Life — August 16, 1883 — page 6: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

*LIFE- RS. Alexander's “‘ Loox Berore you Leap” (Holt) is not up to her best. We should suggest “Read before you Buy” as a better title to the book. R. ISAAC FLAGG does not believe in writing verses to his mistress’s or any other woman's eye-brow. The inspirations of his muse are much more tangible things,—“ A Revolving Book Case,” “ An Oil Stove,” “A Stained Glass Window.” These are the objects which stir his soul and cause his pulse to beat. Not so Mr. Hugh Farrar McDermott. It isa “ Blind Canary,” “ The Last upon the Roll,” “The River of Time” and such like themes that move his pen. The swing of Mr. McDermott’s verse may be judged from the following lines : “ The dew of the evening came down On cottage, and village, and town: It came like a prayer on the sun-burdened air, And rested on rest as a crown.” There is no trouble about the rhyme in this stanza, but what is resting on rest? (Ginn & Heath, Boston, are guilty of the former, gin and—no, G. P. Putnam's Sons of the latter publication.) R. CHARLES DE KAY appears in the réle of editor to a volume of “Love Poems by Louis Barnaval” (App/eton's). He devotes a lengthy intro- duction to the new poet, a young man of mixed Spanish, French and Indian blood, who loved a mar- ried woman standing high in New York's social circle and who when challenged to mortal combat by the husband slew him though he aimed at the ground. “Man holds the pistol, God directs the bullet” is a Spanish proverb, so Barnaval no doubt looked upon the murder as fate. He also was wounded but died in a wretched garret in Bleecker Street rather from want than from his wound. The guilty woman fled to Europe where Mr. de Kay tells us she is still wandering in all her beauty. If the poet’s name really was Louis Barnaval de Kerlerec, society will at once recognize the victim and the victimized, as the events are said to have occured since 1872 and we cannot think that such goings-on are so common even in good society as to be altogether forgotten in ten years. The poetry of Barnaval is such as might be expected from a mad lover tinged with the blood of three passionate races, and we are not surprised to find him calling himself “a worm at the feet” of his love in one poem and in another telling her “I hate you with aslow and deadly hate.” Barnaval has certainly modeled his style on that of his editor or is Mr. de Kay masquerading as the fiery, untamed Southron ? TRIALS OF A MT. DESERTER. INTERRUPTED LETTER NO. I. Bar Harsor, ME., August roth 1883. EAR LURLIE: I have n't written before because T have been just too awfully busy for anything, and we only arrived at eleven o’clock this morning. The scenery here is just too lovely. Do you know, the first thing I saw when we landed was that hateful Carrie Van Salmon, with those same confluent freckles and that same pink hat she had at Narragansett. I just believe she came because she knew Archie was here, but I'd like to see Aim look at her—would n’t you, Lurlie dear? You have no idea how splendid it all is, By the way, mama says she hasn’t had a warm cup of tea since she arrived, and papa fussed all morning be- cause a man charged him 20 cents for changing a $20 bill. I haven't seen Archie yet, but I know he is dying to know we are here. At twelve o'clock we went down on the “ Rocks.” They are just too fasci- nating for anything. I was sitting on a rock and abig wave came in and soused me, and then papa slipped on a bunch of sea-weed, trying to save me, and the watch- maker here says it will have to be sent to Tiffany’s— papa’s watch will, I mean. It is all full of water and is awfully dented. I have just changed my dress, and mama says we must go down to dinner. Good-bye, dear! Remember your promise. Gwen. P. S.—I have n’t seen Archie yet, but I heard Carrie Van Salmon say there was a picnic or some such horrid thing at Jordan’s Pond, and I just Avow that Archie is there. Well, good-bye ! Gwen. P. S.—You know we promised to write every day. I will if you will. G. P.S.—I have just heard that Mamie Cuthbert is here, and that she and Harry Forbes have broken it off and don't speak. Don’t forget to write everything, as I will to you. G. P. S.—Maude Halcombe is here, and Mamie, who just ran in to see me, says she is flirting awfully with Harry. I caught a glimpse of Harry going off to play tennis. He did look too &://ing in his knickerbockers for anything. I don't think he misses Mamie much, but of course I would n’t tell her so for anything. Do write me at once, dear Lurlic. I am dying to hear from you about—you know who. G. P. S.—I just saw tears come into Mamie’s eyes. Poor Mamie! Write to me at once. G. 11:30 P.M. Dearest, DarLinc Lurtiz,—I have just come up from the hop, and I cannot help writing you that I have seen Archie. He came in from that horrid pic- nic just after dinner, and who do you think rushed up and spoke to him? Carrie Van Salmon— freckles and all!!! Of course Archie had to stop and speak to her—you know he is so polite, Lurlie, comicbooks.com