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The San Francisco call. (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1895-1913, September 20, 1896, Image 19

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A recent publisher's nete to the effect that
the large sale of Father Tabb's poems, now in
their fifth edition, was paralleled among
American poets only by the demand for the
posthumous volume of Emily Dickinson, re
calls the work of the singular and gifted New
England woman. There appears to be an in
teresting coincidence in this fact, in view of
Father Tabb's remark, quoted by The Book
man, that "of late American poets there is
none worthy to go down to posterity except
Miss Dickinson . " Her poems appeared several
years ago, four years after their author's deatn.
Her recently published Letters, edited by
Mabel Loomis Todd, reveal in part the strange
personality of the woman who for years and
from her own choice never stepped outside her j
father's house.
Emily Dickinson was born in Amherst,
Mass., in the year 1830. There seems to nave
been nothing exceptional about her girlhood.
Her father was & prosperous man, for years
treasurer of Amherst College, and at one time
a member of Congress. The pictures of her
home show us an attractive colonial house,
spacious and dignified, surrounded by spread
ing eim trees. There were three children-
Austin, Emily and Lavinia. Their mother was
apparently a sensible and practical New Eng
land woman with little time for sentiment.
Emily aa a young girl appears to have had a
hapr>y life. Her education was begun at the
village "academy" and "finished" by & year
at Mount Holyoke. Her letter! at this time
are tne letters of the average schoolgirl and
show no trace of the epigrammatic transcen
dentalism which marks them later. Neither is
there any trace of the shyness which became a
passion in her after life. She seems to have
joined in the social life of her mates and lived
the normal life of the young woman of that
time. Her early friend, Mrs. Ford, to whom
some of her letters are addressed, prefaces
their publication by a short sketch of Emily's
girlhood. According to Mrs. Ford she was one
of a circle of talented young girls, several of
whom became lamous in after years. Fanny
Montague, the art critic, was one, and another
was Helen Fiske, who wrote under the pen
name, "H. H.," and whose death in San Fran
cisco a few years ago was a sad loss to Ameri
can letters. Emily Dickinson, strange to say,
was the wit of the group and furnished the
funny items for the school paper. The only
hint she gave her friend of her future strange
aloofness from her fellows was by asking her
one day if it did not make her shiver to hear
some people talk '-as though they took all the
clothes off their souls." Not until she is about
20 do we fiad symptoms of that later malady —
if malady be the word for her almost fierce se
The friend who most helped to form her
girlish aspirations was a teacher in the acad
emy, a Mr. Leonard Humphrey, who was a
few years older than herself. He was a gradu
ate of Amherst and had showed unusual in
tellectual ability and penetration. A letter
to a friend at this time briefly records his
death. His name is only mentioned twice in
the course of her whole correspondence and
once in a letter to her literary godfather, Mr.
Higginson. She says, '"My dying tutor told
me he would like to live till I had been a
poet." This was twelve years after his death 1
We cannot help wondering whether this was
not the key of those minor cadences to which
her life was henceforth set. It seems almost a
sort of sacrilege to try to pierce that reserve
in which she veiled herself. There are souls
as tremulous as sensitive plants. A year
later in a letter to the same friend she de
clines a proffered invitation, saying: "I don't
go from home unless emergency leads me by
the hand, and then I do it obstinately and
draw back if I can."
There is no hint as vet of her writing
poetry. About this time her brother, Austin,
left home and college to take a position in Bos
ton. Her letters to him are delightfully clever,
full of wit, with an undercurrent of sadness
and loneliness, ostensibly because of his being
gone. In these letters we begin to detect the
beat of words, the sense of cadence which
marks her poetry rather than perfect rhyme
or meter. Even in homely sentences one per
ceives the writer to have that "ear for words"
which is somewhat rarer than an ear for mu
sic. However, it need not take a verse-maker
to write in that manner. This fragment from
a letter to her cousin, on the death, in his first
battle, of a friend's son, suggests the poet:
"Poor little widow's boy, riding to-night in
the mad wind, back to the village Durying
ground, where he never dreamed of sleeping.
Ah, the dreamless sleep!"
Her letters to her Drother detail the family
and neighborhood doings, with here and there
a suggestion of her growing dislike of meeting
people. She mentions a great village fete on
the opening of the new railroad. "They all
said it was fine. I 'spose' it was. I sat in Pro
fessor Tyler's woods and saw the train move
off, and then came home for fear somebody
would see me or ask me how I did. Dr. Holland
was here and called to see us." "Dr. Holland"
was J. G. Holland, the well-known author and
later the editor of the Century Magazine. A
visit to the Hollands a short time after this
was one of the few she ever made. Her letters
to them are extremely interesting and show a
constantly increasing brilliancy.
The letters to her young cousins in the begin
ning of the second volume show the womanly
and affectionate side of her nature, that had
no warp in its attitude toward those she loved, j
But by far the most fascinating letters of all j
are those addressed to Thomas Wentworth j
Higgint«on. With her constantly increasing
seclusion the necessity for some expression
seemed to grow. She made no occupation of
writing, but while busy with her house duties
or her sewing— for she was pre-eminently a
practical, capable New England woman— she
would jot down the thoughts that came to her
in fragments of verse, writing them often on
the margin of newspapers or the backs of old
envelopes. There was no system or order in
her production and no thought of publication.
Any sort of publicity would have been unbear
able to the woman, whose shrinking from the
eyes of strangers was so great that she re
sorted to all sorts of devices to avoid address
ing her letters in her own hand. Some
times she used newspaper labels, or if
tnese were not to be had, one of
the family performed the office for her.
Her penmanship, of which a fac-simile is given,
seems characteristic of her isolation, each let
ter standing alone. Writing for herself alone
it was not to be expected that her verses
should be finished in form. Indeed it is doubt
ful whether she understood anything of the
theory or technique of poetry. But, as one of
her critics said: "When a thought takes our
breath away, a lesson in grammar 6eemsan lm- i
pertinence." And though her poems may be
fragmentary in form, they are never so in sub
stance. Each contains a distinct thought.
As, for example, this:
Presentiment Is that long shadow on the lawn
Indicative that sunn go down:
The notice to the startled grass
1 hat darkness Is about to pass.
After a time the desire to have some compe
tent authority pass judgment upon her work
grew so strong that it lea her to do what many
with a far less sensitive temperament would
have shrunk from doing. She had come to
have a great admiratiou for the work and the
critical ability of Mr. Higginson, who was
then connected with the Atlantic Monthly,
and she wrote him the following letter, inclos
ing some of her poems :
'•Mr. Higginson: Are you too deeply occupied
to say if my verse is alive?
■'The mind is so near itself that it cannot see
distinctly, and I have none to ask.
"Should you think it breathed and had you
the leisure to tell me, I should feel quick grat
"If I make the mistake, that you dared to
tell me would give me sincerer honor toward
"I inclose my name, asking you, If you
niease, sir, to tell me what is true?
"I inclose my name, asking you, If you
niease, sir, to tell me what is true?
"That you may not betray me It is needles,
to ask, since honor is its own pawn."
We can i-nagine how startled and interested
Mr. Higginson must have been by the receipt
of such a letter. It might have been written
by an Emerson or a poet of the Concord school
and reminds us that the author was reared in
the same montal atmosphere. Mr. Higginson's
answers have, unfortunately, not been pre
served. It would have been interesting to
read the response he made to this singular
and powerfully ivorded appeal for his criti
cism. We can surmise the gist of his answer
by the second letter from Miss Dickinson. She
thanks him for his kindness and for his "sur
gery." He had evidently pointed out that her
poems were very irregular in form.
"You asked how old I was? I made no
verse but one or two until this winter, sir.
• • • You inquire my books. For poets I
have Keats and Mr. and Mrs. Browning. For
prose Mr. RuskiD, Sir Thomas Browne and the
Revelations. • • •"
A small company of friends was that, but an
excellent one. No wonder Ruskin was her in
timate. She was a true disciple of the man
who wrote:
No weight, nor mass, nor beauty of execution
can outweigh one grain or fragment of thought.
Yet I do not believe that Emily Dickinson
was ever consciously defiant of rules. She
rather never considered them at all, and
sought only to express the thought which
grappled her. Sometimes this was done in
strikingly homely phraseology, as in the poem:
Death is a dialogue between
The oplrlt and the dust.
"Dissolve," says Death, the spirit. "Sir,
I have another trust."
Death doubts It, argues from the ground
The Spirit turns away,
Just laying off, for evidence.
An overcoat of clay.
The "overcoat of clay" is stronger and comes
more freshly home to the mind than any of
the usual phrases, such as the body being a"gar
ment to be laid aside," or the like, which have
been said so often that we have mostly lost the
feeling out of them. If Emily Dickinson had
written to-day, she would have found herself
in the full sweep of the art movement, which
contends for originality and freshness of ex
pression, at the sacrifice of every art lorm —
instead of the hackneyed, which is powerless
to really express.
Her letter goes on :
"I went to school, but, In your manner of the
phrase, had no education. When a little girl I
had a friend who taught me immortality; but
venturing too near himself he never returned.
"You ask of my companions. HillF, sir, and
the sundown and a dog large as myself that
my father bought me. They are better than
beings, because they know but do not tell, and
the noise in the pool at noon excels my piano.
"I have a brother ana sister. My mother
does not care for thought, and father— too
busy with his briefs to notice what we do. He
buys me many books, but begs me not to read
them, because he fears they joKele the mind.
They are religious, except me, and address an
eclipse every morning, whom they call their
father. • • •
"I have had few pleasures so deep as your
opinion, and if I tried to thank you my tears
would block my tongue.
"My dying tutor told me that he would like to
live till I had been a poet, but death was as
much of a mob as I could master then. And
when, far afterward, a sudden light on
orchards or a new fashion in the wind troubled
my attention I felt a palsy here, the verses just
If Emily Dickinson had never written any
verse these letters would have stamped
her a poet. Mr. Howells has said that "if noth
ing else had come out of our life but this
strange poetry we should feel that in the work
of Emily Dickinson America, or New England
rather, nad made a distinctive addition to the
literature of the world, and could not be left
out of any record of it."
In this same letter sne osks Mr. Higginson if
he "has time to be her friend." This was the
beginning of» a correspondence and of a
friendship which lasted over thirty years, j
until the day of her death, and during all that
time Mr. Higginson only saw her facetwice.
At first he tried to Doint out her imperfections
of rhyme and meters, but he soon ceased,
recognizing here a quality beyond all mere
form. In one letter he must have told her
that her vision was "beyond his knowledge."
or she answers, " You say ' Beyond your
knowledge.' You would not jest with me;
but, preceptor, you cannot mean it?" Mr.
Higginson's interest in the strange genius of
his correspondent led him to visit Amherst.
He has described his call upon Miss Dickinson
in the pages of tne Atlantic. Her shyness and
aloofness were so great that he felt nearer to her
in letters than in conversation. He says that
for.years she never passed beyond her father's
garden, and there were literally years when
her foot never crossed her own doorstep. In
spite of this fact she is said to have been a
gracious and dignified hostess on those occa
sions, once a year, when her father in his offi
cial capacity gave a reception to the faculty
and seniors of Amherst College. Mr. Howells,
however, records that later in her life she
could not even once a year endure -this strain,
and would often sit in a back room, her face
turned from her guests.
Early in life she revolted from the orthodox
creed, but she was none the less dominated by
her austere Puritan ideals. Strongest among
these was an intense craving for sincerity, to
gether with a loathing for cam and social
hypocrisy. In her poem called "Real" she has
expressed this with daring force:
I like a look of agony
Because I know it's true;
Men do not sham convulsion
Nor simulate a thro".
The eyes glaze over, and that la death—
Impossible to feign;
The beads upon the forehead.
By homely anguish strung.
Hamilton Aide reviewed her poems at length
in the Nineteenth Century Magazine. He
lamented their technical imperfections, say
ing they were too often "like pearls in pack
thread," but he did full justice to her power
of imagination — her "gift of seeing." That is,
after all, the iundt<mehtnl quality of the poet.
Manner if — or shou.d be— accessory to that.
She resembles Emily Brant in work and in
Character morr nearly than any other woman
writer. It seemed fitting that Colonel Higgin
son should read over her grave the "Last
Lines" of her i-ister poet. Grace S. Musses.
By Kmily Dickinson-
I died for beauty, bu:. was scare*
Adjusted in the tomb.
When one who died f«r truth was Uld
Jn an adjoining room.
He questioned softly why I failed »
"For beauty," I replied.
•And I for truth, the two are one;
We brethren are," he said.
A nd so. as ktnimen met a night,
We talked between the rooms.
Until the moss had reached our lipg,
And covered up our names.
Bt Emily Dickinson.
I shall know why. when time in over,
And 1 have ceased to wonder why:
Christ will explain each separate anguish,
In the fair schoolroom of the nkv.
He will tell me what Peter promised.
And I, for wonder at his woe,
I shall forget the drop of anguish
That scald* me now. ilia, scalds me now.
•—• — ♦ — ♦■
Miss Julia Magruder's new novel, "The Vio
let," will be published by Messrs. Longmans,
Green «fe Co., in; September, with illustrations
by Charles Dana Gibson.
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PANY, and Other sketches. By David Starr
Jordan, prestaeni of Ltsnml Stamord Jr Uni
versity, tsai; Francisco: The Whltaker 4 Ray
Company, publishers; clothbound; price $1 25.
The volume before us is made up of separate
sketches, nine In number, historical or aile
gorical, "having in some degree a bond of
union in the idea of the 'higher sacrifice.'"
The substance of most of the sketches has
already been given in lectures by the versatile
head of Stanford University. "The Story of
i the Innumerable Caravan" is an allegorical
review of the religious creeds and beliefs of
the world, in their various pilgrimages, since
the birth of Christianity. The allegory is well
sustained. The journey over the mountains
and through the- forests and across the desert
of life to the distant river, the waters of which
every traveler must breast alone, was made by
One in early times by a way so fair that the
me mory of it became a part of the story of the
land. He left a Chart behind for the puidance
of those who should come after him, but some
who tried to follow him said that the Chart
was not explicit enough, and marked out
every step of the way. Then discord arose, and
new Charts were made, resulting in great con
fusion, until many despised and threw their
Charts away. As time passed on the way grew
brighter, and men saw that most of the diffi
culties and dangers of the way were those
which they unwittingly had made for them
selves or others. The light of wisdom shone
along the way; men held the old Chart more
in reverence than ever before. No longer did
men say, "This path have 1 taken; this way
must thou go."
And someone wrote upon the Chart this single
rule of the forest: "Choose thou thfne own best
way, and help thy neighbor to find that way
which for him Is best." But this was erased at
last; for beneath it they found the older, plainer
words, which One In earlier limns had written
there. "Thy neighbor as thyself."
"The Story of the Passion" is a description
of the famous Miracle Play as it is to-day mod
ernized and perfected at Oberammergau. The
author shows a respect akin to admiration for
the simple, pious peasants In the Bavarian
Alps who endeavor to faithfully and artistic
ally represent the life and acts of Christ. The
sketch contains never a word nor a suggestion
which could possibly invite exception from
the most ardent believer In the divinity of the
holy Kazarene. The play is criticized in a
broad and generous way. Mr. Jordan declares
that only in the sense of historical continuity
can the Passion Play at Oberammergau be
characterized as a relic of medieval times;
that the spirit of the age has penetrated even
to that isolated valley, and that its Passion j
Play is as much a product of our century as
the poetry of Tennyson. The machinery of
superstition is done away with; harmony has
taken the place of crudity, and the Christ of
Oberammergau is the Christ of modern con
With reierence to such scenes as those ac
companying the crucifixion, the author ob
serves that a treatment less reverent than is
given by those peasants would make intoler
able blasphemy. In hisopinion the perfection
of the 'Passion Play" is its justification.
"It can never become a show," he concludes.
"It can never be carried to other countries.
It can never be given under other circum- j
stances. So loDg as its players are pure in
heart and humble in spirit so long can they
keep their well-earned right to show to the
world the tragedy of the cross."
"The California of the Padre" (an address
delivered at the Teachers' Institute, Monterey,
in 1893) pays a tribute to the early Spanish
missionaries, whose age of glory faded away,
but "leit no stain in the pages of our history."
"The Conquest of Jupiter Pen" tells how,
according to old chronicles, St. Bsrnard,
through the influence of charity and truth,
drove the spirits of evil from the Alps.
"The Last of the Puritans" (an address be
fore the California State Normal School, San
Jose, 1892) honors the memory of the |im
mortal hero, John Brown, "whose body lies
xnoldering in the grave," but "whose soul
goes marching on."
The writings of Ulrich yon Hutten, a con
temporary of Martin Luther in the great re
ligious struggle of four centuries ago, receive
the strongest praise. Hutten, with fiery pen,
fought for freedom of the spirit. This sketch
is entitled "A Knight of the Order of Poets."
A plea for "Nature Study as a Means of Moral
— — — — — — i ,
Having received the great bulk of our MAMMOTH FALL IMPORTATIONS
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Market anil Jones Streets.
Culture" and "The Higher Sacrifice" are ad
dresses delivered this year. A poem, "The
Bubbles of Sake," concludes the volume
which is dedicated to Mrs. Jessie Knight Jor
dan, wife oi the author.
SOAF BUBBLES. By Max Nordaa. New York:
>. Tennyson Neely. publisher. For sale by the
Emporium Book Department; price, 75 cents.
Here is a bright little volume of short stories
by the author of "Degeneration." They make
excellent reading for leisure moments." There
are ten stories in the book. <=Cant and Hum
bug" is a humorous tale of English selfish
ness and American thriftincss. "Wife
vs. Native Land" shows how a wan
may quit smoking for spite, but not
for love. "All Hadji Effendi" relates to the
adventures of a wandering fanatic of Islam.
"The Cross at the Corner" describes the
religions devotion ol a aged Hungarian and
"The Altar Painting" the love-tragedy of an
Italian artist. "A Christmas Eve in Paris"
gives a pathetic incident of suffering in the
Franco-Prussian war during the siege of
Paris. "The Stepmother" is an ingenious dis
cu^ion of that much-abused matron; and
"Pas de Chance" (No Chance) tells the story of
a girl found in a morgue. "How the Fox
hunter Fared in England" has a traeic and
humorous denouement, turning upon the
Briton's mode ol fox hunting; and "Within an
Inch of Eternity" relates how a prison phy
sician's hair turned white in a night from
horror Inflicted on him by two escaped prison
ers. The translator is Mary J. Safford. The
cover is of unique and attractive design and
the large clear type and heavy paper are
additional points in the book's favor.
Dresser. Boston: George H. Ellis, oubliaher.
For sale by lending book-dealers; 260 pares
cloth; price $1 00. " '
Simplicity of language and distinctness of
thought are characteristics of Mr. Dresser's
writings, and this essay on the conduct and
meaning of life wil! enhance his reputation as
a thinker and as a sincere friend of humanity.
With becoming modesty the author claims no
originality for his essay, but in his thoughtful
appreciation of the wisdom of the ages he has
taken advantage of "the best that has been
thought and said" in the pas*. He has lent
the fresh value of personal experience to em
phasize the problem of problems and has
given a full and frank expression of individual
conviction. The purpose of the book at hand
is threefold— psychological, metaphysical and
practical. As a psychological analysis it is es
pecially concerned with the higher or spiritual
nature of man. As a philosophical dis
cussion, It aims to develop a generally sound
view of reality by » consideration of material
ism, agnosticism and mysticism "In the light
of their shortcomings when compared with the
demands both of reason and the spiritual
sense." It points out many important distinc
tions essential to a just view of life and indi
cates the dangers of all one-Sided conceptions
of the universe. It is an urgent appeal to life,
a plea for the realization of ethics and the
application of spiritual law in every moment
of existence. Its threefold purpose and its
individual confessions of faith are alike sub
servient to the one central idea for which it
stands— the unity of all that exists in an ulti
mate spiritual reality. The author declares
that, with true spiritual insight, "the whole
wide universe of beings and things is seen to
be one piece in the great life of God, whose
infinite beauty, love and goodness receive
their full manifestation in that unsearchable
whole whose name is eternity."
ING FOR BUSINESS. By Harry Pratt Jud
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means to an end, and that end is a p. od all
around life. To succeed in business and to
succeed in life are two things that should be
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success is no small thing and implies no small
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derstanding implies a wide and varied train
Tne successful business man must have four
prime qualifications — industry, intelligence,
acuteness and reliability.
"The well-trained college man," declares
the author, "knows how to work patiently and
hard; how to wrestle with new questions; how
to keep at a thing until he masters it, and this
is the very essence of the habit of business.
The higher education gives just the training
in industry which a business life demands."
The essay is worthy of the consideration of
parents who can afford to give their boys a
higher education, and who are nevertheless
undecided as to the advisability of doing so.
"If a boy is of the right sort," says Mr. Judson,
"he will at college form habits of methodical
industry quite as well as in the factory. He
will learn a larger intelligence than can be
given by mere business experience. His mind
will be trained to ready command of all its
fatalities. If, again, he is the right sort of boy
he will learn a high sense of honor. Beyond
all this, he vill become adapted for social life
in all its forms; he will De at home anywhere,
and he will have his ideas so broadened and
his tastes so cultivated that he will know how
to make the most of life wherever he is. He
will be a larger part of the community."
George Kennsn has written three short
stories for the coming volume of St. Nicholas.
One is called "How the Bad News Came to
Siberin," and describes how Mr. Kennan and
his comrades, while at wort on the Russian
Overland Telegraph, received news of the com
pletion of the Atlantic cable. This, of course,
ruined and brought to a sudden stop the en
terprise in which they were engaged. Another
story, called -'My Narrowest Escape," is an ac
count of an exciting adventure in Russia. The
first of the stories will appear in the Novem
ber St. Nicholas.
Among D. Appleton & Co.'s September publi
cations will be, "What Is Electricity?" by Pro-
I fessor John Trowbridge of Harvard University,
a new volume in the International Scientific
Series; "Alterations in Personality," by Al
fred Binet, with an introduction by Professor
J. Mark Baldwin; "Fiat Money in France"
(new edition), by Andrew D. White; "Tne
Statement of Stella Maberly," by F. Anstey;
"A Court Intrigue," Dy Basil Thompson, and
'The Idol-Maker," by Adeline Sergeant.
It is proposed to erect in Paris a monument
of Paul Verlaine. A bust by Niederhausen is
to be placed in the Luxembourg Gardens,
near the statue of Henri Murger. The money
is to be raised by international subscription.
Stephane Mallarme is president of the com
mittee and the Chap Book has been appointed
to receive subscriptions in America.'
Mr. Hope will furnish a sequel to "The
Prisoner of Zenda" after aIL It will be called
"The Constable of Zenda."
Every article in the October Scribner's ex
cept Barries serial will be by an American
author, and the subjects are strongly Ameri
can and of timely interest and importance,
such as "The Government of Greater New
York," "The Expenditure of Rich Americans,"
"The New York Working-gin," "The Sculpture
of Olin Warner," "Tne American Lighthouse
System, " etc.
E. L. Godkin, editor of the New York Even
ing Post, in an article on "The Expenditure of
Rich Men" in the October Scribner's, says that
rich Americans, by building great houses for
a display of their wealth, excite envy, hatred
and malice, and he advises them to avoid
this by expending it in erecting great public
monuments, such as picture-galleries, mu
seums, arches, statuary, etc., which will per
petuate their names and rid them completely
of the imputation of selfishness.
At 20 Cents.
TON BICYCLE HOSE, extra heavy,
made specially for boys' wear, worth $4
per dozen, reduced to 20c a pair.
At 20 Cents.
TON HOSE, extra high-spliced heels,
double toes, Hermsdorf black, always
sold 3 pair for $1, reduced to 20c a pair.
At 25 Cents.
MACO COTTON HOSE, extra high-
spliced heels, double toes, Hermsdorf
black, regular price 40c, reduced to 25c
a pair.
At 33^ Cents.
BLACK COTTON HOSE, double heels
and toes, made with unbleached and
black feet," our regular price 50c, re-
duced to 3 pair for $1.
At 50 Cents.
100 dozen LADIES' WAISTS, made of
good quality percale, in all fancy
shades, latest style poods, with bishop
sleeves, wortb $1 and $1 25, will be
closed out at 50c each.
At 75 Cents.
LADIES' WAISTS, laundered collar and
cuffs, "Stanley waist,'' all fancy shades,
regular price $1 25 and $1 50, will be
closed out at 75c each.
At $1.00.
WAISTS, in dimities, lawns and
striped and figured percales, this sea-
sons goods, regular price $2 and $2 50,
will be closed out at $1 each.
I/if Murphy Building, /
Martet and Jodss Streets.
Gertrude Atherton In the London Daily News.
The fascination of Englishmen for
American women has been much discussed
of late, but the time is approaching when
the possession of England by American
women will prove a subject of far more
vital controversy. In fact, it threatens to
become one of the great international
questions, for it means the reconstruction
of two races. I understand that an effort
| is being made by the United States Gov-
I ernment to prevent its voting citizens
remaining abroad more than two years at
a time, that it is seriously alarmed at the
increasing thousands of Americans who
are settling in Europe. The United States
press has also half awakened to the fact
that the defection of its women means a
loss of something more than millions, al
though as yet its only suggestions in re
self-protection have been to impose a tax
on the dots of American heiresses marry
ing foreigners, and to create a domestic
Meanwhile, what is the reason that at
the present moment American women
practically own London— that they set the
fashions — have, not to exaggerate, five ad
mirers to every English woman's one, and
the pick of the best men? A great many
obvious reasons have been advanced.
They are prettier, cleverer, more vivacious,
more natural, dress better — which is to
the eye what music is to the soul — have a
born and acute understanding of men, less
religion, above all more money.
These reasons are all good, but a little
analysis will show that they do not hold
water. Spanish and Austrian women are
more beautiful than Americans. The
French woman is equally clever and viva
cious, dresses as well, and what she does
not know about men is not worth record
ing. With the Catholic races, at least, re
ligion is an airy convention, not calculated
to make man wish that all women were
pagans, and there are heiresses all over
the world.
The one manifest Doint, therefore, upon
which the American woman is sui generis
is her naturalnees, her habit of thinking
out loud, her lack of self-consciousness,
of mannerism. All English women talk
as if they had studied elocution. An
American voice, even when trainante, has
the effect of spontaneity. And s© with
the manner, the habit of thought, the
quick, fresh way of looking at life.
But this quality, delightful as it is, is
hardly strong enough to constitute more j
than a passing charm, and the American '
woman's foothold in England is growing
firm as the years go by. She has come to
stay, and what is more no Englishman
seems to be terrified by his brother's
Under the obvious reason, or rather set
of reasons, there must then be a funda
mental and psychological reason. English
men rarely marry European women, with
all their manifold charms. They make
love in Paris, Vienna, Seville, Venice and
Yokohama, but the foreigner they marry
is the American. It must be, therefore,
At $3.50.
ing, trimmed with lace and jet, regu-
lar price $10; Special Sale price $3 50.
At $1.50.
and navy blue Kerseys and black clay
worsteds, fronts faced with silk, worth,
♦6; Special price to close out $1 50.;
At^i79O. .'.-'
SUITS, box jackets lined, skirts lined
with canvas, colors gray or brown mix-
tures, regular price for these suits was
$7 50; Special Sale price $4 90.
At $6.00. V
PLE CAPES, lined with silk, storm
collar trimmed with marten fur— a
stylish Fall wrap ; price $6.
At $5.00.
black and navy, high collar, lap pock-
ets and new sleeves, value for $7; Spe«
, cial Sale price $5.
BLANKETS at less than mill cost.
These goods are slightly imperfect. The
imperfection consists of an oil spot in
their manufacture, or irregularity in the
weave. For practical purposes they are
perfect, first-class goods.
BLANKETS, a fine fabric,
beautifully made,' mill cos>t ©D £*X.
$4 35. Onsaleat $0.00
KETS, a large double-bed
width and first class in
every respect, mill cost ©/I HK
$6 12>$. Onsaleat $'*. I O
KETS, almost finest weave
produced, mill cost $8 10. $*(* (\f\
On saleat. ... ejpD.Ulr
BLANKETS, very heavy
and fully 66 inches wide, O-f 6)K
value for $2. On sale at.... <$±»6O
SPECIAL! specials
About 2 cases FINE MISSION
68 inches wide, an elegant
iabric, value $7 50 a pair. G*A (\f\
On sale at «p-± t t/li
About 50 pairs 13-4 Mission
Mill's finest grade LAMB'S-
ETS, bound in deep silk
ribbon, value $15 a pair.<2»l f\ f\f\
On sale at. JLU.UIr
mir Murphy Building, j
ffiariet and Jones Streets.
that they recognize in American women
something that they most want — some
thing that the women of their own coun
try cannot give them.
that they recognize in American women
something that they most want — some
thing that the women of their own coun
try cannot give them.
Can it be that while Englishmen hava
gone forward, have become more alive
every year, have kept pace with their cen
tury — it may almost be said that they
have set the pace— the English woman has
stood still? In many instances has she
not degenerated ? Take her literature.
With some very few exceptions, no Eng
lish woman to-day is writing either intel
lectual or wholesome fiction. Leaving the
silly novelists out of the question, what does
the enormous success of the neurotic, mor
bid and decadent effusions denote? One
need hardly think twice to answer that it
means a general degeneracy among Eng
lish women. 1 hear several thousand
people remarking, "These same books
have had great sales in America." So they
have, but because the United States is in
tellectually under the yoke of England,
and is as yet too heterogeneous to have sj
mind of its own on the subject of liter
ature. None of these books would hava
achieved success if written in America—
in fact, they could not have been written
in America. As it is, they are read out of
curiosity, tossed aside and forgotten.
To return : It is inconceivable that the
women wbo read and exist in these novels
as the expression of their inner selves do
not bore and disgust men. Englishmen,
taking them generally, are the most
wholesome, healthy-minded men in the
world. They live a clean, outdoor life,
love sport better than women and make
history along the natural lines of evolu
tion. In them is no taint of morbidity,
and it is easy to imagine how little attrac
tion the quality has for them in woman
Do the "advanced women" and their
following actually believe that they can
reconstruct these men — the most domi
nant, perfectly balanced, rapidly develop
ing and highly developed race of men the
world has ever known — along lines laid
down Dy themselves? As well try to
harness the sun. The end will be that
their men will let them severely alone and,
marry American women. In the feminine
literature of to-day and in its success is
the note of decay; one can small the
It ?eems to me that this is the secret of
the- affinity between American women and
English men. The vast majority of Amer
ican men are composed of two elements
pnly— money greed and sensuality. They
are at the very beginnings of their own
development, the most elemental race
of men in all civilization to-day. Ameri
can women have so far flashed past them
that they stand on the plane which Eng
lish women would occupy if they had
kept pace with their men. They are alive
to their finger tips; they have cast off the
yoke of conventionality, cut-and-dried re
ligion, and all the old forms and tradi
tions which should be and must become
obsolete as the higher civilization.

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