ATURJE WITH 
 
 iEGOR JENKINS
 
 LIB. 
 
 NIVE 
 CALI 
 
 SAN DIEGO
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 THE READING PUBLIC. 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L.
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 AND 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS
 
 LITERATURE 
 WITH A LARGE L 
 
 AND 
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 BY 
 
 MAcGREGOR JENKINS 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 Otfte fttoertfibe presM, <JEambnD{je 
 
 1919
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY MACGREGOR JENKINS 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
 
 TO 
 
 J. D. J. 
 
 AND 
 
 S. E. J.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L . i 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 53
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 ^ I ^HOSE who have much to do 
 * with the making and selling of a 
 product known as literature are in a 
 position, or at least ought to be in 
 a position, to know something of the 
 attitude of the public mind toward 
 this particular commodity. 
 
 And it so happens that this attitude 
 possesses so many and so varied 
 forms that the study is an endless and 
 a fascinating one. It also happens 
 that some of its manifestations are 
 so extraordinary and so humorous 
 that we wonder more than ever at the 
 ingenuity as well as the credulity of 
 the human mind. 
 
 A man who makes shoes assumes 
 (perhaps unconsciously) an attitude 
 
 3
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 of contempt toward this useful article, 
 born of familiarity and a true knowl 
 edge of how poor a shoe the public 
 will accept if properly cajoled. I have 
 in mind a gentleman who is by pro 
 fession a repairer of automobiles. 
 Long familiarity with the internals of 
 a machine, an intimate knowledge of 
 their frailties, and an appreciation of 
 the sham of paint and varnish have 
 induced in this man, otherwise a kind 
 and affable person, a depth of pessi 
 mism in regard to automobiles that 
 the wildest enthusiasm of a new 
 owner cannot dissipate. No car is a 
 good car; some are a bit better than 
 others, but none are good. All is 
 vanity, and vain-glorying, mortal 
 man is born for sorrow, and the auto 
 mobile is an especially designed in 
 strument provided by Providence to 
 
 4
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 inflict a righteous punishment upon 
 man and woman in their fallen estate. 
 
 In the following pages an effort 
 will be made to avoid this attitude 
 of despair and at the same time to get, 
 in the vernacular of the " movies," a 
 "close-up" of this much-discussed 
 subject. And because it is so much 
 discussed, doubts may well assail us 
 as to the wisdom of saying anything. 
 One of the most depressing attributes 
 of the subject is the fact that litera 
 ture seems to engender more utterly 
 useless and unprofitable conversation, 
 and more futile writing, than any 
 other subject with which I happen to 
 have a bowing acquaintance. 
 
 More is said on this subject that 
 need not be said, and more written 
 that ought not to be written, than on 
 any other. Unfortunately, it is the 
 
 5
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 fate of some to be compelled to hear 
 much that is said and to read more 
 that is written, with the result that I, 
 for one, long with a great and fervent 
 longing for a region where the alpha 
 bet is unknown, where I could stand 
 comfortably on one leg, draped in a 
 becoming garment of sheepskin, and 
 gaze out over a purple ocean to no 
 place in particular, refreshing the 
 inner man at intervals with a ripe 
 cocoanut which would fall when 
 needed from a convenient tree. No 
 alphabet, no books, no schools, no lit 
 erary journals, no cults and isms 
 and other sillinesses. Only an all- 
 pervading peace, and sweet com 
 munion with happily unlettered sav 
 ages. 
 
 And as I long for my island, I am 
 reminded that once this worn old 
 6
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 world was such a happy place. At 
 once I find myself charmed with the 
 contemplation of the blissful state of 
 man before literature was invented 
 and came to plague him. 
 
 As this discussion is designed 
 purely for mental relaxation, suppose 
 we dally with this bauble for a mo 
 ment. It will do no harm and may 
 serve to free our minds of other and 
 less agreeable thoughts. 
 
 Contemplate with me, then, the 
 cave man: secure beneath ground, 
 enjoying the excitements of the chase, 
 eating to repletion with no thought of 
 the morrow, battling with other 
 tribesmen, and in his softer moments 
 indulging in masterful and vigorous 
 wooing of the maiden of his choice. 
 A professor of literature would not 
 perhaps regard this as an ennobling 
 
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 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 or enlightened life, but to some of us 
 of candid mind it has obvious attrac 
 tions. 
 
 And think how long this happy 
 state lasted if we are to believe the 
 geologist, perhaps thousands of years. 
 
 Truly the world knew a happy in 
 fancy. 
 
 Then the unhappy day dawned 
 upon which some eccentric cave- 
 dweller was fated to scratch on the 
 wall of his cave the rude outline of 
 a tiger. Then the trouble began. I 
 can see the others coming to admire 
 and to discuss the new wonder. 
 Then a rival, from whose hairy arms 
 perhaps the literary gentleman had 
 snatched the lady whom he hoped to 
 win, came and sneered at the draw 
 ing it was cold, it was unimag 
 inative, it lacked atmosphere and 
 8
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 motive, it really did not look like a 
 tiger; and there we are! Two schools 
 of literature born in one day, and 
 the world never again to be free from 
 the turmoil. 
 
 I know little or nothing of dates 
 except the edible ones but I have 
 been informed that subsequent to this 
 time changes came fast and furious: 
 some one invented things called 
 letters, and so, instead of drawing a 
 picture of a tiger, a word could be 
 written that meant a tiger. Oh, day 
 of unhappy omen ! The whole human 
 race is now in bondage to the alpha 
 bet. 
 
 Take up your child s first reader 
 and you can read what happened. 
 And, by the way, a first reader is 
 to me a fascinating book, so much 
 more worth while than most novels, 
 
 9
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 because one may read in it the story 
 of the human race. I often find my 
 self engrossed in the absorbing nar 
 rative of a man who, wonderful 
 though it may be, possesses powers of 
 locomotion. We start with the simple 
 proposition that the man ran; the 
 context does not deny it ; then through 
 a page of involutions and evolutions 
 of this simple idea, we come back to 
 the place we stated the undenied and 
 undisputed statement that the man 
 did run ; now we believe it. 
 
 So with the cave-dweller after 
 the picture, then the word, then the 
 narration of events. 
 
 First, simply tiger. 
 
 Then, a special tiger the tiger. 
 
 Statement of fact the tiger runs. 
 
 Interrogation Will the tiger run? 
 
 Exhortation See the tiger run! 
 10
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 Then, long after, came another 
 great step, the qualifying word, and 
 some long-haired genius evolved "the 
 tiger runs fast," and then it was all 
 over but the shouting literature 
 was born and man no more was free. 
 
 It was probably all very harmless 
 at first, used as it was only as a 
 method of communication, or for the 
 relatively innocent statement of fact. 
 
 Then came the historical sense, and 
 it was used to narrate events of the 
 past. Then, after countless genera 
 tions, came the philosophical sense, 
 and man began to give expression 
 through the written word to abstract 
 ideas. Things went from bad to worse 
 than worse, and the human race did 
 not have even a fighting chance. 
 
 Then came the first really big 
 change the appeal to the imagina- 
 II
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 tion. Then fiction was born. Tired 
 of narrating facts, some bright boy 
 decided to invent some. 
 
 But out of all this horror and 
 gloom, the gods did have a golden gift 
 for man they knew what he was 
 going to be up against for the rest of 
 time, and so they gave him humor. 
 The stars must have danced in their 
 courses the day the first humorist 
 was born. I wonder who he was 
 and what he looked like. What did 
 he do or say? How was he re 
 ceived? Was he promptly shut up, 
 as we shut up some of the really 
 great humorists of our time under the 
 impression that they are crazy? 
 
 But we must not forget that first 
 cave-dwelling critic. His race in 
 creased until there was an army of 
 them. So when we speculate on the 
 
 12
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 attitude of the public mind toward lit 
 erature in those early days, we have 
 to count him in. 
 
 This critic and his crew were surly 
 folk, who had anticipated our great 
 fault of taking ourselves too seriously ; 
 and besides, they detected in all these 
 new and bewildering literary develop 
 ments a horrid fact. This humorist 
 fellow was becoming popular, he must 
 be squelched, he was producing a kind 
 of literature that was giving pleasure, 
 he was having mild fun with some of 
 the budding pomposities of that early 
 day this would never do. This 
 humorist person, and we would better 
 describe him if we were to call him a 
 humanist, was making people believe 
 that literature was something de 
 signed as an agreeable adjunct of 
 daily life and not a dark and mysteri- 
 
 13
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 ous science known only to a few, for 
 whom it provided a livelihood. This 
 was the humanizing idea that the 
 critic fought in those early days, and 
 the bulk of so-called literary criticism 
 to-day seems to have the same object 
 in view. 
 
 When letters began to appeal to the 
 imagination and to give pleasure, 
 some of the burden was lifted, and 
 the real lover of them has been trying 
 to this day to keep that horrid burden 
 lifted; but the cave-dweller critic 
 even to-day thinks it is all wrong. 
 
 Just when the halcyon days of let 
 ters were, it would be hard to say. 
 Certainly long before our time. Some 
 remote period when it was free from 
 all pose and affection. It would be 
 hard to describe that time, but it 
 would seem to be when it had
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 emerged from the cave-dweller period, 
 but was still elemental enough to be 
 simple. It was probably devoted to 
 the doing of three things. 
 
 The narration of important events, 
 great battles, victories, migrations, 
 and the like. 
 
 The presentation and interpreta 
 tion of important ideas. 
 
 The giving of pleasure. 
 
 Here are involved the labors of the 
 historian, the philosopher, and the 
 humanist. These would seem to me 
 to be the happiest days of literature. 
 They were the days when men and 
 women wrote when they had some 
 thing to say; when the putting of a 
 thing into song or story was in answer 
 to some imperious demand for indi 
 vidual or national self-expression, 
 and not in answer to the ever-present 
 
 15
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 contemporary desire to get into print 
 or to earn robber royalties. Perhaps 
 the critic fellow was useful then in 
 curbing over-production, but to-day, 
 alas, his chief function seems to be 
 to increase it. 
 
 But, after all, our interest in that 
 remote period is more or less aca 
 demic; what we are interested in, or 
 ought to be interested in, is the status 
 of literature in the year of grace 1919. 
 Still more concerned should we be as 
 to our attitude toward it. We have 
 escaped or outlived most of the evils 
 of the past, but it has remained for 
 recent years to add the last and 
 crowning insult to the many heaped 
 on literature from earliest times. And 
 we suffer from this latest folly more 
 than any other. It was when some 
 idiot conceived the brilliant idea of
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 spelling literature with a large L. He 
 could, with as much reason and equal 
 justice, have decided that salt pork 
 should for all time be spelled with a 
 large S and a large P. 
 
 The results were momentous and 
 far-reaching. At once he brought into 
 being a cult. He took in some ways 
 the most useful and beneficent thing 
 in life away from life, and made it 
 remote and mysterious. He made it 
 an end instead of a means. 
 
 Suppose some one decided to-day 
 to spell pastry with a large P. What 
 would happen? We all know. At 
 once there would arise discussions on 
 the relation of pastry to human life. 
 There would be solemn discussion as 
 to the relative merits of tin and paper 
 plates. There would be the Under- 
 Crust School and the Upper-Crust 
 
 17
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 School. Should cheese be served with 
 all pastry if not, with what kinds ? 
 Then, the psychologist would have a 
 whack at it what is the mental 
 effect of pastry? should it be eaten for 
 breakfast? and the doctor would tell 
 us that its consumption leads to pre 
 mature baldness and to juvenile 
 crime. Meanwhile the pies would 
 grow worse and worse, and those of 
 us who like them, even for breakfast, 
 would be defrauded and would slowly 
 starve to death. 
 
 Now that is just what happened to 
 literature. Just move about and listen 
 to the things people say, just listen to 
 the empty silliness that is talked 
 on the street, in the home, at the club, 
 and, alas, in the lecture-rooms of 
 some schools and colleges. 
 
 Business once took me to a city 
 18
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 where I had no friends; but the 
 prompt and hospitable reception I re 
 ceived from strangers was a delight. 
 Unfortunately my new friends knew 
 as little about me as I did about 
 them. For some mysterious reason 
 they fancied me to be a Literary Per 
 son, and met the situation bravely. 
 I was invited to a delightful luncheon, 
 to which, as a special compliment to 
 me, the Local Literary Person was 
 also invited. 
 
 I arrived before he did, and spent in 
 common with my hosts a wretched 
 half hour speculating as to the sub 
 jects of conversation likely to be 
 introduced. By tactful questioning I 
 acquired such information as I could 
 as to the Literary Person s achieve 
 ments in the world of letters. His 
 belated arrival attributed to some 
 
 19
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 subtle eccentricity of genius per 
 mitted us to address ourselves to the 
 really substantial delights of the 
 table; but after that the awful mo 
 ment arrived. There must be Lit 
 erary Conversation after lunch, and 
 the two Literary Persons were sup 
 posed to supply it. I soon exhausted 
 the few general observations I thought 
 safe, and disaster impended. Then 
 the Literary Person saw his chance, 
 and halting conversation gave way to 
 torrential monologue addressed to a 
 subdued and wondering audience. At 
 last it was all over a quiet pipe be 
 neath the apple-blossoms restored my 
 sanity. The same group met in the 
 evening, but a rumor had spread that 
 I was not a Literary Person, and for 
 some reason the local celebrity was 
 absent I fancy he had discovered 
 20
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 my deplorable condition. But what a 
 changed party ! The awful incubus of 
 being Literary was lifted and a cheer 
 ful self-confidence developed in us 
 all. I found myself surrounded by a 
 charming group of real people gen 
 uine, frank and friendly to a degree. 
 We parted the best of friends, but the 
 promised copy of the Literary Per 
 son s last volume of verse, duly auto 
 graphed, has never reached me. I fear 
 I was a disappointment. 
 
 The cruel necessities of the moment 
 made the Literary Pose necessary for 
 these good people, but they soon made 
 a complete and joyful recovery. 
 
 Think of the condition in which 
 hundreds find themselves when this 
 pose becomes habitual ! 
 
 Slowly people have been divided 
 into two classes : those who feel that 
 
 21
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 they must play the game, and so pose 
 about it; and another class of more 
 robust souls who know they are being 
 cheated out of one of the best things 
 in life, and are so mad about it that 
 they throw the whole thing, lock, 
 stock and barrel, out of doors. Most 
 all of us are touched a little by the 
 malady. We read what other people 
 read. We fall for the publishers gush 
 about their own books you know 
 the publisher knows how silly they 
 are: they call them "blurbs." We buy 
 complete editions. We read free verse, 
 and even pretend to understand it. 
 We pick up a vocabulary and talk 
 about realism, technique, atmosphere, 
 background, fidelity to life, and so on. 
 There is not a person living who has 
 not at least once in his life pre 
 tended to have read a book he never 
 
 22
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 heard of, just to keep the conversa 
 tion going. I have a hundred times, 
 and I admit it, to my everlasting 
 shame. 
 
 All this silliness, duplicity, and af 
 fectation we owe to just one thing, 
 and that is the large L. 
 
 Instead of being a fine, simple, 
 robust thing designed to narrate and 
 interpret human experience, or to 
 contribute to the wisdom or pleasure 
 of the race, literature has become a 
 toy. A miserable, fondled, petted 
 thing that cannot stand on its own 
 legs. 
 
 Of course, having reached this low 
 estate, with half the world making 
 fools of themselves about it and the 
 other half ignoring it, just one thing 
 was sure to happen, and it did. It 
 was promptly taken up by a lot of 
 
 23
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 people who wanted a new toy. They 
 formed clubs to discuss it, they talked 
 and they talked, and they talked. 
 They even went so far as to ask others 
 to talk to them, and I am credibly in 
 formed that in some extreme cases 
 they have been known to pay people 
 for talking to them. It all became a 
 sort of cult. Then, of course, these 
 simple folk were exploited by smooth 
 impostors who won fame of a certain 
 sort, and riches too. 
 
 A broad-brimmed hat, a flowing 
 neck-tie, and the trick was done. 
 Under the impression that they were 
 worshipping at the shrine of Litera 
 ture, people nocked to lectures, 
 bought mountains of books, and 
 achieved a pleasant glow of mild en 
 thusiasm for something, they knew 
 not exactly what. 
 
 24
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 Some of this silliness does no spe 
 cial harm, because a certain propor 
 tion of people must be silly about 
 something; and one thing is as good 
 as another; and even literature with 
 a large L is less harmful than another 
 man s wife or another woman s hus 
 band. 
 
 But what really did do harm hap 
 pened when a lot of perfectly good, 
 sincere people became bewitched with 
 the big L, and began to teach it. The 
 college student was confronted with 
 a new and unfamiliar vocabulary 
 he was forced to consider sonnet-con 
 struction till he loathed the sight of 
 fourteen lines of verse, one below the 
 other. While the literary club was 
 putting silliness with a big S into 
 literature, many schools and colleges 
 were robbing it of interest and beauty 
 
 25
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 the very elements by which it 
 should have appealed. 
 
 The net result was rebellion on the 
 part of a lot of sensible people who 
 simply would have none of it. And 
 it was at just about this time that 
 most of us discovered literature 
 and at no worse period in its career 
 could we have been introduced to it. 
 Some of us were fortunate enough to 
 be introduced to it in early life. Most 
 of Bryant s translations of Homer 
 were read aloud to me before I was 
 ten years old. 
 
 By the time we went to school we 
 had found it was pleasant to read, 
 and we knew and loved a few good 
 books. Then, we went to school, and 
 were like the little girl who had 
 learned French from her nurse and 
 liked it, until she found out that there 
 26
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 was a grammar, and then she hated it. 
 We discovered that literature had to 
 be studied, and the study was made so 
 dull that we almost forgot our child 
 ish pleasure in good books. We came 
 out of school and we found that most 
 of the world was gabbling about 
 Literature. We thought, now for 
 some real fun ! and we recalled all we 
 knew before we went to school. But 
 alas! these people weren t gabbling 
 about books, they were gabbling 
 about Literature. 
 
 There was the simple soul who be 
 lieved anything printed to be worth 
 reading oh ! the magic of the printed 
 page ! The itch for it, the craving to 
 see one s name upon it, and the con 
 soling thought that many of the 
 world s greatest writers found it diffi 
 cult to find a publisher all these 
 27
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 brought into being that piratical per 
 son, posing as a publisher, who en 
 courages authors to publish provided 
 they the authors pay the bills. 
 What tragedies of self-denial to bring 
 the little book out! What agonies of 
 uncertainty as to its reception when 
 no reception at all awaits it! and 
 then the bitterness of disappointment, 
 all the more bitter because it must be 
 bravely stifled and concealed! The 
 so-called publisher makes a fair profit 
 on the manufacture of the book, 
 promptly forgets his promises of 
 fame and fortune to the author, and 
 turns to other fields. 
 
 Then there were the people for 
 whom the great school of " vaporers " 
 evidently write those who demand 
 the literary sauce highly spiced and 
 served to an accompaniment of jazz 
 28
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 music; those little folk who take all 
 their dissipation and excitement vi 
 cariously, and evidently consider the 
 tawdry tales they read to be faith 
 ful pictures of an alluring world in 
 which, but for force of circumstance, 
 they would cut a dashing figure. The 
 same reader who used to buy "The 
 Secrets of the French Court" for a 
 dollar down and a dollar a month, 
 now reads Mr. Chambers and gets 
 vastly more for his money, for "The 
 Secrets " was a sham, but Mr. Cham 
 bers is a generous soul and gives full 
 measure. In our search for people in 
 terested in good books we found these 
 type a-plenty and also the solemn 
 person who had acquired a habit of 
 talking about art. 
 
 An "Art " must be an awful thing 
 to be afflicted with. Those who have 
 29
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 escaped its baneful influence should 
 lead lives of joy and thanksgiving. 
 One of the most extreme cases of 
 "Art " which has ever come under my 
 personal observation was a lady 
 quite unknown to me who sought 
 my advice in regard to a separation 
 from her husband because he did not 
 understand her Art. 
 
 If her Art, whatever it happened 
 to be, was as crude as her method of 
 applying powder to her nose, the 
 wretch certainly had some excuse. 
 
 Another severe case of "Art" was 
 a young man who had an opportunity 
 to live in China for a year or two and 
 to travel the world over incidentally, 
 who hesitated to leave the snug 
 security of his suburban boarding 
 house lest his "Art" suffer. I be 
 lieve he was prevailed upon to take 
 
 30
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 the journey and, happily for him, his 
 Art did not survive the rigors of the 
 experience. 
 
 In our search for people sharing 
 our innocent interest in books, we 
 encountered all sorts of strange folk 
 who seemed to spend an inordinate 
 amount of time and energy in making 
 up their minds whether or not a book 
 stands the test of what they somewhat 
 Vaguely call "technical analysis," 
 quite unmindful of the vastly more 
 important question as to whether the 
 book gives inspiration and pleasure. 
 Such a person seems to me to be in 
 the same general class with the man 
 who spends his entire life measuring 
 the length of babies noses. 
 
 These and hundreds of other dread 
 ful types all appeared after literature 
 was first spelled with a large L. And 
 
 31
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 it is the greater pity because all of us 
 who are normal human beings have 
 for the most part an unerring instinct 
 for the good book. 
 
 One of my most valued acquaint 
 ances is a young lady who has just 
 turned her seventh year, and upon 
 whom I sometimes try literary ex 
 periments. She knows a good book 
 when she sees it. She tolerates with 
 polite indifference the thousand in 
 anities which are prepared for and 
 offered to young persons of her years, 
 but they do not interest her. 
 
 But read her a chapter from Ken 
 neth Grahame s "Wind in the Wil 
 lows " and she is all eagerness and at 
 tention. A solemn friend of mine 
 protested that the book "lacked 
 scale." How could Toad array him 
 self in the wash-lady s garments?
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 The only possible answer is, if you 
 have a mind like that, don t read 
 Kenneth Grahame or Stevenson or 
 Hawthorne, or in fact anything ex 
 cept an elementary geometry with its 
 alluring descriptions of an isosceles 
 triangle. 
 
 This young person knows a lot 
 about books. She knows that a book 
 to be a good book must interest and 
 amuse in other words, there are 
 just two things that a book ought to 
 do: it should help interpret human 
 experience or it should give pleasure. 
 You could almost make it one thing, 
 for it will not give pleasure unless it 
 does in some way, in some measure, 
 interpret life. 
 
 And if the large L is a bore and a 
 nuisance to the right-minded reader, 
 think what havoc it has wrought 
 
 33
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 among the young writers. It has 
 spoiled more young writers than all 
 the other forces of evil combined. 
 These eager young men and women 
 who could write, and write to the 
 everlasting satisfaction of their souls, 
 do not want to write, they want to 
 produce Literature. They do not 
 understand that a jaded middle-aged 
 world would give a lot to know how 
 life reacts on a fresh young mind, 
 expressed in free, unhackneyed terms 
 of youth, nor do they feel the dis 
 appointment they inflict when their 
 outgivings are found to be only an 
 other immature attempt to produce 
 Literature that will stand the test 
 of Technical Analysis. Some future 
 generation may learn, and then 
 there will be written some things 
 worth reading, though they may 
 
 34
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 cause pain to the grammarian and 
 stylist. 
 
 But what is worse than all this, the 
 large L is in a fair way to rob life of 
 one of its greatest pleasures and 
 solaces. That it may not do so, the 
 first and most important thing for us 
 to do is to acquire a correct concep 
 tion of what literature really is. To 
 do this, first of all, let s dispense with 
 the large L. 
 
 It is not an exact science. 
 
 It is not except indirectly an 
 art. 
 
 It is not a collection of books. 
 
 It is not a school of thought, made 
 up of rules, dogmas, technical restric 
 tions, and scientific definitions and 
 regulations. 
 
 On the contrary, it is 
 
 A medium of expression, like 
 
 35
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 speech, gesture and grimace to be 
 sure, very highly developed and com 
 plicated, but in its essentials, simple 
 and understandable. 
 
 Now for most of us it is not in the 
 least important whether this medium 
 is used with technical correctness or 
 not; what concerns us is who is 
 using it and what is he communicat 
 ing to us. If we have reason to sup 
 pose that the person using it has had 
 experiences or entertains ideas which 
 are of interest or value, the reading of 
 what he has to say will probably be 
 worth while. 
 
 Surprise has often been expressed 
 that the countless books about the 
 war are as good as they are. The ex 
 traordinary thing is that any of them 
 should not be good, for the normal 
 man with a great story to tell will tell 
 
 36
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 that story well ninety-nine times out 
 of a hundred. I have heard surprise 
 expressed that these books are so 
 good from a technical standpoint, al 
 though not written for the most part 
 by trained writers. This would seem 
 to be exactly the explanation. These 
 men are telling their story they are 
 not producing Literature. It has un 
 fortunately required a great war to 
 bring to these men the realization that 
 they can tell a story. Some of them 
 may perhaps find it possible to tell the 
 great stories of peace with the same 
 directness and skill. 
 
 Among the many qualities of a 
 good book to which the professional 
 literary person often refers, there is 
 but one the literary definition of 
 which need be borrowed by the man 
 in the street, and that is " philosophic 
 
 37
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 background" truly a cumbersome 
 and polysyllabic phrase, but it seems 
 difficult to invent a better one. It 
 simply means that there is a lot in a 
 given book which one cannot see but 
 which one must feel. It means that a 
 book, be it narrative, verse, essay, or 
 what-not, deals with broadly funda 
 mental things and is applicable to any 
 time or clime. To take an extremely 
 familiar and homely example, this 
 would seem to explain the charm to 
 the adult of "Alice in Wonderland," 
 and it is this quality which the child 
 perceives instinctively, and appre 
 ciates. Has any one ever heard an 
 American child question the charm or 
 interest of the book on the ground 
 that Alice was a little English girl and 
 many of her experiences typically 
 British? By the magic of the author, 
 
 38
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 Alice stands for all time in every 
 clime the personification of the child- 
 mind expressed in terms infinitely 
 more deft and convincing than those 
 of the modern child-psychologist. 
 
 If uninfluenced by the baneful ef 
 fect of the large L, and untrammeled 
 by tradition, I believe each of us 
 would instinctively select the good 
 book not all the same one, but each 
 to his own liking, as individual taste 
 may demand. For this reason it has 
 always seemed to me a pity that peo 
 ple should make a conscious effort to 
 select their reading. The arbitrary 
 choice of a list of titles seems to me 
 a great mistake. The charm of real 
 reading is its digressiveness the fact 
 that one book leads to another. Get 
 started with fiction, and you may find 
 yourself in metaphysics, but in every 
 
 39
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 transition from book to book, you 
 have unconsciously followed some 
 natural intellectual craving. Conse 
 quently, avoid libraries of the best 
 books, avoid lists of helpful and 
 stimulating reading, and, above all, 
 avoid lists of books representing lit 
 erature with a large L. Avoid, as you 
 would the plague, the person who 
 talks to you about intellectual de 
 velopment. It is too late for most of 
 us to think about that now. If we 
 were ever going to develop intellect 
 ually, we probably would have done 
 so long before this. Let us accept our 
 intellectual bankruptcy as it stands 
 to-day, and make the best possible 
 settlement with our creditors. 
 
 The prescription I am trying to 
 write and compound is just sheer 
 pleasure and pleasure alone, all of 
 40
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 which is very well as long as it is 
 possible to stick to general terms; 
 but when asked to particularize, 
 difficulties present themselves. In 
 stead of giving a list of recommended 
 books which will give the added pleas 
 ure to life which we are seeking, 
 it is far easier to make some sug 
 gestions as to the books which should 
 be avoided. 
 
 As a rule, the book with a mis 
 sion, the book consciously written to 
 achieve a certain result, will be a 
 book not sadly missed if you omit to 
 read it. As a general thing, the ex 
 tremely popular book is more likely 
 to be popular through its defects than 
 through its excellences ; and as we are 
 seeking pleasure alone, let us avoid 
 the solemn books and, by the same 
 token, let us avoid the glad books.
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 These little repositories of conscious 
 sweetness and light are to my mind 
 the most mournful volumes ever 
 written. 
 
 A word has been said in defense of 
 the aimless reader. Purposeful read 
 ing resembles the ordeal of a three- 
 mile constitutional at an appointed 
 hour of the day over an appointed 
 stretch of road. The aimless reader, 
 on the contrary, wanders through the 
 by-paths that invite, and gets, in addi 
 tion to fresh air and exercise, a thou 
 sand other stimulating sensations. 
 You can start almost anywhere in the 
 world of books, and open a thousand 
 vistas, any one of which you may fol 
 low to your profit. Simply read along 
 the lines of least resistance, and you 
 will find your pathway varied and 
 beautiful indeed. 
 
 42
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 There is a hopelessly Philistine ex 
 pression, much jeered at and much 
 criticised. It is the hopeless utterance 
 of the inartistic when confronted with 
 the artistic. Bewildered and over 
 come, we take refuge in the statement 
 that we " know little of art, but we 
 know what we like." The superior 
 mind scoffs at this, but fortunate I 
 say is the man who does know what 
 he likes. It will prove a safeguard, if 
 you are a normal person, and you 
 won t go far wrong if you read what 
 you like, in preference to what other 
 people recommend. 
 
 Incidentally, have your reading 
 give you more than the passing pleas 
 ure of the moment. Let it store up for 
 you unconsciously a wealth of inter 
 est upon which you may freely draw 
 if emergency demands. Such a bank 
 
 43
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 account may prove a very present 
 help in time of trouble. 
 
 A man of my acquaintance lay 
 many weeks wounded in a German 
 hospital, and suddenly one day he re 
 called that of the very few books 
 which he had read in recent years, 
 " Henry Esmond " was one. He spent 
 weeks and months patching the story 
 together and living it over again in its 
 minutest details. He believes to-day 
 that it saved his health and sanity. A 
 friend of mine, afflicted with sleepless 
 nights, finds them robbed of half the 
 terrors because during these quiet, 
 solitary hours he re-creates Pickwick. 
 
 But to return to our literary friend 
 and his polysyllabic phrase. We have 
 wandered far afield, but curiously 
 enough we find that, without excep 
 tion, any book which pays a fair re- 
 
 44
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 ward for the time and trouble of read 
 ing it, has in greater or less degree 
 " philosophic background." The books 
 which lack it seem by comparison 
 strangely unreal and unrelated to life. 
 They seem to me to resemble in some 
 curious fashion many of the cata 
 logues sent me by tradespeople in the 
 hope that I may become interested in 
 their wares. They present an endless 
 variety of things and they deal with 
 the most intimate minutiae of human 
 existence from your morning den 
 tifrice to the lock on your front door 
 in which you turn the key at night. 
 Intimate as all these subjects are, 
 these interesting volumes fail to re 
 flect life. 
 
 Most noticeable is this lack in the 
 catalogue of the manufacturer and 
 dealer in shoes. In its pages are de- 
 
 45
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 picted in all the lustre and beauty of 
 coated paper and printer s ink the 
 precise and perfect outline of the per 
 fect shoe. Never was shoe so grace 
 fully moulded, never was shoe pre 
 sented in more alluring confusion of 
 high-lights and half-tones, never were 
 insteps designed with more exquisite 
 curves, never were buttons arrayed 
 with greater symmetry or more per 
 fect precision; and yet they do not 
 seem to represent shoes in the least. 
 They look less like shoes than any 
 thing else in the world, and yet the 
 artist and the engraver have lavished 
 care and labor to make it so. Lay this 
 alluring document on the library table 
 and mount the stairs. Before some 
 chamber door you see a pair of tiny 
 shoes. Gone is the lustre, vanished 
 the perfect contour, dingy and droop- 
 
 4 6
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 ing are the buttons, the glossy sur 
 faces reduced to a grimy monotone, 
 heels awry and toes worn rough. By 
 no possible stretch of the imagination 
 can this little pair of shoes claim any 
 manner of kinship to the imperial 
 glory of those in the catalogue and 
 still they seem to bear a certain in 
 timate relationship to human life 
 which their more glorious prototypes 
 do not. 
 
 The hundredth book is the little 
 shoes at the head of the stairs, the 
 other ninety-nine are those in the 
 catalogue, and only one book of that 
 hundred is worth reading it is not 
 difficult to guess which one it should 
 be. 
 
 I trust that nothing I have written 
 will be construed as a sweeping con 
 demnation of the many entirely 
 
 47
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 worthy efforts which aim to guide the 
 literary tastes of the reading public. 
 There are thousands of individuals 
 and hundreds of clubs with genuine 
 literary interests, quite free from pose, 
 that do much to influence and help 
 others. To such as these, my utter 
 ances have no special point beyond 
 the fact that it is their duty to teach 
 the doctrine of the humanist to the 
 countless thousands of people outside 
 of their circle who do not yet realize 
 how fine and stimulating and pleas 
 ure-giving a thing literature with a 
 small L may be. 
 
 The half of the world which is silly 
 over the large L does not interest us. 
 Let them go. They are having a good 
 time. But the half of the world which 
 does excite our interest and pity is the 
 rebellious, sullen, inarticulate half 
 48
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 who sees in all literature only " high 
 brow stuff" to be avoided and con 
 demned. What a rich, fine thing they 
 are missing! and how much more 
 worth the living would be their lives 
 if they could be made to realize that 
 all the pose and cant and affectation 
 which they sneer at and condemn, has 
 nothing whatever to do with the real 
 function of letters. 
 
 Once upon a time there was a com 
 mercial traveler who wandered over 
 the face of our broad country, living, 
 sleeping, and eating amid the ornate 
 discomforts of transcontinental rail 
 way trains. He confined his reading 
 largely to his " house organ " and be 
 yond its narrow confines knew noth 
 ing of the world of letters except an 
 occasional novel or magazine recom 
 mended by the train-boy. 
 
 49
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 One memorable night he sat for 
 lorn and desolate, alone in the smok 
 ing compartment. The last line of 
 the " house organ " had been read and 
 re-read. No ministering train-boy 
 brought him a multi-colored mag 
 azine. The train was late and growing 
 later every hour. As he stirred un 
 comfortably in his seat, his hand fell 
 upon a book left behind by some more 
 fortunate traveler who had reached 
 his longed-for destination. He picked 
 it up languidly and glanced through 
 the pages. There were no illustrations, 
 and, as Alice said to her sister, not 
 enough conversation to make the 
 book look interesting. From sheer 
 boredom he began to read. Presently 
 the train crept on to a siding, heaved 
 a heavy sigh, and stopped. The lonely 
 reader did not notice that his journey 
 
 50
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 was interrupted, but read page after 
 page with increasing delight. When 
 the gray dawn came over the prairie 
 and the train still stood on the siding, 
 the reader closed the book and looked 
 out of the window on to a new world. 
 He had discovered Stevenson. 
 
 When at last his journey was 
 ended, his first duty was to sit down 
 and write a letter describing his ex 
 perience. This letter happened to 
 reach me by a circuitous route and it 
 became my pleasure to answer it. For 
 some time we explored the new world 
 together, and such trifling service as I 
 could render was amply repaid by the 
 delight to be found in the unspoiled 
 enthusiasm of a man who had dis 
 covered the pleasure, the profit and 
 the inspiration that books can give. 
 
 When I see the smoke ascending 
 
 Si
 
 LITERATURE WITH A LARGE L 
 
 from offerings on the altar of litera 
 ture with a large L, when I hear the 
 weird incantations of its priests and 
 priestesses, when I view the elaborate 
 edifice of untruth which they have 
 erected, and despair for the future of 
 my race, the lonely figure of the man 
 who discovered Stevenson comes be 
 fore me, and I am content.
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 IT is now so long ago that I left 
 college that " the humanities " had 
 hardly been invented in my day, at 
 least we heard very little about them. 
 But since that time I am told they 
 have come to be discussed a good 
 deal and have made a great deal of 
 trouble first and last for our peda 
 gogical brethren. If others discuss 
 them, why should not I ? 
 
 I am a profound believer in the 
 theory so well expounded by Lewis 
 Carroll, who put into the mouth of 
 Humpty-Dumpty a phrase of undying 
 significance when he made him say 
 that "words should be made to mean 
 what you want them to mean." The 
 only people I know who adhere 
 
 55
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 strictly to this principle are the psy 
 chologists : that is why I love to hear 
 a psychologist talk. Of course, I 
 understand not a word he is saying, 
 but it is a noble and an inspiring 
 spectacle to see a mere human being 
 crack a whip over an entire vocabu 
 lary and see the words jump up on 
 their little red chairs like so many 
 trained seals. 
 
 So when I say " humanities " please 
 realize that I do not care at all what 
 any one else thinks the word means 
 I am having it mean what I want it to 
 mean. 
 
 I am not a psychologist or an ed 
 ucator or a sociologist. I am only a 
 publisher, and that is a sufficiently 
 humble vocation to keep me away 
 from the forbidden heights and 
 depths. 
 
 56
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 But sometimes, as I go about my 
 daily task, I suspect that there is a 
 good deal of interest to be observed 
 by any one, if he cultivate an open 
 mind and seeing eyes. So I am draw 
 ing entirely from the humdrum daily 
 experiences of a commuting business 
 man for what I say, and if we bump 
 into psychology or education or civics, 
 it s no fault of mine. We can blame 
 it to Society or the Social Order or 
 the Tariff or any other convenient 
 bearer of blame for all burdensome 
 things. 
 
 In the first place, did you ever try 
 the experiment of really looking at 
 people? It s quite amusing. They are 
 so different from what they seem. 
 
 The secret of forgetting names and 
 faces is really inattention. If you hear 
 an interesting thing about a person, 
 
 57
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 you rarely fail to look at him care 
 fully. I have never had the pleasure 
 of meeting Dr. Cook of polar fame, 
 but if I ever do, I think I shall know 
 him the next time I see him. 
 
 A man or woman with daughters is 
 apt to look with interest at their 
 friends ; but unless there be some spe 
 cial reason for personal interest on 
 our part, we are for the most part 
 quite indifferent to the people we 
 meet. 
 
 The truth of the matter is that to 
 most of us any one outside of our im 
 mediate family or circle of intimates 
 is nothing but a more or less distin 
 guishable blur between us and the 
 light. This accounts, perhaps, for our 
 pathetic lack of knowledge of our fel 
 low beings. 
 
 What do we know of the citizens of 
 
 58
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 our own town? We may not be able 
 to know very much. We may not be 
 able to do much for our fellows. We 
 can at least cultivate a sympathetic 
 attitude, and incidentally get a good 
 deal of amusement. 
 
 I have amused myself for many 
 years by watching people en masse. 
 It is enormously entertaining. I know 
 people who say " I hate a crowd." I 
 feel for those people the same instinc 
 tive distrust that I feel for a man who 
 does not like a dog, or a woman who 
 does not like children. I do not mean 
 that I crave the actual physical dis 
 comfort of having my clothes torn or 
 my toes stepped on, but from the 
 vantage of a somewhat detached point 
 of view, a crowd is the most entertain 
 ing thing in the world. 
 
 I do not mean to sentimentalize 
 
 59
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 about it that is easy. Very young 
 or very emotional people do that. I 
 did in my youth. 
 
 I recall once sitting with a friend in 
 an office window overlooking one of 
 the thoroughfares of a city. It was 
 the night of a national election and 
 the returns were being flashed upon 
 transparencies above the heads of the 
 throng. The street was packed from 
 curb to curb, and as the bulletins ap 
 peared, the great crowd surged with 
 emotion now cheers for news favor 
 able to some popular candidate, or 
 uneasy silence upon the receipt of un 
 favorable figures. 
 
 I stood at the window and looked 
 down at one of the most wonderful 
 sights in the world a great crowd 
 swayed by the joy of victory or the 
 bitterness of defeat. My friend 
 60
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 lounged in more philosophic mood, 
 and did not seem to share my emo 
 tional interest in the spectacle below. 
 The bulletins flashed decisive figures 
 and the crowd broke into a whirlwind 
 of cheers. I turned to my friend and 
 cried, " Look ! look ! Is n t it magnifi 
 cent? " He cast a calculating eye upon 
 the crowd and said, "Yes, it recon 
 ciles me to the hat business." 
 
 I then, for the first time, realized 
 that my friend was a manufacturer of 
 hats ; and incidentally the great pict 
 ure changed from an exhibition of 
 American political enthusiasm to a 
 more humble exhibition of hats. My 
 friend was right: every man jammed 
 in that great crowd from building to 
 building as far as the eye could see 
 wore a hat. 
 
 The two of us in the window repre- 
 61
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 sented two distinct points of view, and 
 who can say which was the right one. 
 
 In my casual studies of the crowd, 
 I have been struck by several pecu 
 liarities. First and foremost is Opti 
 mism. The crowd as a rule is hope 
 lessly optimistic ; so are most individ 
 uals. The fact that most people are 
 reconciled to their earthly lot is one 
 of the most beneficent provisions of 
 an all-wise Providence. There is a lot 
 of grumbling, but the average man is, 
 on the whole, thankful he is no worse 
 off than he is. 
 
 We see it everywhere on the street. 
 I recall one stormy, winter evening 
 when I was making my tortuous way 
 through a crowded city street to take 
 what is known in the commuter s 
 Vernacular as "the 5 :22." It was bit 
 ing cold and the storm of sleet and 
 62
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 snow made walking difficult. The 
 crowd, bundle-laden and beset by 
 storm and wind, was, as usual, good- 
 natured. As I crossed an intersecting 
 street there stood at the corner, mute 
 and immovable, a heavily-laden truck 
 buried half to its hubs in city slush. 
 Protruding from its side I saw 
 beneath the fitful glare of the street 
 light a pair of well-worn boots and 
 ragged overalls. From the dark and 
 cavernous depths beneath the silent 
 monster there came sharp metallic 
 sounds unmistakable evidence to 
 the accustomed motorist that needed 
 repairs were being made under the 
 most difficult circumstances. My 
 heart went out to the belated truck 
 man, and I speculated a little at what 
 grim hour of the night he would prob 
 ably finish his day s work. 
 
 63
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 A fellow teamster passed, high aloft 
 on the swinging seat of a humbler 
 horse-drawn vehicle. He evidently 
 recognized the boots and the overalls, 
 for leaning down from his lofty seat 
 he shouted to them, " Hello Bill, how s 
 everything ? " And from the dim and 
 damp recesses of the truck, " Fine as 
 silk. How s the boy?" rang out in 
 rich hibernian accents, flinging its 
 challenge in the face of a world of cold 
 and storm and discomfort. 
 
 This is the spirit you find if you will 
 look for it in every walk in life, and it 
 is the spirit which, after all, has made 
 this strange composite nation of ours 
 indomitable in the face of difficulty. 
 I admit it may sometimes be a bluff, 
 but it is heroic nevertheless. 
 
 Another characteristic of the crowd 
 which is there if you will look
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 for it, is Helpfulness. Walk the city 
 streets and watch the little tragedies 
 and comedies which are constantly 
 being enacted at your elbow. On the 
 surface it looks like nothing but a 
 mad rush each man and woman for 
 themselves and his satanic majesty 
 close upon the heels of the hinder- 
 most; but amid all the noise and 
 bustle, if you look closely, you will see 
 constant evidences that a certain pro 
 portion of these whirling little units in 
 the crowd have thought and care for 
 others than themselves. Watch the 
 blind man on the corner, tapping 
 the curb with a tiny cane, lightly 
 held in irresolute hand. By some 
 curious law of averages, it will be 
 the third passer-by who will help him 
 across. The first two doubtless feel 
 faint stirrings in them to help, but 
 
 65
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 the third man is he who really stops 
 to do it. 
 
 One in three is not a bad propor 
 tion, and strangely enough we have 
 distinguished precedent for these fig 
 ures, for was it not the priest and the 
 levite that passed by before the Good 
 Samaritan came? He was the third 
 man. The proportion was the same 
 then as now. Human nature does not 
 change with the centuries. 
 
 And hand in hand with this spirit 
 of helpfulness is another quality, 
 somewhat more elusive and difficult 
 to detect, but abundantly in evidence 
 wherever men and women meet to 
 gether and that is Faith. 
 
 One of the great charms of the side 
 walk orator is that he answers with 
 tremendous positiveness and power a 
 thousand-and-one utterly unanswer- 
 66
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 able questions. It is a relief to find an 
 occasional man to whom life is an 
 open book and for whom the future 
 holds no doubt and the past no re 
 grets. While the average man is fortu 
 nate in being able to dismiss for the 
 most part the regrets of the past, he 
 has yet to arrive at a point where he 
 can dismiss the questions which assail 
 him in regard to the future. The 
 crowd is full of eagerness to question, 
 and finds much in life to ask ques 
 tions about. 
 
 Did you ever see a crowd listen 
 ing to the buglers playing the old 
 tunes on Christmas or New Year s 
 Eve? Did you ever look down into 
 the faces of a crowd listening to a 
 great public speaker? Did you ever 
 mix with the brethren and sisters of a 
 Sunday on the Boston Common, as
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 they listen to the presentation of 
 every known form of religious and 
 scientific untruth? You could not do 
 it without feeling that a great many 
 people outside of colleges and wom 
 en s clubs are trying to find out a little 
 about a very large number of things. 
 
 I have always cherished an affec 
 tion for the dear old gentleman who 
 stood next to me listening to a lucid 
 explanation of the phenomena which 
 would culminate on October 20, 
 1949, with the earth falling into the 
 sun and going off like a damp fire 
 cracker, and Mars and Venus and all 
 the rest doing a glorious celestial 
 tango while the universe reeled back 
 into chaos. 
 
 As the perspiring orator stopped to 
 mop his forehead, the old gentleman 
 turned to me with the sweetest smile 
 68
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 in the world and said, " How interest 
 ing ; I never thought of that before ; " 
 and then with a little sigh added, 
 " But I m afraid I shan t live to see it 
 all." 
 
 If it is not too presuming for a lay 
 man to make such a suggestion, is not 
 the function of the church in its last 
 analysis to answer questions? 
 
 Sometimes this passion for ques 
 tions is side-tracked and then we see 
 all sorts of hysteria and trouble. The 
 magazine and daily press feed and 
 fatten on it. A while ago we saw it 
 very plainly in the unpleasant and ex 
 ceedingly unprofitable clamor about 
 sex-education. 
 
 I once had occasion to lecture be 
 fore an audience of delightful ladies 
 in a suburban community. Before my 
 introduction, the programme for the
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 coming month was announced, cover 
 ing the subjects which papers were 
 to be read and discussions carried 
 on. The programme covered a range 
 of subjects which in my innocence I 
 had previously thought properly con 
 fined to the criminologist and similar 
 experts. But no, these were the sub 
 jects upon which this entire circle of 
 women were to devote a month of 
 their precious time. After this awe-in 
 spiring announcement, I was intro 
 duced as the speaker of the afternoon ; 
 and never before had my utterances 
 seemed to me so trivial and so out of 
 keeping with the spirit of the times. 
 At the conclusion of my talk one 
 brave soul ventured to thank me for 
 an hour quite free from the discussion 
 of the unpleasant and the abnormal. 
 She seemed half apologetic for the 
 70
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 programme which I had heard an 
 nounced, and assured me that after 
 all the ladies of the club did like pleas 
 ant things. 
 
 Like the lady in question, the crowd 
 is normal, if it is let alone and al 
 lowed to express itself naturally. 
 
 Since the episode described above, 
 a great and happy change has taken 
 place. As if by a miracle, all this dis 
 cussion of the sordid and seamy side 
 of life seems to have been swept from 
 programmes of such organizations, 
 and the minds of normal folk are busy 
 with subjects much more edifying and 
 much more helpful. Perhaps it has 
 taken a great war to silence the clam 
 orous minority in the crowd which 
 was foistering the discussion of these 
 problems upon an unwilling majority. 
 
 Places of public assembly offer an
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 excellent opportunity for the study of 
 your fellow man, particularly if he 
 be there bent upon recreation or 
 amusement. Watch the people about 
 you at the theatre. Near you are a 
 boy and girl not an uncommon or 
 unusual combination. Both obviously 
 dressed in their best, each more proud 
 of the other than of himself or her 
 self. Observe the conscious gallantry 
 of the escort, and the very evident 
 pleasure of the escorted. If they 
 are more intent upon themselves and 
 their affairs than on the mimic 
 drama of the stage, and if they 
 refresh themselves with confectionery 
 and whisper and giggle at inop 
 portune moments, do not let it bother 
 you. It is not done to offend. They 
 are simply working out the great laws 
 of human destiny. 
 
 72
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 Beyond them we see the middle- 
 aged and sympathize with their ef 
 forts to be young and gay and not to 
 be bored that each may feel the old 
 pride in the other. 
 
 Again, the aged, serene in the as 
 surance that all is well, exchanging 
 timid reminiscent glances at the ex 
 pression of some sentiment on the 
 stage hackneyed perhaps, but en 
 shrined in enduring significance in 
 their hearts. 
 
 So the world wags. It is all there to 
 see if you will see it all so gloriously 
 human with all the glorious human 
 virtues and weaknesses. They are like 
 the amiable " scrub lady " who for 
 years gave my office a cursory clean 
 ing. Like some unseen, unknown 
 creature, she ministered to me, un 
 recognized and unfelt, like a shower 
 
 73
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 at night, until one fatal morning she 
 was found prone upon the floor 
 clutching her worn mop in one hand, 
 and a bottle in the other. Upon in 
 vestigation, a few somewhat ex 
 tenuating circumstances were un 
 earthed: a wayward son, a husband 
 on probation, failing health, a sick 
 neighbor to be watched with during 
 the few hours she should have de 
 voted to sleep, an ill-advised attempt 
 to whip up a worn-out heart with a 
 little Dutch courage. When it was all 
 over, she apologized for her tearful 
 ness when giving thanks, by explain 
 ing that she " was not accustomed to 
 being treated human." 
 
 Back of the humblest and often the 
 most sordid little dramas there is a 
 human explanation. 
 
 This all sounds very pious and 
 
 74
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 preachy. I do not mean it to be. It 
 is only a plea to recognize the human 
 equation in all our relationships. 
 
 It seems to me that the lack of this 
 attitude is the real defect in many of 
 our most enlightened and unselfish 
 undertakings. I fancy it hinders more 
 in charitable work and education 
 than in anything else. 
 
 I dined once with 250 schoolmas 
 ters 250, count them. To a layman, 
 unaccustomed to scholastic surround 
 ings, it was a terrifying experience. 
 My youthful impression of school 
 masters was not altogether a happy 
 one, perhaps because of the mutual 
 distrust which seemed always to exist 
 between myself and my preceptors. 
 Although I have met many charm 
 ing and delightful schoolmasters 
 since those early days, I have never 
 
 75
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 been able to free my mind from my 
 early associations. 
 
 As I sat that memorable evening 
 with the other guests, ill at ease and 
 full of forebodings for the future, at 
 what is called at such functions " the 
 speaker s table," I looked down long 
 rows of chairs in which the school 
 masters sat at dinner. An irresistible 
 desire to look under each and every 
 chair seized me. I felt sure that under 
 every one I would see a pair of hoofs 
 and a tail neatly curled upon the 
 floor. 
 
 Despite the fact that none of them 
 seemed to have these satanic adorn 
 ments, the impression they gave on 
 the whole was forbidding and solemn 
 in the extreme. 
 
 When the speaking began, I real 
 ized the reason for their subdued de-
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 meanor. This function was like count 
 less others which they had attended, 
 and at every one of them these poor 
 men had been exhorted and uplifted 
 and inspired until life itself had 
 become a burden. Though you may 
 labor in the most inviting of vine 
 yards, though your labor may be pro 
 ductive of the highest possible good, 
 it is not in human nature to stand be 
 ing told constantly how lofty a mis 
 sion you fulfill, and how solemnly you 
 should approach your daily task. 
 
 It still remains a mystery by what 
 odd trick of fate I should have been 
 present at such a gathering. Probably 
 some member of the committee in 
 charge, with a whimsical feeling for 
 the inappropriate, had brought it 
 about. At all events, the evil hour ar 
 rived, and with the utmost decorum 
 
 77
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 and the most sublime dignity, I was 
 introduced by the chairman quite as 
 if I were the chemical formula for 
 hydrochloric acid, or a new guide 
 to child-study. 
 
 Never was after-dinner speaker in 
 a more difficult position. I knew 
 nothing of my hearers or their inter 
 ests, I did not even speak their lan 
 guage, and yet here I was being 
 offered to them as if from my lips 
 would fall veritable pearls of wisdom. 
 Led by a blind instinct that after 
 all this formidable gathering was 
 composed of human beings, I plunged 
 in. I did my little best. I even went 
 so far as to make a feeble little joke. 
 They stirred uneasily in their chairs 
 and looked at the superintendent of 
 schools out of the corners of their eyes, 
 to see what he thought of such irrever- 
 
 78
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 ence. Before long I realized that they 
 had ceased looking at the toes of their 
 boots or upon the disordered table 
 cloths, and were looking at me. En 
 couraged by this mute approval, I 
 more than ever overstepped the 
 bounds of decorous behavior on such 
 an occasion. Suddenly, from a dis 
 tant table, shadowed by an overhang 
 ing balcony, there rang out a rich peal 
 of truly hibernian laughter. This was 
 too much even for their pedagogical 
 decorum, and the laughter swept over 
 the entire company. Never was a 
 feeble inanity received with such up 
 roarious applause. From then on, it 
 was a lovely party. 
 
 At some point during my subse 
 quent remarks the superintendent of 
 schools quietly folded his tent and 
 stole away. At the conclusion of my 
 
 79
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 remarks, they crowded about me. The 
 awful incubus of uplift no more de 
 pressed them. Each had his pet story 
 to tell, every one of which was better 
 than any I had told. 
 
 Later in the evening I found my 
 self surrounded by some of the 
 younger, more resolute, and perhaps 
 more rebellious of the company. They 
 explained to my marveling mind the 
 intricacies of the modern public 
 school system the mass of informa 
 tion in regard to the children in their 
 charge: card indices of indescribable 
 complexity explaining domestic re 
 lationships in every family repre 
 sented and its collateral branches; 
 the character of labor performed by 
 members of the family whether the 
 mother worked "in" or "out," and 
 many other intimate details, includ- 
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 ing the particular degree of inebriety 
 to which the masculine head of the 
 house was addicted. Nationalities 
 were designated by different colors, 
 and numberless intricate systems of 
 cross-reference supplied the details. 
 
 You remember the caucus race in 
 "Alice in Wonderland." One of these 
 men who had spent years in prepar 
 ing himself for a pedagogical career, 
 who had degrees from countless 
 American and foreign universities, 
 had reached a dizzy height in the 
 school system of our country, where 
 he no longer taught anybody any 
 thing. He seemed to be some sort of 
 petty officer who had numberless de 
 tails in hand, and one of his principal 
 duties seemed to be the scientific dry 
 ing of wet children. His method 
 struck me as original and quite to be 
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 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 recommended to parents of large 
 families. Children in every station of 
 life will get wet it seems to be a law 
 of nature; particularly do they get 
 wet as to their shoes and stockings, 
 if stockings be worn. And especially 
 is this true of the children whose 
 playground is the street and the 
 gutter. 
 
 First having ascertained the num 
 ber of heating units at his disposal, he 
 would then divide the children into 
 groups of wet, wetter, and wettest. 
 The wettest group would be placed 
 nearest to the heating unit and the 
 wet group on the perimeter of the 
 circle. After a stated period the circles 
 were reversed, and so the warmth was 
 equally distributed. After this process 
 had been carried on indefinitely, the 
 children were placed in martial array, 
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 and marched to complete the drying 
 process. 
 
 This much the mind of a layman 
 might have achieved; but it required 
 the trained mind of the specialist to 
 conceive the finishing touch which 
 gave artistry to his performance. 
 
 The children not only marched, but 
 they marched with what was de 
 scribed as "digital activity." Inside 
 their capacious and ragged shoes, 
 their little toes twinkled merrily as 
 they marched up and down the aisles, 
 thus, as it was explained, creating 
 "ventilation and a quick drying 
 process." 
 
 During the recital of this narrative, 
 and in all the discussions of the even 
 ing, I noticed that the boy or girl who 
 was consigned to the tender mercies 
 of this complicated system, ceased to 
 
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 be a boy or a girl as soon as they came 
 under its benign influence. Once the 
 portals of the schoolhouse swung open 
 to them, they lost sex, personality, 
 heart and soul and body, and became 
 "a unit of student attendance." 
 
 I went to New York on the mid 
 night train that night and as I rattled 
 along I found myself saying, 
 " Red card for a German, 
 Green card for a Jew, 
 White card for the Irish, 
 For the Greek a blue," 
 And when the porter shook me at 
 122d Street, I was saying, "Gosh, I d 
 like to be Superintendent of Schools 
 for one hour." But it wouldn t be 
 safe! 
 
 I do not mean this as an indictment 
 of our very excellent school system, 
 but rather to illustrate the tendency 
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 shown by every organization in this 
 country to over-emphasize the ma 
 chine part of its operations, and to 
 minimize almost to the vanishing 
 point the human element. When I 
 recall my own college experience, my 
 recollection of laboratory and class 
 room equipment is very meagre. The 
 dominant figure in my recollection is 
 that of a delightful and scholarly 
 gentleman who read Greek poetry 
 aloud to us and instilled into the mind 
 of many an idle boy a love of the 
 classics. He did this as an individual 
 and not as part of a system toward a 
 * unit of student attendance." 
 
 There is a great hue and cry 
 against the personal pronoun, first 
 person singular. But I rather like to 
 reflect upon it. What a straight up 
 standing little letter it is. I like to 
 
 85
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 think of it as a peg firmly driven into 
 the ground: here in a city lot, there 
 on the broad acres of a western home 
 stead ; and, running out from it to the 
 invisible circumference of an invisible 
 circle, are countless little threads of 
 acquaintance, devotion, or influence; 
 but there in the middle stands the 
 little letter " I." That is you, that is 
 your neighbor every one of us is an 
 " I." We think, we live, in terms of 
 the first person singular, and how else 
 can we live? But the mistake we 
 make is when we ignore the " I," the 
 ego, in the other fellow. 
 
 Was it Barrie, or who was it, who 
 wrote the matchless little story of the 
 discovery by a selfish man of the ego 
 in the club waiter? How his senses 
 reeled when he found out that this 
 automation had a wife and babies, 
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 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 and suffered, loved, hoped, and de 
 spaired just like a real person. 
 
 I have spoken of Optimism, Help 
 fulness, and Faith as characteristic of 
 the crowd. There is another element 
 which makes the average man inter 
 esting a little more obscure and a 
 little more difficult to get at, because 
 it lies deeper in him but it is there 
 none the less, if you will find it, and 
 that is Enthusiasm. 
 
 It does not make the least differ 
 ence in the world what a man or 
 woman may be enthusiastic about. Of 
 course, some fields of human en 
 deavor are more productive of reward 
 and more intellectually stimulating 
 than others, but the important ele 
 ment is the enthusiasm itself, not 
 its object. If any one ever makes 
 habitual use of the smoking-car on
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 suburban trains and has failed to 
 notice this characteristic, he has not 
 cultivated successfully the open mind 
 and seeing eye. 
 
 The congested condition of traffic 
 on the line I use makes it necessary 
 for me to have as seat-companion a 
 highly interesting and varied assort 
 ment of acquaintances. With these 
 acquaintances I daily hold conversa 
 tion, and though the allotted time for 
 the beginning and ripening of our 
 acquaintanceship is a scant half-hour, 
 rarely have I failed, before the end of 
 the trip, to discover somewhere in the 
 tired body or jaded mind of my com 
 panion a spark of enthusiasm for 
 something. It may be poultry or 
 hydrangeas ; it may be an automobile 
 or Ruskin, but it is there, and the 
 flame burns brightly, once you find it.
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 Sympathy with a man s enthu 
 siasms is the best possible starting- 
 point for an acquaintance. I recall 
 once visiting many years ago a large 
 Western city. I arrived at my hotel 
 at about the dinner-hour, and was 
 piloted by the head waiter through a 
 wilderness of small tables and de 
 posited in a remote corner at a small 
 table set for two. The place opposite 
 me was already occupied by one of the 
 most ferocious-looking human beings 
 I had ever encountered. Even seated 
 as he was, his massive bulk towered 
 above the frail table. As I took my 
 seat, he glared at me with ferocious 
 eyes and vouchsafed no greeting. 
 
 I ate my dinner in a subdued and 
 
 apprehensive mood, but filled with 
 
 wonder and amazement at the 
 
 amount and variety of the viands my 
 
 89
 
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 vis-a-vis consumed. At the conclusion 
 of a complicated and varied repast, he 
 pushed back his chair and sat gazing 
 at me with evident interest. Pres 
 ently, with some premonitory rum 
 blings, he addressed to me the ques 
 tion which is the countersign of a 
 great fraternity. "What s your line? " 
 he asked with admirable directness. 
 The stamp of the commercial traveler 
 was upon me and by some subtle in 
 sight born of long experience he had 
 detected it. 
 
 I explained that I was "traveling 
 with books," and that my humble 
 function was to disseminate the pale 
 light of pure literature over the length 
 and breadth of our fair land. He 
 seemed but little impressed by this 
 announcement, and no further in 
 quiries followed. 
 
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 The amenities of the occasion 
 evidently demanded something of me. 
 I saw my duty and I did it. " What is 
 your line? " I asked. Before my ques 
 tion he had sat inert and weary, bored 
 and perhaps suffering from slightly 
 undue repletion, and eager for the 
 black cigar in the hotel lobby. But 
 when the magic words were spoken, 
 postprandial delights were forgotten, 
 and he leaned across the table, shak 
 ing an impressive finger at me, and 
 announced with a surprising burst of 
 emphasis, " Young man, I travel with 
 the most complete line of babies 
 sundries west of the Mississippi 
 River." 
 
 My astonishment at this announce 
 ment prevented further inquiries ; but 
 they were not necessary, for with a 
 torrent of expletive he extolled the 
 
 91
 
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 virtues of his line. I had scarcely 
 finished my coffee, but he rose and 
 seized me by the arm, and I was con 
 ducted to a vast subterranean cham 
 ber where he " spread." Beneath the 
 cold glitter of countless electric lights, 
 on long tables on all four sides of the 
 room, was displayed a variety of in 
 fant s garments, the like of which I 
 had never beheld. He called my at 
 tention to some of the specialties 
 the " caps and mittens with one, two 
 or three balls," outer garments, bibs, 
 stockings, dresses, and pins with 
 "Our Baby" and "Darling" in 
 black, blue, and green enamel. 
 
 The colossus rolled heavily from 
 table to table, and as a climax to his 
 exhibition, he stood erect amid the 
 splendors about him while he caress 
 ingly placed on a large and hairy fist 
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 a baby s lace bonnet, deftly tying a 
 perfect bow with his left hand. He 
 held it aloft, and transfixing me with 
 his piercing eye, fairly shouted, 
 " Some class to that ! " 
 
 Using his enthusiasm as a starting- 
 point, we became close friends during 
 my brief sojourn in the city. Every 
 night at dinner he extolled his wares, 
 expressed his vigorous opinion of the 
 various buyers, and filled the evening 
 with anecdotes from his varied experi 
 ences. During my brief acquaintance 
 ship with him, I do not think he be 
 trayed the slightest interest in any 
 thing in the world except his " line " 
 until the last evening that we sat and 
 smoked together, when he told me of 
 his crippled son, for whose restoration 
 to health and vigor he was making 
 every conceivable sacrifice. 
 
 93
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 In this instance the curious 
 and humorous contrast between the 
 physique of the man and the object 
 of his enthusiasm gave piquancy to 
 the incident; but its real significance 
 was that through this strange enthu 
 siasm I found myself admitted to the 
 secrets of his life. The average man 
 can invariably be approached through 
 the channels of his enthusiasms. 
 
 How easily that phrase the aver 
 age man slips from the pen. We 
 write of him and we talk of him, but 
 who of us has even seen or met him? 
 For my own part, I have never in my 
 life, so far as I know, met an average 
 person. The average person is like 
 "jam yesterday, and jam to-morrow, 
 but never jam to-day." I have never 
 met a person who admitted himself 
 to be an average person. We all know 
 
 94
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 a great many average people, and in 
 some instances a very considerable 
 number exist in our own circle of rela 
 tives, but so far as we are ourselves 
 concerned, we are not average per 
 sons. 
 
 So it is with "the general public." 
 The general public has more charges 
 laid at its doors, more characteris 
 tics attributed to it, more conjectures 
 made in regard to it, than any other 
 class of people in the world; and yet, 
 so far as I have been able to discover, 
 I have yet to meet a member of the 
 general public. 
 
 How often we hear the expression, 
 " I suppose the average man or 
 woman does so and so," the inevitable 
 implication being that the speaker 
 does not share these peculiarities. 
 
 And yet, if the truth were known, 
 
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 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 there is not one of us who is not a 
 hopelessly average person; there is 
 not one of us who does not belong to 
 the general public; and there is not 
 one of us to whom the great law of 
 social averages does not apply. 
 
 There are countless business enter 
 prises, the success of which depends 
 entirely upon the power of those di 
 recting them to estimate the taste and 
 buying capacity of the average per 
 son. The astute publisher, or mail 
 order merchant, knows to a math 
 ematical nicety how high a percent 
 age of replies he will receive from a 
 given number of circulars mailed. 
 That these figures may be of value or 
 significance, it is, of course, necessary 
 to address a very large group of peo 
 ple a group so large that it fairly 
 represents the average of the entire
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 country. Of course, you and I are too 
 sophisticated to be influenced by the 
 expedients he employs. We know, 
 of course, that the average persons 
 in the general public reply in large 
 numbers. 
 
 I have been fortunate enough to 
 gain the confidence of a gentleman to 
 whom the sale of merchandise by 
 mail has become a fine art. So skill 
 ful has he become, that the business 
 man and the psychologist have almost 
 merged. Selecting half a million of his 
 fellow beings, including you, dear 
 reader, and others like you, he ad 
 dresses his appeal to you. He knows 
 precisely how many replies he will re 
 ceive. If his communication contains 
 a return envelope or coupon, a greater 
 number of you will reply; if he in 
 forms you that your name has been 
 
 97
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 sent to him by a mutual friend, you 
 hasten to justify the unknown friend s 
 confidence in you ; if you are tactfully 
 informed that you are No. 6491 of a 
 selected group of fortunate individ 
 uals to receive this offer, you are 
 feverish in your haste to return your 
 check and order. 
 
 My friend has also established 
 some interesting theories in regard to 
 the sexes : men reply at once if they 
 are going to reply at all, women much 
 more slowly; men reply in larger 
 numbers than women to an alluring 
 offer requiring no money down and 
 the payment for the goods only upon 
 their receipt; but the women, having 
 assumed the obligation, pay their bills 
 more promptly. These and countless 
 other generalizations he has worked 
 out through long years of experience, 
 98
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 and the general laws hold good de 
 spite the social or financial circum 
 stances of the persons addressed. He 
 has demonstrated to my satisfaction 
 that there are average people, that 
 there is a general public, and I re 
 joice that I am one of them, for it 
 gives me membership in the crowd, 
 and the crowd is what makes life in 
 teresting. 
 
 But it can be well said, what has all 
 this to do with the humanities ? Per 
 haps it hasn t anything. It all re 
 minds me a little of a comment made 
 by a scholarly and long-suffering 
 gentleman who tried many years 
 ago to teach me the elements of 
 biology. At an examination I was re 
 quired to write the description of 
 some animal, the long Latin name for 
 which was handed to me on a card. 
 
 99
 
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 The meaning of the name I had en 
 tirely forgotten, but, nothing daunted, 
 I wrote a description of as horrific a 
 beast as ever graced a dissecting-table 
 or a microscope. Enchanted with the 
 subject, I let my imagination run riot. 
 When the paper was returned to me, 
 it bore in my instructor s exquisite 
 handwriting : 
 
 "A very interesting animal, but 
 not the one required. The description 
 requested was that of the common 
 house-fly." 
 
 He was right : it was not a common 
 house-fly, this creature of my imag 
 ination, far from it, but it was a 
 perfectly good animal. 
 
 And so this may not be the 
 
 humanities that is, what others 
 
 more learned than I mean by the 
 
 humanities but it may be what I 
 
 100
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 mean. Let me try to show you what I 
 mean. 
 
 Here we are, all average persons, 
 traveling the same road. Shall we 
 push and shove and put others in the 
 gutter? Shall we want the road to 
 ourselves ? The wisest of us shy at the 
 questions, why we are here, what we 
 are doing and where we are going. So 
 why not recognize our fellow travel 
 ers? 
 
 How a home face cheers us in a for 
 eign land. How quickly we make 
 friends in a little journey. How gladly 
 we ask a stranger for gasoline by the 
 roadside. Why not apply some of 
 these principles to the great journey 
 we are all making? A little more 
 cheer, a little more comradeship, a 
 little more helpfulness it would 
 help a lot. 
 
 101
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 Young men and women come to 
 me and ask me how to learn to write 
 (as if I knew), and go away sadly 
 when all I can say is, read a few good 
 books, watch what is going on about 
 you, learn to know, really know, as 
 many people as possible. In other 
 words, lead a life as rich in the essen 
 tials of humanity as you can; and 
 after all the essentials are the impor 
 tant things. One of the most cheering 
 aspects of this complex experience 
 which we call human life, is that in 
 its essentials it is simple in the ex 
 treme. 
 
 We hear a great deal said about the 
 complexities of life; we are told that 
 it is so much more intricate and diffi 
 cult than it used to be. This is, I 
 fancy, because we have roving about 
 over the face of the earth a variety of 
 102
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 folks who would make it so the 
 pyschologist, the socialist, the econ 
 omist, and countless faddists, and 
 political and social reformers. They 
 are the folks who make life appear 
 complex, for they have superimposed 
 on life all sorts of unimportant de 
 tails. Life is really comparatively 
 simple. It was Mr. Lowell, I believe, 
 who claimed that there are but three 
 jokes known to mankind, and Mr. 
 Howells failed to find more than 
 seven play plots in dramatic litera 
 ture. 
 
 In the vernacular of daily speech, 
 in the common everyday experience 
 of the average person, how much we 
 hear of the cardinal virtues, of 
 fundamental passions, of primary 
 colors. The human race has clung 
 and is clinging desperately to the 
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 simplicity of life. It must, for its 
 salvation. This explains in a measure, 
 I think, our passion for the old thing 
 the established order. The thing 
 that has endured, we believe must 
 have real qualities of permanence and 
 truth. 
 
 Science is beginning to recognize 
 the importance of the simple and the 
 elemental thing. It is beginning to 
 treat physical ills with fresh air and 
 sunshine, and less and less with drugs. 
 It would be an interesting experiment 
 to go back to elemental things for the 
 cure of more subtle maladies. I 
 wonder what would happen if we tried 
 to solve our intellectual and spiritual 
 difficulties with the old-fashioned 
 virtues of faith and humility; our 
 social difficulties by a recognition of 
 common humanity. 
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 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 This may not be possible for us of 
 the present generation. We may be 
 lost beyond regeneration, but we can 
 help future generations. We can try 
 to start our children right. For 
 tunately, we do not believe in heredity 
 quite as much as we used to, and we 
 are coming to believe more and more 
 that each little mind and heart starts 
 fresh and sweet. Let the great book of 
 nature teach them ; let them learn of 
 bird and bush, sunshine, cloud and 
 storm; read them the age-old stories 
 of the world, and give them faith in 
 the simple and elemental things in 
 life. 
 
 I have read more manuscripts and 
 heard more speeches on education 
 than on any other subject known to 
 civilized man. I once made a noble 
 resolve that never would I raise my 
 105
 
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 feeble voice to add to the clamor, and 
 now I find myself perilously near do 
 ing so. 
 
 The reactions of all this talking and 
 writing on an entirely uneducated 
 person like myself may be of some in 
 terest, so I will venture to put into 
 words how it all strikes me. 
 
 Most speakers and writers appear 
 to me to be talking about a kind of 
 education that to my mind is the very 
 poorest kind, if indeed it be education 
 at all. I have even gone so far as to 
 have a vague theory in regard to what 
 I call education. 
 
 Here is a child. He is destined to 
 face human life. We know, or we 
 ought to know by this time, that life 
 is an experience, after all, simple in 
 its elements. We know in the rough 
 what that child will face. The prob- 
 106
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 lem is to help him do two things. To 
 so meet life as to get the very most 
 out of it the greatest pleasure, the 
 greatest usefulness and to so ex 
 press himself in terms of life that he 
 will not only enrich his heart and soul 
 and mind, but do so for others as 
 well. 
 
 Now, to do this, I grant, is difficult, 
 but like many other complex prob 
 lems perhaps the solution is nearer at 
 hand than we think. Perhaps we may 
 find the answer in the heart and mind 
 of the average man. The general pub 
 lic may exhibit characteristics which 
 will help us. The crowd and its at 
 tributes may help to solve the prob 
 lem. These we have found to be 
 Optimism, Helpfulness, Faith, and 
 Enthusiasm four qualities which 
 would seem to me to make for a con- 
 107
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 siderably higher education than the 
 kind with which we are most familiar. 
 And if by some happy chance, to 
 these four qualities we could add a 
 certain nobility of outlook upon the 
 phenomena of human experience, we 
 have enriched our child beyond the 
 dreams of avarice. 
 
 To fit ourselves to do this may be 
 a difficult task, and it may be neces 
 sary for us of maturer years to place 
 ourselves again in school; but if we 
 do, let daily experience be the cur 
 riculum and the world about us our 
 laboratory. Let us join, in humble 
 and in contrite spirit, the first-class in 
 looking at people; let us try to learn 
 in some way the needs and the per 
 plexities of our fellow travelers. Let 
 us take primary courses ourselves 
 in the four attributes of the crowd; 
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 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 let us cultivate and exercise them 
 if we can; and above all, let us 
 persist in the belief that the most in 
 teresting and most instructive, and 
 incidentally the most amusing part of 
 this earthly experience is our fellow 
 man. 
 
 I once sat on a log on the tip end of 
 Cape Cod, with a weather-beaten, sea 
 faring man. We had talked of many 
 things, and finally I said to him, 
 " Captain, you have sailed the world 
 over, you have seen more wonders 
 than I have ever dreamed of, you 
 have been to the Mysterious Isles, 
 and now I ask you, what in all your 
 wide experience is the most interest 
 ing thing you ever saw? " 
 
 The captain stopped his whittling 
 and became reflective; he cocked his 
 one remaining eye upon the expanse 
 109
 
 FELLOW TRAVELERS 
 
 of heaven above us and spat reflec 
 tively upon the sand. "Well, I 
 dunno," he said ; " I have sailed about 
 a bit, but first and last, going and 
 coming, fair and foul, I think the 
 most interesting thing I ever see was 
 folks." 
 
 THE END 
 
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