Richmond dispatch. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1884-1903, 1899-04-02
NOW SHE'SLITERARY.
THE COMMANDER-ry-CH AS.
sUMEs A NEW PHASE.
BUT IT WONT LAST LONG
Two Unfortunate Men-Onc SwaI-
lowed a Drnss-Headed Tack and
Both Have Troubles OF Their Own.

The literary craze has struck our house
hold and we are now engaged in cult
waiting our minds. This process Is quite
similar to that of cuItlvating potatoes and
involves equally as much hard labor
though the results are by TO means 50
profitable. The COMMUNICATIVE Chief is
a. the bottom Of 1t all. She became lte-
rary all OF sudden, a well-to-do lady
Friend of hers has q sister-in-law living in
Delaware who is very bookish, and this
sister-in-law communicated the contagion
to her relative here, and that good wo-
man in turn communicated the disease to
my good woman. and she, by force Of her
character. has caused every chick and
child on my place to take the disease.
| Fortunately, it won't last long; no fad
could hold its own against the millinery
discussions which will begin when we re-
turn from church to-day. But while it
lasts we will all have to work very hard
and talk literature until we appear like
booksellers catalogues.
Now. If a man wanted TO initiate him
SELF with literary wisdom until he puffed
out like bicycle tire he would commence
with the books OF the present day, but not
so with the inexplcable sex. They don't
| believe I'm doing things half way. They
| seek the fountain head whence all good
things flow. After spending several hours
in searching encyclopedias for two or
| three Old dntedeuvian ROSTERS who wrote
| snatches of irregular verbs with cold
chisels on stone. the good woman decided
| that her study OF English should begin
| with a few selections from Chaucer Now
without wishing to hurt any OF his
| kinfolk's feelings, / must say that Chaucer
| knew about as little about good, stiff
English as an Italian dago, and as Arte-
mus Ward has truly remarked, he was
beastly poor speller. You can take a
book of his and read it three or four hours
and then commence all over again
without observing that he's repeating him
self In fact, if it weren't for the grease
spots your fingers leave on the pages
you would never suspect that you had
ever tackled the book before. l am panied
to make these remarks about Mr.. Chaucer,
because he is dead; In fact. he attended
his own funeral some five hundred years
ago. and Il, therefore, unable to rise TO a
question Of personal privilege and explain
his shortcomings. But what's the use OF
trying to whitewash the disagreeable
truth? l simply say what 1 think, and l
think what l darn please.
IF | were in your place." said to the
Commander-in-Chief, | would read some
thing fresher. "You don't see people sit
ting up late of nights nowadays reading
Chaucer's poems in paper-back form, or
tOting them about in Pullman palace
cars when they go off on trips. Why not
commence on those eighteen volumes OF
Shakespeare and hold a commission of
lunacy to see If Hamlet was really crazy?
It's time that matter was being settled,
anyhow 1t will hurt him in business II a
decision IS not shortly reached"
The woman turned up her nose at me;
that is to say, she was contemptuous.
"Of course. l might have expected just
such suggestion as that from you. You
never were thorough in anything you did.
And how. pray, do you expect me 10 gain
comprehensive view OF literature, UNI
less / commence at the beginning and
follow those classic channels which have
finally brOadened into this vast sea of
current literature"
"Then you've got TO tackle about 10000
of the worst bores that ever lived before
you get down to this century" | said &.
land you'll wear out your spectacles be-
fore you reach the books society people
are reading nowadays What's more, IL
You were to remember everything you
read. you'd scare other people to death. l
would get a divorce from you. too"
1t didn't pay me to argue the question.
l knew If | stuck to my point that wo-
men would attempt to read every obso-
iote book that was ever printed, and 1
likewise knew that IL she succeeded in
this undertaking the Williamsburg Luna
tic Asylum wouldn't be big enough to
hold her. / kept quiet and let her ex-
haust herself. Pretty soon she gave
Chaucer the go-by, and then. impelled by
unwonted energy, she skipped two hun
dred years or SO Of literature and tackled |
paradise Lost" which, outside of the |
Code Of Virginia, is the dullest book on |
earth. She spent two days trying TO ind |
the end OF a sentence which commenced |
on page 3. and lost itself somewhere |
about page 70. Then she signed and got |
a dictionary to look up some big words
she had found Milton is 50 grand and |
she said "and so deep. IL
makes one serious to read him"
"That It does" 1 feryently exclaimed.
But for all that. she didn't read him
any more. She didn't tell me SO, but |
knew pretty soon that she had skipped
another hundred years. and was pushing
ahead with the speed Of a steam locomo-
tive.
once she said to me with q great deal
Of pOmposity: II suppose that even you,
with all your fin de seicle prejgdices,
will. without reservation. concede that
the Elizabethan writers were the greatest
galaxy Of litterateurs that ever loOmed
up on the horizon OF English letters"
"HOw's that|' | anXiously exclaimed.
At first | thought she was yilifying me.
Don't you dare 70 repeat those words TO
me, madam" / said. II am still master
Of TINS house"
My Indignation startled her. and she
hastily explained that | must have mis-
her. Repeat what you said"
sternly replied, land let me judge IL
have done you an injustice"
Then she gave II TO me slowly, with
delicious emphasis on each Of the words
i sincerely believe she had been think
ng up that sentence for four days just
20 she could knock me down with II.
you'll have to break It up with an
Ike and let me have the instruments
" degrees" / added.
After she had analysed the ponderous
entence | determined to get back at her
nd to show the woman that plain, cab
"a ge-eating. -made-clothing mortals
Ike myself could also manipulate the
language; so l replied
"Forsooth. Wench. wherefore dOst thou
ex me with such unseemly matters
What boots it that these gOodly men,
he which have long since turned 10 dust
hould now seek unto themselves their
ardy need of praise? Those mortals
clept Elizabethan writers are but as the
abel on the bottle; no longer are they