"THE SEEDY MAN" COMING IN BOOK FORM

ARNOLD GENTHE, PHOTO

One of the best-known newspaper writers on this coast is Peter Robertson, the veteran dramatic critic of the San Francisco Chronicle. Besides his criticism of new plays, always conservative, well-considered and founded on wide knowledge of plays and actors, Mr. Robertson for years has been in the habit of contributing to the Sunday edition of his paper a series of articles, discussing the stage, together with literature, art and other topics. These articles he has grouped under various heads, but in the latest series he has invented, as the mouthpiece of his own sayings, a unique character whom he calls "The Seedy

Man." It is this figure which serves as the title of a volume of these papers that is to be issued in handsome style this month by A. M. Robertson, the wellknown local bookseller and publisher. The book will have very striking cover illustration by Gordon Ross, an old man's head in black and white. These papers have been recast and in this new' form they will be found very attractive reading for leisure half hours. In fact, Mr. Robertson's articles are more nearly akin to the Paris feuilleton than anything which has been printed in this country. There are many traits in common between the literary Scotchman and the Gaul. In both there is the gift of style, much sentiment and the power of

enforcing truth in an agreeable way.

The Seedy Man is a Ulysses of the city pavements, who has seen much and who has the ideal philosopher's gift of moralizing without tedium. He is of uncertain age; he loves his comfortable chair at the club and his glass of toddy. Like Holmes' immortal "Autocrat at the Breakfast Table," he does most of the talking, but other characters are introduced to draw him out or to suggest new lines of thought. Among these are the Fellow in the Corner, the Practical Man, the Candid Man, the Cynic and the Sentimental Man. They really serve little more than to enliven the articles with dialogue, in the handling of which Mr. Robinson is very happy. The old man, when he has had several drinks, often indulges in sentiment which is so neatly expressed that it is never in danger of going over the line into sentimentality. Running over the heads of chapters one finds the following subjects discussed among many others: Poetry, About Women's Eyes, About Love, Some Hu

man

Weaknesses, About Outlaws and Operas, The Uselessness of Kings and About the Morbid Story. These titles will serve to give an idea of the topics which the Seedy Man discusses. The author's half-cynical humor, with clever hits at passing fads, has a Thackerayan quality that is very enjoyable.

Naturally in these sketches, covering a wide range of topics, Mr. Robertson deals much with the theater, for the playhouse is now the great means of popular recreation. Twenty years ago there was strong prejudice against the theater in many quarters and strictly orthodox people in various creeds barred the play as a source of evil. Today the number who fail to recognize the theater as one of the great means of popular education is so small as to be scarcely worthy of note. Responding to this vastly increased interest in the theater Mr. Robertson has made his Seedy Man discourse frequently on drama and music. What will be found in these sketches, often presented in mild exaggeration but none the less true, is an earnest protest against the school of dramatic art represented by Pinero in "The Second Mrs. Tanqueray" and "The Gay Lord Quex," and that other school, no less repulsive in its mixture of pessi

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mism and evil passions of which Ibsen is the leader. It would be a good service if the wise words of this veteran theatrical critic could be put in the hands of those whose tastes are forming and who have not yet reached that stage when their jaded palates require the stimulus of vice and double entendre on the stage. Of this rage for coarse novels and indecent plays, the Seedy Man says:

"I am not pessimistic. I think life has always something beautiful about it. Clouded over sometimes, yes, often; but hasn't the gray day a beauty of its own, and hasn't the storm a wild excitement? I don't know any more enjoyable feeling than to see the sun bursting through the cloud, the bit of blue sky through the breaking storm. For heaven's sake, let us keep away from the morbid study of eternal wickedness! We have been scared into a dread of living by morbid literature, by morbid plays, and the cynical sneer of baser and inferior intellects. I believe, gentlemen, this latter-day philosophy, this rank novel, this theater-libreism, comes from unhealthy brains. What do we want with false representations of abnormal conditions? All is not vice that seems to be, any more than all is virtue that seems to be. Everything is to us what we think; let us think the best of everything. Nobody was ever hurt by a little honest pleasure thrown into life; nobody ever was the worse for an honest laugh; and no time was ever wasted that put brighter ideas and pictures of the world into

our minds."

*

*

*

The Seedy Gentleman got up and reached for his coat.

"We would all be better if we could. We mean well; we may be weak. But I have never been able to see why the misfortunes and vices of the world should be the staple of novels and plays. I am weary of the play of scoundrel, lover and the weak woman; I am weary of the drama of hate and revenge; I am weary of waiting through four acts or four hundred pages for the righting of some absurd wrong, the exposure of villainy and the absolution of the innocent; I am weary of meaningless murder, and unaccountable vice; of the adventures of lunatics and criminals. And so, gentlemen, I would like to hail the drama of the future, stories of bright men and women of wit and character; life at its gayest, with music and flowers, beauty and manliness, preaching the gospel of the sunshine."

One of the best things in these sketches is a defense of America and Americans against the humorists and the caricaturists, who, to make a laugh, represent this country as given over to bribery and corruption and paint a public official as a fellow who is never so happy as when his hand is in the money bag of the federal or state government, whose salary

he is drawing. It is amusing in its broad, grotesque way, this caricature and this humor, but it coarsens the national mind, it hurts the national conscience and it kills genuine patriotism. On this the author has these wise words:

"You often hear critics wonder where foreign nations get their ideas of Americans. From ourselves, gentlemen, from ourselves! They read our literature, they see our plays, and we can't be astonished if they think Congress a huge farce, vulgarity a national characteristic, honesty a laughing stock, and that we are proud of our worst qualities."

"Oh, I don't know about that," said the Practical Man.

"We laugh at ourselves too much. It is very amusing, when you are on the inside, and understand it; but outsiders are apt to misjudge our character from our humor. If we did not constantly make a joke of corruption, of bribery, of dishonesty, of selling honor for money; if our jests about ourselves were not, for the most part, rather vulgar and even insulting, it would not be so bad. We are not supposed to laugh merrily over objectionable, low, sordid vices, unless we are willing to be accused of condemning them in some measure. The types of men we select to illustrate the humorous side of American life are not a whit less offensive than the pictures in 'Martin Chuzzlewit.' Let us forgive Dickens forever!"

"There's something in that, Old Man!" remarked the Fellow in the Corner.

"If some Frenchman or Englishman had written some of those farces or comedies or novels of ours, would we laugh at them?" "Perhaps not."

"I don't say it is not all fun with us; although we know there are such things as bribery and corruption. There may be just as much of that in other lands; but it seems to me that America is the only country where we think it is funny. Really we have to thank the foreign caricaturists; they have made all kinds of fun over our manners, but they have generously avoided the coarse characteristics and the conditions which we joke about, and which reflect on our general idea of honor. American humor, above all humor, sacrifices anything to the laugh."

These extracts will give some idea of a book that is full of wise counsel and food

for thought. It is not intended to be read continuously, but as a volume to take up in leisure half hours. I know nothing issued in recent years that is its equal in wisdom and readableness.

GEORGE HAMLIN FITCH.

Among Lippincott's October productions is a novel by Philip Verrill Mighels (now of California), entitled "The Inevitable," which is ranked high among their important books by the publishers.

Mr. Mighels' novel will doubtless be classified by many readers among the musical stories that occasionally enter the literary field, but a wider description will be required to do the volume justice. Exceptionally strong and dramatic, "The Inevitable" will stand very much by itself in this day wherein the frivolous or the merely entertaining novel holds sway so amazingly. It is a serious work, concerned with a vital question of race intermixture. In the treatment of his subject Mr. Mighels has written a tale exceptionally sympathetic and wedged full of that "human interest" which gives to fiction its unshakable hold upon the reader's nature and imagination. A beautiful frontispiece has been drawn for the volume by John Wolcott Adams.

Modern Mexico for October contains the first instalment of an article on "Cortez in Mexico," by Mrs. J. K. Hudson. John Hubert Cornyn writes of "The Corner in Mexico," and A. A. Towle of "A Pilgrimage to El Desierto." John D. Brandon contributes an article on "Papantla," a curious little tropical town given over to the vanilla industry.

"The A B C of Photography" is the title of a little text-book just issued by the Camera Craft Publishing Company, of San Francisco. It is a short and concise treatise on photography written by an amateur, Fayette J. Clute, of San Francisco, and is well calculated to interest every user of the kodak. Taking nothing for granted, Mr. Clute carries the reader through the various processes of photography, from the selection of a camera to the mounting of the finished print, in such a way that the veriest novice can appreciate and follow his teachings. The book is handsomely printed, with a distinctive cover design in red and gold. It is sold for twenty-five cents.

Mexico's greatness, as well as its picturesque value, are shown by the attention being paid to it these days by artists and writers. Among the travelers who will go into the country of Cortez on the special Southern Pacific excursion early in December are several skilful users of brush, pencil, pen and camera.

Of Interest to All

The California Promotion Committee is doing good work for the state. A book on San Francisco, by Charles Keeler, will soon be issued and one on California is under way. The Promotion Committee extends a cordial invitation to all to visit the headquarters of the committee at 25 New Montgomery street, near the Palace-Grand hotels, San Francisco. At these headquarters is maintained a reliable information bureau regarding the city and state. It is the desire of the committee to enlist the co-operation of all residents of the city, and to that end it is hoped the merchants generally will call at headquarters and see for themselves the work that is being done by the committee. It is also hoped that business men and other residents of the city will send or bring their friends who visit the city to the committee's rooms, which are conveniently located as a radiating center.

Owed to San Francisco

I love this brown old city, hill overtopping hill,

Where man may live in comfort each day an' so he will;

I love her clean, white roadways and little courts abloom,

I love her high green plazas, her wide, free elbow room;

I love those long toboggan rides from ocean to the bay

As the great cables wind and wind in some mysterious way

The way an "eastern" woman, however nobly planned,

Can never hope to half describe much more to understand!

I love her salty breezes that stir the summer

Angel Island

EDITOR SUNSET: Angel island was not named for the angels, as stated by Captain John P. Finley in the September number of the SUNSET, page 297, but was named in honor of the Virgin Mary, "Isla de Nuestra Senora de los Angeles." It was so called because it was discovered on August 2d, the day on which the church celebrated the feast of Our Lady of the Angels. Time has abbreviated the long title to its present form. KATHERINE A. CHANDLER.

San Francisco.

Dreamland

Draw thy mantle gently round me,
Fold me in thy soft embrace,
Rest, sweet rest, at last has found me
When the darkness grows apace;

All the stars are faintly shining
As the deepening shades of night
Touch the clouds with sombre lining,
Soon to fade from mortal sight.

Then there comes upon me stealing
Slumber, thrice a welcome guest,
Every sense is lost to feeling,
I, to Dreamland go in quest.
Dreamland! what a wondrous region,
Weird, fantastic realm of flight,
Goblins, spirits, friends in legion
Pass before my wandering sight:

Fancy's airy wing will flutter

O'er my busy, teeming brain, Mystic words that none can utter, Fabrics built, that are in vain.

O, my soul serenely sleeping,
Through the silent hours of night,
In my Father's care and keeping,
Wake me, for the morning's light;

Be at night my guardian angel When I sink to slumbrous rest, Dreaming of some glad evangel,

Fairer scenes among the blest.

When the evening shadows lengthen,
Slumber greet, with fond caress,
It will solace, soothe and strengthen,
And the morrow's toiler bless.
-John Bell.
San Jose, July.

A Toast

Here's to the birth of Autumn,
When Nature is in full tune;
And here's to the nuts and apples,
To the honey tree,
And the husking bee,
And the court of the harvest moon.
-Four Track News.

And Yet

There is a shadowy phantom that pursues
My waking moments, and when sleep has

set

Her signet on my brow, it lingers still,

And tinges e'en my dreaming with regret.

I cannot analyze the nameless woe,

Nor tell why I should ever grieve, and fret As through the mystic ways of life I go And long for something more, and yetand yet-!

It resurrects the long-dead dreams of youth; It brings back love with all its vague regret;

The phantom follows even at my side,

And whispers in my dreaming ear-and yet?

I cannot feel again the fresh, wild thrill
Of dead delight, so why should eyes be wet
For anything that brought me so much pain
As did that foolish time?-and yet-and
yet-

The olden time of throbbing youth is gone; Ah, why is it so hard to quite forget The days that come to us but once in life? "I will" my reason cries-and yet-and yet-Jessie Juliet Knox.

"Like One Grand Anthem"

EDITOR SUNSET: Before going any farther east I want to tell a little bit of my trip through California. It seems to me like one grand anthem, and the last and most beautiful of its chords was my trip to the Yosemite, although taken hurriedly at its close. My only regret is that I did not take more time for it.

I would say to those intending to see the beauties of California that they by no means omit the trip to the Yosemite. At the close of the first portion of the trip they want to become the guests at the Ahwahnee, which word, meaning "Deep Valley," is rightly used, the hotel nestling as it does in a deep valley, under a high state of cultivation. The interior of the hotel says "Home" to one upon entering. With its display of flowers, books and music, it is a restful spot before starting further upon the journey.

The next rest from our stage coach ride was at Wawona, which means "Big Tree," and it was from that point we took our trip to those wonderful trees, which one cannot describe; but must be seen to be appreciated.

Upon arriving at the log cabin the driver of our stage brought in a large box, which we found contained a nice luncheon provided by our thoughtful host. The caretaker of the cabin prepared the coffee in the good oldfashioned way at the fire place. This little treat, so out of the ordinary, very much added

to our pleasure, and we learned it is the usual custom on visiting the Big Trees. Our cour teous hosts, the Washburn brothers, made us very comfortable as well as welcome, and a visit with them to the studio of Mr. Hill, at evening time, was a pleasure long to be remembered.

Upon leaving Wawona, I was favored with a drive with the mail carrier, a bright, intelligent man, as were also the various coach drivers along the route, who even allowed a "kodak fiend" to become the possessor of some of the many beautiful scenes through which we passed. To describe the scenery in the valley of the Yosemite would take more time and space than I think you would care to read. One must see it to enjoy and understand it.

Entering the valley we seem to be surrounded by cliffs, which rise three thousand feet all around us, being as it were a solid wall. Strange, curious and varied are the forms these walls take; we see a profile here and a point there, resembling various objects. On one is a bas-relief bust of President McKinley, so true to life it seems as if man's hand must have sculptured it we know, however, no human being has ever been three thousand feet above us on that projecting rock.

Arriving at the Sentinel House, we were again met by a courteous host and ushered into clean, refreshing rooms with beds which were a delight to the tired traveler, as was the case at all the hotels en route. Later, the drive through the "floor of the valley" was one series of new and delightful scenes. With the Merced river and its many rapids rushing along, the brilliant blue of the sky and the wonderful clearness of atmosphere, the songs of birds, and all which tends to make nature a delight and appeals to one's sense of the beautiful were ours upon this delightful ride.

The sunset as reflected upon the water and spray of Bridal Veil falls was beautiful to see, causing the most gorgeous rainbow, deeper in coloring, wider in expanse than any ever seen in the sky after a summer shower.

The trip to Mirror lake, where we saw the sunrise in the water and the many trail trips, must all be seen to be enjoyed and appreciated. I must say, no trip to California is complete without taking in the Yosemite. One may see cities and the work of man any time; but the beauties of nature in all their grandeur are to be seen in this trip.

Upon leaving your Southern Pacific, I found the same polite attention and good treatment upon the Union Pacific with most excellent dining-car service. Throughout this trip of many months I have seen no discourteous act, heard no unpleasant word, and must repeat my former remark, it has been like one grand and glorious anthem. As Shakespeare has said, "If I should live a thousand years I never should forget it." Sincerely yours,

Denver, Colorado.

MARY F. FRANCIS.