Cobwebs from a Library Corner - John Kendrick Bangs (e textbook reader .TXT) š
- Author: John Kendrick Bangs
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TO
SISTER ANNE
CONTENTS
BOOKISH
A PESSIMISTIC VIEW
THE MASTERāS PENāA CONFESSION
BOOKWORM BALLADS (A LITERARY FEAST)
IDEAS FOR SALE
THE AUTHORāS BOOMERANG
TO AN EGOTISTICAL BIOGRAPHER
NO COPYRIGHT NEEDED
INGREDIENTS OF GREATNESS
A COMMON FAVORITE
THEIR PENS
AN UNSOLVED PROBLEM
THE BIBLIOPHILEāS THREAT
MY TREASURES
A POETāS FAD
THE POET UNDONE
A WANING MUSE
MODESTY
MY LORD THE BOOK
THE BIBLIOMISER
THE āCOLLECTORā
A READER
FATE!
A PLEASING THOUGHT
BOOKS _vs._ āBOOKS,ā BY A BIBLIOMANIAC
A CONFESSION
THE EDITION DE LOOKS
WISE AND OTHERWISE
NAPOLINIāS ERROR
MY COLOR
CONTENTMENT IN NATURE
THE HEROIC GUNNER
THE PATHETIC TALE OF THE CADDY BOY
GARRULOUS WISDOM
THE PERJURY OF A REJECTED LOVER
MAID OF CULTURE
NOT PERFECT
A CITY DWELLERāS WISH
WHERE ARE THEY?
MEMORIES
A SAD STATE
AD ASTRA PER OTIUM.
CONSOLATION
SATISFACTION ON READING āNOT ONE DISSATISFIED,ā BY WALT WHITMAN
TO A WITHERED ROSE
THE WORST OF ENEMIES
JOKES OF THE NIGHT
AN AUTUMNAL ROMANCE
THE COUNTRY IN JULY
MAY 30, 1893
THE CURSE OF WEALTH
THE RHYME OF THE ANCIENT POPULIST
ONE OF THE NAMELESS GREAT
IN FEBRUARY DAYS
A CHANGE OF AMBITION
MESSAGE FROM MAHATMAS
THE GOLD-SEEKERS
ODE TO A POLITICIAN
SOME ARE AMATEURS
BOOKISH
A PESSIMISTIC VIEW
A LITTLE bit of Thackeray,
A little bit of Scott,
A modicum of Dickens just
To tangle up the plot,
A paraphrase of Marryat,
Another from Dumasā
You ask me for a novel, sir,
And I say, there you are.
The pen is greater than the sword,
Of that there is no doubt.
The pen for me wheneāer I wish
An enemy to rout.
A pen, a pad, and say a pint
Of ink with which to scrawl,
To put a foe to flight is all
Thatās neededātruly all.
But when it comes to making up
A novel in these days
You do not need a pen at all
To win the writerās bays.
A pair of sharpened scissors and
A wealth of pure white page
Will do it if you have at hand
A pot of mucilage.
So give to me the scissors keen,
And give to me the glue,
And I will fix a novel up
Thatās sure to startle you.
The good ideas have all been worked,
But while weāve gum and paste
There shall be books and books and books
To please the public taste.
THE MASTERāS PENāA CONFESSION
IN my collection famed of curios
I have, as every bookman knows,
A pen that Thackeray once used.
To be amused,
I thought Iād ātake that pen in hand,ā
And see what came of itāwhat grand
Inspired lines ātwould write,
One Sunday night.
I dipped it in the ink,
And tried to think,
āJust what shall I indite?ā
And do you know, that pen went fairly mad;
A dreadful time with it I had.
It spluttered, spattered, scratched, and blotted so,
I had to give it up, you know.
It really wouldnāt work for me,
And so I put it down; but last night, after tea,
I took it up again,
And equally in vain.
The hours sped;
I went to bed,
And in my dreams the pen came up to me and said:
āHere is the list of Asses who have tried
To take up pens the master laid aside;
Look thou!ā I looked, and lo!āperhaps youāve guessedā
My name, like Abou Benās, led all the rest!
BOOKWORM BALLADS
A LITERARY FEAST
MY Bookworm gave a dinner to a number of his set.
I was not thereāI say it to my very great regret.
For they dined well, I fancy, if the menu that I saw
Was followed as implicitly as one obeys the law.
āāTwill open,ā he observed to me, āwith quatrains on the half.
They go down easy; then for soupāāit really made me laughā
āThe poems of old Johnny Gayāāhis words were rather roughā
āTheyāll do quite well, for, after all, soupās thin and sloppy stuff.
āFor fish, old Izaak Walton; and to serve as an _entrĆ©e_,
I think some fixed-up morsel, say from James, or from Daudet;
The roast will be Charles Kingsleyāthereās a deal of beef in him.
For sherbet, T. B. Aldrich is just suited to my whim.
āFor game Iāll have Boccaccioāheās quite the proper one;
He certainly is gamey, and a trifle underdone;
And for the salad, Addison, so fresh and crisp is he,
With just a touch of Pope to give a tang to him, you see.
āAnd then for cheese, Max Nordau, for I think youāll find right there
Some things as strong and mushy as the best of Camembert;
And for dessert let Thackeray and O. KhayyƔm be brought,
The which completes a dinner of most wondrous richness fraught.
āFor olives and for almonds we can take the jokes of _Punch_ā
Theyāre good enough for us, I think, to casually munch;
And through it all weāll quaff the wines that flow forever clear
From Avonās vineyards in the heart of Will of Warwickshire.ā
IDEAS FOR SALE
IāM in literary culture, and Iāve opened up a shop,
Where Iād like ye, gents and ladies, if youāre passing by to stop.
Come and see my rich assortment of fine literary seed
That Iām selling to the writers of full many a modern screed.
Iāve bacilli for ten volumes for a dollar, in a bagā
Not a single germ among āem thatās been ever known to drag.
Not a single germ among āem, if you see theyāre planted right,
But will grow into a novel that theyāll say is out of sight.
I have motifs by the thousand, motifs sad and motifs gay.
You can buy āem by the dozen, or Iāll serve āem every day:
I will serve āem in the morning, as the milkman serves his wares;
I will serve āem by the postman, or Iāll leave āem on your stairs.
When you get down to your table with your head a vacuum,
You can say unto your helpmeet, āHas that quart of ideas come
That we ordered served here daily from that plot-man down the street?ā
And youāll find that Iāve been early my engagement to complete.
Should you want a book of poems that will bring you into fame,
Let me send a sample packet that will guarantee the same,
Holding āSeeds of Thought from Byron, Herrick, Chaucer, Tennyson.ā
Plant āem deep, and keep āem watered, and youāll find the deed is done.
Iāve a hundred comic packets that would make a Twain of Job;
I have āSeeds of Tales Narcotic; Tales of Surgeons and the Probe.ā
Iāve a most superb assortment, on the very cheapest terms,
Done up carefully in tin-foil, of my A 1 āTrilby Germs.ā
So perchance if youāre ambitious in a literary line,
Be as dull as eāer you can be, you will surely cut a shine,
If youāll only take advantage of this opportunity,
When youāre passing by to stop in for a little chat with me.
You may ask me, in conclusion, why I do not seek myself
All the laurel and the glory of these seeds I sell for pelf.
I will tell you, though the confidence I canāt deny is rash,
Iām a trifle long on laurels, and a little short of cash.
THE AUTHORāS BOOMERANG
HE frowns with reason; he has always said,
āThe public has no knowledge of true art;
The book of worth these days would not be read;
āTis trash not truth that goes upon the mart.ā
And then was published his belovĆ©d workā
Some twenty-six editions it has hadā
And he his own conclusion cannot shirk:
With such success as this it must be bad!
TO AN EGOTISTICAL BIOGRAPHER
IāVE read your story of your friendās fine life,
But really, gentle sir, I fail to see,
Why you have named it āBlank, and Jane his wife,ā
When you had better called it simply āMe.ā
NO COPYRIGHT NEEDED
IāVE penned a score of essays bright,
In Addisonās best style;
Iāve taken many a lofty flight,
The Muses to beguile.
Of novels I have written fewā
I think no more than ten;
With history Iāve had to do,
Like several other men.
And still, to my intense regret,
Through all my woe and weal,
Iāve never penned a volume yet,
A foreigner would steal.
INGREDIENTS OF GREATNESS
THE style of man Iād like to be,
If I could have my way,
Would be a sort of pot-pourri
Of Poe
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