The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, September 20, 1896, Page 19

EMILY DICKINSON LETTERS RND POEMS OF A LONELY NEW ENGLAND WOMAN WHO BELIEVED N BRT FOR TRUTH" A recent publisher’s note to the effect that the large sale of Father Tabb’s poems, now in their fifth edition, was paralleled among American poets only by the demand for the posthumous volume of Emily Dickinson, re- calls the work of the singular and gifted New England woman. There appears to be an in- teresting coincidence in this fact, in view of Father Tabb’s remark, quoted by The Book- man, that “of late American poets there is none worthy to go down to posterity except Miss Dickinson.” Her poems appeared several years ago, four years after their author'sdeata. Her recently published Letters, edited by Mabel Loomis Todd, reveal in part the strange personality of the woman who for years and from her own choice never stepped outside her father’s house. Emily Dickinson was born in Amherst, Mass., in the year 1830. There seems to have been nothing exceptional about her girlhood. Her father was a prosperous man, for years treasurer of Amherst College, and at one time 8 member of Congress. The pictures of her home show us an attractive colonial house, spacious and dignified, surrounded by spread- ing eim trees. There were three children— Austin, Emily and Lavinia. Their mother was apparently a sensible and practical New Eng- land woman with little time for sentiment. Emily as a young girl appears to have had & hapoy life.” Her education was begun at the village “academy” and “finished” by & year at Mount Holyoke. Her letters at this time are the letters of the average schoolgirl and show no trace of the epigrammatic transcen- dentalism which marks them later. Neither is there any trace of the shyness which became & passion in her after life. She seems to have joined in the social life of her mates ana lived the normal life of the young woman of that time. Her early friend, Mrs. Ford, to whom some of her letters are addressed, pretaces their publication by a short sketch of Emily's girlhood. According to Mrs. Ford she was one of a circle of talented young girls, several of whom became famous in aiter years, Fanny Montague, the art critic, was one, and another was Helen Fiske, who wrote under the pen name, “H. H.,” and whose death in San Fran- cisco & few years ago was asad loss to Ameri- can letters. Emily Dickinson, strange to say, was the wit of the group and furnished the funny items for the school paper. The only hint she gave her friend of her future strange aloofness from her fellows was by asking her one day if it did not make her shiver to hear some people talk “as though they took all the clothes off their souls.” Not until she is about 20 do we find symptoms of that later malady— if malady be the word for her almost fierce se- clusion. The friend who most helped to form her girlish aspirations was a teacher in the acad- emy, a Mr. Leonard Humphrey, who was a few years older than herselt. He was a gradu- ate of Amherst and had showed unusual in- tellectual ability and penetration. A letter to a friend at this time briefly records his death. His name is only mentioned twice in the course of her whole correspondence and once in a letter to her literary godfather, Mr. Higginson. She says, “My dying tutor told me he would like to live till I had been a poet.”” This was twelve years after his death] We cannot help wondering whether thiswas not the key of those minor cadences to which her life was henceforth set. Itseems almosta sort of sacrilege to try to pierce that reserve in which she veiled herself. There are souls as tremulous as sensitive plants. A year later in a letter to the same friend she de- | clines a proffered invitation, saying: “I don’t go from home unless emergency leads me by the hand, and then I do it cbstinately and draw back if I can.”” There 1is no hint as vet of her writing poetry. About this time her brother, Austin, left home and college to take a position in Bos- ton. Her letters to him are delightfully clever, full of wit, with an undercurrent of sadness and loneliness, ostensibly because of his being gone. In these letters we begin to detect the beat of words, the sense of cadence which marks her poetry rather than perfect rhyme or meter. Even in homely sentences one per- ceives the writer to have that ‘‘ear for words” which is somewhat rarer than an ea for mu- sic. However, 1t need not take a verse-maker to write in that manner. This fragment from & letter to her cousin, on the death, in his first battle, of a friend’s son, suggests the poet: «Poor little widow's boy, riding to-night in the mad wind, back to the village purying- ground, where he never dreamed of sleeping. Ah, the dreamless sleep” Her letters to her orother detail the family and neighborhood doings, with here and there a suggestion of her growing dislike of meeting people. She mentions a great village fete on the opening of the new railroad. “They all said it was fine. I ‘spose’ it was. Isat in Pro- fessor Tyler’s woods and saw the train move off, and then came home for fear somebody would see me or ask me how Idid. Dr. Holland was here and called to see us.” “Dr. Holland” was J. G. Holland, the well-known author and later the editor of the Century Magazine. A visit to the Hollinds a short time after this was one of the few she ever made. Her letters to them sre extremely interesting and show a constantly increasing brilliancy. The letters to her young cousins in the begin- | ning of the second volume show the womanly and affectionate side of her nature, that had | no warp in its attitude toward those she loved. | But by far the most fascinating letters of all are those addressed to Thomas Wentworth | Higginson. With her constantly increasing seciusion the necessity for some expression seemed to grow. She made no oceupation of writing, but while busy with her house duties or her sewing—for she was pre-eminently a practical, capable New England woman—she would jot down the thoughts that came to her in fragments of verse, writing them often on the margin of newspapers or the backs o old envelopes, There was no system or order in her production and no thought of publication. Any sort of publicity would heve been unbear- able to the women, whose shrinking from the eyes of strangers was so great that she re- sorted 1o &ll sorts of devices to avoid address- ing ber letters in her own hand. Some- times she used newspaper labels, or if tonese were not to had, one of the family performed the office for her. Her penmanship, of which a fac-simile 1s given, seems characteristic of her isolation, each let- | ter standing slone. Writing for herself alone it was not to be exvecied that her verses should be finished in form. Indeed it is doubt- ful whether she understood anything of the theory or technique of poetry. But, as one of her critics said: “When a thought takes our lesson in grammar seemsan im- pertinenc And though her poems may be fragmentary in form, they are never so in sub- stance. Each contains a distinct thought. As, for example, this: Pregentiment Is that long shadow on the lawn Indicative that suns godown: The notice to the startied grass That darkness is about to pass. After a time the desire to have some compe- tent authority pass judgment upon her work grew so strong that it led her to do what many with a far less sensitive temperament would have shrunk from doing. She had come to bave a great admiration for the work and the critical ability of Mr. Higginson, who was then connected with the Atlantic Monthly, and she wrote him the following letter, inclos- ing some of her poems: “Mr, Higginson: Are you {00 deeply occupiea to say i my verse is alive? “The mind is so near itself that it cannot see distinctly, and I have none to ask. “Should you think it breathed and had you the leisure to tell me, Ishould feel quick grat- itude. ““That you may not betray me it is needles. to ask, since honor is its own pawn.” ‘We can imagine how startied and interested Mr. Higginson must have been by the receipt of such & letter. It might have been written by an Emerson or a poet of the Concord school and reminds us that the author was reared in the same montal atmosphere. Mr. Higginson's answers have, unfortunately, not been pre- served. It would have been interesting to read the response he made to this singular and powerfully worded appeal for his criti- cism. We can surmise the gist of his answer by the second letter from Miss Dickinson. She thanks him for his kindness and for his ‘‘sur- Rery.” He had evidently pointed out that her poems were very irregular in form. “You asked how old I was? I made no verse but one or two until this winter, sir. * * * You inquire my books. For poets I have Keats and Mr.and Mrs. Browning. For prose Mr. Ruskip, 8ir Thomus Browne and the Revelations, * * ** A small company of friends was that, butan excellent one. No wonder Ruskin was her in- timate. She was a true disciple of the man who wrote: No weight, nor mass, nor beauty of execution can outwelgh one grain or fragment of thought. Yet Ido not belleve that Emily Dickinson was ever consciously defiant of rules. She rather never considered them at all, and sought only to express the thought which grappled her. Sometimes this was done in strikingly homely phraseology, &s in the poem: Death is a dialogue between The opirit and the dust. “Dissolve,” says Death, the spirit. 1 have another trust.” Deatli doubts It, argues from the ground The Spirit turns away, Just laying off, for evidence, An overcoat of clay. The “overcoat of clay” is stronger and comes more Ireshly home to the mind than any of the usual phrases, such as the body being a“gar- ment to be laid aside,” or the like, which have been said so often that we have mostly lost the teeling out of them. If Emily Dickinson had written to-day, she would have found herself in the fuil sweep of the art movement, which contends for originality and freshness of ex- pression, at the sacrifice of every art torm— instead of the hackneyed, which is powerless to really express. Her letter goes on: “I went to school, but, in your manner of the phrase, had no education. When a little girl T had & friend who taught me immortalif but venturing too near himself he never returned. ‘“You ask of my companions. Hills, sir, and the sundown and a dog large as myself that my father bought me. They are better than beings, because they know but do not tell, and the noise in the pool at noon excels my piano. “I have a brother ana sister. My mother does not care for thought, and father—too busy with his brieis to notice what we do. He buys me many books, but begs me not to read them, because he fears they jogzle the mind. They are religious, except me, and address an eclipse every morning, whom they call their father. ®= = * “I have had few pleasures so deep a&s your opinion, and if I tried to thank you my tears would block my tongue. “My dying tutor told me that he would like to live till I had been a poet, but death was as much of a mob as I could master then. And when, far afterward, a sudden light on orchards or & new fashion in the wina troubled my attention I felt a palsy here, the verses just relieve.” If Emily Dickinson had never written any verse these letters would have stamped her a poet. Mr. Howells has said that **if noth- ing else had come out of our life but this strange poetry we should feel that in the work of Emily Dickinson America, or New England rather, nad made a distinctive addition to the literature of the world, and could not be left out of any record of it.” In this same letter she asks Mr. Higginson if he ‘‘has time to be her friend.” This was the beginning of & correspondence and of a friendship which lasted over thirty years, until the day of her death, and during all that time Mr. Higginson only saw her facetwice. At first he tried to point out her imperfections of rhyme and meters, but he soon ceased, recognizing here a quality beyond all mere form. . In one letter he must have told her that her vision was “‘beyona his knowledge,” or she answers, “You say ‘Beyond your knowledge.’ You would not jest with me; but, preceptor, you cannot mean it?” Mr. Higginson’s interest in the strange genius of his correspondent led him to visit Amherst. He has described his call upon Miss Dickinson in the pages of tne Atlantic. Her shyness and aloofness were so great that he feltnearer to her in letters than in conversation. He says that for.years she never passed beyond her father’s garden, and there were literally years when her foot never crossed her own doorstep. In spite of this fact she is said to have been a gracious and dignified hostess on those occa- sions, once a year, when her father in his offi- cialcapacity gave a reception to the faculty and seniors of Amherst College. Mr. Howells, however, records that later in her life she could not even once a year endure ‘this strain, and would often sit in & back room, her face turned from her guests. Early in life she revolted from the orthodox creed, but she was none the less dominated by her austere Puriten ideals. Strongestamong these was an intense craving for sincerity, to- gether with a loathing for cani and social hypocrisy. In her poem called ‘‘Real’” she has expressed this with daring force: 11ike a look of agony Because I know it's true; Men do not sham convulsion Nor simulate a throe. “str, The eyes glaze over, and that is death— Impossible to feign; The beads vpon the forehead. By homely anguish strung. Hamilton Aide reviewed her poems at length in the Nineteenth Century Magazine. He lamented their technical imperfections, say- ing they were too often “like pearls in pack- thread,’”” but he did full justice to her power of imagination—her *'gil{t of seeing.” That is, after all, the fundemental quality of the poet. Manner is—or shou:d be—accessory to that. Ehe resembles Emily Brant in work and in character more nearly than any other woman writer. It seemed fitiing that Colonel Higgin- son should read over her grave the “Last Lines” of her sister poet. ~ GRACE S. MUSSER. AN UNNAMED POEM. By EMILY DICKINSON. 1 died for beauty, bu: was scarce Adjusted in the tomb. When one who died for truth was lain In an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I falled * “For beauty,” I replied. “And I for truth, the two are one; ‘We brethren are,” he said, And so. as kinsmen met a night, We talked between the rooms, Until the moss had reached our lips, And covered up our names. gy 1 SHALL KNOW. BY EMILY DICKINSON. Ishall know why. when time is over, And I have ceased to wonder why: Christ will explain each separate anguish, In the fair schoolroom of the sky.. He will téll me what Peter promised, And 1, for wonder at his woe, 1 shiall forget the drop of anguish “IfI make the mistake, that you dared to tell me would give me sincerer honor toward you. “I) inclose my name, asking you, if you | Green & Co., in}September, with illustrations | is entitlea “A Knight of the Order of Poets.” nlease, sir, to tell me what is true? That scaids me now, tha. scalds me now. —_——————— Miss Julip Magruder’s new novel, “The Vio- let,” will be published by Messrs. 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The volume before us is made up of separate sketches, nine in number, historical or aile- gorical, “having in some degree a bond of union in the idea of the ‘higher sacritice.’” The substance of most of the sketches has already been given in lectures by the versatile head of Stanford University. “The Story of the Innumerable Caravan” is an allegorical review of the religious creeds and beliefs of the world, in their various pilgrimages, since the birth of Christianity. The allegory is well sustained. The journey over the mountains and through the forests and across the desert of life to the distant river, the waters of which every traveler must breast alone, was made by One in early times by & way so fair that the memory of it became a part of the story of the land. He left a Chart behind for the guidance of those who should come after him, but some who tried to follow him said that the Chart was Dot explicit enough, and marked out | every step of the way. Then discord arose, and new Charts were made, resulting in great con- fusion, until many despised and threw their Charts away. As time passed on the way grew brighter, and men saw that most of the diffi- culties and dangers of the way were those which they unwittingly had made for them- selves or others. The light of wisdom shone along the way; men held the old Chart more in reverence than ever before. No longer did men say, “This path bave I taken; this way must thou go.” And some one wrote upon the Chart this stngle rule of the forest: “Choose thou thine own best way, and help thy nelghbor to find that way which for him is best.” But this was erased at Iast; for beneath it they found the older, plainer words, which One In earlier times had written there, “Thy neighbor as thyselt.” “The Story of the Passion” is a description of the famous Miracle Play as it is to-day mod- ernized and perfected at Oberammergau. The author shows a respect akin to admiration for the simple, pious peasants in the Bavarian Alps who endeavor to faithfully and artistic- ally represent the life and acts of Christ. The sketch contains never a word nor a suggestion which could possibly invite exception from the most ardent believer In the divinity of the holy Nazareme. The play is criticized in a broad and generous way. Mr. Jordan declares that only in the sense of historical continuity can the Passion Play at Oberammergau be characterized as a relic of medieval times; that the spirit of the age has penetrated even to that isolated valley, and that its Passion Play is as much a product of our century as the poetry of Tenuyson. The machinery of superstition is done away with; harmony has taken the place of crudity, and the Christ of Oberammergau is the Christ of modern con- ception. With reference to such scenes as those ac- companying the crucifixion, the author ob- serves thata treatment less reverent than is given by those peasants would make intoler- able binsphemy. In hisopinion the perfection of the “Passion Play” is its justification. “It can never become a show,” he concludes. “Itcan never be carried to other countries, It can never be given under other circum- stances. So long as its players are pure in heart and humble in spirit so long can they keep their well-earned right to show to the world the tragedy of the cross.” “The California of the Padre” (an address delivered at the Teachers’ Institute, Monterey, in 1893) paysa tribute to the early Spanish missionaries, whose age of glory faded away, but *Jett no stain in the pages of our history.” “The Conquest of Jupiter Pen” tells how, according to old chronicles, St. Barnard, through the influence of charity and truth, drove the spirits of evil from the Alps. “The Lastof the Puritans” (an address be- fore the California State Normal School, S8an Jose, 1892) honors the memory of the jim- mortal hero, John Brown, ‘whose body lies but “whose soul goes marching on.” The writings of Ulrich von Hutten, a con- temporary of Martin Luther in the great re- ligious struggle of four centuries ago, receive the strongest praise. Hutten, with fiery pen, fought for freedom of the spirit. 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There are ten storles in the book. ““Cant and Hum- bug” is & humorous tale of English selfish- New York mess and American thriftiness. “Wife vs. Native Land” shows how a man may quit smoking for spite, but not for love. “Ali Hadji Effendi” relates to the adventures of & wandering fanatic of Islam. “The Cross at the Corner” describes the religions devotion of a aged Hungarian and “The Altar Painting” the love-tragedy of an | Italian artisr. ““A Christmas Eve in Paris” gives a pathetic incident of suffering in the Franco-Prussian war during the siege of Paris. “The Stepmother” isan ingenious dis- cussion of that much-abused matron; and ! “Pas de Chance” (No Chance) tells the story of a girl found in a morgue. “How the Fox- hunter Fared in England” has a tragic and humorous denouement, turning upon the Briton’s mode ot fox hunting; and “Within an Inch of Eternity” relates how a prison phy- sician’s hair turned white in a night from horror inflicted on him by two escaped prison- ers. The translator is Mary J. Safford. The cover is of unique and attractive design and the large clear type and heayy paper are additional points in the book’s favor, THE MEANING OF LIFE. THE PERFECT WHOLE —By Horatio W. Dresser. Boston: George. _dfl'.uzug&znnbmher. cloth: price 8100 S Simplicity of language and distinctness of thought are characteristics of Mr. Dresser’s writings, and this essay on the conduct and meaning of life wil! enhance his reputation as a thinker and as a sincere friend of humanity. With becoming modesty the author claims no originality for his essay, but in his thoughtful appreciation of the wisdom of the ages he has taken advantage of ‘‘the best that has been thought and said’’ in the past. He has lent the fresh value of personal experience to em- phasize the problem of problems and has given a fulland frank expression of individual conviction. The purpose of the book at hand is threefold—psychological, metaphysical and practical. As a psychological analysis it is es- pecially concerned with the higher or spiritual nature of man. As 8 philosophical dis- cussion, it aims to develop a generally sound view of reality by a consideration of material- ism, agnosticism and mysticism “in the light of their shortcomings when compared with the demands both of reason and the spiritual sense.” It points out many important distinc- tions essential to a just view of life and indi- cates the dangers of all onesided conceptions of the universe. It isan urgentappeal to life, aplea for the realization of ethicsand the application of spiritual law in every moment of existence. Its threefold purpose and its individual confessions of faith are alike sub- servient to the one central idea for which it stands—the unity of ali that exists in an ulti- mate spiritual reality. The author declares that, with true spiritual insight, “the whole wide universe of beings and things is seen to be one piece in the great life of God, whose infinite beauty, love and goodness receive their full manifestation in that unsearchable whole whose name is eternity.” A MAN'S SUCCESS IN LIFE. THE HIGHER EDUCATION AS A TRAIN- ING FOR BUSINESS. By Pratt Jud- ton. Philadelphia: Henry Altem: sher; price 30 cents. o ey The author admits that there are many suc- cessful men who never entered coilege and | that scholars are often poor business men, and he maintains that success in business is quite distiuctly not the chief aim in the higher edu- cation. An excellent man of business may be a bad citizen, & bad father and an unhappy man. One may succeed in business and yet even in hisown judgment make a failure of life; and 1t is possible to fail in businessand yet make life a glorious success. Businessis a means to an end, and that end isagood all- around li To succeed in business and to succeed in life are two things that should be conjoined, and as modern life is very complex success is no small thing and implies no smail knowledge. “The dreamer is out of date,” exclaims Mr. Judson. ‘Men must be thinking and doing with nervous energy. Their minds are wide awake. The pace is set by steam now and not by oxen. People are no longer provineial, Tne whole world belongs to everybody.” “‘One who would fill any considerable place in_the world must understand the worla is more than a fragmentary waif, and that un- derstanding implies & wide and varied train- ing.” Tne successiul business man must have four prime qualifications— industry, intelligence, acuteness and reliability. “The well-trained college man,” declares the author, “knows how to work patiently and hard; how to wrestle with new questions; how to keep at a thing until he masters it, and this is the very essence of the habitof business. The higher education gives just the training ip industry which & business life demands.” The essay is worthy of the consideration of parents who can afford to give their boys a higher education, and who are nevertheless undecided as to tht advisability of doing so. “4f a boy is of the right sort,” says Mr. Judson, “he will at college form habits of methodical industry quite as well as in the factory. He will learn a larger intelligence than can be given by mere business experience. His mind will be trained to ready command of all its faculties. If, again, he is the right sort of boy he will learn a highsense of honor. Beyond all this, he will become adapted for social life in all its forms; he wili be at home anywhere, and he will bave his ideas so broadened and his tastes so cultivated that he will know how 1o make the mostof life wherever he is. He will be a larger part of the community.” LITERARY NOTES. George Kennan has written three short stories for the coming volume of St. Nicholas. One is calied “How the Bad News Came to Siberia,” and describes how Mr. Kennan and his comrades, while at work on the Russian Overland Telegraph, received news of the com- pletion of the Atlantic cable. This, of course, ruined and brought to a sudden stop the en- terprise in which they were engaged. Another story, called “My Narrowest Escape,” is an ac- count of an exciting adventure in Russia. The first of the stories will appear in the Novem- ber St. Nicholas. ‘Among D. Appleton & Co.’s September publi- cations will be, “What Is Electricity ?”” by Pro- fessor John Trowbridge of Harvard University, A new volume in the International Scientific Series; ‘“‘Alterations in Personality,” by Al- ired Binet, with an introduction by Professor J. Mark Baldwin; “Fiat Money in France” (new edition), by Andrew D. White; ““The Statement of Stella Maberly,” by F. Anstey; “A Court Intrigue,” by Basil Thompson, and “The Idol-Maker,” by Adeline Sergeant. It is proposed to erect in Paris a monument of Paul Verlaine. A bust by Niederhausen is to be placed in the Luxembourg Gardeus, near the statue of Henri Murger. The money is to be raised by international subscription. Stephane Mallarme is president of the com- mittee and the Chap Book has been appointed 10 receive subscriptions in America.’ Mr. Hope will furnish a sequel to “The Prisoner of Zenda” after all. It will be called “The Constable of Zenda.” Every article in the October Scribner’s ex- cept Barrie’s serial will be by an Amerlcan auihor, and the subjects are strongly Ameri- can and of timely interest and importance, such as “The Government of Greater New York,” “The Expenditure of Rich Americans,” «“Tne New York Working-girl,”” “The Sculpture of Olin Warner,” “The American Lighthouse System,” etc. E. L. Godkin, editor of the New York Even- ing Post, in an article on “The Expenditure of Rich Men” in the October Scribner’s, says that rich Americans, by building great houses for a display of their wealth, excite envy, hatred and malice, and he advises them to avoid this by expending it in erecting great public monuments, such as picture-galleries, mu- seums, arches, statuary, etc., which will per- petuate their names and rid them completely of the imputation of selfishness. RMERICAN WOMEN GERTRUDE ATHERTON TELLS WHY THEY FASCINATE ENGLISHMEN Gertrude Atherton in the London Daily News. The fascination of Englishmen for American women has been much discussed of late, but the time is approaching when the possession of England by American women will prove a subject of far more vital controversy. In fact, it threatens to become one of the great international questions, for it means the reconstruction of two races. I understand that an effort is being made by the United States Gov- ernment to prevent its voting citizens remaining abroad more than two years at a time, that it is seriously alarmed at the increasing thousands of Americans who are settling in Europe. The United States press has also half awakened to the fact that the defection of its women means a loss of something more than millions, al- though as yet its only suggestions in re self-protection have been to impose a tax on the dots of American heiresses marry- ing foreigners, and to create a domestic peerage. Meanwhile, what s the reason that at the present moment American women practically own London—that they set the fashions—have, not to exaggerate, five ad- mirers to every English woman’sone, and the pick of the best men? A great many obvious reasons have been advanced. They are prettier, cleverer, more vivacious, more natural, dress better—which is to the eye what music is to the soul—have a born and acute understanding of men, less religion, above all more money. These reasons are all good, but a little analysis will show that they do not hola water. Spanish and Austrian women are more beautiful than Americans. The French woman is equally clever and viva- cious, dresses as well, and what she does not know about men is not worth record- ing. With the Catholic races, at least, re- ligion is an airy convention, not calculated to make man wish that all women were pagans, and there are heiresses all over the world. The one manifest point, therefore, upon which the American woman is sui generis is her naturalness, her habit of thinking out loud, her lack of self-consciousness, of mannerism. All English women talk as if they had studied elocution. An American voice, even when trainante, has the effect of spontaneity. And so with the manner, the habit of thought, the quick, fresh way of looking at life. But this quality, delightful as it is, is hardly strong enough to constitute more than a passing charm, and the American woman’s foothold in England .is growing firm as the years go by. She has come to stay, and what is more no Englishman seems to be terrified by his brother's choice. Under the obvious reason, or rather set of reasons, there must then be a funda- mental and psychological reason. English- | men rarely marry European women, with all their manifold charms. They make Iove in Paris, Vienna, Seville, Venice and Yokohama, but the foreigner they marry is the American. It must be, therefors, that they recognize in American women something that they most want—somes thing that the women of their own couns try cannot give them. Can it be that while Englishmen have gone forward, have become more alive every year, have kept pace with their cen« tury—it may almost be said that they have set the pace—the English woman hag stood still? In many instances has she not degenerated? Take her literature. With some very few exceptions, no Enge lish woman to-day is writing either intel« lectual or wholesome fiction. Leaving the silly novelists out of the question, what does the enormous success of the neurotic, mor« bid and decadent effusions denote? Ona need haraly think twice to answer that it means a - generzl degeneracy among Enge lish women. 1 hear several thousand people remarking, ¢These same books have had great sales 10 America.” So they have, but because the United States is in« tellectually under the yoke of England, and is as yet too heterogeneous to have g mindof its own on the subjectof liter ature. None of these books would have achieved success if written in America— in fact, they could not have been written in America. Asitis, they are read out of curiosity, tossed aside and forgotten. To return: It is inconceivable that the women who read and exist in these novels as the expression of their inner selves do notbore and disgust men. Englishmen, taking them generally, are the most wholesome, healthy-minded men in the world. They live a clean, outdoor life, love sport better than women and make history along the natural lines of evolus tion. In them is no taint of morbidity, and it is easy to imagine how little attrace tion the quality has for them in womans kind. Do the ‘“advanced women” and their following actually believe that they can reconstruct these men—the most domi« nant, perfectly balfinced, rapidly develop~ ing and highly developed race of men the world has ever known—along lines laid down by themselves? As well try to harness the sun. The end will be that their men will let them severely alone and marry American women. In the feminine literature of to-day and in its success is the note. of decay; one can small the mold. It seems to me that this 13 the secret of the-affinity between American women and English men. The vast majority of Amer. ican men are composed of two elements only—money greed and sensuality. They are at the very beginnings of their own development, the most elemental race of men in all civilization to-day. Ameri- can women have so far flashed past them that they stand on the plane which Eng- lish women would occupy if they had kept pace with their men. They are alive to their finger tips; they have cast off the yoke of conventionality, cut-and-dried re- ligion, and all the old forms and tradi« tions which should be and must become obsolete as the higher civilization.