The Little Review, May, 1917 (Vol. 4, No. 1)

By Various

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Little Review, May, 1917 (Vol. 4, No. 1)

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.

Title: The Little Review, May, 1917 (Vol. 4, No. 1)

Author: Various

Editor: Margaret C. Anderson

Release date: July 21, 2025 [eBook #76538]

Language: English

Original publication: Chicago, New York: Apparently none other than the Editor (see above), 1922

Credits: Jens Sadowski and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. This book was produced from images made available by the Modernist Journal Project, Brown and Tulsa Universities.

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE REVIEW, MAY, 1917 (VOL. 4, NO. 1) ***

THE LITTLE REVIEW

Literature Drama Music Art

MARGARET C. ANDERSON
EDITOR

MAY, 1917

Editorial Ezra Pound
Eeldrop and Appleplex T. S. Eliot
Pierrots (Jules Laforgue) John Hall
Jodindranath Mawhwor’s Occupation Ezra Pound
Imaginary Letters, I. Wyndham Lewis
Prose Coronales Morris Ward
Announcements for June
The Little Review Bookshop

Published Monthly

15 Cents a copy

MARGARET C. ANDERSON, Publisher
EZRA POUND, Foreign Editor
31 West Fourteenth Street
NEW YORK CITY

$1.50 a Year

Entered as second-class matter at Postoffice, New York, N. Y.

The Little Review

VOL. IV.

MAY 1917

NO. 1

Editorial

Ezra Pound

I have accepted the post of Foreign Editor of _The Little Review_:
chiefly because:

I wished a place where the current prose writings of James Joyce,
Wyndham Lewis, T. S. Eliot, and myself might appear regularly, promptly,
and together, rather than irregularly, sporadically, and after useless
delays.

My connection with _The Little Review_ does not imply a severance of my
relations with _Poetry_ for which I still remain Foreign Correspondent,
and in which my poems will continue to appear until its guarantors
revolt.

I would say, however, in justification both of _Poetry_ and myself, that
_Poetry_ has never been “the instrument” of my “radicalism”. I respect
Miss Monroe for all that she has done for the support of American
poetry, but in the conduct of her magazine my voice and vote have always
been the vote and voice of a minority.

I recognize that she, being “on the ground”, may be much better fitted
to understand the exigencies of magazine publishing in America, but
_Poetry_ has done numerous things to which I could never have given my
personal sanction, and which could not have occurred in any magazine
which had constituted itself my “instrument”. _Poetry_ has shown an
unflagging courtesy to a lot of old fools and fogies whom I should have
told to go to hell tout pleinement and bonnement. It has refrained from
attacking a number of public nuisances; from implying that the personal
charm of the late Mr. Gilder need not have been, of necessity, the sign
manifest of a tremendous intellect; from heaping upon the high-school
critics of America the contempt which they deserve.

There would have been a little of this contempt to spare for that elder
generation of American magazines, founded by mediocrities with good
intentions, continued by mediocrities without any intentions, and now
“flourishing” under the command and empery of the relicts,
private-secretaries and ex-typists of the second regime.

Had _Poetry_ been in any sense my “instrument” I should years ago have
pointed out certain defects of the elder American writers. Had _Poetry_
been my instrument I should never have permitted the deletion of certain
fine English words from poems where they rang well and soundly. Neither
would I have felt it necessary tacitly to comply with the superstition
that the Christian Religion is indispensable, or that it has always
existed, or that its existence is ubiquitous, or irrevocable and
eternal.

I don’t mind the Christian Religion, but I can not blind myself to the
fact that Confucius was extremely intelligent. Organized religions have
nearly always done more harm than good, and they have always constituted
a danger. At any rate, respect to one or another of them has nothing to
do with good letters. If any human activity is sacred it is the
formulation of thought in clear speech for the use of humanity; any
falsification or evasion is evil. The codes of propriety are all local,
parochial, transient; a consideration of them, other than as subject
matter, has no place in the arts.

I can say these things quite distinctly and without in the least
detracting from my praise of the spirited manner in which Miss Monroe
has conducted her paper. She is faced with the practical problem of
circulating a magazine in a certain peculiar milieu, which thing being
so I have nothing but praise for the way she has done it. But that
magazine does not express my convictions. Attacks on it, grounded in
such belief, and undertaken in the magnanimous hope of depriving me of
part of my sustenance, can not be expected to have more than a temporary
success and that among ill-informed people.

_Blast_, founded chiefly in the interest of the visual arts, is of
necessity suspended. With Gaudier-Brzeska dead on the field of battle,
with Mr. William Roberts, Mr. Wadsworth, Mr. Etchells, and Mr. Wyndham
Lewis all occupied in various branches of the service, there is no new
vorticist painting to write about. Such manuscript as Mr. Lewis has left
with me, and such things as he is able to write in the brief leisure
allowed an artillery officer, will appear in these pages.

It is quite impossible that _Blast_ should again appear until Mr. Lewis
is free to give his full energy to it.

In so far as it is possible, I should like _The Little Review_ to aid
and abet _The Egoist_ in its work. I do not think it can be too often
pointed out that during the last four years _The Egoist_ has published
serially, in the face of no inconsiderable difficulties, the only
translation of Remy de Gourmont’s _Chevaux de Diomedes_; the best
translation of Le Comte de Gabalis, Mr. Joyce’s masterpiece _A Portrait
of the Artist as a Young Man_, and is now publishing Mr. Lewis’s novel
_Tarr_. Even if they had published nothing else there would be no other
current periodical which could challenge this record, but _The Egoist_
has not stopped there; they have in a most spirited manner carried out
the publication in book form of the _Portrait of the Artist_, and are in
the act of publishing Mr. Eliot’s poems, under the title _Mr. Prufrock
and Observations_.

I see no reason for concealing my belief that the two novels, by Joyce
and Lewis, and Mr. Eliot’s poems are not only the most important
contributions to English literature of the past three years, but that
they are practically the only works of the time in which the creative
element is present, which in any way show invention, or a progress
beyond precedent work. The mass of our contemporaries, to say nothing of
our debilitated elders, have gone on repeating themselves and each
other.

II.

Secondly, there are certain prevalent ideas to which I can not
subscribe. I can not believe that the mere height of the Rocky Mountains
will produce lofty poetry; we have had little from Chimborazo, the Alps
or the Andes. I can not believe that the mere geographical expanse of
America will produce of itself excellent writing. The desert of Sahara
is almost equally vast. Neither can I look forward with longing to a
time when each village shall rejoice in a bad local poetaster making bad
verse in the humdrum habitual way that the local architect puts up bad
buildings. The arts are not the mediocre habit of mankind. There is no
common denominator between the little that is good and the waste that is
dull, mediocre. It may be pleasing to know that a cook is president of
the local poetry society in Perigord,—there is no reason why a cook
should not write as well as a plowman,—but the combination of several
activities is really irrelevant. The fact remains that no good poetry
has come out of Perigord since the Albigensian crusade, anno domini
twelve hundred and nine. There being a local poetry society has not
helped to prevent this.

The shell-fish grows its own shell, the genius creates its own milieu.
You, the public, can kill genius by actual physical starvation, you may
perhaps thwart or distort it, but you can in no way create it.

Because of this simple fact the patron is absolutely at the mercy of the
artist, and the artist at the cost of some discomfort—personal,
transient discomfort—is almost wholly free of the patron, whether this
latter be an individual, or the hydra-headed detestable vulgus.

There is no misanthropy in a thorough contempt for the mob. There is no
respect for mankind save in respect for detached individuals.

Eeldrop and Appleplex

T. S. Eliot

Eeldrop and Appleplex rented two small rooms in a disreputable part of
town. Here they sometimes came at nightfall, here they sometimes slept,
and after they had slept, they cooked oatmeal and departed in the
morning for destinations unknown to each other. They sometimes slept,
more often they talked, or looked out of the window.

They had chosen the rooms and the neighborhood with great care. There
are evil neighborhoods of noise and evil neighborhoods of silence, and
Eeldrop and Appleplex preferred the latter, as being the more evil. It
was a shady street, its windows were heavily curtained; and over it hung
the cloud of a respectability which has something to conceal. Yet it had
the advantage of more riotous neighborhoods near by, and Eeldrop and
Appleplex commanded from their windows the entrance of a police station
across the way. This alone possessed an irresistible appeal in their
eyes. From time to time the silence of the street was broken; whenever a
malefactor was apprehended, a wave of excitement curled into the street
and broke upon the doors of the police station. Then the inhabitants of
the street would linger in dressing-gowns, upon their doorsteps: then
alien visitors would linger in the street, in caps; long after the
centre of misery had been engulphed in his cell. Then Eeldrop and
Appleplex would break off their discourse, and rush out to mingle with
the mob. Each pursued his own line of enquiry. Appleplex, who had the
gift of an extraordinary address with the lower classes of both sexes,
questioned the onlookers, and usually extracted full and inconsistent
histories: Eeldrop preserved a more passive demeanor, listened to the
conversation of the people among themselves, registered in his mind
their oaths, their redundance of phrase, their various manners of
spitting, and the cries of the victim from the hall of justice within.
When the crowd dispersed, Eeldrop and Appleplex returned to their rooms:
Appleplex entered the results of his inquiries into large note-books,
filed according to the nature of the case, from A (adultery) to Y
(yeggmen). Eeldrop smoked reflectively. It may be added that Eeldrop was
a sceptic, with a taste for mysticism, and Appleplex a materialist with
a leaning toward scepticism; that Eeldrop was learned in theology, and
that Appleplex studied the physical and biological sciences.

There was a common motive which led Eeldrop and Appleplex thus to
separate themselves from time to time, from the fields of their daily
employments and their ordinarily social activities. Both were
endeavoring to escape not the commonplace, respectable or even the
domestic, but the too well pigeonholed, too taken-for-granted, too
highly systematized areas, and,—in the language of those whom they
sought to avoid—they wished “to apprehend the human soul in its concrete
individuality.”

“Why,” said Eeldrop, “was that fat Spaniard, who sat at the table with
us this evening, and listened to our conversation with occasional
curiosity, why was he himself for a moment an object of interest to us?
He wore his napkin tucked into his chin, he made unpleasant noises while
eating, and while not eating, his way of crumbling bread between fat
fingers made me extremely nervous: he wore a waistcoat cafe au lait, and
black boots with brown tops. He was oppressively gross and vulgar; he
belonged to a type, he could easily be classified in any town of
provincial Spain. Yet under the circumstances—when we had been
discussing marriage, and he suddenly leaned forward and exclaimed: “I
was married once myself”—we were able to detach him from his
classification and regard him for a moment as an unique being, a soul,
however insignificant, with a history of its own, once for all. It is
these moments which we prize, and which alone are revealing. For any
vital truth is incapable of being applied to another case: the essential
is unique. Perhaps that is why it is so neglected: because it is
useless. What we learned about that Spaniard is incapable of being
applied to any other Spaniard, or even recalled in words. With the
decline of orthodox theology and its admirable theory of the soul, the
unique importance of events has vanished. A man is only important as he
is classed. Hence there is no tragedy, or no appreciation of tragedy,
which is the same thing. We had been talking of young Bistwick, who
three months ago married his mother’s housemaid and now is aware of the
fact. Who appreciates the truth of the matter? Not the relatives, for
they are only moved by affection, by regard for Bistwick’s interests,
and chiefly by their collective feeling of family disgrace. Not the
generous minded and thoughtful outsider, who regards it merely as
evidence for the necessity of divorce law reform. Bistwick is classed
among the unhappily married. But what Bistwick feels when he wakes up in
the morning, which is the great important fact, no detached outsider
conceives. The awful importance of the ruin of a life is overlooked. Men
are only allowed to be happy or miserable in classes. In Gopsum Street a
man murders his mistress. The important fact is that for the man the act
is eternal, and that for the brief space he has to live, he is already
dead. He is already in a different world from ours. He has crossed the
frontier. The important fact that something is done which can not be
undone—a possibility which none of us realize until we face it
ourselves. For the man’s neighbors the important fact is what the man
killed her with? And at precisely what time? And who found the body? For
the “enlightened public” the case is merely evidence for the Drink
question, or Unemployment, or some other category of things to be
reformed. But the mediæval world, insisting on the eternity of
punishment, expressed something nearer the truth.

“What you say,” replied Appleplex, “commands my measured adherence. I
should think, in the case of the Spaniard, and in the many other
interesting cases which have come under our attention at the door of the
police station, what we grasp in that moment of pure observation on
which we pride ourselves, is not alien to the principle of
classification, but deeper. We could if we liked, make excellent comment
upon the nature of provincial Spaniards, or of destitution (as misery is
called by the philanthropists), or on homes for working girls. But such
is not our intention. We aim at experience in the particular centres in
which alone it is evil. We avoid classification. We do not deny it. But
when a man is classified something is lost. The majority of mankind live
on paper currency: they use terms which are merely good for so much
reality, they never see actual coinage.”

“I should go even further than that,” said Eeldrop. “The majority not
only have no language to express anything save generalized man; they are
for the most part unaware of themselves as anything but generalized men.
They are first of all government officials, or pillars of the church, or
trade unionists, or poets, or unemployed; this cataloguing is not only
satisfactory to other people for practical purposes, it is sufficient to
themselves for their ‘life of the spirit.’ Many are not quite real at
any moment. When Wolstrip married, I am sure he said to himself: ‘Now I
am consummating the union of two of the best families in Philadelphia.’”

“The question is,” said Appleplex, “what is to be our philosophy. This
must be settled at once. Mrs. Howexden recommends me to read Bergson. He
writes very entertainingly on the structure of the eye of the frog.”

“Not at all,” interrupted his friend. “Our philosophy is quite
irrelevant. The essential is, that our philosophy should spring from our
point of view and not return upon itself to explain our point of view. A
philosophy about intuition is somewhat less likely to be intuitive than
any other. We must avoid having a platform.”

“But at least,” said Appleplex, “we are....”

“Individualists. No!! nor anti-intellectualists. These also are labels.
The ‘individualist’ is a member of a mob as fully as any other man: and
the mob of individualists is the most unpleasing, because it has the
least character. Nietzsche was a mob-man, just as Bergson is an
intellectualist. We cannot escape the label, but let it be one which
carries no distinction, and arouses no self-consciousness. Sufficient
that we should find simple labels, and not further exploit them. I am, I
confess to you, in private life, a bank-clerk....”

“And should, according to your own view, have a wife, three children,
and a vegetable garden in a suburb,” said Appleplex.

“Such is precisely the case,” returned Eeldrop, “but I had not thought
it necessary to mention this biographical detail. As it is Saturday
night, I shall return to my suburb. Tomorrow will be spent in that
garden....”

“I shall pay my call on Mrs. Howexden,” murmured Appleplex.

(Next chapter in June number.)

Pierrots

Scene courte mais typique

(After the “Pierrots” of Jules Laforgue.)

John Hall

Your eyes! Since I lost their incandescence
Flat calm engulphs my jibs,
The shudder of _Vae soli_ gurgles beneath my ribs.

You should have seen me after the affray,
I rushed about in the most agitated way
Crying: My God, My God, what will she say?

My soul’s antennae are prey to such perturbations,
Wounded by your indirectness in these situations
And your bundle of mundane complications.

Your eyes put me up to it.
I thought: Yes, divine, these yes, but what exists
Behind them? What’s there? Her soul’s an affair for oculists.

And I am sliced with loyal æsthetics.
Hate tremolos and national frenetics.
In brief, violet is the ground tone of my phonetics.

I am not “that chap there” nor yet “The Superb.”
But my soul, the sort which harsh sounds disturb,
Is, at bottom, distinguished and fresh as a March herb.

My nerves still register the sounds of contra-bass’,
I can walk about without fidgeting when people pass,
Without smirking into a pocket-looking-glass.

Yes, I have rubbed shoulders and knocked off my chips
Outside your set but, having kept faith in your eyes,
You might pardon such slips.

Eh, make it up?—
Soothings, confessions;
These new concessions
Hurl me into such a mass of divergent impressions.

(_Exit._)

Jodindranath Mawhwor’s Occupation

Ezra Pound

The soul of Jodindranath Mawhwor clove to the god of this universe and
he meditated the law of the Shastras.

He was a man of moderate income inherited for the most part from his
fathers, of whom there were several, slightly augmented by his own
rather desultory operations of commerce. He had never made money by
conquest and was inclined to regard this method of acquisition as
antiquated; as belonging rather to the days of his favorite author than
to our own.

He had followed the advice of the Sutras, had become the head of an
house in the not unprosperous city of Migdalb, in a quarter where dwelt
a reasonable proportion of fairly honest and honourable people not
unaverse to gossip and visits. His house was situated by a watercourse,
in lieu of new fangled plumbing, and in this his custom was at one with
that of the earliest Celts. It was divided in various chambers for
various occupations, surrounded by a commodious garden, and possessed of
the two chief chambers, the “exterior” and the “interior” (_butt_ and
_ben_). The interior was the place for his women, the exterior enhanced
with rich perfumes, contained a bed, soft, luscious, and agreeable to
the action of vision, covered with a cloth of unrivalled whiteness. It
was a little humped in the middle, and surmounted with garlands and
bundles of flowers, which were sometimes renewed in the morning. Upon it
were also a coverlet brightly embroidered and two cylindrical pillows,
one at the head and the other placed at the foot. There was also a sort
of sofa or bed for repose, at the head of which stood a case for
unguents, and perfumes to be used during the night, and a stand for
flowers and pots of cosmetic and other odoriferous substances, essences
for perfuming the breath, new cut slices of lemon peel and such things
as were fitting. On the floor near the sofa rested a metal spittoon, and
a toilet case, and above it was a luth suspended from an elephant’s
tusk, uncut but banded with silver. There was also a drawing table, a
bowl of perfume, a few books, and a garland of amaranths. Further off
was a sort of round chair or tabouret, a chest containing a chess board,
and a low table for dicing. In the outer apartment were cages for
Jodindranath’s birds. He had a great many too many. There were separate
small rooms for spinning, and one for carving in wood and such like
dilettantismes. In the garden was a sort of merry-go-round of good rope,
looking more or less like a May-pole. There was likewise a common
see-saw or teeter, a greenhouse, a sort of rock garden, and two not too
comfortable benches.

Jodindranath rose in the morning and brushed his teeth, after having
performed other unavoidable duties as prescribed in the sutra, and he
applied to his body a not excessive, as he considered it, amount of
unguents and perfumes. He then blackened his eyebrows, drew faint lines
under his eyes, put a fair deal of rouge on his lips, and regarded
himself in a mirror. Then having chewed a few betel leaves to perfume
his breath, and munched another bonne-bouche of perfume, he set about
his day’s business. He was a creature of habit. That is to say, he
bathed, daily. And upon alternate days he anointed his person with oil,
and on the third day he lamented that the mossy substance employed by
the earliest orthodox hindoos was no longer obtainable. He had never
been brought to regard soap with complaisance. His conscience was
troubled, both as to the religious and social bearing of this solidified
grease. He suspected the presence of beef-suet, it was at best a parvenu
and Mohametan substance. Every four days he shaved, that is to say, he
shaved his head and his visage, every five or ten days he shaved all the
rest of his body. He meticulously removed the sweat from his arm-pits.
He ate three meals daily; in the morning, afternoon and at evening as is
prescribed in the Charayana.

Immediately after breakfast he spent some time instructing his parrots
in language. He then proceeded to cock-fights, quail-fights and
ram-fights; from them to the classical plays, though their
representations have sadly diminished. He slept some hours at mid-day.
Then, as is befitting to the head of an house, he had himself arrayed in
his ornaments and habiliment and passed the afternoon in talk with his
friends and acquaintance. The evening was given over to singing. Toward
the end of it Jodindranath, as the head of his house, retaining only one
friend in his company, sat waiting in the aforementioned perfumed and
well arranged chamber. As the lady with whom he was at that time
connected did not arrive on the instant, he considered sending a
messenger to reproach her. The atmosphere grew uneasy. His friend Mohon
fidgeted slightly.

Then the lady arrived. Mohon, his friend, rose graciously bidding her
welcome, spoke a few pleasant words and retired. Jodinranath remained.
And for that day, the twenty fifth of August, 1916, this was his last
occupation. In this respect the day resembled all others.

This sort of thing has gone on for thirty five hundred years and there
have been no disastrous consequences.

As to Jodindranath’s thoughts and acts after Mohon had left him, I can
speak with no definite certainty. I know that my friend was deeply
religious; that he modeled his life on the Shatras and somewhat on the
Sutra. To the Kama Sutra he had given minute attention. He was firmly
convinced that one should not take one’s pleasure with a woman who was a
lunatic, or leperous, or too white, or too black, or who gave forth an
unpleasant odor, or who lived an ascetic life, or whose husband was a
man given to wrath and possessed of inordinate power. These points were
to him a matter of grave religion.

He considered that his friends should be constant and that they should
assist his designs.

He considered it fitting that a citizen should enter into relations with
laundrymen, barbers, cowmen, florists, druggists, merchants of betel
leaves, cab-drivers, and with the wives of all these.

He had carefully considered the sizes and shapes and ancient categories
of women; to wit, those which should be classified as she-dog,
she-horse, and she-elephant, according to their cubic volume. He agreed
with the classic author who recommends men to choose women about their
own size.

The doctrine that love results either from continuous habit, from
imagination, from faith, or from the perception of exterior objects, or
from a mixture of some or all of these causes, gave him no difficulty.
He accepted the old authors freely.

We have left him with Lalunmokish seated upon the bed humped in the
middle. I can but add that he had carefully considered the definitions
laid down in the Sutra; kiss nominal, kiss palpitant, kiss contactic,
the kiss of one lip and of two lips (preferring the latter), the kiss
transferred, the kiss showing intention. Beyond this he had studied the
various methods of scratching and tickling, and the nail pressures as
follows: sonorous, half moon and circle, peacock-claw, and blue-lotus.

He considered that the Sutra was too vague when it described the Bengali
women, saying that they have large nails, and that the southern women
have small nails, which may serve in divers manners for giving pleasure
but give less grace to the hand. Biting he did not much approve. Nor was
he very greatly impressed with the literary tastes of the public women
in Paraliputra. He read books, but not a great many. He preferred
conversation which did not leave the main groove. He did not mind its
being familiar.

(For myself I can only profess the deepest respect for the women of
Paraliputra, who have ever been the friends of brahmins and of students
and who have greatly supported the arts.)

Upon the day following, as Jodindranath was retiring for his mid-day
repose, his son entered the perfumed apartment. Jodindra closed the book
he had been reading. The boy was about twelve years of age. Jodindra
began to instruct him, but without indicating what remarks were his own
and what derived from ancient authority. He said:—

“Flower of my life, lotus bud of the parent stem, you must preserve our
line and keep fat our ancestral spirits lest they be found withered like
bats, as is said in the Mahabharata. And for this purpose you will
doubtless marry a virgin of your own caste and acquire a legal posterity
and a good reputation. Still the usage of women is not for one purpose
only, for what purpose is the usage of women?”

“The use of women,” answered the boy, “is for generation and pleasure.”

“There is also a third use,” said his father, “yet with certain women
you must not mingle. Who are the prohibited women?”

The boy answered, “We should not practise dalliance with the women of
higher caste, or with those whom another has had for his pleasure, even
though they are of our own caste. But the practise of dalliance with
women of lower caste, and with women expelled from their own caste, and
with public women, and with women who have been twice married is neither
commanded us nor forbidden.”

“With such women,” said Jodindranath, “dalliance has no object save
pleasure. But there are seasons in life when one should think broadly.
There are circumstances when you should not merely parrot a text or
think only as you have been told by your tutor. As in dalliance itself
there is no text to be followed verbatim, for a man should trust in part
to the whim of the moment and not govern himself wholly by rules, so in
making your career and position, you should think of more things than
generation and pleasure.

“You need not say merely: ‘The woman is willing’ or ‘She has been two
times married, what harm can there be in this business?’ These are mere
thoughts of the senses, impractical fancies. But you have your life
before you, and perchance a time will come when you may say, ‘This woman
has gained the heart of a very great husband, and rules him, and he is a
friend of my enemy, if I can gain favor with her, she will persuade him
to give up my enemy.’ My son, you must manage your rudder. And again, if
her husband have some evil design against you, she may divert him, or
again you may say, ‘If I gain her favor I may then make an end of her
husband and we shall have all his great riches’. Or if you should fall
into misfortune and say, ‘A liaison with this woman is in no way beset
with danger, she will bring me a very large treasure, of which I am
greatly in need considering my pestilent poverty and my inability to
make a good living.’

“Or again: ‘This woman knows my weak points, and if I refuse her she
will blab them abroad and tarnish my reputation. And she will set her
husband against me.’

“Or again: ‘This woman’s husband has violated my women, I will give him
his own with good interest.’

“Or again: ‘With this woman’s aid I may kill the enemy of Raja, whom I
have been ordered to kill, and she hides him.’

“Or again: ‘The woman I love is under this female’s influence, I will
use one as the road to the other.’

“Or: ‘This woman will get me a rich wife whom I cannot get at without
her.’ No, my Blue Lotus, life is a serious matter. You will not always
have me to guide you. You must think of practical matters. Under such
circumstances you should ally yourself with such women.”

Thus spoke Jodindra; but the council is very ancient and is mostly to be
found in the Sutras. These books have been thought very holy. They
contain chapters on pillules and philtres.

When Jodindranath had finished this speech he sank back upon one of the
cylindrical cushions. In a few moments his head bowed in slumber. This
was the day for oil. The next day he shaved his whole body. His life is
not unduly ruffled.

Upon another day Jodindranath said to his son, “There are certain low
women, people of ill repute, addicted to avarice. You should not
converse with them at the street corners, lest your creditors see you.”

His son’s life was not unduly ruffled.

Imaginary Letters

(Six Letters of William Bland Burn to his Wife)

Wyndham Lewis

Petrograd, January 7, 1917.

Dear Lydia,

Your amiable letter to hand. I am glad Yorke’s cold is better. He has
not a throat of iron—tout comme son pere. But I should not wrap it
up—When he hears me in the house he always comes leaping in my
direction; but the moment he sees me, he seems to grow old and sober,
rather than shy, and when he gets within about five yards of me, makes
some innocently aggressive remark. I wish I could see him more. These
long absences at the ends of the Earth prevent that. He thinks me a
casual beggar I believe.

I am glad you ask me those questions. “Why not be happy?” The chief use
of a wife, after love, is to disgust you with your weaknesses, and to
watch them constantly returning, by all sorts of bye-ways, to the
attack. Or rather they seem to regard a wife as ideal “cover,” and a
first-rate avenue of return. You kick one out one day, and you find him
the next skulking beneath your wife’s petticoat waiting his chance. The
conjugal skirt is a trap from which, any day you feel like hunting, you
can return with a full bag.

“Why not be happy?” That is, why not abandon the plane of exasperation
and restlessness, and be content with the approximations and
self-deceptions of the majority? Well, of course happiness of that sort
is not within my grasp, if I wished it. But why expect from _you_ a
perpetual discipline? That discipline is however, at least as easy for
you as for me, if you think of it. The serenity and ease with which you
accomplish the most gruesome self-restraints at first surprised me—until
I remembered that you did not take them seriously, like me, or suffer
from their necessity. Not having a sense of values (very roughly a
masculine corner) but only the complacency of an obedient mummer, you
cover the harshest ground with Spartan face. It is only when you are
left alone that you complain or question seriously. You forget a little
the intricacies of our ceremonial dance, and find that worrying. Don’t
be offended at what I have been saying. You need not be ashamed of being
calmly hypnotic. Yorke was older than you when he was born. We should
all be mad if our mothers did not invigorate us with the airs of a
twinkling, early and sweet world, and feed us with a remote “happiness.”

You want more “happiness,” though, for your child. Why? I would not be
anything but what I am (unless I could find something “unhappier”) and
why should _he_, in the future, wish to be anything but what I think he
will become? There is an intoxication in the vistas of effort and
self-castigation which cannot be bought with “happiness.” Again you
might say, “_Why_ be so hard on this person or on that, and not accept
him as a “good fellow,” or take him at the valuation of the world, and
derive amusement and sentimental satisfaction from him, Richards,
Hepburn, Tom, Mrs. Fisher Wake etc., etc. They have all been “quarrelled
with.” That is, I have not been civil, and we do not see them. But I
have left you a Menu of equally amusing birds to while away life with.
You would have quarrelled with the first lot in time and in due course
on unreasonable grounds, if I had not forestalled you. I have merely
done the job cleanly and reasonably. _Clean_ is not the word, you argue,
for this cold-blooded process. It is not veiled in the forms and
frenzies of life, but indecently done before people shocked into
attention. The intellect is cruel and repugnant. Dirty, that is.
(Everything loathesome is related to dirt).

I am attributing a line of argument to you and a tone, which your
questions do not warrant. But I am taking them to their ultimate
development. I must always do this, c’est mon mal et mon gloire.

Thousands of beautiful women have spent their lives in cloisters; there
are millions of old maids. When I am with you I show a full, if not
excessive, appreciation of your sex. You have a child. With a sort of
lofty cunning you dote on my cleverness and improve your own. You would
not be with me if you required anything much different from what you
get. But still you deplore some of my notions and habits. I suspect my
friend Villerant of having smiled at my naivete, and also suggested that
in some things I was cracked and difficult.

I will follow the line of argument that your questions imply: “Why not
ease off a little?” You would say, “You will admit that it is
_uncomfortable_ to be at loggerheads with _anybody_. You flatter a
person by taking so much notice of him as to turn your back.”

(At this point I interject: “It is nevertheless more _comfortable_ for
me, in the long run, to be rude than to be polite. It is a physical
discomfort not to show, after a time, my feelings.”)

You continue: “Being so easily disgusted with people suggests a naive
idealism. We are all ridiculous, looked at properly, by means of our
little forked bodies. We are disgusting physically (except a few in
their fluffy and velvety youth). So why carp, and glare, and sheer off?
Take life, in the English-civilized way, as a joke; our funny bodies and
their peculiar needs, our ambitions, greeds, as comic stunts of an
evidently gentleman-creator, who is most unquestionably “a sport.”

At this point, my dear lady, I am going to stop you, and bring in the
counter-flux; release the over-mounting objections.

First. I feel that we are obviously in the position of Ulysses’
companions; and there is nothing I resent more than people settling down
to become what is sensible for a swine. I will still stalk about with my
stumpy legs, and hold my snout high, however absurd it may be. We must
get through this enchantment without too many memories of abasement. We
most need, in the inner fact, _changing back into men again_! And I
don’t want the “happiness” of the swill-pail, but a perpetual
restlessness until the magic is over! I set out somewhere on a legendary
expedition= I do not date from Nineteen Two.= I do not feel like
sniggering over our plight. I am _permanently_ in a bad temper!= (I am
not a “a sport.”)

So! So! So!

Society, most people, have their little bit of beauty and energy which
is a small compartment of life. The rest is the gentleman-animal, which
ambles along, the end-in-itself= oh yes!

I do not like the gentleman-animal. He is a poor beast. His glory is to
belong to a distinguished herd. He prefers to himself a Human Cliche of
manners, catch-phrases, fashionable slang, herd-voice (when he Baas the
well-instructed can instantly tell that he comes from a _very_
distinguished herd; or from a quite good herd; or from a respectable
herd; as the case may be). When he hears a similar Baa he pricks his
ears up, and Baas more loudly and lispingly himself, to show his label
and that he is there, he prefers a code which is, most of it, imbecile
in its inductions, impracticable, and not holding water. Human weakness,
human _need_—is the worse for a gloss. You do not agree? I have that
feeling very strongly.

But I have amplified too much, and will return to what I wished
immediately to say.= The best that most people can see is the
amiable-comic, the comfortable, the advantages of the gentleman-animal.
I, who see beauty and energy so much that they bulk and outweigh a
thousand times these cowardly contentments and _pis-allers_, why should
you expect me to admit society as anything but an organized poltrooney
and forgetfulness? The gentleman-animal has his points. And it is just
when he is successful that we should dislike him most. For he is the
most cunning effort of society to close its eyes and clog its ears. He
is the great sham reconciliation and justifying of ease.

I must leave you at this, my dear woman, as I have to correct proofs
wanted tomorrow and twice written for.= In glancing through what I have
written in this letter, I find things that, were I writing for any but a
familiar ear, would require restating. There is an implication, for
instance, that enthusiastic herd-man could, if he would, produce some
excellent ego in place of his social self, and that it is this immoral
waste of fine material that I object to= whereas of course he is
radically boring and obnoxious. He is a _perfect metis_, the
gentleman-animal, having crossed consummately his human and inhuman
qualities. I like to see things side by side, perfectly dual and
unmixed. Neither side of a man is responsible for the other.

But you know my ideas on these subjects and can dialogue for me as I
have for you.

I wish, Lydia, you were here, with your body rasping under mine now. We
could beat out this argument to another tune.

Send me more of Villerant’s Aunt Sally’s, or anybody else’s, to bowl at.
I like these immemorial phizzes stuck up within easy reach. I have bags
full of cocoa-nuts!

As far as I can see I shall be stopping over here at least another six
weeks. The war continues! I was sorry to hear Grant had been blown up.
It sounds like a practical joke. I hope Pampas will take care of
himself.= Much occurs here of the strangest. The Russian factor is quite
curious in this game. It is really, much more than the other countries,
a theatre to itself, carrying on a play of quite a different
description. Kiss Yorke for me. All love to yourself.

Yours, William Burn.

(Next letter of series will appear in June number.)

Prose Coronales

Morris Ward

To G. M. Chadwick

“I the reed was a useless plant; for out of me grow not figs nor
apple nor grape-cluster; but man consecrated me in the mysteries
of Helicon, piercing my frail lips and making me the channel of a
narrow stream; and thenceforth whenever I sip the black drink,
like one inspired I speak all words with this voiceless
mouth.”—_From the Greek Anthology. Anonymous._

_The New Dawn_

“You have slept long, oh heart! And you, my heart’s dear comrade, whom
men call Beauty—why have you awakened me once more and made my bed no
longer roses but sharp thorns?”—“Too many are yet asleep: they have
slept overlong. You must awaken now and once more, in this golden
dawning, sing to them and to this silence round about them out of your
soul’s rich pain, out of your body’s weariness. Sing, then, sing!”—“I
will, dear my heart, my Beauty, I will! But oh, the silence, this
silence!”

_At Evening_

The lamp shines low in the silent room, and the lonely poet dreams of
long-forgotten evenings. Putting aside the volume in my hand I caress
the sumptuous fur of the cat asleep on my knees, crooning to myself the
while an old old folk song. Without, stretching far away into the
horizon, the fields of golden wheat sway to and fro under the moon’s
full light; and on the screen of the window a single moth clings
motionless, its fire-like eyes drinking long draughts of the light which
it cannot reach.—Oh moth! why should you love so well the thing that
seeks your death?...

III

_An Invocation_

You who love Beauty as the bee loves the flower, as the bird loves the
air—hail! You who lie awake at night dreaming of the Beauty that is in
the world yet not of the world—all hail! You whose life is like a broken
song trailing through the ceaseless monotone of human things—hail and
farewell!

We were not long together, but haply neither will soon forget. Almost we
understood each other, and in all the world there is no word that
touches life so quickly as “almost”. And on that word we parted.

Because you have not learned that Beauty never stops to kiss her chosen
ones. You do not know that with her sweet, too-sweet and awful breath
alone does she condemn them to journey forever from flower to flower by
day, by night from star to star. Even as you journey, a frail, wondrous
and ghostly being, pouring forth your pain-mad melodies, broken
melodies, ceaselessly yearning toward the verge of that perfection ...
ah! and you would have me leap into those chill profundities, out of the
world, out of your dear remembrance, out of the bright sun’s warmth,
forever!

Hear me, passionate stricken one! Hear me this once: then if you will
forget me; if you can remember still.—For I have pondered on the rune of
dreams and therein I have read:

That Beauty is always in the search and in the seeker; it is a wandering
and not a goal; a wave and not the sea; a flame and not the candle:

It is that soul which is not man, nor woman, nor child, nor anything at
all save one long shattered cry echoing down the galleries of stupendous
night!

It is this cry that I now send to you, valiant and wayward one, my
sister:——

This, and once more, this: “Hail and farewell.”

_The Lover’s Lament_

Once in the waning of an autumn day, as I was reading to my beloved from
a little book of verse, I came upon the lines: “They are not long, the
days of wine and roses: out of a misty dream....” But suddenly a
flower-like hand covered the page from my eyes and the moment of sweet
gladness that was mine vanished like the saffron tints from the clouds
beyond, as I felt her arms steal about my body and saw her mute poppy
lips craving yet another kiss—yet another kiss.

_Wanderers_

Dreaming one night of a triumphant journey along the Milky Way,
traversing the Infinite from world to world as though on flaming
cushions, I was awakened by a dull shuffling noise outside my door. I
listened for a moment: “Ah, it is only the old blind woman across the
hall, stumbling in the darkness on the way to her room.”—And I went to
sleep again, but my dream had gone forever....

_The Accursed_

“Into the same river thou mayst not step twice!” Oh sage grim one,
weaver at a sable loom, Heraclitus,—arise from your ashes and I will
show you a woman so fair that looking on her you will love, and loving,
nevermore plait your sombre nets of Change!—“Into the same river thou
mayst not step twice!”—Not even if the river’s name is Love? Answer me,
spirit of desperation, ruthless passer-by: not even Love?—Silence, only
silence, and the continual hasting of waters down to the sea....

VII

_Ennui_

I am tired of dancing and song, of pictures and the words that men
ceaselessly utter without need. And of my own dancing and song, of my
own visions and unavailing speech I am more tired still.—If so it might
be, I would like to have a room at the top of a tower, far above the
earth: a room consecrated to silence, where only the night could enter.
And there I would sit forever by the window, receiving the benedictions
of the stars, and watching in the moon’s pale disc the reflections in
lovers’ eyes as they drank from one another at the sorrowful fountains
of illusion.

VIII

_The Rose-Jar_

Rose-jar, soft to the finger’s touch, rose-jar like a maiden’s breast,
thou chance issue from the womb of Beauty—what coarse-mouthed potter
turned thee on his wheel, shaping thee from the inert clay? And in what
ancient garden bloomed the flowers now so dry within thy comely belly,
now so very dry but oh so fragrant to the nostrils of the
poet?—Rose-jar, soft to the finger’s touch, rose-jar like a maiden’s
breast—and even thou some day will lie upon the earth and all thy
loveliness and all thy perfume will return again unto the clay ... unto
the clay beneath swift brutal feet....

_Vesperal_

Clear-eyed evening, and thou, dark shadows, children of the moon, let us
dance together a little while, and sing to one another antique melodies,
compounded all of passion and youth and glad forgetfulness.—For soon the
morning will come again out of the fateful East—the morning with all its
sullen duties....

Announcements for June

The June issue will contain:

Eight new poems by William Butler Yeats

“An Anachronism at Chinon” by Ezra Pound

The second installment of “Imaginary Letters” by Wyndham Lewis

The second part of T. S. Eliot’s “Eeldrop and Appleplex”

James Joyce has written to say that he will be among the early
contributors.

The next number will be increased to at least 44 pages.

The Little Review Book Shop

The Little Review Bookshop is now open.

You may order any book you want from us and we have the facilities for
delivering or mailing it to you at whatever time you specify.

You may come in and look over our stock and take your selections with
you.

Some of the books you will want are these:

James Joyce’s _Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man_. $1.50

Nexo’s _Pelle the Conqueror_. Four volumes, $6.00

Gilbert Cannan’s _Mendel_. $1.50

Romain Rolland’s _Jean Christophe_. Three volumes, $5.00

D. H. Lawrence’s _Prussian Officer_ and _Twilight in Italy_,
$1.50 each.

Ethel Sidgwick’s _Promise_ and _Succession_. Each $1.50

Ezra Pound’s _Memoir of Gaudier-Brzeska_. $3.50

_The Imagist Anthology, 1917._ 75 cents

_Verharen’s Love Poems_, translated by F. S. Flint. $1.00

_The Plays of Emile Verharen_, translated by Flint, Arthur
Symons, etc. $1.50

Willard Huntington Wright’s _Modern Painting_ and _The Creative
Will_. $2.50 and $1.50

Tagore’s _Reminiscences_ and _Personality_. Each $1.50

The complete works of Anatole France. Per volume, $1.25

The Works of Henri Fabre. 6 volumes. Each $1.50

The Works of Mark Twain. 25 volumes, $25.00

_Creative Intelligence_, by John Dewey and others. $2.00

Carl Sandburg’s _Chicago Poems_. $1.25

Joseph Conrad’s _The Shadow Line_. $1.35

Maurice Hewlett’s _Thorgils_. $1.35

Andreyev’s _The Little Angel_, _The Crushed Flower_, etc. $1.35
and $1.50

Kuprin’s _A Slave Soul_. $1.50

Tchekoff _The Kiss_, _The Darling_, _The Duel_, _The Black Monk_.
Each $1.25

Gorky’s _Confession_ and _Twenty-Six Men and a Girl_. $1.35

Dostoevsky’s _The Eternal Husband_. $1.50

Gogol’s _Dead Souls_, _Taras Bulba_, _The Mantle_. $1.40, $1.35.

Sologub’s _The Sweet-Scented Name_. $1.50

Artzibashef’s _Sanine_, _The Millionaire_, _The Breaking-Point_.
Each $1.50

The Works of Freud and Jung.

Max Eastman’s _Journalism versus Art_, _Understanding Germany_.
$1.00 and $1.25

John Cowper Powy’s _Confessions_, _Suspended Judgments_. $1.50
and $2.00

Paul Geraldy’s _The War, Madame_. 75 cents.

Amy Lowell’s _Men, Women and Ghosts_. $1.25

H. D.’s _Sea Garden_. 75 cents.

D. H. Lawrence’s _Amores_. $1.25

W. W. Gibson’s _Livelihood_. $1.25

The Stories of A. Neil Lyons. Each $1.25

Sherwood Anderson’s _Windy McPherson’s Son_. $1.40

_I, Mary MacLane._ $1.40

NOTE.—We have some interesting discussion for the Reader Critic this
month, but owing to lack of space it will have to be held over until the
next issue.

Garments created by Bertha Holley give the wearer the distinction
in color and line of an artist’s portrait. Their beauty is
essential, therefore permanent, and raises one forever above the
confusion and extravagance of changing fashion. Moreover, each
garment forms part of an accumulative, interchangeable wardrobe
which may be acquired at once or gradually, as a booklover
acquires books, and when complete enables the possessor to meet
every occasion with variety and charm.

BERTHA HOLLEY

Twenty-one East Forty-ninth Street
New York City
Telephone: Plaza 1495

Mason & Hamlin

The Stradivarius of Pianos

Mason & Hamlin Co.

313 5th Avenue
New York

THE
MOUSE TRAP.

TEAS & LUNCHES

We move to 3 Sheridan Square Tuesday, May the fifteenth. You are
cordially invited to have lunch, tea, or dinner. Open from
twelve-thirty to eight.

Orders Taken for Studio Teas
3 Sheridan Square

STATEMENT OF OWNERSHIP, MANAGEMENT,
CIRCULATION, ETC., REQUIRED BY THE ACT OF
CONGRESS, OF AUGUST 24, 1912.

Of THE LITTLE REVIEW, published monthly at New
York, N. Y., for April 1st, 1916.

State of New York, County of New York—ss.

Before me, a Notary Public in and for the State
and county aforesaid, personally appeared
Margaret C. Anderson, who, having been duly
sworn according to law, deposes and says that
she is the Publisher, Editor, Owner, Business
Manager of THE LITTLE REVIEW, and that the
following is, to the best of her knowledge and
belief, a true statement of the ownership,
management (and if a daily paper, the
circulation), etc., of the aforesaid
publication for the date shown in the above
caption, required by the Act of August 24,
1912, embodied in section 443, Postal Laws and
Regulations, printed on the reverse of this
form; to wit:

1. That the names and addresses of the
publisher, editor, managing editor, and
business managers are:

Publisher, Margaret C. Anderson, 31 W.
Fourteenth St., New York; Editor, Margaret C.
Anderson, 31 W. Fourteenth St., New York;
Managing Editor, Margaret C. Anderson, 31 W.
Fourteenth St., New York; Business Manager,
Margaret C. Anderson, 31 W. Fourteenth St., New
York.

2. That the owner is, Margaret C. Anderson.

3. That the known bondholders, mortgagees, and
other security holders owning or holding 1 per
cent. or more of total amount of bonds,
mortgages, or other securities are: None.

4. That the two paragraphs next above, giving
the names of owners, stockholders, and security
holders, if any, contain not only the list of
stockholders and security holders as they
appear upon the books of the company but also,
in cases where the stockholder or security
holder appears upon the books of the company as
trustee or in any other fiduciary relation, the
name of the person or corporation for whom such
trustee is acting, is given; also that the said
two paragraphs contain statements embracing
affiant’s full knowledge and belief as to the
circumstances and conditions under which
stockholders and security holders who do not
appear upon the books of the company as
trustees, hold stock and securities in a
capacity other than that of a bona fide owner;
and this affiant has no reason to believe that
any other person, association, or corporation,
has any interest direct or indirect in the said
stock, bonds, or other securities than as so
stated by her.

MARGARET C. ANDERSON.

Sworn to and subscribed before me this 9th day
of April, 1917.

WALTER HEARN, Notary Public.
(My commission expires March 30th, 1918.)

“Hello Huck!”

Recall that golden day when you first read “Huck Finn”? How your
mother said, “For goodness’ sake, stop laughing aloud over that
book. You sound so silly.” But you couldn’t stop laughing.

Today when you read “Huckleberry Finn” you will not laugh so
much. You will chuckle often, but you will also want to weep. The
deep humanity of it—the pathos, that you never saw, as a boy,
will appeal to you now. You were too busy laughing to notice the
limpid purity of the master’s style.

MARK TWAIN

When Mark Twain first wrote “Huckleberry Finn” this land was
swept with a gale of laughter. When he wrote “The Innocents
Abroad” even Europe laughed at it itself.

But one day there appeared a new book from his pen, so spiritual,
so true, so lofty that those who did not know him well were
amazed. “Joan of Arc” was the work of a poet—a historian—a seer.
Mark Twain was all of these. His was not the light laughter of a
moment’s fun, but the whimsical humor that made the tragedy of
life more bearable.

A Real American

Mark Twain was a steamboat pilot. He was a searcher for gold in
the far West. He was a printer. He worked bitterly hard. All this
without a glimmer of the great destiny that lay before him. Then,
with the opening of the great wide West, his genius bloomed.

His fame spread through the nation. It flew to the ends of the
earth, until his work was translated into strange tongues. From
then on, the path of fame lay straight to the high places. At the
height of his fame he lost all his money. He was heavily in debt,
but though 60 years old, he started afresh and paid every cent.
It was the last heroic touch that drew him close to the hearts of
his countrymen.

The world has asked is there an American literature? Mark Twain
is the answer. He is the heart, the spirit of America. From his
poor and struggling boyhood to his glorious, splendid old age, he
remained as simple, as democratic as the plainest of our
forefathers.

He was, of all Americans, the most American. Free in soul, and
dreaming of high things—brave in the face of trouble—and always
ready to laugh. That was Mark Twain.

The Price Goes Up

25 VOLUMES Novels—Stories—Humor—Essays—Travel—History

This is Mark Twain’s own set. This is the set he wanted in the
home of each of those who love him. Because he asked it, Harpers
have worked to make a perfect set at a reduced price.

Before the war we had a contract price for paper, so we could
sell this set of Mark Twain at half price.

Send the Coupon Without Money

L. R. 5
HARPER &
BROTHERS

Franklin Sq., N. Y.

Send me, all charges prepaid, a set of Mark Twain’s works in 25
volumes, illustrated, bound in handsome green cloth, stamped in
gold, gold tops and untrimmed edges. If not satisfactory, I will
return them at your expense. Otherwise I will send you $1.00
within 5 days and $2.00 a month for 12 months, thus getting the
benefit of your half-price sale.

Little Review

_Name_ ....................

_Address_ .................

The last of the edition is in sight. The price of paper has gone
up. There can be no more Mark Twain at the present price. There
never again will be any more Mark Twain at the present price. Get
the 25 volumes now, while you can. Every American has got to have
a set of Mark Twain in his home. Get yours now and save money.

Your children want Mark Twain. You want him. Send this coupon
today—now—while you are looking at it.

HARPER & BROTHERS, New York

Special Offer

JAMES JOYCE’S _A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man_
and a year’s subscription to _The Little Review_ for $2.50.

We are happy to announce that through the courtesy of Mr. Huebsch
we are able to make the following unusual offer, open to any one
who sends in a subscription (or a renewal) to _The Little
Review_:

Mr. Joyce’s _Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man_, the most
important and beautiful piece of novel writing to be found in
English today, retails for $1.50. The subscription price of _The
Little Review_ is $1.50. We will cut the latter to $1.00, for
this special offer, and you may have the book and the
subscription for $2.50. Or you may have Mr. Joyce’s _Dubliners_
instead.

This is an offer you cannot afford to miss. Send your order at
once to

THE LITTLE REVIEW
31 West 14th Street
New York City.

Foreign Subscriptions
received at English office of

The Little Review

5 Holland Place Chambers
Kensington, London, W. 8.

Transcriber’s Notes

Advertisements were collected at the end of the text.

The table of contents on the title page was adjusted in order to reflect
correctly the headings in this issue of THE LITTLE REVIEW.

The original spelling was mostly preserved. A few obvious typographical
errors were silently corrected. All other changes are shown here
(before/after):

[p. 14]:
... There was likewise a common see-saw or teeter, a green house, ...
... There was likewise a common see-saw or teeter, a greenhouse, ...

[p. 15]:
... that time connected did no arrive on the instant, he
considered ...
... that time connected did not arrive on the instant, he
considered ...

[p. 22]:
... may be. When he hears a similar Baa he pricks his ears up,
and ...
... may be). When he hears a similar Baa he pricks his ears up,
and ...

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE REVIEW, MAY, 1917 (VOL. 4, NO. 1) ***

Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
be renamed.

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright
royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may
do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
license, especially commercial redistribution.

START: FULL LICENSE

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.

Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™
electronic works

1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person
or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when
you share it without charge with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country other than the United States.

1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work
on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the
phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws
of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg™ License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format
other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain
Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
provided that:

• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has
agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation.”

• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™
License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™
works.

• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
receipt of the work.

• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right
of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™

Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.

Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.

The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West,
Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up
to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website
and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact

Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread
public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state
visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.

Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.

Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
facility: www.gutenberg.org.

This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.