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Show THE DEAD ONES. (By Walt Mason.) We have grown up in the belief that all the geniuses are dead: the living writers run to beef, instead of brains, within tho head. We talk of Addison and Steele, and grow excited ex-cited d'er their charms; and as we talk of them we feel that modern scribes are false alarms. The other day, distraught and tired, I took Joe Addison, his book, and, hophig that I'd be inspired, I read it, in the ingle-nook. ingle-nook. Oh, yes, he has a graceful style as Goldsmith had, and all that bunch but you must read about a mile before you come across a punch. And Joseph's morals were O. K the output of a thoughtful dome; but he would preach for half a day, to drive one little lesson home. If I should make my screeds so long, you'd close your eyes and gently snore, or else, Impelled by sense of wrong, you'd shoot me for a turgid bore. I don't believe that he or Steels, or any other old-time bard, could sell the stuff they used to seel, today, and get 5 cents a yard. Copyright, 191G. rr . |