The Philistine: a periodical of protest (Vol. I, No. 6, November 1895)

OF PROTEST (VOL. I, NO. 6, NOVEMBER 1895) ***

The Philistine A Periodical of Protest.

_We make no proud boast that we are the chosen people of God; we are simply plain Philistines._—THACKERAY.

[Illustration: No. Six.]

Printed Every Little While for The Society of The Philistines and Published by Them Monthly. Subscription, One Dollar Yearly Single Copies, 10 Cents. November, 1895.

_SPECIAL._

The Bibelot for 1895, complete in the original wrappers, uncut, is now supplied on full paid subscriptions only, at 75 cents net.

On completion of Volume I in December the price will be $1.00 net in wrappers, and $1.50 net in covers. INVARIABLY POSTPAID.

Covers for Volume I ready in November. These will be in old style boards, in keeping with the artistic make-up of THE BIBELOT, and are supplied at 30 cents, postpaid. _End papers and Title-page are included_, whereby the local binder can case up the volume at about the cost of postage were it, as is usual, returned to the publisher for binding.

Back Numbers are 10 cents each, subject to further advance as the edition decreases.

=Numbers Issued:=

_I._ _Lyrics from William Blake._ _II._ _Ballades from Francois Villon._ _III._ _Mediæval Latin Students’ Songs._ _IV._ _A Discourse of Marcus Aurelius._ _V._ _Fragments from Sappho._ _VI._ _Sonnets on English Dramatic Poets._ _VII._ _The Pathos of the Rose in Poetry._ _VIII._ _Lyrics from James Thomson (B. V.)_ _IX._ _Hand and Soul: D. G. Rosetti._ _X._ _A Book of Airs from Campion._ _XI._ _A Lodging for the Night. (November.)_

THOMAS B. MOSHER, Publisher, Portland, Maine.

LITTLE JOURNEYS

To the Homes of Good Men and Great.

_A series of literary studies published in monthly numbers, tastefully printed on hand-made paper, with attractive title-page._

By ELBERT HUBBARD

The publishers announce that Little Journeys will be issued monthly and that each number will treat of recent visits made by Mr. Elbert Hubbard to the homes and haunts of various eminent persons. The subjects for the twelve numbers will be announced later.

The “Journeys” for 1896 will treat of visits to the homes of American authors.

_LITTLE JOURNEYS: Published Monthly, 50 cents a year. Single copies, 5 cents, postage paid._

“Little Journeys” and “The Philistine” will be sent to any address for one year for one dollar.

Published by G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS,

27 and 29 West 23d Street, New York. 24 Bedford Street, Strand, London.

The Roycroft Printing Shop announces the publication about Christmas time of an exquisite edition of the Song of Songs: which is Solomon’s; being a Reprint of the text together with a Study by Mr. Elbert Hubbard.

In this edition a most peculiar and pleasant effect is wrought by casting the Song into dramatic form. The Study is sincere, but not serious, and has been declared by several Learned Persons, to whom the proofsheets have been submitted, to be a Work of Art. The Volume is thought a seemly and precious gift from any Wife to any Husband, or from one Friend to another.

=The book is printed by hand, with rubricated initials and title page, on Dickinson’s handmade paper. The type was cast to the order of the Roycroft Shop, and is cut after one of the earliest Roman faces. It is probable that no more beautiful type for book printing was ever made, and, for reasons known to lovers of books, this publication will mark an era in the art of printing in America.=

_Only six hundred copies, bound in flexible Japan vellum, have been made and will be offered for sale at two dollars each, net. There are also twelve copies printed on Japan vellum throughout, which will be sold at five dollars each. Every copy is numbered and signed by Mr. Hubbard. The type has been distributed and no further edition will be printed._

THE ROYCROFT PRINTING SHOP, East Aurora, New York.

THE PHILISTINE.

Edited by H. P. TABER.

THE ROYCROFT PRINTING SHOP, East Aurora, New York, Publishers.

THE PHILISTINE is published monthly at $1 a year, 10 cents a single copy. Subscriptions may be left with newsdealers or sent direct to the publishers. The trade supplied by the AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY and its branches. Foreign agencies, BRENTANO’S, 37 Avenue de l’Opera, Paris; G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS, 24 Bedford street, Strand, London.

Business communications should be addressed to THE PHILISTINE, East Aurora, New York. Matter intended for publication may be sent to the same address or to Box 6, Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Subscriptions can begin with the current number only. A very limited quantity of back numbers can be supplied at 25 cents each.

THE PHILISTINE and _Little Journeys_ will be sent to any address one year for $1.

_Entered at the Postoffice at East Aurora, New York, for transmission as mail matter of the second class._

_COPYRIGHT, 1895, by H. P. Taber._

* * * * *

=George P. Humphrey=, Old Books, Catalogues issued, 25 Exchange street, Rochester, N. Y.

THE PHILISTINE.

NO. 6. November, 1895. VOL. 1.

A SONNET OF DESPAIR.

My captain calls to me to join the fray, Fame holds her fillet ready for my brow, Love stands with aching, open arms, and Thou, O God, to whom I impotently pray, Art ever ready to receive me—yea, Dost yearn for my poor prisoned soul—then how Becomes it that I linger in this slough Of idle, unclean days, till I grow gray?

Bound am I to a corpse, face unto face, Of old iniquities, and dead desire, Which, fair and young, of old did I embrace. Now chains of habit, forged in Passion’s fire, Hold me forever in this durance base: Struggling to rise, I wallow in the mire.

CLAUDE FAYETTE BRAGDON.

THE COMBINED PRESS.

It is all settled. There was no other way. Art was held down by the Jews, who demanded that she come to their terms. So she has given up, not, perhaps, without a bit of a gurgle in her choked throat, but like the new woman she has become, she manfully faced the music with no bit of compromise. She gave all, asking nothing but that she be placed on a basis of “commercial independence.” I quote from the announcement which the factory officials make to her old time friends—those who believed that Art should exist because she _was_ Art, and that she should not be compelled to sell her very soul for the dollars she could earn by working overtime in their sweat shops:

“The Combined Press is a literary syndicate formed for the purpose of obtaining for writers commercial independence and liberal remuneration for high class work.”

This starts out well, and hereafter all writers who belong shall be given a rating in _Bradstreet’s_.

“All contributors, whether stockholders or otherwise, will be given the privilege of receiving in payment the entire cash returns derived from their published matter, less actual cost of service.”

This is encouraging, for writers may feel secure in getting some return for their labor; but hopes are dashed in the next paragraph:

“Under no circumstances, however, will inferior contributions be accepted from any one, and merit will in every case be given preference regardless either of authorship or membership.”

The superintendent of the factory will, of course be the judge as to merit. Regarding the Plan the Sad Tale continues as follows:

“One thousand shares of stock will be issued to writers of established merit at $15.00 per share, paid up value. A payment of one-third of this amount will secure each share of the stock, but no certificates will be issued until stock becomes fully paid up, either by assessment or by accumulation of undivided profits.”

This is where the trail of the serpent shows. Mark you: it costs sums of money to be an Artist. The days when Genius burned the tallow dip at midnight in the garret are forever gone, for now, when everybody will have a commercial standing, the Artists’ Labor Union will permit of no more than eight hours labor each day. Here follows a choice bit:

“No stock will be issued to other than writers of marked literary ability, and applicants for membership will be required to give as reference the names of one or more high-class publications to which they have contributed. Applications for stock will be referred to a committee on membership, and no stock will be transferable, except to such as are deemed entitled to membership by this committee.”

_What_ is “marked literary ability,” and who does the marking?

The factory, as it is now conducted, will consist of six departments. Following is a list of the Foremen and Forewomen to whom all complaints and applications for positions must be made:

“Fiction, Ruth McEnery Stuart; Humor, R. K. Munkittrick; Washington, A. H. Lewis (Dan Quin); Juvenile, John Kendrick Bangs; Woman, Frances Bacon Paine; Agricultural, James Knapp Reeve.”

The following paragraph did not seem to me to be quite complete, so I have filled out the things which were apparently forgotten in the hurry of getting this remarkable circular before the public:

“Striking articles of adventure (true or false), discovery, achievement and special news are desired; also dramatic short stories, with or without action and not less than five per cent human interest, for young and old, especially the old; anecdotes, quaint, humorous and pathetic; novelettes, poems, jingles, verselets, squibs, squabs, jokes—everything, in fact, that will interest, comfort, amuse, harass or annoy the modern or ancient reader, thoroughly artistic in execution, will be available.

“Too much emphasis cannot be placed on the statement that only high-class matter, especially prepared for the Combined Press, will be used at $150 a column, net. We solicit and will pay the highest cash prices for hides, tallow, horns and pelts. Also for sale, cement, wool (wild from the West), hair (Le Gallienne and Ibsen brands), bricks (with or without straw) and material for building a modern periodical.

“The stock books will be closed on November fifteenth, in order to complete the organization and make contracts for the coming year, stock remaining unsold November fifteenth having been already arranged for by parties in New York City.

“Address all communications to The Combined Press, 1128-1129 American Tract Building, New York.

“Directors—John Kendrick Bangs, President; Ruth McEnery Stuart, Vice President; R. K. Munkittrick, Secretary; Albert B. Paine, Treasurer; A. H. Lewis (Dan Quin), Washington; James Knapp Reeve, Chief Geezer.”

Following is the form for use of those who want positions:

Form 427 300 M

THE COMBINED PRESS.

APPLICATION FOR EMPLOYMENT.

________ 189_

To James Knapp Reeve, Head Geezer, American Tract Building, New York:

I (Name in full, three names if possible)

________ do hereby apply for a position as ________ and if employed do agree to faithfully observe all rules and regulations of the Combined Press, to maintain strict integrity of character, to abstain from the use of intoxicating liquors and profane swearing, not to assign my wages, and that I will perform my duties to the best of my ability.

I was born the ____ day of ____ year of ____ in County of ____ State of ____ My height is ____ feet ____ inches; weight ____ pounds.

Married or single. (If married, give full name and address of wife or husband, and how you like it.)

Name and address of parents, if living. If dead, state so, and why.

Names of those wholly dependent upon and supported by me. (This must be answered in full.)

Divorced? (If not, why not?)

Full name and address of last employer and occupation.

Names of all editors by whom employed, with bill of particulars giving times and places.

Cause of leaving (in each case).

Names of “high-class publications referred to who will endorse the applicant as a reliable, industrious and competent person of marked literary ability.”

_Witnesses_: ____X____ _Mark here._

_________

_________

FACTORY NOTES.

James Knapp Reeve has been engaged as night watchman.

Last Tuesday Munkittrick, who has charge of the automatic double-chisel mortising machine, while getting out his second batch of verselets for the day and talking with Frankie Paine at the same time, accidentally lost a thumb. You must be more careful, Munk.

Dan Quin is laid off for a week for sassing the foreman.

Ruth Stuart is pasting labels on boxes on the sixth floor.

Jimmy Reeve is captain of the Combined Press Base Ball Club, which will play against the Mule Spinners from Cohoes on Thursday.

Johnnie Bangs had the misfortune to lose his pay envelope last Saturday night. It contained $4.65. The finder will please send it to him at Yonkers.

The Albert Bigelow Paine Chowder Club will give one of their delightful assemblies at Milligan’s Hall at the Hydraulics next Saturday. Gents, 35c. Ladies, free.

And do my PHILISTINE readers think this is all good fooling? Do they think that no such circular was ever issued? I hope they do. It is pleasant to retain our old fashioned belief that men write because they have something to say: because like Charles Reade they have a purpose to accomplish; because like Thackeray they can dazzle us with the satire of a master, or because like Stevenson they can take us to Treasure Island or on that Inland Voyage where were days of such delight as come rarely to men.

This circular, however, is a stubborn reality printed in muddy black and gory red, and the word Combined is evidently pronounced Combin-ed. It will be sent to poor devils who imagine that by subscribing to a fifteen-dollar share of stock, their wares may be marketed like peaches in September, by men whose names are known because they are signed to “verselets, squibs and jokes” in Harper’s Drawer. Thus may the salaries of the officers be paid. It’s a lovely plan, and could originate in no better place than Franklin, Ohio. Then, too, “American Tract Building” sounds good. Surely nothing else than sincerity could issue from a Tract Building, and a guarantee of “commercial independence” is worth something.

But it’s none the less pathetic, for all that. Many shares of stock will be taken, and many weary days will be spent waiting for the promised halo which, after all, wouldn’t fit if it came. It was the father of Jules St. Ange, if I remember correctly, who made “the so best sugah in New Orleans,” And he died and never sold a barrel of it. He was happy because he knew it was the best, though the commercial men told him it was not. So, too, as all the World’s Louis has said, “He who has meant good work has done good work, though he has not the time to sign his name.”

I knew a man once, though, who worked many weary hours one Christmas time, and made a holiday story for a morning paper. It was a story of such truth as moved men to give to a hospital in a great city such money as supported it for half a year, and sick children were made well because of it. But he was not a man of “marked literary ability” and he never knew what he had done. He was not an Adam Smith, and he knew little and cared less about the wealth of nations. He simply wrote the truth from a heart that knew its own. Such men do not need to be told if their work be good or bad. They give us the best there is in them, and we are comforted because they have told us the things we knew before, only we didn’t know how to put them on paper.

H. P. TABER.

TO ROBERT HERRICK.

Jocund Herrick tho’ this age Leaves uncut thy merry page, Leaves thy song, thy robust jest For Quixotic modern quest;

Thinks that all poetic bliss Is summed in soul-analysis; Swinburne’s strange erratic flight, Weird desire and wild delight;

Pleasures in the paltry host— Starveling muse’s meager ghost Dribbling song in purblind flow— Poesy has sunk so low.

I would see beside the rill Decked with Lawn and Daffodil Sweetly thro’ the morning air— Corinna going to the fair!

I would hear the birds and bees Sung of in Hesperides; Would that I were with you there, Drunken with the dewy air.

And Julia, paragon of grace, I would look upon her face; Then might I inspired be, Fit to join thy company.

Ah! Herrick, softly on thy mound I would still bestrew the ground— Daffodil and rosemary Tokens for thy memory.

EUGENE R. WHITE.

A THRIFTLESS BENEFIT.

He was a man of humble dress and humble mien, and when he entered the parlor of the rich manufacturer he was obviously dazed by the upholstery and the pictures—especially the upholstery. He had to wait ten minutes before the lord of the mansion appeared—a pompous man with an expanse of shirt, waistcoat and watchchain that were imposing, and a couple of whiskers that bristled in uncompromising pride. He looked at the meek figure seated on the edge of the least expensive chair, with a slight expression of scorn and irritation, and grunted, “Well, sir?”

“You must excuse me for coming,” said the diffident one, “but I wish to speak to you on a matter that is of the most vital importance to yourself.”

“What! Are the hands going to strike again? D—n them!”

“Oh, sir, please do not use such language. I have recently been discouraged from using it myself, and it does hurt my feelings so! I beg that you will not employ those terms, at least, in my presence.”

“What in the devil”——

“There you are again, sir, if you please. Don’t, I beg of you.”

“Well, go on.”

The visitor sank his voice to a thrilling undertone: “I am told that you have wine on your table.”

“Of course I have. What of it?”

“Beware of it, sir. There is death in the glass.”

“Those infernal, beg your pardon, mill hands, I’ll bet.”

“No, sir, not that. It is the wine itself. Keep to water. It isn’t very good just now, but you can filter it, or use it for tea.”

“Bah!”

“Oh, do not bah at it, sir. I’m pleading for your good. Again, I am informed that you smoke. Stop it, please, at once.”

“What! Even my cigars poisoned? This is horrible.”

“Tobacco is itself a poison, sir. Again, you were not at church last Sunday. Nor at prayer meeting on Friday night. I am told that you made no contribution last month for foreign missions. I am credibly informed that you have had no Bible readings in your house for years. There is a rumor that you belong to a club, and that you once played poker there.”

The millionaire, who had been growing crimson, now turned purple; his waistcoat inflated, his whiskers were like quills on the porcupine. He glared and sputtered, but could find no words.