From these he learnt. Poe, Whitman, Whistler, men, their recognition Was got abroad, what better luck do you wish ’em, When writing well has not yet been forgiven In Boston, to Henry James, the greatest whom we’ve seen living. And timorous love of the innocuous Brought from Gt. Britain and dumped down a’top of us, Till you may take your choice: to feel the edge of satire or Read Benett or some other flaccid flatterer. Despite it all, despite your Red Bloods, febrile concupiscence Whose blubbering yowls you take for passion’s essence; Despite it all, your compound predilection For ignorance, its growth and its protection (Vide the tariff), I will hang simple facts Upon a tale, to combat other facts, “Message to Garcia”, Mosher’s propagandas That are the nation’s botts, collicks and glanders. Or from the feats of Sumner cull it? Think, Could Freud or Jung unfathom such a sink? My hero, Radway, I have named, in truth, Some forces among those which “formed” his youth: These heavy weights, these dodgers and these preachers, Crusaders, lecturers and secret lechers, Who wrought about his “soul” their stale infection. These are the high-brows, add to this collection The social itch, the almost, all but, not quite, fascinating, Piquante, delicious, luscious, captivating Puffed satin, and silk stockings, where the knee Clings to the skirt in strict (vide: “_Vogue_”) propriety. Three thousand chorus girls and all unkissed, O state sans song, sans home-grown wine, sans realist! “Tell me not in mournful wish-wash Life’s a sort of sugared dish-wash”! Radway had read the various evening papers And yearned to imitate the Waldorf capers As held before him in that unsullied mirror The daily press, and monthlies nine cents dearer. They held the very marrow of the ideals That fed his spirit; were his mental meals. Also, he’d read of christian virtues in That canting rag called _Everybody’s Magazine_, And heard a clergy that tries on more wheezes Than e’er were heard of by Our Lord Ch.... J.... So he “faced life” with rather mixed intentions, He had attended country Christian Endeavour Conventions, Where one gets more chances Than Spanish ladies had in old romances. (Let him rebuke who ne’er has known the pure Platonic grapple, Or hugged two girls at once behind a chapel.) Such practices diluted rural boredom Though some approved of them, and some deplored ’em. Such was he when he got his mother’s letter And would not think a thing that could upset her.... Yet saw on “ad.” “To-night, THE HUDSON SAIL, With forty queens, and music to regale The select company: beauties you all would know By name, if named”. So it was phrased, or rather somewhat so I have mislaid the “ad.”, but note the touch, Note, reader, note the sentimental touch: His mother’s birthday gift. (How pitiful