played, such Stage-Plays, Interludes, and Plays aforesaid, within the said City of London and Libertis thereof, and other places within their respective jurisdictions; and all such common Players, and Actors of such Plays and Interludes, or any one of them, or by Oath of two Witnesses shall be proved before them to have acted or played such Plays and Interludes as aforesaid at any time thereafter, by their Warrant or Warrants under their hands and seals, to cause to be apprehended, and openly and publicly given forty lashes on the bare back, during the time of the said Market, and also to cause such Offenders to enter into Recognizance with two sufficient Sureties never to act or play any Plays or Interludes any more, and shall return in the said Recognizance, or Recognizances, into the Sizes or Sessions to be then next holden for the said Counties and Cities respectively. And in case any such person or persons so convicted of the said offense, shall after again offend in the same kind, that then the said person or persons offending, shall be and is hereby declared to be, and be taken as an Incorrigible Rogue, and shall be punished and dealt with as an Incorrigible Rogue ought to be. And it is hereby further Ordered and Ordained, That all and every sum and sums of Money gathered, Collected, and taken by any person or persons, of such persons as shall come to see, and be Spectators of the said Stage-Plays, and Interludes, shall be forfeited and paid unto the Church-Wardens of the Church of the Parish.

The presciences of the Seventeenth Century often held morning conversazioni, receiving their callers in bed. Like cyclones, fashions have a spiral movement; and now the good old custom of the presciences has returned, and like the cyclone, manifests itself in the West: a Chicago woman giving a weekly “Thursday Morning.” The bed on which the hostess languishes is a Louis the Fourteen Times—a gigantic four poster, with curtains partially drawn. When each caller is announced a thin blue-veined hand is held out from behind the curtains, and visions of a snowy lace-trimmed, Marchale Field night gown swim before his eyes as the thin hand is reverently kissed. The room is dimly lighted, the air is heavy with strange mysterious perfumes and all the conversation is held in undertone. It may not be amiss to state also that the coverlet of the bed is a very modern crazy quilt that has been duly certified to by a commission de lunatico enquirendo.

Certainly the people of Boston are a generous folk: in their walk and conversation they even add an R to “banana,” and spell “law” with four letters when three suffice—for hoi polloi.

The pink tea for Authors was a pretty failure. A Fictionist standing behind a teacup with a pink tidy on his chest and pink bows on his legs is a depressive sight, everywhere but in Philadelphia. But while five o’clock tea does not work, eleven o’clock beer is a roaring success.

Little Journeys

SERIES FOR 1896

Little Journeys to the Homes of American Authors.

The papers below specified were, with the exception of that contributed by the editor, Mr. Hubbard, originally issued by the late G. P. Putnam, in 1853, in a book entitled Homes of American Authors. It is now nearly half a century since this series (which won for itself at the time a very noteworthy prestige) was brought before the public; and the present publishers feel that no apology is needed in presenting to a new generation of American readers papers of such distinctive biographical interest and literary value.

No. 1, Emerson, by Geo. W. Curtis.

” 2, Bryant, by Caroline M. Kirkland.

” 3, Prescott, by Geo. S. Hillard.

” 4, Lowell, by Charles F. Briggs.

” 5, Simms, by Wm. Cullen Bryant.

” 6, Walt Whitman, by Elbert Hubbard.

” 7, Hawthorne, by Geo. Wm. Curtis.

” 8, Audubon, by Parke Godwin.

” 9, Irving, by H. T. Tuckerman.

” 10, Longfellow, by Geo. Wm. Curtis.

” 11, Everett, by Geo. S. Hillard.

” 12, Bancroft, by Geo. W. Greene.

The above papers will form the series of Little Journeys for the year 1896.

They will be issued monthly, beginning January, 1896, in the same general style as the series of 1895, at 50 cents a year, and single copies will be sold for 5 cents, postage paid.

G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS, NEW YORK AND LONDON

The ROYCROFT Printing Shop has in preparation GLYNNE’S WIFE, a story in verse by Mrs. Julia Ditto Young.

Mrs. Young is a Poet who has written much but published little. This, her latest and believed by her friends to be her best work, is the product of a mind and heart singularly gifted by Nature, and ripened by a long apprenticeship to Art. As a specimen of the pure “lyric cry,” illustrating the melody possible in the English tongue, the volume seems to stand alone among all books written by modern versifiers. The delicacy of touch, the faultless rhythm, the splendid vocabulary and the gentle tho’ sure insight into the human heart, make a combination of qualities very, very seldom seen. The author knows, and knowing blames not: a sustained sympathy being the keynote of it all.

The publishers have endeavored to give the story a typographical setting in keeping with the richness of the lines. Five hundred and ninety copies are being printed on smooth Holland hand-made paper, and twenty-five on Tokio Vellum. The copies on Holland paper will be bound in boards covered with antique watered silk; the Vellum copies are bound in like manner save that each will bear on the cover a special water-color design done by the hand of the author.

The price of the five hundred and ninety copies is two dollars each; the Vellum copies five dollars each. Every copy will be numbered and signed by Mrs. Young. Orders are now being recorded and will be delivered on September 1st, numbered in the order received.

THE ROYCROFT PRINTING SHOP, East Aurora, New York.

Quarterly. Illustrated.

“If Europe be the home of Art, America can at least lay claim to the most artistically compiled publication devoted to the subject that we know of. This is Modern Art.”—Galignani Messenger (Paris).

“The most artistic of American art periodicals. A work of art itself.”—Chicago Tribune.

Fifty Cents a Number. Two Dollars a Year. Single Copies (back numbers) 50 Cents in Stamps. Illustrated Sample Page Free.

Arthur W. Dow has designed a new poster for Modern Art. It is exquisite in its quiet harmony and purely decorative character, with breadth and simplicity in line and mass, and shows the capacity of pure landscape for decorative purposes.—The Boston Herald.

Price, 25 Cents in Stamps, Sent Free to New Subscribers to Modern Art.

L. Prang & Company, Publishers. 286 ROXBURY STREET, BOSTON.

We make a specialty of Dekel Edge Papers and carry the largest stock and best variety in the country. Fine Hand-made Papers in great variety. Exclusive Western Agents for L. L. Brown Paper Company’s Hand-mades.

GEO. H. TAYLOR & CO., 207-209 Monroe Street, Chicago, Ill.

Have you seen the Roycroft Quarterly? The May issue is a “Stephen Crane Number.” 25c. a copy or one dollar a year.

The Roycroft Printing Shop, East Aurora, New York.

THE ROYCROFT PRINTING SHOP at this time desires to announce a sister book to the Song of Songs: which is Solomon’s. It is the Journal of Koheleth: being a Reprint of the Book of Ecclesiastes with an Essay by Mr. Elbert Hubbard. The same Romanesque types are used that served so faithfully and well in the Songs, but the initials, colophon and rubricated borders are special designs. After seven hundred and twelve copies were printed the types were distributed and the title page, colophon and borders destroyed.

IN PREPARATION of the text Mr. Hubbard has had the scholarly assistance of his friend, Dr. Frederic W. Sanders, of Columbia University. The worthy pressman has also been helpfully counseled by several Eminent Bibliophiles.

Bound in buckram and antique boards. The seven hundred copies that are printed on Holland hand-made paper are offered at two dollars each, but the twelve copies on Japan Vellum at five dollars are all sold. Every book will be numbered and signed by Mr. Hubbard.

The Roycroft Printing Shop, East Aurora, N. Y.