Literary Sidelights - 1902

 


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  LITERARY SIDELIGHTS.2

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When in doubt consult a dictionary.

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Be sure you are right then ask some other fellow what he thinks of it.

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In view of the fact that she has produced so many and beautiful poems, shouldn’t the dear, kind authoress be called Margaret Songster?

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COLOR BLIND.

He brought a little poem in on spring;

It was a dainty, greeny, grassy little thing.

The editor, a mean, unsympathetic fellow,

Declared it was no good, it was so very yellow.

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There is no record of Bob Evans having said “dam” while in Boston or Cambridge, which is somewhat strange since the streets were running snow and water.

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Andrew Laing advises women not to marry literary men. Now what in the world have the poor literary men done to Andy?

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“Wisdom” is the name of a new Boston monthly magazine. Inasmuch as it costs but twelve cents per year and is worth fifty, from a business point of view I should put the venture down as wisdom without any wise.

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Rudyard Kipling commentating on the Philippine situation kindly tells us that American soldiers are as “bulldogs sent out to catch rabbits.” Well, at any rate, the “bulldogs” in the Philippines are doing a better job than are the J. Bulldogs over in South Africa, and perhaps that is what is the matter with Kip.

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“Quincy Adams Sawyer” is a good book to read, but all “good books to read” don’t make good plays to see, and many people are wondering how Mr. Pidgin’s first book can be staged successfully.

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TWO BOOKS.

He wrote a book,

     A classic ’twas;

It had no faults,

     It had no flaws.

He published it,

     It fell quite flat;

He never wrote

   Books after that.

Another man

     He wrote a book;

No one knows why,

     It simply “took.”

He grew in fame,

     And wealthy got;

And yet his book

     Was full of rot.

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PERSONAL POINTS.

Dr. Thomas Dunn English, poet, novelist, dramatist and politician, famous as the author of “Ben Bolt,” lies seriously ill at his home in Newark, N. J. – It is pleasing to the friends of James Jeffrey Roche to know that his clever book “Her Majesty the King,” is going to be brought out in an artistic, finely illustrated edition by R. H. Russell. – Edward Rowland Sill is beginning to receive the recognition he so richly deserves. Houghton, Mifflin & Company, will soon bring out a limited edition of his poems. – Wallace Irwin, whoever he is and wherever he lives is certainly a literary stunner. He has published a volume entitled “The Love Sonnets of a Hoodlum,” and now announces “The Rubayat of Omar Kayyam, jr. – Hezekiah Butterworth, who has just completed an inspiring book entitled “The Boys of the Western Reserve,” for W. A. Wilde and Company, spent several weeks in Ohio amongst the neighbors of McKinley, Grant, Sherman, Hayes, Garfield, Bliss, McGranaham and Stanton, gathering material for his story.

JOE  CONE

Cambridge, Mass.

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B. Courier, March 22, ’02.




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  LITERARY SIDELIGHTS.

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These are Gray days for Mayor McNamee of Cambridge.

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There is a new publication out called “Good English.” The periodical falls short of its mission, beginning with its name.

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Maxim Gorky, next to Tolstoy in Russian literature, is about to be exiled by the harsh hand of the Czar’s government. I wonder if his name, which, by the way, is a nom-de-plume, isn’t to blame for most of the trouble.

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When the newspaper pleases us it is a fine sheet. When it displeases us it is unreliable, full of rot and sensationalism.

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Debts of great men all remind us,

     We can make our names as great,

And, departing, leave behind us

     Bills galore upon the slate.

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Thank Heaven there is nothing in the author’s life to put him in danger of being kissed by a score or more of half-frenzied women. War heroes and musicians alone appear to be popular victims.

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FOR A BOOK PREFACE.

Out on the uncertain sea

     Of public opinion I go;

Battered and reefed,

Provisioned and beefed

     For the blowiest kind of a “blow.”

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PERSONAL POINTS: Denis A. McCarthy, the poet, and Mrs. McCarthy spent Easter in New York and Washington. Charles Felton Pidgin, author of “Quincy Adams Sawyer” and “Blennerhassett,” evidently believes in writing while the ink is warm. He is soon to bring out another book of New England life. L. C. Page & Company, will be publishers. – Margaret E. Sangster, who is adding much to Will Carlton’s magazine “Everywhere,” is out with a new volume of poems entitled “Lyrics of Love and Home and Field and Garden.” – So Joe Lincoln, dear old “Joe,” is soon to be the father of a book of poems entitled “Cape Cod Ballads.” Albert Brandt, of New Jersey, will be the publisher and E. W. Kemble will be the illustrator. I can say in advance that there is something rich in store for those who love Cape Cod Life. – One of the most unique and interesting books of the season has just reached my desk. It is from the prolific pen of C. W. Willis (Allen Eric) a well-known COURIER contributor, and is entitled “The Massachusetts General Court,” What it Accomplished During the Session of 1902. It has an attractive cover of pale gray, and is handsomely bound. The book, which represents volumes of careful study and research, contains 132 pages and is well printed. Typography, however, doesn’t enter into the question so largely as  does the motive of the work, as aside from the cover every page is coldly blank. It is one of Mr. Willis’s blankety-blank jokes, and no doubt the General Court will be able to see the point without the aid of a microscope. The book deserves a wide circulation, – what Mr. Willis deserves – well, we will leave that to the general court!

JOE  CONE

Cambridge, Mass.

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B. Courier, Apr. 5, 1902.




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  LITERARY SIDELIGHTS.

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New proverb: Be sure you can write then go ahead.

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Says my literary friend: “I haven’t yet read ‘The Son of a Fiddler,’ but I’m a son of a gun if I don’t.

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Country Life in America is a rich, beautifully built magazine. In fact it is too rich for the blood of ordinary people, for those who love the country best can hardly afford a twenty-five cent magazine.

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There are 43,000 newspapers in the world, representing 16 languages, about 5000 of them dailies. The newspapers of the United States spend $17,000,000 for news and employ 35,000 persons of editorial work alone. – “Bud Brier,” on “Modern Journalism.”

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Douglas W. Fuller, son of W. O. Fuller, the well-known humorous writer and editor of the Rockland (Me.) Courier Gazette, won the competitive examination at Lewiston, and has been appointed to the vacant position in the Naval Academy in Annapolis. W. O.’s cup of joy will be Fuller than ever now.

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General Chaplin and lawyer Curran of Cambridge, forget their hostilities and are the best of friends as soon as each hearing on the Gray case adjourns. Then, with a number of Aldermen, they are usually to be found enjoying a series of stories, etc. – Post.

So, after all, a law trial is only a burlesque! The judges know it, the lawyers know it, the witnesses know it and the outsiders know it. What’s the use?

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Winifred Melville Shaw, a rising young author, of Rockland, Maine, has written a much advertised “Sonnet” to her fellow townswoman Maxine Elliot. We have been taught that two and two makes four, and no less than a true sonnet contains 14 lines. Mis Shaw’s “sonnet” contains 18 lines, none of which are sonnet length. Is this a sonnet what is a sonnet not? Doubtless Miss Shaw added the four extra lines to make up for the shortage in their length.

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The March number of The Working Boy contains an excellent portrait of Mr. William Hopkins, (Bud Brier) of The Globe. The same number prints his address on “Modern Journalism,” made before the Working Boys Friends Society, February 5. The paper is replete with plain-cut truths, interesting statistics, vivid pictures of the great modern newspaper office, closing with a few samples of some of the intensely funny errors of the composing room. Mr. Hopkins has handled his subject admirably, and the paper in question would be a valuable addition to any newspaper man’s scrap book.

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OWNING UP.

I do not write for fame,

     I do not write for money;

I do not write for game,

     Now don’t you think I’m funny?

I do not write for hash –

     I never yet have et it –

I do not write for cash,

     I know I couldn’t get it.

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PERSONAL POINTS: John Philip Sousa the March King, had written a book. It is a novel, entitled “The Fifth String,” and is said to be written in two-four time, double-quick, fortissimo, explosioso. – Ella Wheeler Wilcox offers $5000 to anyone who will produce a paper containing the poem “Solitude,” of which she claims to be the rightful author, or any lines from it, prior to its original publication in the N. Y. Sun, February, 1883. Charles Felton Pidgin, of Quincy Adams Sawyer” fame, has recently stated that the poem was written in 1863, by an ex-convict and inmate in an insane asylum. Here’s a nice tilt indeed! It would almost pay to strike off a special sheet and try to capture the prize. – Clinton Scollard, the gentle magazine poet, has written a novel. Another case of the “legit” jumping over into vaudeville. Now then for a red-handed story of adventure from the “flowery” pen of Eben E. Rexford. – “Cape Cod Ballads,” by Joe Lincoln is already out, so I am informed privately. Mr. Lincoln will be well remembered by Bostonians for his excellent work on the L. A. W. Bulletin a few years ago. – “Rockhaven,” by Charles Clark Munn, is already on the market. – There is an increased demand for the Edward Everett Hale books since his birthday clelbration, which shows the good sense of the reading public.

JOE  CONE

Cambridge, Mass.

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Apr. 12, 1902.





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  LITERARY SIDELIGHTS.

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There’s always the “devil” to pay in a country newspaper office.

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A man with a smile on his face is a rarity nowadays. Cultivate it, and be one of The Few.

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Mark Twain, like many other celebrities, regards the autograph hunter as an intruder. – Exchange.

Here is a case of before and after. I’ll bet a dollar to a cruller that before Mark became famous he was bothered twice as much because nobody “intruded” for his autograph.

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“Ironquill,” the newly-appointed pension commissioner, was born in Connecticut, where so many bright and promising authors come from – ahem! Mr. Ware is well known, personally, by many of Boston’s literary folk.

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Notwithstanding the almost boundless license given to poets, I never know of one of them to sell intoxicating liquors, which accounts for the fact that poets are always poor.

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There’s no use talking, the young author who wants to win out in book writing, nowadays, must first do something out of the ordinary. He must first become an actor, then write a book something after this: “”Eighty Years of Stage Life”; or become a rear admiral, and write “A Sailor’s Log”; or a steel-trust king, and write, “Fifty Years of Dollar Grabbing”; or a war correspondent, and write, “Chasing Spaniards with a Notebook”; or perhaps a pugilist, and write, “How it Feels to be Swatted,” etc., etc. Books of this kind, by this kind of people, “pay,” and are eagerly sought after by up-to-date publishers. There’s a thousand and one things one may go into, – like bridge-jumping, missionarying, train-wrecking, wireless telegraphy, post-office robbing, law, politics, etc.

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THAT HOBBY HORSE.

A man may ride his hobby horse

     From morning until night;

Then ride it through the long night hours

     Until the morning light.

But if he doesn’t have a care,

     And sometimes light its load,

’Twill one day balk before the hill,

     And land him on the road.

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PERSONAL POINTS: Eugene F. Ware, “Ironquill,” of Topeka, Kansas, has been appointed commissioner of pensions, by President Roosevelt, to succeed Henry Clay Evans. This is a wise choice, as “Ironquill” is a prominent writer, lawyer and ex-soldier, and is a bright, all-round good fellow. – Mark Twain, much to the regret of the little colony of nutmeg authors in Hartford, has purchased a fine old estate on the Hudson, where he will probably pass most of his time. The house is a fine old stone mansion, thoroughly refitted, and surrounded by nineteen acres of  charming scenery, belonging to the creator of “Tom Sawyer” and “Huckleberry Finn.” – Nathan Haskell Dole, of Boston, according to Literary Life, is busily engaged in revising and enlarging the bibliography of Omar Khayyam for a new edition of his multivariorum edition of the Rubaiyat, which will be brought out by L. C. Page and Company. – Orrison Swett Marden, editor of Success, is out with four new booklets through T. J. Crowell and Company, N. Y. – Allen Eric, author of “Buckra Land,” “A Yankee Crusoe,” and various other books, has just competed a story of 65,000 words, having for its setting the country along Lake Champlain. It is a story of adventure, having an historical vein, and as the author has passed his summers in that rugged and picturesque region since 1898, we may look forward to some charming and graphic  descriptions. What the book is to be called I have been unable to learn.

JOE  CONE

Cambridge, Mass.

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April 19, 1902




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  LITERARY SIDELIGHTS.

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“War is hell – ”  So is unsuccessful authorship.

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Read well, think well, write well and you’ll do well.

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If a lobster trust is formed, they who form it will be the biggest ones.

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“Heart-to-Heart Talks” are better and safer than heart-to-heart letters oftentimes.

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Russia has just had a large literary jubilee. America never has, doesn’t now and never will appreciate her authors.

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Elbert Hubbard, unfavorably known as “Fra Elbertus,” continues to roast people in the Aurora Kicker, “The Philistine,” and the people whom he roasts continue to rise in public esteem.

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It has been weeks and weeks and weeks since anybody has commented on the probably age of Sarah Bernhart.

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The first bit of newspaper humor I ever saw read as follows:

“After man what? Generally the sheriff or some woman.” And I might say that I have seen nothing better since.

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MODERN AUTHORSHIP.

He can clash a sonnet of in half an hour

     He can write a dozen ballads in a day;

He’s a record of a thousand jokes per week,

     And he always has a novel under way.

He can write a five-act play with ease,

     Epic verse and lyrics are to him but play;

But he’s got a job at clerking in a store

     For he cannot write enough to make it pay.

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PERSONAL POINTS: Mr. Hezekiah Butterworth, who has been passing a few weeks in Porto Rico and South America, has returned to his Worcester street home. – W. Bert Foster, the well-known story writer, seems to have “caught on” in New York City, where he has been located for the past three years. He is one of the stars of the Munsey publications. – Hellen H. Gardner, essayist and novelist, formerly of Boston but recently of Washington, was married in that city April 9, to Colonel Selden Allen Day, U. S. A. – Frank R. Stockton, novelist and one of the finest humorists America has produced, dies in Washington, April 20, from paralysis, resulting from a hemorrhage of the brain. His best-known books are “The Lady or the Tiger,” “Rudder Grange,” “A Chosen Few,” “Pomona’s Travels,” “The Merry Chanter,” “Squirrel Inn” and “The Great War Syndicate.” He was sixty-eight years of age.

JOE  CONE

Cambridge, Mass.

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B. Courier, April 26, 1902.




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  LITERARY SIDELIGHTS.

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Put your trust in vegetables.

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Great men are dying every day; how do you feel?

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When a young author starts a magazine of his own it’s pretty evident that he isn’t selling as many manuscripts as he thinks he ought to.

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Charles Felton Pidgin, the indefatigable, is out with another novel. Three novels in much less than the same number of years is strong work for a beginner.

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Reward – A cremo-de-lux volume of the best poetry ever written, by the greatest poet ever was, is now or ever will be, given to the first person who will tell the father of this column who Josh Wink of the Baltimore American is.

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DEBORAH’S RAINY DAY-SKIRT.

I have sung a song to her hazel eyes,

     To her teeth which gleam like pearls;

I have made an ode to the wheel she rode,

     I have sung of her chestnut curls.

I have penned a lay to her queenly form,

     To her poise which is proudly pert;

But now I must tune a delicate rune    

     To her daintiest rainy-day skirt.

For Deborah’s rainy-day skirt, you see,

     Is brief to a high degree;

And the lines below they trouble me so

     There’s scarcely ought else I can see.

O, Deborah’s sweet in all of her gowns,

     But a truth I must assert:

She’s a joy supreme, a consummate dream,

     When out in her rainy-day skirt.

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PERSONAL POINTS: J. L. Harbour, editor, author and lecturer, made his Boston debut in “Blessed Be Humor” at the Y. M. C. A., one evening last week. It was S. R. O. from the start, Mr. Harbour scoring an immense hit. His is a lecture on humor treated in a genuinely humorous way, and the result is that Mr. Harbour is receiving some very flattering offers from bureaus and literay organizations. – Alfred Austin, the poet laureate of England and South Africa, has dedicated the American edition of his “A Tale of True Love, and Other Poems,” to President Roosevelt. Why hasn’t some American poet been shrewd enough to do this and thus put himself in the way of becoming poet laureate of America, Porto Rico, Hawaii and the Philippines? – Clara Morris’s novel, which is, of course, stagy from cover to cover, is to be called “A Pasteboard Crown.” – Frank L. Stanton, the Georgia Poet, who might be called “the newspaper favorite,” is to issue a second volume of verse sometime before the holidays. Mr. Stanton’s first book was “Songs of the Soil,” published by the Appletons. – Linn Boyd Porter, the noted Cambridge author, is finding fault with high prices and poor accommodations in Manila. There’s the bother of having riches. What poor literary cuss among us could find fault with high prices in Manila or anywhere else ten miles out of Boston.

JOE  CONE

Cambridge, Mass.

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May 3, 1902.



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  LITERARY SIDELIGHTS.

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Lawn mowers are now working overtime.

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“Jiminez fled. Santa Domingo in the hands of the Revolutionists.” (Daily paper.)

O Jiminez!

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Verily, fame is like a rainbow in a hurry. Who ever thinks of poor old Cronje nowadays?

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The chief enjoyment I get out of a theater is the fact that I can sit in a comfortable chair for two or three hours and watch somebody else work.

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BE UP-TO-DATE.

The poet who sings of castles and things

     Is the fellow who can’t make his hash;

But the poet who rhymes of these strenuous times

     Is the poet who gets all the cash.

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John Hay, the poet, is overshadowing John Hay, Secretary of State, of late. “Jim Bludso” and “Little Breeches” are immortals and no mistake.

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In Literary Life for May, Margaret A. Richard has a poem entitled “Let the Poet Love.” Margaret would have struck a more responsive chord had she written “Let the Poet Live.”

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Here is what Mark Twain paid for his new house on the Hudson:

New York Times  .   .  $47,000

   “        “   Herald  .  .    60,000

   “        “   World   .  .    80,000

   “        “   Journal .  .   125,000

You see by this that if you read the Journal you will get more for your money.

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NUMBER ONE.

The beaches soon will be alive

     With bathers fair and trim;

And then the verse on Summer girls

     Will be right in the swim.

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Theodore Roosevelt, a rising young author of Washington, D. C., is soon to publish another book. It will deal with the deer of North America. Mr. Roosevelt has an advantage over all other young writers – he can send out a manuscript – postage free, a serious consideration to the pocketbook of most young scribblers.

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PERSONAL POINTS: Julia Teresa Butler, a very bright young Boston author, is now engaged upon the Pittsburg Observer, conducting a very readably “woman’s page.” – Bret Harte is dead. The little family of gifted authors can ill afford to lose such men as Bret Harte and Frank Stockton. – Thimas Dixon, jr., novelist, author of the “Leopard’s Spots,” wrote the greater part of that wonderful story in a deserted cabin on the shores of Chesapeake Bay. Here Mr. Dixon owns an extensive plantation. It is getting to be the thing for authors to “steal away off” when they wish to do some important work. Dumas, the younger, saw the value of this, and “Camille” was the splendid result. Fortunate, indeed, is the author who possesses a way-back retreat where he can work undisturbed. – John D. Long is again in Boston. It is hoped that he will take up his pen and join the ranks of Boston’s literary folk. He is well-remembered as a poet, and a translator of Virgil.

JOE  CONE

Cambridge, Mass.

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May 10, 1902.



B. Courier, May 17, 1902.

  LITERARY SIDELIGHTS.

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It is time for flies, summer novels and mosquitoes.

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And the “great American novel” is just as far off as ever.

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Tragic and sad indeed was the ending of Paul Leicester Ford. Kipling, wise man, pulled up stakes and cleared out, away from family troubles.

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It is sincerely hoped that young Alphonso of Spain won’t, inside of the next six weeks, write a book on “How It Feels to be King.”

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A certain old lady in Cambridge declared she wouldn’t leave Mark Twain’s latest book, “A Double-Barrelled Detective Story,” in the house for fear it might go off.

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I have received a beautiful steel engraving likeness of Mr. J. L. Habour, the well-known writer and lecturer. It is an artist’s proof, executed by Purdy, and is a credit to both artist and author.

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“There are no English novelists. England has produced some great poets, but no novelists.” – George Moore, English critic. Well, well, well! What have the authors of “Kim,” “Beside the Bonnie Brier Bush,” “Tommy and Grizel,” “Robert Elsmere,” “The Vicar of Wakefield,” and a score of others to say to this “sassy” statement?

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WHY DOROTHY IS DEMURE.

O why is Dorothy so demure,

     So pensive and lowly and meek?

Her eyes are cast down, her lashes of brown

     Steal close to her velvety cheek.

For Dorothy’s rich, and Dorothy has

     Everything that a made can desire;

She’s lovers a score, and jewels galore,

     And a form which the gods might admire.

Now Dorothy’s neither demure nor shy,

     She’s lively and quite debonair;

She dances and flirts in her bicycle skirts,

     And causes her beaus to despair.

But Dick, her best fellow, is far, far away,

     And wants a new photograph quick;

So she’s posing today, in that Puritan way,

     For she knows ’twill be pleasing to Dick.

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PERSONAL POINTS: Hezekiah Butterworth, author of “The Treasure Ship,” “The Boyhood of Lincoln,” etc., has completed his “Boys of the Western Reserve,” and the manuscript is in the hands of the printer. W. A. Wilde and Company will publish the book. – Robert Underwood Johnson’s complete poems are to be collected and brought out in one volume by the Harpers. The book will contain many heretofore unpublished poems. – Every now and then I hear from H. S. Keller, the well-known writer of happy verse, way out in a country place called Utica, N. Y. “Kel,” as he sometimes  signs himself when he’s in a hurry, is a bright, breezy, entertaining writer whether writing for the public or privately, and his letters are carefully laid away with the choice literary souvenirs. – Edward Everett Hale, Boston’s literary Gladstone, at the age of eighty-two makes a flying trip to Chicago to deliver a lecture, a circumstance which speaks well for a life of hard work and good habits.

JOE  CONE

Cambridge, Mass.

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________________

  LITERARY SIDELIGHTS.

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Don’t judge a book by its cover, nor an author by the number of stamps he purchases.

_____

The author who is a vegetarian and who has a goodly sized garden coming on, it the fellow who is going to make the beef trust feel as tho’ a Mt. Pelee were hanging over their heads.

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Henry Austin Clapp’s “Reminiscences of a Dramatic Critic,” is welcomed by a host of Bostonians who have followed and profited by that staunch critic these many years. The work of Mr. Clapp, who has lately joined the staff of the Boston Herald, is second to none in the profession.

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If I am not much mistaken, it will be “The New York American” soon, or “The American,” and the famous “New York Journal” will be but a sallow memory.

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The greatest event with which our country has had to do in twenty-five years occurred last week, - the starting of a new republic on its way rejoicing, and it never caused so much as a “hooray from this busy and business-like nation.

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Mt. Pelee as an eruptor and calamity hot-pot, isn’t in it for a moment with some of the sensational papers of our large, up-to-date sister city. The manner in which people’s private affairs are aired is a twentieth century wonder.

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BOOKS.

“Of the making of books there is no end,”

     Of every conceivable grade;

But thousands on thousands of books, my friend,

     End just as soon as they’re made.

_____

WHEN THE COWS COME HOME.

When the sunset paints her ruddy glow

Across the Western sky,

When from the marshlands just below

Comes forth the treetoads’ cry,

And fireflies dance o’er field and plain

And break the sinking gloam,

I love to linger in the lane

     And watch the cows come home.

The mellow tinkle of the bell

     Falls sweetly on my ear;

The plaintive “loo” of Bess and Nell

     And Kate I love to hear.

It brings to me a soothing calm

     To stand ’neath twilight’s dome,

Upon my dear old boyhood’s farm,

     And watch the cows come home.

Each crowds into her narrow stall,

     With gladly switching tail,

And soon rich streams of whiteness fall

     Into the milking pail.

The day is done, and evening creeps

     Upon the fading gloam,

And forest, field and farmyard sleeps

     After the cows come home.

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PERSONAL POINTS: There will be a notable gathering of authors at Indianapolis on May 31, to read for the benefit of the Harrison monument fund. George Ade, Charles Major, Lew Wallace, Whitcomb Riley, Booth Tarkington, Meredith Nicholson and many others are slated to be present. – “Pine Tree Ballads,” a new book by Holman F. Day, author of “Up in Maine,” Yankee humorous verse, is soon to be issued by Small, Maynard and Company. Holman has “caught on,” and he didn’t have to go to New York to do it either, thank the Lord. – After a month of lecturing at Chicago University, Edward Everett Hale has returned to his Boston home, where he is regarded with an admiration that would turn the heads of most men. – Julia Ward Howe, author of the famous “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” was 83 on Tuesday last. Friends showered congratulations upon the youthful authoress, who apparently was as active in mind and body as anyone present. – A new book of essays by a well-know Boston author, Charles Francis Adams, is just out. Its title is “Lee at Appomattox,” and the name of the author is assurance that the book will prove interesting, useful and instructive.

JOE  CONE

Cambridge, Mass.

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May 31, 1902.











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