The Seattle post-intelligencer. [volume] (Seattle, Wash. Terr. [Wash.]) 1888-1914, 1893-04-23

into the 80, these four men, with yell,
flung themselves. sword in hand, upon the
wildered BY the suddsnness and unex-
pectedness Of the attack. thinking the en-
tire battalion was upon them. gave way,
| and rushed pell-mell down the hill.
with the sight Of those Tying Aus
| TRANS the fear. as independently a. it had
| desire to hack and kill The four Prus-
SLAMS few after them. cutting and stabbing
ut them a. they ran; and when the Prus-
sian cavalry came laundering up they
| found my young lieutenant and his three
| friends had captured two guns and ac-
| counted for half . score Of the enemy.
Next day he was summoned to head
| quarters.
".Will you be good enough to- remem-
Der for the future, sir. said the chief OF
the staff. that his majesty does not re-
| quire his lieutenants to execute maneuyers
| on their own responsibility. and also that
| to attack battery with three men is not
war, but damned tomfoolery. You ought
| to be court-martialed. sir!
Then, in somewhat different tones, the
| old soldier added, his face softening into a
| smile, However, aiertness and daring, my
| young friend, are good qualities. especially
| when crowned with success. If the Aus
TRANS had once succeeded in planting .
| battery on that hill it might have been
difficult to dislodge them. Perhaps. under
| the circumstances. his majesty may over
look your indiscretion.'
His majesty not only overlooked it.
| but bestowed upon me the iron cross"
| concluded nv friend. For the credit of
the army judged it better to keep quiet
and take it. But, as you can understand.
the sight of it does not recall very pleas
| urable recollections.'
To return to my diary, I find that ON
| November IA we held another meeting.
But at this there we're present only "Jeph-
son. MacShaugnassy and Self" and of
| Browns name find hencefOrth no fur
| ther trace. On Christmas eve We three
| met again, and my notes inform me that
| MacShaugnassy brewed some whisky
| punch according to a recipe of his own. q
| record suggestive of q sad Christmas for
all three of US. No particular business
appears to have been accomplished on
| either occasion.
| Then there is a break until February
and the assemblage has shrunk to "Jeph-
| son and Self" With a final flicker, as of
| q dying candle, my diary at this point,
however, grows luminous, shedding much
light upon that evenings conversation.
| Our talk seems to have been of many
things-of most things, In fact, except our
novel. Among other subjects We spoke of
literature generally.
| II am tired of this eternal cackle about
| books" said Jephson, these columns of
criticisms to every line Of writing; these
endless books about books; these shrill
worship of novelist Tom; this silly hate Of
poet Dick; this silly squabbling over play
wright Harry. There is no soberness, no
sense in it all. One would think, to listen
to the high priests of culture. that man
was made for literature, not literature for
man. Thought existed before the print
ing press; and the men who wrote the best
/ hnn
have their place in the world, but they
are not its purpose. They are things
side by side with beef and mutton, the
scent of the sea, the touch of hand.
the memory of q hope, and all the
other items in the sum total of our three
them as though they we're the voice of life
instead of merely its faint, distorted echo.
Tales are delightful as tales-sweet az
primroses after the long winter, restful as
the cawing of rocks at sunset. But We do
not write tales now; We prepare human
documents' and dissect souls"
He broke OFF abruptly in the midst of
his TRADE. "Do you know what these
psychological studies that are so fashion
able just now always make me think of p
he said. "One monkey examining another
monkey for 1eas."
"And what. after all, does our dissecting
pen lay bare2" he continued. Human
I
savory undergarment, Disgusting and dis
figuring human nature? There is q story
told of an elderly tramp, who, Overtaken
by misfortune, was compelled to retire for
awhile to the seclusion of Portland. His
hosts, desiring to see as much as possible
| of their guest during his limited stay with
| them, proceeded to battle him. They bathed
him twice q day for a week, each time
learning more Of him, until at last they
reached q flannel shirt. And with that
they had to be content, soap and water
proving powerless to go further.
THAT tramp appears to me symbolical
of mankind. Human nature has worn its
conventions for SO long that its habit has
grown on to it. In this nineteenth CEN
fury it is impossible to say where the
clothes of custom end and the man begins.
Our virtues are taught to us as a branch of
Department. our vices are the recognized
vices of our reign and set. Our religion
hangs ready-made beside our cradle to be
buttoned upon us by loving hands. Our
tastes We acquire. with difficulty; our sen.
timents we learn by rote. At cost of in
finite suffering we study to love whisky
and cigars, high art and classical music
In one age We admire Byron and drink
more fashionable to prefer Shelley, and
we like our champagne dry. At school We
are told that Shakespeare vas great poet
and that the Venus di Medici is fine
piece of sculpture; and so for the
rest of our lives we go about say
ing what a great poet We think Shakes
peare, and that there is no piece of sculp-
ture, in our opinion, so fine as the Venus
di Medci. If we are Frenchmen We adore
our mother; if Englishmen we love dogs
and virtue. We grieve for the death OF a
near relative twelve months; but for a sec
ond cousin We sorrow only three The
good man has his regulation excellencies
to strive after. his regulation sins to repent
! of. l knew good man who was quite
trou bled because he was not proud, and
could not. therefore. with any reasonable
ness. pray for humility. In society one
must needs be cynical and mildly wicked :
| in Bohemia orthodoxy unorthodox. |
remember my mother expostulating, with
q friend, an actress Who had left devoted
husband and eioped with a disagreeable,
ugly, little low comedian U am speaking
| of long. long ago).
You must he mad, said my mother
what on earth induced YOU TO take such q
STEP,
MY dear Emma replied the lady
what else was there for me7 You know /
can't act. | had to do something to show
! l was an artist
I'VE are dressed up marionettes Our
voice is the'voice of the unseen Snowman,
| convention; our very movements of PAS
sion and pain are but in answer TO his
| jerk. A man resembles one Of those cigan-
| TIC bundles that one sees in nursernaid 3
arms. II is very bulky and very long: il
looks n mass of delicate lace and rich fur
ana fine woven stutfs and somewhe
hidden out of sight among the finery, there
is q tiny red bit of bewiidered humanity,