The Worcester spy. [volume] (Worcester, Mass.) 1898-1904, 1899-02-12

cessary, if malice in the long run is to
be made to pay. In point Of mere
cleverness, it had not an equal among
all the weekly periodicals. in the Eng
fish language; and yet SO heavy was its
moral handicap that it was not clever
enough. A double obligation of wit
was imposed upon it, and it could not
meet it, though it was forever on the
strain. Its pungency was evanescent
and its spiciness turned fiat In the af-
tertaste. There was too much obvious
ness both of motive and of effort in
what it did.
So the Saturday has had to creep
back to the fold and ask forgiveness of
those who are old enough to remember
its virtuous youth; while its bad spirit,
the former editor. is exercised, and, if
the story Is true, goes to manage a
hotel at Monte Carlo. 1t is exceedingly
hard to keep from moralising about
this; but the story is so perfect in all
ethical requisites that it is a parable
just as it stands. "a detail that is es-
pecially worth noting is that the for
mer editor-in-chief was not only ac-
cused Of literary misdeeds. but had
been deserted by his city editor, who
said that he had been required to puff
companies in the financial pages of the
Review when he could not conscien-
tiously do so. Another thing that adds
to the moral beauty of the wind-up is
the attitude of this periodical towards
us Americans. of whom it never lost
chance to say malicious things, until
few months ago when finding itself
alone, and having its mind on sales. it
turned suddenly and hypocritically
sweet. The ignorance it has shown in
what 1t said of America is hardly con-
ceivable. 1t rarely got anything
straight and at times its gross mac
curacy made it the butt even of Eng
lfsh journals. 1t was always working
for brilliant effects, and the facts had
to be cut to fit the design. In the war
with Spain the United States appeared
to it as a hulking young bully 1ostling
courteous old roue. until for reasons
OF policy 1t became necessary for it to
profess approval of our cause And even
in comparatively recent issue we are
lectured on the need of sobriety in our
bearing toward other nations: while in
the very same number Sir Edmund
Monson's pin prick" speech is dis
missed with brief bland comment.
All went well so long as it supplied the
ounce of wit with the grain of malice.
but when it reversed the proportions of
these ingredients, it began to hore
those whom it did not anger. and its
circulation suffered.
During it's recreant days its literary
influence has been considerable. In the
purely subjective criticism that leads
nowhere 1t inspired many imitators
but remained without a peer Some of
It's slapdash was delightful And be-
sides slapdash there were honest es-
says IN criticism, as keen and vivid as
they were genuine; but these were
comparatively rare, and it was the
slapdash for the most part that was
initiated. In this country, especially,
the compliment of imitation was paid
it, and many brawling little Thersites
of the literary press owed its rise and
fall in the United States to the smart
example of the Saturday Review.
Groups of young men, MISLEADING their
growing pains for the anguish of in
surgent genius, gathered and said, I'VE,
too, were born in Already. Let US
found something and say clever things
against other things" And thereupon
appeared a large number of little wind
ing sheets of early hopes, with cover
designs in which emaciated young wo-
men, done in black and red, writhed
predominantly. Inside, you read the
language of revolt. Intense young souls
tortured by you knew not what, hurled
themselves upon something or other
that you could not make out, and tore
IL LOOIn ana nan. IneH the lllLle mag
azines all died, and silence reigned
again. The real meaning of this dis
turbance in Liliput is not known. Like
the Children's Crusade it remains one
of the enigmas of history. But its con-
nection with French decadence and
symbolism is not more certain than It's
relation to the easily initiated mordan-
cy Of the Saturday Review. In fact it
is to the latter influence that the move
ment owed what little vital energy it
possessed.
THE SAND MEN OF CUDDLEDOWN-
TOWN.
Cuddledowntown is near Cradeville.
Where the Sand Men pitch their tents;
In Drowsyland.
You understand,
In the State of Innocence;
'Tis right by the source of the river of life
Which the Grandma Storks watch over,
While honey-bug bees,
Meath funny-big trees
Groom lullabys in sweet clover.