SAY NOW 
 SHIBBOLETH 
 
 EUGENE MANLOVE RHODES 
 
Class 
 
 Book , H ^/ ^ '^^ 
 Copyright }^«_L?_^ 
 
 COF^fRIGRT DEPOSrr. 
 
4 
 
 The Little Bookfollow Series 
 
 Say Now Shibboleth 
 
Other titles in this series : 
 
 ESTRAYS; Poems by four Bookfellows, 
 Thomas Kennedy, George Seymour. Vin- 
 cent Starrett, and Basil Thompson. 
 
 William De Morgan ; a Post-Victorian 
 Realist, By Flora Warren Seymour. 
 
 Lyrics, by Laura Blackburn. 
 
 Candles in the Sun; Poems by William 
 Griffith. 
 
 Laureate Address, by John G. Neihardt. 
 An address on the function of poetry in 
 education, delivered on becoming Poet 
 Laureate of Nebraska. 
 
Say Now Shibboleth 
 
 By 
 
 Eugene Manlove Rhodes 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 THE BOOKFELLOWS 
 
 1921 
 
Of this first edition, four Imndred copies Jmve been 
 printed in the month of December, 19S1. Eugene Man- 
 love Rhodes, the author, is Book fellow No. 95; Luther 
 A. Brewer, the printer, is BooTcfellow No. 14. 
 
 For permission to reprint the essay entitled King 
 Charles's Head, acknowledgment is made to the Houghton 
 Mifflin Company, wlw retain all rights to its repro- 
 duction. 
 
 ) 
 1^2 1 
 
 Hn S3 
 
 Copyright, 1921, by 
 Flora Warren Seymour 
 
 THE TORCH PRESS 
 
 CEDAR RAPIDS 
 
 IOWA 
 
 JAN-/ 1922 
 
 ©ni.A653428 
 -7 U » / 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Say Now Shibboleth 7 
 
 King Charles's Head 37 
 
 The Gentle Plagiarist 45 
 
SAY NOW SHIBBOLETH 
 A Bit op Wordly Wisdom 
 
 "7 will not tell you where he lived; too 
 
 much 
 Already has hee-n said: it would he 
 
 spiteftd. 
 Many unkind remarks are made hy such 
 As live in places far, far less delightful. 
 Be this enough: it may he plainly stated, 
 His mind was very highly cultivated." 
 
 While yet a small boy I was persuaded to 
 earnest and painstaking study of language by 
 hearing a report of a memorable examination. 
 Some of you may have seen it : 
 
 "And the Gileadites took the passages 
 of Jordan before the Ephraimites ; and 
 it was so, that when those Ephraimites 
 which were escaped said, Let me go 
 over; that the men of Gilead said unto 
 him, Art thou an Ephraimite? If he 
 said. Nay : Then said they unto him. Say 
 now Shibboleth ; and he said Sibboleth ; 
 for he could not frame to pronounce it 
 right. Then they took him, and slew 
 him at the passages of Jordan. ' ' 
 
 They were purists, I take it. 
 Forty-and-two thousand failed to pass. The 
 Gileadites were a strong and vigorous stock. 
 
Their spiritual descendants still keep sleepless 
 watch at the passes of Jordan. True, they do 
 not now hold to the strict letter of the olden 
 penalty for lingual error, but they observe the 
 spirit of it. It is still so. 
 
 There will be need now for care to avoid mis- 
 eonstniction of the few and heartfelt ensuing 
 remarks. Take the "shortened Italian a" for 
 example ^ our old friend " a. " For my single 
 self, I like that sound. One of my earliest ambi- 
 tions was to have graven upon my tombstone 
 this epitaph : ' ' Pass, traveler, nor ask who lies 
 beneath the grass." 
 
 I do not foolishly dote upon either "a" or its 
 variant "a," you understand; but it seems to 
 me that either of them is intrinsically a more 
 pleasing sound than the flat "a" — as in this 
 same word "flat." There are many who use this 
 "Italian a" sound naturally. Also properly. 
 In such cases it is good hearing. But when its 
 use — or misuse — requires visible effort by tlie 
 speaker and its delivery leaves him with a 
 startled air — makes him gasp, in fact — the 
 effect is spoiled. It has become a mincing affec- 
 tation. And, in any case, I must and do hereby 
 respectfully but firmly decline to consider that, 
 if a man should ask me for a flask*, when h^ 
 might say "flask," he is thereby branded by 
 either moral turpitude or social impossibility. 
 Nor will the reverse hold true. Yet we have seen 
 the statement that "when a man speaks of a 
 bath it may properly be inferred that he seldom 
 
 * Ammonia : for snakebite. 
 
uses a bfith." — And he said Sibboleth. And 
 they slew him. — You hear just such inferences 
 every day, based on similar premises. 
 
 It cannot be set forth too plainly, too early or 
 too often, that the grievance ■which some of us 
 hold against the Gileadite is not for what he 
 says, but for the — objectionable — way he says 
 it. He is frequently right in his contention. 
 But wanton and offensive sneers do not precisely 
 warm our heart to him or yet lead us to mend 
 our ways. Just resentment for the precisian's 
 contemptuous treatment of the erring but too 
 often fosters a fond attachment for the error. I 
 think these passwords will wither, most of them ; 
 not because they deserve to perish, but because 
 their proponents, with a singular want of tact, 
 urge them by heaping vituperation, abuse and 
 insult upon the luckless tribesman. There is an 
 old injunction that we must "hate the sin and 
 not the sinner." I fear we are in danger of 
 reversing this by hating the virtue as well as 
 the virtuous. We are joined to our idols ; let us 
 alone. 
 
 True, it is only a small minority of educated 
 people that exhibits this Gileaditish spirit — else 
 we uncultivated would grease the loud tumbrel 
 and burn the colleges forthwith. But it is a 
 voluble minority — a minority that loves to 
 speak of itself as ''cultured." The disdain of 
 this paroxysmal minority is not here exag- 
 gerated. It can hardl}^ be exaggerated. Before 
 we go on to consider some other test words, com- 
 monly propounded at the passes of Jordan, let 
 
 9 
 
me prove to you that this arrogance is past exag- 
 geration. 
 
 On my desk are three books. They are there 
 by chance and not chosen to edge this feeble 
 remonstrance. On the contrary, a careful second 
 reading of them convinced me that it was high 
 time some one rose to a point of order, like 
 Abner Dean, of Angel's. For these books are 
 typical of the Gileadite. If there were no more 
 of their kind they might be attributed to per- 
 sonal misfortune. But there are thousands of 
 the kind ; and the kind is recklessly mischievous. 
 
 The three authors are scholars and gentlemen 
 of repute — one, at least, a name of nation-wide 
 distinction. The books, one and all, are full of 
 valuable and interesting matter, ably set forth; 
 one and all, they are marred by unbelievable 
 narrowness, by malignant rancor, by a haughty 
 intolerance — not only for verbal error, be it 
 marked, but for any usage differing from their 
 own and for any mode of life not conforaiing to 
 their habits. One book deals with English, 
 severely; one with "Words; and the third is a 
 Life of Lincoln. Let us now take a worm's-eye 
 view of the Essays on English, by the chiefest 
 among these three. 
 
 You are at once struck by the frequent recur- 
 rence of ''this sort of person" — our sort — and 
 "enlightened" — his sort; in fact, he writes 
 ** Enlightened" with a capital after he gets well 
 warmed to his work; "The Enlightened," who 
 have a "sixth sense . . . and that sublimated 
 
 10 
 
taste which makes of its possessors a very special 
 class, ' ' 
 
 "This sort of person is almost as low as the 
 one . . . with whom men and women are always 
 ladies and gentlemen." He explains about 
 ladies and gentlemen, then, adding naively that 
 these are matters that "the unenlightened will 
 not understand, even after they have been ex- 
 plained." So there's no need of puzzling our 
 poor heads over it. There is one phrase that 
 seems pretty plain, however: "Whereas, if a 
 man says that he was lunching with a 'woman,' 
 there is a dangerous little implication which could 
 not exist did he use the word 'lady' instead." 
 
 There is another little implication that might 
 be made ; but let it pass. I must say, however, 
 that some of us judge a man by his character as 
 much as by his words ; and when a man 's charac- 
 ter cannot stand the strain of lunching with a 
 ' ' woman, " he is in a parlous state. 
 
 He has tolerant spells, however. "The slang 
 of the clubs and of university men is also quite 
 consistent with good taste." It may be men- 
 tioned — but perhaps you have already guessed 
 it — that he is notably a university man and a 
 clubman. 
 
 Just so. The metaphorical use of the phrases 
 "to cross swords" and "to parry a thrust" are 
 elegant, reminiscent of the days when homicide 
 was a fashionable recreation. But the meta- 
 phorical use of "bed-rock," "rolling-hitch," 
 "cinch" and "balance" carry with them low 
 
 11 
 
suggestions — of work, I do not wish to mis- 
 represent our author or to garble his words. So 
 I hasten to state that the distinctions made in 
 this paragraph are quoted from another writer 
 and that our own author may not approve of 
 them. Judge for yourself. 
 
 Here is a little extract in his happiest manner 
 — and by this foot you may know Hercules. 
 
 "A slight provincial touch is given by the 
 frequent use of 'minister' instead of 'clergy- 
 man,' and when one refers to a clergyman as a 
 'preacher,' the case is hopeless." Nothing pro- 
 vincial about that, is there ? Yet if one, hearing 
 this single sentence and having no knowledge of 
 the author save that sentence, could not go to 
 the ten-acre map in the Pennsylvania Station 
 and put his unhesitating finger within one inch 
 of that author's home, one's case would then be 
 hopeless indeed. 
 
 "There is another provincial usage out of 
 which it is to be hoped the American people will, 
 in the course of time, be educated." — Did you 
 get that? The usage of the American people is 
 provincial ; the use of an insular or peninsular 
 corner of America is not provincial. The part is 
 greater than the whole. — "They" — newspaper 
 men — "spoke of his wife, of course, as 'Mrs. Mc- 
 Kinley,' but they always mentioned his aged 
 mother as 'Mother McKinley.' This was pro- 
 vincial and disgusting to a degree; and it is 
 surprising that no one ever reverted to the dig- 
 nified New England usage, which would have 
 mentioned the dowager as 'Madam McKinley'." 
 
 12 
 
There ! He told you himself ! I was afraid he 
 would. Anyhow, I didn't tell. And we have 
 gained one advantage. After this, we can have 
 no doubt as to the exact meaning of the word 
 "provincial." Anything is "provincial" that 
 does not conform to New England usage. We 
 have it from his own mouth. We are on firm 
 ground now. 
 
 * ' I should hardly have thought it necessary to 
 recall this detestable bit of social ignorance," he 
 proceeds, "had not President McKinley himself 
 been guilty of it during a journey of his through 
 the South. . . . Now this form of speech is not 
 only crude and wholly alien to the little touches 
 which give distinction, but its mental suggestions 
 are unpleasant, since it is a form of speech that 
 suggests Mother Goose and Mother Bunch, and 
 brings to mind some w^rinkled, blear-eyed beldam 
 — a wizened crone, a raucous hag." 
 
 These be wild and whirling words, my mas- 
 ters! It doesn't matter so much about us. You 
 and I are no better than w^e should be, and our 
 shoulders are broad. But Uncle John, and Aunt 
 Mary, and IMother Anderson, who helped us 
 when little Jimmie died — to have them and 
 their speech held up to contempt and derision — 
 it hurts, I tell you ! It rankles. They were kind 
 and good and loving; they are not "disgusting" 
 to our memories. Nor is Mother Goose, for that 
 matter. 
 
 If it is not long since clear that I, now 
 remonstrating, am but a rude, crude, rough, low 
 and brutal person, unmistakably plebeian — just 
 
 13 
 
a plain, provincial American of no sublimated, 
 very special caste — the fact is now expressly 
 declared. I will also here state and proclaim 
 that, if any healthy and sane he-Gileadite, be- 
 tween the ages of twenty and fifty, not more than 
 ten pounds lighter or over forty pounds heavier 
 than myself, shall, in my presence, venture to 
 direct his insolence at these kindly, dim-eyed 
 Ephraimite kindred of mine, I'm going to hit 
 him once. That's the sort of person I am. If I 
 subsequently have to say "Good Mawnin', 
 judge !" or "Doctor, how long do you s'pose it'll 
 be before I can get around again?" — why, I'll 
 try to say it cheerfully. 
 
 Yes, sir. Not going to make any little declama- 
 tion before I rebuke him, either. Folks that use 
 that kind of wit should expect fitting repartee. 
 He may strut and swell all he wants to, he may 
 abuse me as long as it amuses him; but those 
 "blear eyes" are faded with tears, those wrinkles 
 are scars of Armageddon fight: he must teach 
 his tongue to speak respectfully of them, or teach 
 his hands to keep his head. It doesn't matter 
 about the rest of us. Curiously enough, how- 
 ever much a person of this sort looks down on us, 
 we never look up to him ; it doesn 't occur to us. 
 
 "Mother" called out all his rancor. Here is 
 some more about it. Mr. McKinley said "mo- 
 ther ' ' himself — ' ' Mother ' ' Hobson. ' ' And when 
 Mr. McKinley adopted it, it was so out of keep- 
 ing ... as to resemble the speech of one whose 
 evenings in early youth were spent in some 
 small, backwoods country 'store,' in the society 
 
 14 
 
of those who pendulously dangle their loutish 
 legs over the sides of an empty cracker barrel." 
 
 Let us get back to earth. It may be well to 
 remember that in just such a small countiy store 
 Abraham Lincoln was wont to pendulously 
 dangle his loutish legs; and that the work well 
 done for their country and for all humanity by 
 those who, in their early youth so dangled — 
 pendulously dangled — their loutish legs in just 
 such detestable places, so far outweighs anything 
 done by dilettante, pendulously dangling their 
 loutish legs from easy chairs in any club or any 
 university, that none — not even themselves — 
 have ever felt the necessity of comparison. 
 
 By-the-way, how could one dangle his or her 
 loutish legs except pendulously? I have pendu- 
 lously dangled my loutish legs frequently, both 
 from easy chairs and cracker barrels, empty or 
 full — full cracker barrels, I mean — in large 
 stores and small; but never, to my knowledge, 
 have I dangled my loutish legs like a steeple, for 
 instance, or a yardarm, or a nebular hj^pothesis. 
 I must try it, sometime. Always to dangle one 's 
 loutish legs pendulously shows deplorable lack of 
 initiative. 
 
 This saddens one. It is enough to sadden a 
 dozen. If the net result of a college education 
 is to have erected, by the toil of j'ears, and 
 possibly by the self-denial of one's father and 
 mother — of one's paternal and maternal ances- 
 tors — a tall, giddy and tolerably useless pedes- 
 tal, whereon one is to sit for the remainder of 
 one's life in close observation of one's personal 
 
 15 
 
pulchritude, like an introspective bronze Bud- 
 dha, then, if sending our boys to college leads to 
 such self-loving attitude, in Heaven's name let's 
 not send 'em ! No — that would be a cowardly 
 evasion. Foolish, too, remembering the millions 
 of kindly folk who remain kindly, fair-minded, 
 considerate and just, though educated. Rather 
 let us club together, we rough men, to endow in 
 every school Chairs of Common Sense and of 
 The Relative Proportion of Things — and get the 
 best men to fill them. 
 
 The junior editor, reading this MS. as he 
 dangles his loutish legs from the window-seat, 
 says that I am all wrong ; that the critic doesn 't 
 object to the word "mother," save as applied to 
 dowagers, in lieu of ' ' madam. ' ' But I maintain 
 that there is not and never can be anything 
 "disgusting" in any use of the word mother; 
 that it is the noblest and sweetest word in the 
 language. "Mother is growing old," says a man 
 of his wife; or, to her, "Mother, how long is it 
 since Charley Hilman went West ? " So misused, 
 the word is the final endearment. 
 
 It is even conceivable that a general — a gen- 
 eral who protected his soldiers against embalmed 
 meats and pasteboard shoes and their own weak- 
 ness, for example — might be called "mother" 
 by campfires ; just as certain lewd fellows of the 
 baser sort, who stood with Thomas at Chica- 
 mauga, spoke of that gallant soldier as "Pap" 
 Thomas. You would infer, in such a case, that 
 "mother" was a symbol of trust and affection — 
 
 16 
 
not of disgust or belittlement. But, if the gen- 
 eral were called * ' Madam " . . . ? 
 
 "A person who addresses a physician affably 
 as 'Doc/ and who . . . will speak of him as 
 being 'raised' in such-and-such a place — this is 
 the sort of person who also . . . wears a cellu- 
 loid collar and eats peas with a knife. ' ' 
 
 ]\Ossed me that time ! I never eat peas. But, 
 if a man who wears celluloid collars addresses a 
 physician affably as "Doc," what would a man 
 who wears a flannel shirt be affably apt to call 
 him ? Sawbones, maybe. Yet the best-loved man 
 of this generation said, as he lay dying: "Pull 
 up the curtain. Doc ; I 'm afraid to go home in 
 the dark." 
 
 ' ' The unenlightened ' ' — ( and uncapitalized ) — 
 ' ' person .... may use the expression ' Between 
 you and I,' just as he may, if he is very be- 
 nighted, say 'You was.' These slips are to be 
 expected from those . . . who describe a house- 
 maid as 'the girl,' which is, of course, not quite 
 so bad as to speak of her as 'the help,' but is, 
 nevertheless, the linguistic earmark of a class — 
 the class that splits its infinitives and thinks that 
 Fonetik Refawm is scholarly." This is respect- 
 fully referred to the Fonetik Refawmere, with 
 the query whether a "help" is really a house- 
 maid unless she wears a cap as a sort of badge of 
 servility. 
 
 "The enlightened person may, however, speak 
 of 'those sort of things'." Here follows a list of 
 things that an enlightened person may say, end- 
 
 17 
 
ing with: "when very colloquial indeed, 'It is 
 me ! ' " I judge that he does these permissible 
 things himself, maybe. 
 
 "A vulgarism, *-ha-ouse-' which, when they 
 use it in the presence of a cultivated English- 
 man, ranks them at once in his mind with the 
 caddish and the ignorant." Caddishness and 
 ignorance are one and inseparable, it seems. We 
 had not known this. 
 
 "Persons of this sort present as pathetic a 
 spectacle to the Enlightened as do those who, in 
 employing the broad "a" because it is so Eng- 
 lish, introduce it ignorantly into words where the 
 English never use it; saying, for example, 
 'fawncy' for 'fancy,' in which the educated 
 Englishman always sounds the "a" as flatly as 
 any Philadelphian. ' ' Philadelphia is provincial, 
 you see. Pretty much all the United States is 
 provincial, south and west of a given point. As 
 you now note, that point is north of Philadel- 
 phia. My own idea is that the given point lies 
 somewhere between Stepleton and St. George — 
 or at the Statue of Liberty, maybe. That would 
 be a good place to fix it. Even so, there would 
 be many unrefined people within the pale. 
 
 * ' To receive a letter containing such words as 
 'Xrnas,' 'tho,' 'photo' and 'rec'd' affects one" — 
 It affects one very badly indeed. I spare you the 
 unpleasant details. Such letters "are usually 
 written by the sort of men who sign their names 
 in such abbreviated forms as 'Geo.,' 'Wm.,' 
 'Chas.,' 'Jas.' and 'Jno.' " 
 
 This is the method of Lady Grove, to quote 
 
 18 
 
Mr. Chesterton : " To terrify people from doing 
 quite harmless things by telling them that if they 
 do they are the kind of people who would do 
 other things, equally harmless. ' ' 
 
 Let us look into this. I find, from the volume 
 nearest at hand — and I mean by that the first 
 and only work consulted — that of the fifty-five 
 who pledged their lives, their fortunes and their 
 sacred honor to the Declaration of Independence, 
 no less than thirty signed with just such atro- 
 cious and detestable contractions. That is the 
 sort of persons they were. Jefferson signed ' ' Th., ' ' 
 Franklin wrote it "Benja." Of the Constitution 
 framers, the immortal Geo. did not even stop at 
 Geo. He signed it "Go." — just like that! Sev- 
 enteen of the thirty-nine followed his noxious 
 example by other low abbreviations. One even 
 stooped to "Dan'l." 
 
 We are reminded of the devil demanding cre- 
 dentials from Tomlinson — and that is another 
 pathetic spectacle : 
 
 " 'You have read, you have heard, you 
 
 have thought,' quoth he. 
 'God's mercy! what ha' y' doneV " 
 
 You see plainly, Jas., that our author was 
 trying to impose upon us merely his personal 
 preference about ' ' Wm. ' ' and ' ' Chas. " It is not 
 a matter of good taste or poor taste ; it is only 
 a matter of his taste or your taste. It is not 
 alwaj-s so easy to see that such is the case as in 
 this instance ; but that is about what he aims at 
 all along. Even when he is right, his ferocity 
 
 19 
 
defeats his purpose — if his purpose were indeed 
 to better our speech, which is hereby doubted. 
 Take this paper, for instance — which might 
 have been the most limpid Addisonian English, 
 had it not been — were it not — only he got me 
 all roiled up. 
 
 Another little footprint. He says: 
 
 "I have always felt a genuine admiration for 
 those among my correspondents who write every- 
 thing out in full ; as, for example, ' January the 
 twenty-eighth', 'Seven hundred and sixty-three, 
 Albemarle Avenue,' and so on. There is a 
 certain aristocratic suggestion of leisure about 
 this sort of thing that appeals to me and that 
 is thoroughly consistent." 
 
 You see? Nobility and gentry — that sort of 
 thing. People of leisure, uncontaminated by 
 work. 
 
 I don't think I am unfair to this man. This 
 book of his — which might otherwise have been 
 valuable — is stained throughout by like narrow- 
 ness and intolerance. 
 
 Here is a bit of unconscious autobiography: 
 
 "But who among us would not be willing to 
 spend three hours a day in dining properly chez 
 Voisin, rather than to save two hours and fifty- 
 five minutes of that time by furtively gobbling 
 a plate of corned-beef hash in a John Street 
 beanery ? ' ' 
 
 He spells it out in full, you notice — even John 
 Street. There is a certain air of aristocratic 
 leisure about this sort of thing that appeals to 
 one — doesn't it? John Street, I gather, is a 
 
 20 
 
very low place indeed. People work there, 
 possibly. D,on't turn away, Wm. . , . Look me 
 in the eye. I trust you have never furtively 
 gobbled a plate of corned-beef hash in a Jno. St. 
 beanery. I never have. But I will. If ever 
 I find out where Jno. St. is — information is 
 hereby requested — I will hie me to a beanery, 
 pendulously dangle my loutish legs from a stool, 
 and furtively gobble a plate of corned-beef hash. 
 Just to preserve my self-respect. I do not like 
 corned-beef hash. 
 
 * * Very likely there are members of the Ameri- 
 can Philological Association who habitually eat 
 peas with their knives and perhaps drink out 
 of finger bowls; but their example will hardly 
 result in the establishment of a new social can- 
 on." 
 
 You mustn 't cross him ; he was raised a pet. 
 He does not wait to find out your name, your 
 station, your dwelling place or your destination 
 — or even if you are a real person. A purely 
 supposititious person who supposititiously fails 
 to agree with his notions on any subject, however 
 unimportant, is at once questioned as to motives, 
 breeding, morals, family and color, and becomes 
 the target for the cheap and easy satire which 
 belittles its object less than it degrades the user ; 
 and that displays precisely so much wit as is 
 shown withal by pressing the tip of one's thumb 
 to the tip of one's nose and wiggling one's de- 
 risive fingers with a certain aristocratic sugges- 
 tion of leisure. 
 
 He doesn't like this Philological Association. 
 
 21 
 
On questions of taste, he says, it is "entitled 
 to speak with no more weight than the Ancient 
 Order of Hibernians or the Knights of Labor." 
 To prove it he tells this anecdote ; 
 
 * ' Some time ago one of our most distinguished 
 classical professors was asked why he never 
 attended the meetings of the American Philologi- 
 cal Association; and he replied, with an air of 
 unutterable boredom: 'Oh, because, if I go, I 
 shall have to meet so many persons who wear 
 black trousers ! ' " 
 
 This is conclusive. "We may now pass on to 
 settle other vexed subjects. 
 
 * * I used to open it and put it aside under the 
 impression that it was a publication in the 
 Magyar or Polish or Czechish tongue, brought 
 out for the benefit of those interesting aliens 
 who inhabit that portion of the country; and 
 who, when they are not engaged in organizing 
 strikes, amuse themselves by assassinating one 
 another — .a most laudable occupation, in which 
 I am sure no judicious person would ever be 
 anxious to discourage them." 
 
 It was not a publication in any of these 
 tongues, mind you. That was merely his impres- 
 sion. He was not discussing Magyars, Poles or 
 Czechs. He was discussing simplified spelling. 
 But he was not one to let his light be hidden 
 under a bushel. Accordingly he abandoned his 
 discourse to give us his profound and well-con- 
 sidered views on those aliens and upon the labor 
 question. 
 
 And yet, Thos., there are times when I realize 
 
 22 
 
how this sort of person feels, and sympathize 
 with him. There is a Spanish adjective, 
 "bronco," meaning rough, coarse, crusty, crab- 
 bed, rude — and also hoarse, harsh to the ear. 
 On the English tongue it becomes a noun, mean- 
 ing a horse ; a rough, coarse, crusty, crabbed, 
 rude and boisterous horse — a horse of no re- 
 finement. And there is a sort of person who 
 spells it ' ' broncho ' '. There are some ninety-nine 
 millions of such persons in this country alone. 
 Probably the secondary meaning of the word, 
 of hoarse or harsh, deceived them. They seem to 
 think that a bronco is a horse afflicted with 
 bronchitis, hay fever, or phth — oh, well, asthma, 
 then. It is very annoying to me that this ob- 
 stinate, unreasonable ninety-nine million will 
 persist in this provincial and disgusting usage, 
 instead of conforming to the New Mexican stand- 
 ard. I do not hesitate to infer, believe and 
 aflSrm that this sort of person eats peas with his 
 knife ; wears a celluloid collar and black trousers ; 
 is guilty of perjury, piracy on the high seas, 
 bribery and corruption; does not write out his 
 name, date and address in full ; beats the hotels 
 and his wife ; tips his glass but not the waiter ; 
 gambles, wins ; quotes Mother Goose ; pendulous- 
 ly dangles his legs and furtively gobbles a plate 
 of comed-beef hash in a John Street beanery — 
 and works, maybe ! 
 
 If one turns one's eyes from the Astors and 
 the little asteroids to consider carefully in what 
 desert corner of the universe our petty pro- 
 vincial system wanders darkling on the dim 
 
 23 
 
frontier of chaos, a fleeting spark for one brief 
 split-second of Eternity — one would hardly 
 think it worth one's while to be such an insuf- 
 ferable, unmitigated, complicated and complacent 
 ass as I am about that * ' bronco ' ' word — would 
 one? For consider, that in the worlds beyond 
 Aldebaran and Antares they may not use the 
 word bronco at all. Or madam, either. 
 
 The book on Words is written in a more toler- 
 ant spirit. It is fair to believe that the writer's 
 honest purpose was to help his readers to better 
 usage. But inherent superiority cannot be com- 
 pletely suppressed. It peeps out: ''Abomin- 
 able ; " " execrable ; " " ignoramus ; " "no one but 
 a low fellow will say that;" "a vulgar collo- 
 quialism befitting a clodhopper." 
 
 A clodhopper is one who hops clods — in 
 plowing. The term seems to be a euphemism for 
 "farmer." That he who hops a clod is neces- 
 sarily a low and despicable fellow is, for many, 
 not the least of those truths which they hold to 
 be self-evident. I think the inference is hasty. 
 I think that never to have hopped a clod is but 
 a negative virtue at best. I have known men 
 who hopped clods with nimbleness and precision, 
 but who, nevertheless, were estimable men, who 
 personally knew what their own thoughts and 
 opinions were without consulting the authorities 
 or looking in the morning paper. 
 
 His instruction is right in the main, but he 
 slips sometimes. * ' View-point is the correct and 
 elegant expression, unless we would counten- 
 ance such vulgar words as washtub, cookstove 
 
 24 
 
and the like." He does not give us the elegant 
 word for washtub. I wish he had supplied it. 
 I would like to get one. 
 
 "The masses. This expression is thought by 
 some to be as vulgar as the object it describes. ' ' 
 
 Let us pass over the implausibility of such 
 reference to some one hundred and nine and a 
 half millions — some say more — of our people, 
 as ''the object," or even "objects." For a 
 question arises in our minds — if an object may 
 be said to have a mind — whether this wholesale 
 scorn is not at least as disrespectful to the Creat- 
 or of that object, or objects, as to the object, or 
 objects, which He created ? Either this sweeping 
 disdain is unjustified or He erred in not calling 
 expert advice before creating this object, or ob- 
 jects. He might have heard of something to His 
 advantage. 
 
 On the whole, I believe "objects" is the better 
 word. It seems to concede to us a certain amount 
 of personal identity. 
 
 Paste this in your hat, please. "Vulgar" 
 means " of or pertaining to the mass or multitude 
 of the people : common, general, ordinary, public ; 
 hence, in general use : vernacular. ' ' The evil 
 meaning attached to the word has been forced 
 upon it by such scornful patricians as have felt 
 it needful systematically to advise the world 
 that they were not common or ordinary. That 
 a word or a man is vulgar is no more proof that 
 such word or man is vile than that a vulgar 
 fraction is vile. A vulgar man may be object- 
 ionable — but not because he is one of a 
 
 25 
 
multitude of people. That is not a criminal 
 matter. It is not even a matter for sorrow. 
 When you meet a man overgiven to the use of 
 "vulgar," in its deprecating sense, shun him. 
 He is a Gileadite ; he will slay you. If it is not 
 feasible to avoid him, at least let him do all the 
 talking. Keep your mouth shut. You are safe 
 then — unless you wear black trousers. 
 
 "He married his wife in Honoulu. Well, 
 such a man is only fit to live on some far sea- 
 island." Far from — er — where? I wonder. 
 What has the place where a man lives to do with 
 his fitness? Where is the moral Meridian of 
 Greenwich? Honolulu is no farther away from 
 any place whatever — and I make no exceptions 
 — than any place whatever is from Honolulu. 
 I say it deliberately; and I will maintain it 
 with my life. I seem to have a dim remember- 
 ance of a parable wherein it is said: "I have 
 married a wife, and therefore I cannot come." 
 But the Giver of that parable lived in a far 
 land Himself. 
 
 Surely this is literalism gone mad. To 
 "marry" originally meant to take a husband; 
 time. It means to wed, now — and has meant 
 just that any time these four centuries. There 
 is no such thing as the "sanctity" of language: 
 a word means what it means, not what is once 
 meant or what it might mean. So cruelly to 
 exile a man, or even a person, for using a word 
 in its universally accepted sense throws a strong 
 sidelight on the animus of the hyper-critic. 
 True, in the strictest literal sense a man who 
 
 26 
 
marries a wife thereby assists her to commit 
 bigamy. A bride is not a wife until she is mar- 
 ried. Theoretically, a man marries a maid, 
 widow or divorcee; in practice we may say "he 
 marries a wife" just as we say "he takes a wife." 
 ' ' Thou shalt not take a wife of the daughters of 
 Canaan." No misunderstanding results. It 
 seems hard to be consigned to outer darkness 
 for using a term so convenient and so unambigu- 
 ous. 
 
 The Life of Lincoln, which we now take up, 
 is in many respects a valuable work. Its useful- 
 ness is heavily discounted by the opening pages, 
 which are given to indiseriminating attack upon 
 the threefold nature of the early settlers of 
 Illinois and Indiana. The author imputes to 
 them the lowest motives ; he puts the worst pos- 
 sible construction on their every act. Lincoln 
 himself does not escape rough handling; and as 
 for his family, they are pursued with fire and 
 sword — no city of refuge avails them. 
 
 That the pioneers built log huts before build- 
 ing palaces is a shameful thing; the forest was 
 their personal misdemeanor; the privations of 
 the foregoer are his reproach. Decency, cleanli- 
 ness, morality, truthfulness, honor, common hon- 
 esty, the author denies to them, directly or by 
 implication. Indeed, of all possible virtues he 
 grants them only two: "an ignoble physical 
 courage" and "a sort of bastard contempt for 
 hardship." These are his prudent words. For 
 myself, I think that sort of bastard contempt for 
 hardship would do nearly as well in a pinch as 
 
 27 
 
a legitimate contempt for hardship, with a church 
 register rampant tattooed on its torso. Honestly, 
 don't you think he went out of his way to be 
 offensive ? 
 
 What sticks in his gizzard most, however, was 
 that these men were migratory. He doesn't 
 approve of that. He rings all the changes on 
 this theme: "restless;" "shiftless vagrants;" 
 "the natural idler;" "nomads;" "rovers;" 
 "waifs and strays from civilized communities;" 
 "adventurers," forever "moving on." He in- 
 timates pretty strongly that they "moved on" 
 to avoid paying their debts. He does not explain 
 how they could have settled the West if they 
 had stayed at home. He evidently thinks they 
 might have been better employed. It is a pity. 
 He blames them severely. "Wretched;" "brut- 
 al;" " squalid ; " " frontier ruffians of the famil- 
 iar type ; " " uncouth ; " " coarse ; " " vulgarity ; ' ' 
 "utter lack of barriers establishing strata of 
 society ' ' — these are but a few expressions culled 
 from a dozen pages. 
 
 I want to do a little inferring now. I feel that 
 I have a right to infer a little. My inference is 
 that this author has lived too long among the 
 noble oaks and the solid citizens, many of whom 
 have never left their native parish, that he has 
 acquired a wrong notion of this matter. I do 
 not know his birthplace, I do not here hazard 
 a guess. But I think I could find him if I had to. 
 
 There ! I have done the man an injustice. He 
 does credit these people with another virtue — 
 a notable one. He says: "Finding life hard, 
 
 28 
 
they helped each other with a general kindli- 
 ness which is impracticable amono; the complexi- 
 ties of elaborate social organizations." 
 
 We have noticed that. Our sort of objects 
 seldom receive help or kindliness from really 
 cultured people — or politeness, either. They 
 invite us to say Shibboleth, generall3^ Then 
 they slay us. 
 
 The question naturally arises: Is a stratified 
 society that finds kindliness and helpfulness im- 
 practicable, really superior to a society in which 
 kindliness and helpfulness are spontaneous and 
 inevitable ? ( Cries of ' ' Good ! " ' ' Good ! " ) 
 
 * * Troughs served for washtubs when washtubs 
 were used." Exactly. It is difficult to imagine 
 troughs serving for washtubs when washtubs 
 were not used. That would have been a useless 
 extravagance — as he would realize if he had 
 ever hollowed out a log with an adze. But per- 
 haps he meant that they did not wash their 
 clothes. On examination, it is likely that such 
 was indeed his meaning. People living so far 
 away commonly do not wash their clothes. That 
 is well known. 
 
 " If a woman wanted a looking-glass she scour- 
 ed a tin pan, but the temptation to inspect one's 
 self must have been feeble. ' ' 
 
 I think it is your turn to infer a little while, 
 Thos. If, speaking of these thousands of brave 
 dead women, he could not keep his puny malice 
 from this bitterest sneer, how much mercy do you 
 think he showed the men? He had never seen 
 these women, remember. And they are dead 
 
 29 
 
now. To be so ugly that the temptation to in- 
 spect one's self was feeble — and one a woman, 
 mind you ! — that is abnormal. It crushes one. 
 Desecration can no further go. 
 
 They were our grandmothers, Thos ; we hold 
 that they were brave and pure and fair; their 
 sons saved this nation. Let no one dream that 
 we are gratified at this wanton insult. "We will 
 not say his grandam was but withered. It 
 would not be the speech of a gentleman. And 
 we do not know. Let us confine ourselves to the 
 facts and to the living. We will say of him 
 that he is the sort of person who would say 
 that sort of thing. That squares it up, I fancy. 
 
 For myself, I deem and say that this stock 
 was as good as any that ever came over in the 
 Mayflower, loaded mast-high with Chippendale 
 and Sheraton — well, furniture, anyhow. May- 
 be it was Cloisonne and Valenciennes. I don't 
 really know about furniture. Chippendale and 
 Sheraton are lovely words, so I used them. 
 
 The trouble with this sort of people is that they 
 are that sort of people. They are puffed up with 
 vainglory and presumption. A little astonished 
 at themselves, too. They ignore the fact that 
 language is a tool, made by those who use it — 
 made by that use — and that it changes. They 
 make no allowance for the growth of idiom, or 
 for the modifications of a living tongue. Lan- 
 guage is changed by modifying — never other- 
 wise. Like other man-made instruments, lan- 
 guage was at first more complicated than was 
 needful. We have outgrown most of the cum- 
 
 30 
 
brous and clumsy inflections now; we are 
 simplifying the spelling in our slow, easy- 
 going way, and have been simplifj-ing it for 
 centuries: I think we shall simplify our pro- 
 nunciation in time. The Greeks, when two letters 
 came together in a word to make an ugly sound, 
 systematically changed or dropped one of them 
 to make a smooth and flowing sound. They had a 
 beautiful and sonorous word for this euphonic 
 process, too. I wish I could remember it. It is 
 a bully word. Never mind — we are going to 
 do the same thing. We are doing it. The 
 dictionaries haven't caught up with us yet — 
 that's all. 
 
 Cultured people give the words oil, noise and 
 boy, as 6-il, no-ise and bo-i, with a fur-lined 
 mouth and the accent on the first sound — not 
 exactly in two syllables, but, say, a syllable and 
 a half ; ice, mine and by are rendered a-eece, mii- 
 eene, ba-ee, with a pinched nose ; the more care- 
 fully sheltered of them pronounce out, bound 
 and now as thus: a-o5t, ba-66-nd, na- 
 00, with the lips closed — accent as above. 
 
 I think these elaborate pronunciations will die 
 out after a while — not because they are not 
 proper but because it is not convenient to frame 
 to utter them. The last has now but few devoted 
 adherents. 
 
 The next to go, as I judge, will be the Norman 
 "u" — except as an initial sound and in some 
 of the easier combinations. "We can all pro- 
 nounce "amusing" rightly enough. Lute, ex- 
 cept as "loot," is too hard for us. This is a 
 
 31 
 
relic of the attempt to foist Norman-French 
 upon England. The old aristocratic flavor still 
 clings to it. Duke, lute, new, as di-ook, li-oot, 
 ni-oow, serve as social insignia, verbal straw- 
 berry leaves. But the most enthusiastic practi- 
 tioners of this admirable sound find it a difficult 
 accomplishment. It will have to go, I think. 
 We, the Ephraimites, the masses, the bourgeoisie, 
 hoi polloi, the plebeians — the workers, in fact — 
 desire it. We cannot frame to utter these dis- 
 tinguished words. — Good word that, bourgeoisie 
 — eh ? A bit difficult to frame it, however. A 
 bourgeois, I gather, is one who supports him- 
 self by his own exertions and doesn't put on 
 airs. 
 
 When a person approaches you with one of 
 these linguistic feats, observe him closely. If he 
 is pale, breathless, astonied, shun him. It is 
 fair to say that many excellent people use any 
 or all of these sounds — naturally, unconsciously 
 and without consternation. This warning — and 
 these comments — are not for them. 
 
 Fictionists will lose a valuable asset when the 
 Norman "u" sound is abandoned. It is an old 
 standby. You seldom read a story by a young 
 writer without hitting upon "literachoor" or 
 "literatoor." The thing interests him and he 
 has but lately learned how one in his station in 
 life should pronounce the word. ' ' Brootal, ' ' too. 
 Brootal seldom fails to win a smile. "Noo 
 York" is another mirthmaker. And there is 
 unfailing merriment in ''calling" the midday 
 meal ''dinner." 
 
 32 
 
Some novelists and storj^-tellers are offensive 
 in their dialect writing. Others use precisely 
 the same phonetics without hurting any one. 
 It depends upon the spirit in which the spelling 
 is done. If the context is marked by haughty 
 superiority, pride, disdain, arrogance and con- 
 tempt, it is probable that no kindness is meant 
 by the dialect, James Wliitcomb Riley has 
 grieved no Indiana heart by his loving mockery. 
 
 (Just a word of digression, boys and girls of 
 literatoor: "WHien your illiterate writes a letter, 
 and you print it in your text, please do not 
 permit him to keep up that dialect in that letter 
 with a proper apostrophe in each fitting place. 
 It isn't consistent; it isn't sensible; it isn't ar- 
 tistic. It is a blemish. We've all seen this done 
 — too often. jManage to have him misspell with- 
 out his own knowledge of it — surreptitiously, 
 as it were). 
 
 "We'll skip three or four French and German 
 sounds, produced by holding the vocal organs 
 rigidly in position for the sound of one letter 
 and then trying to give the sound of some other 
 letter — not any other letter, you understand ; 
 some particular letter. The resultant disaster 
 will be the required sound — perhaps. Let us 
 hurry on. 
 
 There are place-Shibboleths over which there is 
 much ink shed. Such a word is ''gallery." 
 Why is "gallerj-" taboo? It is of good and 
 direct lineage, French and Spanish; brought 
 here by French and Spanish settlers in Louisi- 
 
 33 
 
ana. Why are porch, portico, piazza and the 
 Dutch "stoop" admitted, while "gallery" is so 
 rigorously barred? Answer: It is the "favor 
 of makers. " It is because New Orleans has pro- 
 duced few lexicographers. 
 
 One more, and we are done. "Creek" is, I 
 believe, pronounced "creak" in lexicographer- 
 land. I am entirely willing to pronounce it that 
 way. Most of our millions, however, pronounce 
 it "crik." That does not prove that this is a 
 better way to pronounce it ; it only proves that 
 it is pronounced that way. Also, that it will 
 probably continue to be pronounced that way. 
 "Been" was once pronounced "bean". It is 
 not, now, "Wliy? Because the dictionaries 
 changed? I rede j^ou, Nay. The dictionaries 
 changed, for that a perverse and stiff-necked 
 generation provincially pronounced it "bin" — 
 because they wanted to, maybe; or perhaps be- 
 cause it is a little easier to say. That is a way 
 dictionaries have. A dictionary does not create ; 
 it records. It is not a master ; it is a tool. When 
 we seriously decide that we want to have a tool 
 changed, we change that tool. 
 
 So let us not be unduly hurt or angered by 
 these continual little slurs and slings at our man- 
 ners and our hopes and our people, Thos. To- 
 night, as we furtively gobble our plates of corn- 
 ed-beef hash, let us laugh over it. We have had 
 our little say; we are just a trifle sheepish over 
 our own blatant vindictiveness — a little asham- 
 ed of the childish perversity with which we cling 
 to our sins. 
 
 34 
 
"We can afford to smile. The future is oui-s — 
 yes, and the present, too. "The real language 
 of a people is the spoken word, not the written." 
 AVe can forgive even the Gileadite, if he will 
 only show a little respect for helpless age and for 
 the dead. For us — the living — let him scold. 
 Poor fellow, he is beaten. He is conscious, too, 
 that his class has never done that part of the 
 world's work for which it has been fitted by its 
 splendid opportunities. His class has been too 
 much engrossed hitherto. But I think it will do 
 its part, and do it nobly, sometime. I think 
 that time is drawing near. Heaven speed the 
 day! 
 
 Have I any ' ' constructive program ? " I have ; 
 a simple one — not, I think, unreasonable; but 
 it is not new. When pointing out to us our 
 verbal faults, our teachers are under no bond 
 to make and publish morose inferences as to our 
 complexion, age, clothes, weight, height, disposi- 
 tion or ultimate destination. In noteworthy 
 books dealing with the subject — and they are 
 needed, for our errors are not right and our 
 deficiencies are not accomplishments — you may 
 find such phrases as these : This term is better 
 than that one; This word is incorrect; That 
 is not the preferred usage ; Avoid this error. 
 And for more emphasis : This blunder is only 
 too common, but it cannot be justified ; This 
 usage is indefensible — care should be taken to 
 avoid it. The authors of such books make no 
 mention of our vices, our sins, our crimes, our 
 bad manners or our clothes — judging, possibly, 
 
 35 
 
that we are sufficiently informed on those sub- 
 jects. They confine themselves to the use or 
 misuse of words and leave us to adjust those 
 other matters with our God and our tailor. 
 
 ac 
 
KING CHARLES'S HEAD 
 
 .... Beyond was a wide valley of cleared 
 and irrigated farm lands. This was Garfield 
 settlement. 
 
 You remember Mr. Dick, and how he could 
 not keep King Charles's head out of his Memor- 
 ial? A like unhappiness is mine. "When I re- 
 member that pleasant settlement as it really 
 was, cheerful and busy and merry, I am forced 
 to think how gleefully the super-sophisticated 
 Sons of Light would fall afoul of these friendly 
 folk — how they would pounce upon them with 
 jeering laughter, scoff at their simple joys and 
 fears; set down, with heavy and hateful satis- 
 faction, every lack and longing; flout at each 
 brave makeshift, such as Little Miss Brag crow- 
 ed over, jubilant, when she pointed with pride : 
 
 For little Miss Brag, she lays much stress 
 On the privileges of a gingham dress — 
 A-ha-a! 0-ho-o! 
 
 A lump comes to my throat, remembering; 
 now my way is plain ; if I would not be incom- 
 parably base, I must speak up for my o^^^l 
 people. Now, like Mr. Dick, I must fly my 
 kite, with these scraps and tags of Memorial. 
 The string is long, and if the kite flies high it 
 
 37 
 
may take the facts a long way; the winds must 
 bear them as they will. 
 
 Consider now the spreading gospel of despair, 
 and marvel at the power of words — noises in 
 the air, marks upon paper. Let us wonder to 
 see how little wit is needed to twist and distort 
 truth that it may set forth a lie. A tumble- 
 bug zest, a nose pinched to sneering, a slurring 
 tongue — with no more equipment you and I 
 could draw a picture of Garfield as it is done in 
 the fashion of to-day. 
 
 Be blind and deaf to help and hope, gay 
 courage, hardship nobly borne; appeal to envy, 
 greed, covetousness ; belaud extravagance and 
 luxury ; magnify every drawback ; exclaim at 
 rude homes, simple dress, plain food, manners 
 not copied from imitators of Europe's idlesse; 
 use ever the mean and mocking word — how 
 easy to belittle! Behold Garfield — barbarous, 
 uncouth, dreary, desolate, savage and forlorn; 
 there misery kennels, huddled between jungle 
 and moaning waste ; there, lout and boor couch 
 in their wretched hovels! We have left out 
 little; only tlie peace of mighty mountains far 
 and splendid, a gallant sun and the illimitable 
 sky, tingling and eager life, and the invincible 
 spirit of man. 
 
 Such picture as this of Garfield comme il faut 
 is, I humbly conceive, what a great man, who 
 trod earth bravely, had in mind when he wonder- 
 ed at "the spectral unreality of realistic books." 
 It is what he forswore in his up-summing : ' ' And 
 
 38 
 
the true realism is ... to find out where joy 
 resides and give it a voice beyond singing:." 
 
 This trouble about Ciiarles the First and our 
 head ... it started in 1645, I think — needs 
 looking into. 
 
 There are circles where ** adventurer" is a 
 term of reproach, where "romance" is made 
 synonym for a lie, and a silly* lie at that. 
 Curious ! The very kernel and meaning of 
 romance is the overcoming of difficulties or a 
 manly constancy of striving; a strong play push- 
 ed home or defeat well borne. And it would 
 be hard to find a man but found his own life 
 a breathless adventure, brief and hard, with ups 
 and downs enough, striving through all defeats. 
 
 Interesting, if true. But can we prove this? 
 Certainly ; by trying. Mr. Dick sets us all right. 
 Put any man to talk of what he knows best — 
 corn, coal or lumber — and hear matters throb- 
 bing with the entrancing interest born only of 
 first-hand knowledge. Our pessimists "suspect 
 nothing but what they do not understand, and 
 they suspect everything" — as w^as said of the 
 commission set to judge the regicides who cut 
 off the head of Charles the Martyr — whom I 
 may have mentioned, perhaps. 
 
 Let the dullest man tell of the thing he knows 
 at first hand, and his speech shall tingle with 
 battle and luck and loss, purr for small comforts 
 of cakes and ale or sound the bell note of clean 
 mirth ; his voice shall exult with pride of work, 
 tingle and tense to speak of hard-won steeps, the 
 
 39 
 
burden and heat of the day and ' ' the bright face 
 of danger ; " it shall be soft as quiet water to tell 
 of shadows where winds loiter, of moon magic 
 and far-off suns, friendship and fire and song. 
 There will be more, too, which he may not say, 
 having no words. We prate of little things, 
 each to each; but we fall silent before love and 
 death. 
 
 It was once commonly understood that it is 
 not good for a man to whine. Only of late has 
 it been discovered that a thinker is superficial 
 and shallow unless he whines; that no man is 
 wise unless he views with alarm. Eager propa- 
 ganda has disseminated the glad news that 
 everything is going to the demnition bowwows. 
 Willing hands pass on the words. The method 
 is simple. They write long books in which they 
 set down the evil on the one side — and nothing 
 on the other. That is ''realism," Whatsoever 
 things are false, whatsoever things are dishonest, 
 whatsoever things are unjust, whatsoever things 
 are of ill report; if there be any vice, and if 
 there be any shame — they think on these things. 
 They gloat upon these things; they wallow in 
 these things. 
 
 The next time you hanker for a gripping, 
 stinging, roaring romance, try the story of Ed- 
 dystone Lighthouse. There wasn't a realist on 
 the job — they couldn't stand the gaff. For any 
 tough lay like this of Winstanley's dream you 
 want a gang of idealists — the impractical kind. 
 It is not a dismal story; it is a long record of 
 trouble, delay, setbacks, exposure, hardship, 
 40 
 
death and danger, failure, humilation, jeers, dis- 
 aster and ruin. Crippled idealists were common 
 in Plymouth harbor. The sea and the wind 
 mocked their labor; they were crushed, frozen 
 and drowned; but they built Eddj'stone Lijrht! 
 And men in other harbors took heart again to 
 build great lights against night and storm; the 
 world over, realists fare safelier on the sea for 
 Winstanley's dream. 
 
 There is the great distinction between realism 
 and reality: It is the business of a realist to 
 preach how man is mastered by circumstances; 
 it is the business of a man to prove that he will 
 be damned first. 
 
 You may note this curious fact of dismal books 
 — that you remember no passage to quote to 
 your friends. Not one. And you perceive, with 
 livel}' astonishment, that despairing books are 
 written by the fortunate. The homespun are 
 not so easily discouraged. When crows pull up 
 their corn they do not quarrel with Creation. 
 They comment on the crows, and plant more 
 corn. 
 
 This trouble in King Charles' head may be 
 explained, in part, on a closer looking. As for 
 those who announce the bankruptcy of an in- 
 solvent and wildcat universe, with no extradition, 
 and who proclaim God the Great Absconder — 
 they are mostly of the emerged tenth. Their 
 lips do curl with scorn ; and what they scorn 
 most is work — and doers. For what they deign 
 to praise — observe sir, for yourself, what they 
 uphold, directly or by implication. See if it 
 
 41 
 
be not a thing compact of graces possible only 
 to idleness. See if it be not their great and fatal 
 mistake that they regard culture as an end in 
 itself, and not as a means for service. Aris- 
 tocracy? Patricians? In a world which has 
 known the tinker of Bedford, the druggist's 
 clerk of Edmonton, the Stratford poacher, back- 
 woods Lincoln, a thousand others, and ten thou- 
 sand — a carpenter's son among them? 
 
 Returning to the Provisional Government: 
 Regard its members closely, these gods ad in- 
 terim. The ground of their depression is that 
 everybody is not Just like Them. They have a 
 grievance also in the matter of death; which 
 might have been arranged better. It saddens 
 them to know that so much excellence as theirs 
 should perish from the earth. The skeptic is 
 slacker, too ; excusing himself from the hard- 
 ships of right living by pleading the futility of 
 effort. 
 
 Unfair? Of course I am unfair; all this is 
 assumption without knowledge, a malicious im- 
 putation of the worst possible motives, judgment 
 from a part. It is their own method. 
 
 A wise word was said of late : ' ' There are poor 
 colonels, but no poor regiments." It would be 
 truer to change a word; to say that there are 
 poor soldiers, but no poor regiments. The 
 gloomster picks the poorest soldier he can find, 
 and holds him up to our eyes as a sample. 
 ' ' This is life ! ' ' says the pessimist, proud at last. 
 "Now you see the stuff your regiments are made 
 of!" 
 
 42 
 
If one of these pallbearers should write a 
 treatise on pomologj' he would dwell lovingly 
 on apple-tree borers, blight and pest and scale. 
 He would say no word of spray or pruning ; he 
 would scoff at the glory of apple blossoms as 
 the rosy illusion of romance ; and he would reso- 
 lutely suppress all mention of — apples. But he 
 would feature hard cider, for all that; and he 
 would revel in cankerworms. 
 
 These blighters and borers — figuratively 
 speaking — when the curse of the bottle is upon 
 them — the ink bottle — they weave ugly words 
 to ugly phrases for ugly books about ugly things ; 
 with ugly thoughts of ugly deeds they chronicle 
 life and men as dreary, sordid, base, squalid, 
 paltry, tawdry, mean, dismal, dull and dull 
 again, interminably dull — vile, flat, stale, un- 
 profitable and insipid. No splendid folly or 
 valiant sin — much less impracticable idealisms, 
 such as kindness, generosity, faith, forgiveness, 
 courage, honor, friendship, love ; no chann or 
 joy or beauty, no ardors that flame and glow. 
 They show forth a world of beastliness and bank- 
 ruptcy ; they picture life as a purposeless hell. 
 
 I beg of you, sir, do not permit yourself to be 
 alarmed. What you hear is but the backdoor 
 gossip of the world. And these people do not 
 get enough exercise. Their livers are torpid. 
 Some of them, poor fellows, are quite sincere — 
 and some are merely in the fashion. It isn't 
 true, you know; not of all of us, all the time. 
 Nothing is changed; there is no shadow but 
 proves the light; in the furthest world of any 
 
 43 
 
universe, in the latest eternity you choose to 
 mention, it will still be playing the game to run 
 out your hits; and there, as here, only the 
 shirker will lie down on the job. 
 
 In the meantime, now and here, there are two 
 things, and two only, that a man may do with 
 his ideals: He may hold and shape them, or 
 tread them under foot ; ripen or rot. 
 
 What, sir, the hills are steep, the sand heavy, 
 the mire is Despond-deep ; for that reason will 
 you choose a balky horse ? Or will you follow a 
 leader who plans surrender? 
 
 The bookshelviki have thrown away the sword 
 before the fight. They shriek a shameful mes- 
 sage : ' ' All is lost ! Save yourselves who can ! ' ' 
 
 The battle is sore upon us ; true. But there is 
 another war cry than this. It was born of a 
 bitter hour; it was nobly boasted, and brave 
 men made it good. Now, and for all time to 
 come, as the lost and furious fight reels by, men 
 will turn and turn again for the watchword of 
 Verdun : ' ' They shall not pass ! They shall not 
 pass!" 
 
 Pardon the pontifical character of these re- 
 marks. They come tardy off. For years I have 
 kept a safe and shameful silence when I should 
 have been shouting, "Janet! Donkeys!" and 
 throwing things. I will be highbrow-beaten no 
 longer. I hereby resign from the choir inaudible. 
 Modesty may go hang and.prudence be jiggered ; 
 I wear Little Miss Brag's colors for favor; I 
 have cut me an ellum gad, and I mean to use it 
 on the seat of the scorner. 
 
 44 
 
THE GENTLE PLAGIARIST 
 
 A Posthumous P^vper 
 
 ]\Iost writer-folk are nervous. They are not 
 writers because they are nervous : they are nerv- 
 ous because they are writers. And to be pain- 
 fully aware, on February twenty-ninth, that one 
 must, b}' writing, procure $289.32 on or before 
 March thirty-first, makes it possible and probable 
 that he will not even raise the thirty-two cents. 
 
 It is because of this paralyzing effect of fixed 
 pajTnents upon the human mind, or certainly 
 upon m.y mind, that I have now hit upon the 
 happy idea of writing a series of papers, and 
 laying them by to eke out my life-insurance 
 after my death. 
 
 There are many advantages in this scheme, 
 besides the obvious one that if I had sold these 
 papers while — or whilst — I yet lived, I should 
 doubtless have spent the money long ago. First, 
 the missus will probably get more of that good 
 money for the MSS than I could possibly have 
 got. For that particular brand of ]\ISS she 
 will have the market cornered, and if there is 
 any demand at all she may make quite advan- 
 tageous terms. I can find it in my heart to hope 
 that she will be very austere. Second, I may 
 cheerfully say "I" when "I" is what I mean 
 without clumsy subterfuge or foolish circumlo- 
 
 45 
 
cution. It is one of the many advantages of be- 
 ing dead — perhaps the greatest advantage — 
 that you do not have to be modest. In some ways 
 it was very tiresome to be alive. 
 
 Third, I may use the humble parenthesis when 
 I see fit; I will be at liberty to fearlessly split 
 infinitives or tensed verbs : last and best, I shall 
 not have to read the proofs. 
 
 I think I shall write a little about writing, for 
 two reasons — neither of which reasons is that 
 I have anything particularly new or valuable to 
 say. But I have reason to believe that most read- 
 ers are writing, or are going to write, or think 
 they are going to write. 
 
 There is everything in a name, no matter what 
 Verulam says. 
 
 Take the Republican Party of today. So long 
 as one faction submits to be branded as Insur- 
 gents or even as Progressives, while the other 
 wing is triumphantly known as Republicans, 
 "Standpatters," or the "Old Guard," we may 
 expect no great changes. But when the radicals 
 shall be known as Republicans and the conserva- 
 tives are called the "Non-Progressives," then 
 we shall hear tidings. 
 
 Wlien the United States can plagiarize the 
 Filipinos and get the transaction whitewashed as 
 assimilation, while the writer who really assimi- 
 lates another man's thought, makes it a part of 
 himself, recoins it and utters it again, will be 
 called a plagiarist — (unless indeed, he is a gen- 
 ius) — I trust we can see that the name of a 
 tiling is a question of the very first importance. 
 
 46 
 
Observe that I am not writing of men of 
 genius. No one will accuse the genius of plagiar- 
 ism. No one — not even Thomas Fleming Day — 
 will accuse Mr. Kudyard Kipling of plagiarism. 
 I suppose the man does not live who would not 
 think it an honor to have Mr. Kipling plagiarize 
 from him. 
 
 Plagiarism is an ugly word. I mean now the 
 word as a word, not the thing. The sound of it is 
 intrinsically ugly, only less hateful than the hide- 
 ous no-word "pants." And no one can pos- 
 sibly spell plagiarism without a dictionary. 
 
 What curious things men do! We used to 
 write with pens, and then we spelled the word 
 ' ' received, ' ' in full, by means of making " e " and 
 "i" exactly alike and putting the dot half way 
 between the two letters. But with the advent of 
 the typewriter this evasion will no longer serve. 
 Now we spell it "rec'd." 
 
 Here's another funny thing. Mr. Jones, a 
 tired business man — every business man is a 
 Tired Business Man nowadays, and it is for his 
 Weariness that musical and other comedies must 
 be silly — dictates his letters. As the stenog- 
 rapher does not usually know the full name and 
 address of the correspondent, ]\rr. Jones gives 
 that as a preliminary both to save time and as 
 a precaution against forgetting to give it at all. 
 Hence the formal superscription : 
 
 Mr. James Estivick Smith 
 Kennebec, 
 Me. 
 Dear Sir: 
 
 47 
 
This is sensible enough, so far. But, from 
 habit, Mr. Jones uses the same form of super- 
 scription when he does the writing himself — 
 (with, perhaps, "My dear Mr. Smith," or "Dear 
 Jim," instead of "Dear Sir,") — although the 
 form is then meaningless, since he knows the ad- 
 dress without such note. And Thompson, who 
 has no stenographer, and has never dictated a 
 letter, uses the same formal, commercial super- 
 scription — because Jones does ! 
 
 We are all the slaves of habit. We do things 
 every day, merely from the force of habits whose 
 origin we have never known. 
 
 You have noted that unless the larger horse of 
 a team were driven on the off side you are an- 
 noyed or even distressed? This is, of course, 
 because your heart is on j^our left side. You 
 may say that it is because you are used to that 
 particular arrangement of horses: but did you 
 ever ask yourself why the larger horse is har- 
 nessed upon the right side ? Let us follow it up : 
 it is interesting. 
 
 It is because, not so very long since, we had a 
 postilion to drive for us, who rode one of the 
 horses. It was his habit to hitch the smaller horse 
 on the left hand side, because it is easier to get on 
 a small horse than on a larger one — and because 
 it was the habit to mount a horse from the left 
 side. 
 
 The habit of getting on a horse from the left 
 side was formed because men had the habit of 
 wearing the sword upon the left side : therefore 
 to get upon a horse from the right side while 
 
 48 
 
wearing a sword, was not practical ; one 's sword 
 would get tangled between one 's legs. The habit 
 of wearing the sword on the left side rather than 
 on the right was formed because most men were 
 habituall}^ right-handed ; and so could draw 
 easier and quicker from a scabbard on the left. 
 The habit of being right-handed was formed so 
 that the heart might not be easily reached by the 
 opposing sword : and the sword habit was partly 
 because man is a fighting animal, and partly 
 because he was clever enough to invent something 
 better than teeth and claws to fight with. 
 
 We might easily go further and inquire how 
 man acquired the clever habit of thinking — but 
 that would be to set reason to explain itself, a 
 horrible habit, fortunately confined to philos- 
 ophers. 
 
 That chain of thought seems fairly clear ; but 
 we are not always so fortunate. Every one knows 
 why Friday is an unlucky day and thirteen an 
 unluckj^ number, especially the legally hanged; 
 but who has found the mystical bond between 
 the white horse and the red-headed girl? Yet 
 there must have been some reason for this fortun- 
 ate fact. Come to think of it, the colors go well 
 together. 
 
 Reason assures us that waiters wear evening 
 dress because, yesterday or day before, the 
 master was attended by his own man, and the 
 man wore the master's cast-off clothing; but 
 reason throws no light on why the master ever 
 wore evening dress in the first place. Doubtless 
 there is some arbitrary historical cause ; but it is 
 
 49 
 
not likely that reason ever had anything to do 
 with evening dress. Perhaps it is of Puritan 
 origin, a species of penance for the sins of the 
 flesh: perhaps it was originally a symbol of 
 devilworship. 
 
 Returning to our black sheep. — When I was 
 alive, it so often distressingly happened that 
 when I had finished writing a little passage and 
 saw that it was good, I must needs cry out, 
 ** There's that beast Kipling again!" — having 
 discovered that I was once more the victim of a 
 too tenacious memory. To be sure, I could 
 change the phrase from "a contemporary of 
 Nineveh and Tyre" for instance, to "a contem- 
 porary of Damascus and Arpad ; ' ' but the phrase 
 was none the less stolen for being spoiled, and I 
 was naturally resentful. Therefore, it is easy to 
 see why Mr. Kipling is associated with plagiar- 
 ism in my mind, because he has so frequently 
 been the plagiarzee — if I may coin a needed 
 word. 
 
 There is a great deal more of this unconscious 
 stealing going on than you wot, and I think that 
 no one would be more surprised than some of 
 the guilty parties, who were innocently unaware 
 of it. 
 
 I have had the opposite experience too, more 
 than once, and have gravely cut out a good 
 phrase under the impression that it was loot, to 
 find out, too late for publication, that it was of 
 my own authentic make ; to say nothing of the 
 numberless cases when I was in doubt, but tacked 
 on quotation marks to be on the safe side. Curi- 
 
 50 
 
ously enough, I once had plagiarism thrust upon 
 me. I used a quotation, with perfectly good quo- 
 tation marks in the MSS. These were cut out in 
 galley sheets. Twice, I nobly restored them in 
 the proofs ; yet the quotation marks were rigor- 
 ously suppressed, and the booty was finally 
 pi'inted without them, to my great joy. 
 
 To plagiarize a man is the surest way as well 
 as the commonest way to disseminate his princi- 
 ples. If you but plagiarize him often enough, 
 you make him immortal, and then you cannot 
 plagiarize him at all. He has become part of the 
 common stock. Do your utmost and you only 
 succeed in making a happy allusion. You cannot 
 plagiarize the Decalogue, or Shakespeare, or the 
 Gettysburg Address. Thus, if you have only 
 written something worth while in the first place, 
 the plagiarist is your best friend. 
 
 For, you may cheat, swindle, defraud and steal 
 in merely material ways and walk unsuspected, — 
 honored, anyway. Cases have been known where 
 a box-car has been stolen, or even a whole rail- 
 road, and no one the wiser. But the one theft 
 that you cannot commit with impunity is the 
 literary theft. It is not only always detected ; it 
 is always detected immediately. True, it is seldom 
 exposed, unless by officious third persons. The 
 wise writer is delighted with this proof of merit ; 
 the unwise writer is, commonly, at least prudent 
 enough to let sleeping dogs lie, to ware the deadly 
 parallel column. 
 
 One cowardly and popular device is to con- 
 vey a striking sentiment or a striking phrase by 
 
 51 
 
making one of your characters, A or Y, use it in 
 his speech. Thus, if the transfer passes unnoted 
 you get credit for originality: whereas if it is 
 noticed, you still get credit for cleverness in 
 making your man A, or your man Y, so well read 
 and so humanly consistent. This is obviously the 
 safest form of literary theft. But it is a base 
 and unworthy evasion, showing the same mean- 
 ness of spirit involved in making hedge-bets. I 
 seldom resort to it myself. My talent lies more 
 along the lines of plain piracy. 
 
 One thing more about quotations. If you are 
 trying to convince, in a subtle argument where 
 closest attention is desired, quotation marks are 
 prone to distract attention from the vital matter 
 of what is said to the irrelevant matter of who 
 said it first. It is often advisable to give the 
 weighty passage enforcing (or causing) your 
 views, without the quotation marks; and then, 
 after you have made your point, you may cite 
 the authority who supplied you with your mas- 
 terstroke. With a little practice you also can 
 acquire the habit of forgetting to name your 
 authority. 
 
 If strictly original work were printed in the 
 normal way, and borrowed or worked-over ma- 
 terial punished and proclaimed by red ink, litera- 
 ture would be one vast red Pacific, sparsely dot- 
 ted by barren islets of black. 
 
 To remold a thought, inspired by enthusiasm 
 and admiration — that beneficent process can- 
 not be stopped without stopping all thought. 
 It is needful, however, to cast into the crucible 
 
 52 
 
one new ingredient — yourself. Be you never 
 so light of weight, if you add yourself to the 
 alloy, you are making a legitimate scientific 
 experiment, even though it may be a futile one. 
 But if you do not put yourself into the remold- 
 ing, you are merely melting down your loot, 
 silver curiously carven, into unrecognizable 
 bullion, for the sake of an ignominious safety. 
 When you do this you are not merely a thief. 
 You are also a wastrel. 
 
 Lest I forgot when I write my foiih-coming 
 paper. Notebooks and the Artistic Temperament, 
 let me now urge my little friend Legion to ex- 
 ercise great caution in taking down the bright 
 sayings of his friends for future use. It is 
 not safe. They have such an abominable habit 
 of cribbing their bright sayings from books. 
 
 Now for the application. It is commonly 
 said to my little friend Legion: Read the great 
 writers for style. But I say to him : Read the 
 great dead masters for ideas. Devour them, 
 Fletcherize them, digest, assimilate, make them 
 part of your blood; let the enriched blood visit 
 your brain. The resultant activities will be 
 fairly your own, and the little kinks and 
 convolutions of your brain, which are entirely 
 different from the kinks of any other brain, 
 will furnish you all the style you will ever get. 
 
 There are no really fresh ideas; just as there 
 is not any fresh air. Air and ideas are refreshed 
 and refreshing, vitalized and vitalizing; but 
 the thoughts have been thought before and the 
 air has been breathed before. 
 
 53 
 
Note, however, that I advise to read the great 
 dead writers for this purpose. This is for two 
 reasons. The great dead writers will not protest, 
 and there are not many great ones living. For 
 what few there are, they are not apt to protest : 
 but they would make note of it privately and 
 think coldly of you, 
 
 I find that I have not been quite honest about 
 my reasons for writing this paper, I am keen 
 about the life insurance feature, right enough. 
 But neither will I be sorry to be remembered — 
 kindly, I hope — for a fleeting second. Then 
 surely, like Gaffer and Granny Tyl in The 
 Bluebird, we live again, we dead, when we are 
 remembered ; we move dimly in the spinning 
 mist and smile our love at you. 
 
 It is curious to think how highly you would 
 value the slightest word from me from where 
 I am now. Yet, could you really question me, 
 it is like you would ask me about some utterly 
 trivial thing, just as I, could I get word from 
 you, would probably ask you about baseball 
 championships or presidential elections or some 
 equally unimportant matter. For the fact that 
 I still existed would of itself answer the one 
 Important Question; just as the great thing 
 with you is not whether you are a Shakespeare 
 or a coalheaver, which is a slight and superficial 
 matter. The great thing is, that you exist at 
 all. That is the one incredible miracle. 
 
 As a matter of fact, what I feel just now is 
 not regret so much as curiosity as to how it 
 happened. Cyrano wished to die upon a hero's 
 
 54 
 
sword. We have few conveniences for such exit 
 now. We are reduced, broadly speaking, to 
 dying of sickness, mental error, adulterated 
 food, doctors of an experimental turn, or motor- 
 cars. Personally, I hope that it was not a 
 motor-car, or at least that it was not an intoxi- 
 cated motor-car. The idea of being killed by 
 an intoxicated motor-car has always been dis- 
 tastful to me. 
 
 Postscript 
 
 Owing to the disgusting and heartless impor- 
 tunities of my creditors, especially of the in- 
 surance company, I have been compelled, most 
 reluctantly, to modify my original plan and to 
 dispose of these papers now. This leaves me 
 in a false position, which I feel keenly, and I 
 trust you will share my regret. 
 
 55 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS