The San Francisco call., 1898-04-03
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By HENRY JAMES.


 space than he is worth, he has written again. He must send in his name and photograph before he can work me for single additional line.
 Some Philosophy of the Hermetics" has been sent to me. It is a volume fairly reeking with mysticism. One es- pies the symbol on it's cover, and picks it up with awe. l have read the book and must confess that it conveys noth- ing to me save that the Hermetics must have something the matter with them. Their philosophy presents every aspect of having been dreamed in a lunatic asylum. It is an emotion, not clearly defined. It is gasp of the eager theo- rist as he strains after the unattain- able. Needless to say, he doesn't get 1t. and there are In this book evil dences of the fact that his disappoint- ment is considerable. He asks us all to share this, and we cannot; we are gross. We recognize that the difficulty of grabbing the unattainable is seri- ous matter, yet having other things to bother us. let the unattainabie slide. Yes, we are gross. But before attempt ing to criticize the book I intend to read it again. Its title page announces that there are those "who will see, and seeing will perceive Perhaps I may be educated up to a place among them and learn to repent of to-day's frivol- ity. At present I believe the "Philos- ophy" but a record of vague impress sions, such impressions as vision of the day or night may leave, too dim and fading to be portrayed, too deli cate to be transmitted to the senses through the medium of cold type. Ev- cry mind seems to catch glimpSeS of lives it has known or is to know, and feels yearnings it can neither analyze nor account for, In ordinary cases this leads to the writing of poetry, in which love and dove are sure to poise at the ends of two lines, while gloom and tomb are almost certain elements. In the case of an Hermetic, however, the effect is different.
 There must be a reason for unloading poetry upon me. I wake up in the night wondering what it is and wondering also if the reason Is good why some of the poetry is not. Here is Cecil We're with song of spring. I would not de- preciate the beauteous season when birds begin to carol and the little buds to venture forth. Neither would de preciate the soulfulness of the singer. I hasten to assure Cecil, however, that spring is an annual occurrence, and really nothing to get excited about. Let it be made clear again that I approach a poem with modesty, realizing that failure to discern it's merits may be a personal weakness. Yet I will go so far as to say that Cecil would be wise and kind were she to warble soft and low until her muse shall be little steadier on its wings and feet. For in- stance:
 And the vi'lets breath, and the vi'let's
 breath
 Brings feeling most divine;
 Nature, unto death, nature, unto death
 l will be thine.
 The plan of being natures unto death and even later is hard one to get away from. It was all arranged before the earliest song-burst fell upon the ears of the new-created. But why leave an ''o' out of violets? Why eliminate a particular superfluous foot and leave lot more just as superf1uous? Better eliminate 'em all and use the blank paper which would remain to inscribe with a resolution of reform. I do not wish to hurt CeciPs feelings At some period girl is apt to think herself stirred by the spirit of poesy. She gen. orally survives it and a few words of plain advice have been known to hasten the process of recovery.
 
 A peculiar person, whose excuse for getting into print must be left to the puzzle editor, accuses me of initiating Bierce. Anybody writing a personal column for Californian paper must expect from time to time to writhe and perspire bloodily under a similar accu- sation, unless, as the peculiar person hereinbefore mentioned, safe-guarded by his own stupidity. Among certain ScribeS there exists a provincial igno- rance best concealed while they rerilain at their level, reporting the current dog fight or calling some citizen from his bed to ask if it is true he had sto- len partners money and contemplat- ed eloping with the servant girl. But when these rise higher, and essay to think, they cannot even understand that they have nothing to think with It becomes a duty and a subdued pleas ure to discourage them. Years before 1 had the honor of knowing there was a Bierce on earth, wrote for an East ern paper as now for this. Reward was largely in knowing the work at tracted the attention of people with brains But it also attracted the inev- itable ass, who, rearing on his hind legs and clearing his throat of hamper ing hayseed, prayed that I was imitat- ing somebody or another. Thank heav- en he never went so far as to intimate that I was imitatir~ him. The local prayer is simply possessed of the mo- ton that Bierce Is the only writer there is or has any right to be. His meager knowledge does not permit him to be aware of facts plain enough to persons endowed with sense.
 It would be thought from Bismarck's latest remarks that his neuralgia had taken turn for the worse. He says, in the language of diplomacy, that the diplomats of the United States are jays, and that the affairs of Spain are be- ing conducted by lot of polished lrpouoc Not op1u dooC thic O;xa on