transplanted to a soil of vast extent and diversity, and nourished for a
time under pioneer conditions calculated to increase its democratic
aspects without impairing its fundamental virtues. It is the spirit of
truth, honour, justice, morality, moderation, individualism,
conservative liberty, magnanimity, toleration, enterprise,
industriousness, and progress--which is England--plus the element of
equality and opportunity caused by pioneer settlement. It is the
expression of the world's highest race under the most favourable social,
political, and geographical conditions. Those who endeavour to belittle
the importance of our British ancestry, are invited to consider the
other nations of this continent. All these are equally "American" in
every particular, differing only in race-stock and heritage; yet of them
all, none save British Canada will even bear comparison with us. We are
great because we are a part of the great Anglo-Saxon cultural sphere; a
section detached only after a century and a half of heavy colonisation
and English rule, which gave to our land the ineradicable stamp of
British civilisation.
Most dangerous and fallacious of the several misconceptions of
Americanism is that of the so-called "melting-pot" of races and
traditions. It is true that this country has received a vast influx of
non-English immigrants who come hither to enjoy without hardship the
liberties which our British ancestors carved out in toil and bloodshed.
It is also true that such of them as belong to the Teutonic and Celtic
races are capable of assimilation to our English type and of becoming
valuable acquisitions to the population. But, from this it does not
follow that a mixture of really alien blood or ideas has accomplished or
can accomplish anything but harm. Observation of Europe shows us the
relative status and capability of the several races, and we see that the
melting together of English gold and alien brass is not very likely to
produce any alloy superior or even equal to the original gold.
Immigration cannot, perhaps, be cut off altogether, but it should be
understood that aliens who choose America as their residence must accept
the prevailing language and culture as their own; and neither try to
modify our institutions, nor to keep alive their own in our midst. We
must not, as the greatest man of our age declared, suffer this nation to
become a "polyglot boarding house."
The greatest foe to rational Americanism is that dislike for our parent
nation which holds sway amongst the ignorant and bigoted, and which is
kept alive largely by certain elements of the population who seem to
consider the sentiments of Southern and Western Ireland more important
than those of the United States. In spite of the plain fact that a
separate Ireland would weaken civilisation and menace the world's peace
by introducing a hostile and undependable wedge betwixt the two major
parts of Saxondom, these irresponsible elements continue to encourage
rebellion in the Green Isle; and in so doing tend to place this nation
in a distressingly anomalous position as an abettor of crime and
sedition against the Mother Land. Disgusting beyond words are the public
honours paid to political criminals like Edward, alias Eamonn, de
Valera, whose very presence at large among us is an affront to our
dignity and heritage. Never may we appreciate or even fully comprehend
our own place and mission in the world, till we can banish those clouds
of misunderstanding which float between us and the source of our
culture.
But the features of Americanism peculiar to this continent must not be
belittled. In the abolition of fixed and rigid class lines a distinct
sociological advance is made, permitting a steady and progressive
recruiting of the upper levels from the fresh and vigorous body of the
people beneath. Thus opportunities of the choicest sort await every
citizen alike, whilst the biological quality of the cultivated classes
is improved by the cessation of that narrow inbreeding which
characterises European aristocracy.
Total separation of civil and religious affairs, the greatest political
and intellectual advance since the Renaissance, is also a local
American--and more particularly a Rhode Island--triumph. Agencies are
today subtly at work to undermine this principle, and to impose upon us
through devious political influences the Papal chains which Henry VIII
first struck from our limbs; chains unfelt since the bloody reign of
Mary, and infinitely worse than the ecclesiastical machinery which Roger
Williams rejected. But when the vital relation of intellectual freedom
to genuine Americanism shall be fully impressed upon the people, it is
likely that such sinister undercurrents will subside.
The main struggle which awaits Americanism is not with reaction, but
with radicalism. Our age is one of restless and unintelligent
iconoclasm, and abounds with shrewd sophists who use the name
"Americanism" to cover attacks on that institution itself. Such familiar
terms and phrases as "democracy," "liberty," or "freedom of speech" are
being distorted to cover the wildest forms of anarchy, whilst our old
representative institutions are being attacked as "un-American" by
foreign immigrants who are incapable both of understanding them or of
devising anything better.
This country would benefit from a wider practice of sound Americanism,
with its accompanying recognition of an Anglo-Saxon source. Americanism
implies freedom, progress, and independence; but it does not imply a
rejection of the past, nor a renunciation of traditions and experience.
Let us view the term in its real, practical, and unsentimental meaning.
THE UNITED AMATEUR NOVEMBER 1919
The White Ship
Howard Phillips Lovecraft
I am Basil Elton, keeper of the North Point light that my father and
grandfather kept before me. Far from the shore stands the grey
lighthouse, above sunken slimy rocks that are seen when the tide is low,
but unseen when the tide is high. Past that beacon for a century have
swept the majestic barques of the seven seas. In the days of my
grandfather there were many; in the days of my father not so many; and
now there are so few that I sometimes feel strangely alone, as though I
were the last man on our planet.
From far shores came those white-sailed argosies of old; from far
Eastern shores where warm suns shine and sweet odours linger about
strange gardens and gay temples. The old captains of the sea came often
to my grandfather and told him of these things, which in turn he told to
my father, and my father told to me in the long autumn evenings when
the wind howled eerily from the East. And I have read more of these
things, and of many things besides, in the books men gave me when I was
young and filled with wonder.
But more wonderful than the lore of old men and the lore of books is the
secret lore of ocean. Blue, green, grey, white or black; smooth,
ruffled, or mountainous; that ocean is not silent. All my days have I
watched it and listened to it, and I know it well. At first it told to
me only the plain little tales of calm beaches and near ports, but with
the years it grew more friendly and spoke of other things; of things
more strange and more distant in space and in time. Sometimes at
twilight the grey vapours of the horizon have parted to grant me
glimpses of the ways beyond; and sometimes at night the deep waters of
the sea have grown clear and phosphorescent, to grant me glimpses of the
ways beneath. And these glimpses have been as often of the ways that
were and the ways that might be, as of the ways that are; for ocean is
more ancient than the mountains, and freighted with the memories and the
dreams of Time.
Out of the South it was that the White Ship used to come when the moon
was full and high in the heavens. Out of the South it would glide very
smoothly and silently over the sea. And whether the sea was rough or
calm, and whether the wind was friendly or adverse, it would always
glide smoothly and silently, its sails distent and its long strange
tiers of oars moving rhythmically. One night I espied upon the deck a
man, bearded and robed, and he seemed to beckon me to embark for fair
unknown shores. Many times afterward I saw him under the full moon, and
ever did he beckon me.
Very brightly did the moon shine on the night I answered the call, and I
walked out over the waters to the White Ship on a bridge of moonbeams.
The man who had beckoned now spoke a welcome to me in a soft language I
seemed to know well, and the hours were filled with soft songs of the
oarsmen as we glided away into a mysterious South, golden with the glow
of that full, mellow moon.
And when the day dawned, rosy and effulgent, I beheld the green shore of
far lands, bright and beautiful, and to me unknown. Up from the sea rose
lordly terraces of verdure, tree-studded, and shewing here and there the
gleaming white roofs and colonnades of strange temples. As we drew
nearer the green shore the bearded man told me of that land, the Land of
Zar, where dwell all the dreams and thoughts of beauty that come to men
once and then are forgotten. And when I looked upon the terraces again I
saw that what he said was true, for among the sights before me were many
things I had once seen through the mists beyond the horizon in the
phosphorescent depths of ocean. There too were forms and fantasies more
splendid than I had ever known; the visions of young poets who died in
want before the world could learn of what they had seen and dreamed. But
we did not set foot upon the sloping meadows of Zar, for it is told that
he who treads them may nevermore return to his native shore.
As the White Ship sailed silently away from the templed terraces of Zar,
we beheld on the distant horizon ahead the spires of a mighty city; and
the bearded man said to me, "This is Thalarion, the City of a Thousand
Wonders, wherein reside all those mysteries that man has striven in vain
to fathom." And I looked again, at closer range, and saw that the city
was greater than any city I had known or dreamed of before. Into the sky
the spires of its temples reached, so that no man might behold their
peaks; and far back beyond the horizon stretched the grim, grey walls,
over which one might spy only a few roofs, weird and ominous, yet
adorned with rich friezes and alluring sculptures. I yearned mightily to
enter this fascinating yet repellent city, and beseeched the bearded man
to land me at the stone pier by the huge carven gate Akariel; but he
gently denied my wish, saying, "Into Thalarion, the City of a Thousand
Wonders, many have passed but none returned. Therein walk only dÊmons
and mad things that are no longer men, and the streets are white with
the unburied bones of those who have looked upon the eidolon Lathi, that
reigns over the city." So the White Ship sailed on past the walls of
Thalarion, and followed for many days a southward-flying bird, whose
glossy plumage matched the sky out of which it had appeared.
Then came we to a pleasant coast gay with blossoms of every hue, where
as far inland as we could see basked lovely groves and radiant arbours
beneath a meridian sun. From bowers beyond our view came bursts of song
and snatches of lyric harmony, interspersed with faint laughter so
delicious that I urged the rowers onward in my eagerness to reach the
scene. And the bearded man spoke no word, but watched me as we
approached the lily-lined shore. Suddenly a wind blowing from over the
flowery meadows and leafy woods brought a scent at which I trembled. The
wind grew stronger, and the air was filled with the lethal, charnel
odour of plague-stricken towns and uncovered cemeteries. And as we
sailed madly away from that damnable coast the bearded man spoke at
last, saying, "This is Xura, the Land of Pleasures Unattained."
So once more the White Ship followed the bird of heaven, over warm
blessed seas fanned by caressing, aromatic breezes. Day after day and
night after night did we sail, and when the moon was full we would
listen to soft songs of the oarsmen, sweet as on that distant night when
we sailed away from my far native land. And it was by moonlight that we
anchored at last in the harbour of Sona-Nyl, which is guarded by twin
headlands of crystal that rise from the sea and meet in a resplendent
arch. This is the Land of Fancy, and we walked to the verdant shore upon
a golden bridge of moonbeams.
In the Land of Sona-Nyl there is neither time nor space, neither
suffering nor death; and there I dwelt for many Êons. Green are the
groves and pastures, bright and fragrant the flowers, blue and musical
the streams, clear and cool the fountains, and stately and gorgeous the
temples, castles, and cities of Sona-Nyl. Of that land there is no
bound, for beyond each vista of beauty rises another more beautiful.
Over the countryside and amidst the splendour of cities can move at will
the happy folk, of whom all are gifted with unmarred grace and unalloyed
happiness. For the Êons that I dwelt there I wandered blissfully through
gardens where quaint pagodas peep from pleasing clumps of bushes, and
where the white walks are bordered with delicate blossoms. I climbed
gentle hills from whose summits I could see entrancing panoramas of
loveliness, with steepled towns nestling in verdant valleys, and with
the golden domes of gigantic cities glittering on the infinitely distant
horizon. And I viewed by moonlight the sparkling sea, the crystal
headlands, and the placid harbour wherein lay anchored the White Ship.
It was against the full moon one night in the immemorial year of Tharp
that I saw outlined the beckoning form of the celestial bird, and felt
the first stirrings of unrest. Then I spoke with the bearded man, and
told him of my new yearning to depart for remote Cathuria, which no man
hath seen, but which all believe to lie beyond the basalt pillars of the
West. It is the Land of Hope, and in it shine the perfect ideals of all
that we know elsewhere; or at least so men relate. But the bearded man
said to me, "Beware of those perilous seas wherein men say Cathuria
lies. In Sona-Nyl there is no pain nor death, but who can tell what lies
beyond the basalt pillars of the West?" Natheless at the next full moon
I boarded the White Ship, and with the reluctant bearded man left the
happy harbour for untravelled seas.
And the bird of heaven flew before, and led us toward the basalt pillars
of the West, but this time the oarsmen sang no soft songs under the full
moon. In my mind I would often picture the unknown Land of Cathuria with
its splendid groves and palaces, and would wonder what new delights
there awaited me. "Cathuria," I would say to myself, "is the abode of
gods and the land of unnumbered cities of gold. Its forests are of aloe
and sandalwood, even as the fragrant groves of Camorin, and among the
trees flutter gay birds sweet with song. On the green and flowery
mountains of Cathuria stand temples of pink marble, rich with carven and
painted glories, and having in their courtyards cool fountains of
silver, where purl with ravishing music the scented waters that come
from the grotto-born river Narg. And the cities of Cathuria are
cinctured with golden walls, and their pavements are also of gold. In
the gardens of these cities are strange orchids, and perfumed lakes
whose beds are of coral and amber. At night the streets and the gardens
are lit with gay lanthorns fashioned from three-coloured shell of the
tortoise, and here resound the soft notes of the singer and the
lutanist. And the houses of the cities of Cathuria are all palaces, each
built over a fragrant canal bearing the waters of the sacred Narg. Of
marble and porphyry are the houses, and roofed with glittering gold
that reflects the rays of the sun and enhances the splendour of the
cities as blissful gods view them from the distant peaks. Fairest of all
is the palace of the great monarch Dorieb, whom some say to be a demigod
and others a god. High is the palace of Dorieb, and many are the turrets
of marble upon its walls. In its wide halls may multitudes assemble, and
here hang the trophies of the ages. And the roof is of pure gold, set
upon tall pillars of ruby and azure, and having such carven figures of
gods and heroes that he who looks up to those heights seem to gaze upon
the living Olympus. And the floor of the palace is of glass, under which
flow the cunningly lighted waters of the Narg, gay with gaudy fish not
known beyond the bounds of lovely Cathuria."
Thus would I speak to myself of Cathuria, but ever would the bearded man
warn me to turn back to the happy shores of Sona-Nyl; for Sona-Nyl is
known of men, while none hath ever beheld Cathuria.
And on the thirty-first day that we followed the bird, we beheld the
basalt pillars of the West. Shrouded in mist they were, so that no man
might peer beyond them or see their summits--which indeed some say reach
even to the heavens. And the bearded man again implored me to turn back,
but I heeded him not; for from the mists beyond the basalt pillars I
fancied there came the notes of singer and lutanist; sweeter than the
sweetest songs of Sona-Nyl, and sounding mine own praises; the praises
of me, who had voyaged far under the full moon and dwelt in the Land of
Fancy.
So to the sound of melody the White Ship sailed into the mist betwixt
the basalt pillars of the West. And when the music ceased and the mist
lifted, we beheld not the Land of Cathuria, but a swift-rushing
resistless sea, over which our helpless barque was borne toward some
unknown goal. Soon to our ears came the distant thunder of falling
waters, and to our eyes appeared on the far horizon ahead the titanic
spray of a monstrous cataract, wherein the oceans of the world drop down
to abysmal nothingness. Then did the bearded man say to me with tears on
his cheek, "We have rejected the beautiful Land of Sona-Nyl, which we
may never behold again. The gods are greater than men, and they have
conquered." And I closed my eyes before the crash that I knew would
come, shutting out the sight of the celestial bird which flapped its
mocking blue wings over the brink of the torrent.
Out of that crash came darkness, and I heard the shrieking of men and of
things which were not men. From the East tempestuous winds arose, and
chilled me as I crouched on the slab of damp stone which had risen
beneath my feet. Then as I heard another crash I opened my eyes and
beheld myself upon the platform of that lighthouse from whence I had
sailed so many Êons ago. In the darkness below there loomed the vast
blurred outlines of a vessel breaking up on the cruel rocks, and as I
glanced out over the waste I saw that the light had failed for the first
time since my grandfather had assumed its care.
And in the later watches of the night, when I went within the tower, I
saw on the wall a calendar which still remained as when I had left it at
the hour I sailed away. With the dawn I descended the tower and looked
for wreckage upon the rocks, but what I found was only this: a strange
dead bird whose hue was as of the azure sky, and a single shattered
spar, of a whiteness greater than that of the wave-tips or of the
mountain snow.
And thereafter the ocean told me its secrets no more; and though many
times since has the moon shone full and high in the heavens, the White
Ship from the South came never again.
TO MISTRESS SOPHIA SIMPLE, QUEEN OF THE CINEMA
(With humblest apologies to Randolph St. John, Gent.)
L. Theobald, Jun.
Before our sight your mobile face
Depicts your joys or woes distracting;
We marvel at your winsome grace--
And wish you'd learn the art of acting!
Your eyes, we vow, surpass the stars;
Your mouth is like the bow of Cupid;
Your rose-ting'd cheeks no wrinkle mars--
Yet why are you so sweetly stupid?
The hero views you with delight,
To win your hand forever working;
We pity him--the witless wight--
To fall a victim to your smirking!
And yet, why should we wail in rhyme
Because so crudely you dissemble?
We can't expect for one small dime,
To see a Woffington or Kemble!
THE UNITED AMATEUR JANUARY 1920
Literary Composition
H. P. Lovecraft
In a former article our readers have been shewn the fundamental sources
of literary inspiration, and the leading prerequisites to expression. It
remains to furnish hints concerning expression itself; its forms,
customs, and technicalities, in order that the young writer may lose
nothing of force or charm in presenting his ideas to the public.
Grammar
A review of the elements of English grammar would be foreign to the
purpose of this department. The subject is one taught in all common
schools, and may be presumed to be understood by every aspirant to
authorship. It is necessary, however, to caution the beginner to keep a
reliable grammar and dictionary always beside him, that he may avoid in
his compositions the frequent errors which imperceptibly corrupt even
the purest ordinary speech. As a general rule, it is well to give close
critical scrutiny to all colloquial phrases and expressions of doubtful
parsing, as well as to all words and usages which have a strained or
unfamiliar sound. The human memory is not to be trusted too far, and
most minds harbour a considerable number of slight linguistic faults and
inelegancies picked up from random discourse or from the pages of
newspapers, magazines, and popular modern books.
Types of Mistakes
Most of the mistakes of young authors, aside from those gross violations
of syntax which ordinary education corrects, may perhaps be enumerated
as follows.
(1) Erroneous plurals of nouns, as =vallies= or =echos=.
(2) Barbarous compound nouns, as =viewpoint= or =upkeep=.
(3) Want of correspondence in number between noun and verb where the
two are widely separated or the construction involved.
(4) Ambiguous use of pronouns.
(5) Erroneous case of pronouns, as =whom= for =who=, and vice versa,
or phrases like "between you and =I=," or "Let =we= who are loyal,
act promptly."
(6) Erroneous use of =shall= and =will=, and of other auxiliary
verbs.
(7) Use of intransitive for transitive verbs, as "he =was graduated=
from college," or vice versa, as "he =ingratiated= with the tyrant."
(8) Use of nouns for verbs, as "he =motored= to Boston," or "he
=voiced= a protest."
(9) Errors in moods and tenses of verbs, as "If I =was= he, I should
do otherwise," or "He said the earth =was= round."
(10) The split infinitive, as "=to= calmly =glide=."
(11) The erroneous perfect infinitive, as "Last week I expected =to
have met= you."
(12) False verb-forms, as "I =pled= with him."
(13) Use of =like= for =as=, as "I strive to write =like= Pope
wrote."
(14) Misuse of prepositions, as "The gift was bestowed =to= an
unworthy object," or "The gold was divided =between= the five men."
(15) The superfluous conjunction, as "I wish =for= you to do this."
(16) Use of words in wrong =senses=, as "The book greatly
=intrigued= me," "=Leave= me take this," "He was =obsessed= with the
idea," or "He is a =meticulous= writer."
(17) Erroneous use of non-Anglicised foreign forms, as "a strange
=phenomena=," or "two =stratas= of clouds."
(18) Use of false or unauthorized words, as =burglarize= or
=supremest=.
(19) Errors of taste, including vulgarisms, pompousness, repetition,
vagueness, ambiguousness, colloquialism, bathos, bombast, pleonasm,
tautology, harshness, mixed metaphor, and every sort of rhetorical
awkwardness.
(20) Errors of spelling and punctuation, and confusion of forms such
as that which leads many to place an apostrophe in the possessive
pronoun =its=.
Of all blunders, there is hardly one which might not be avoided through
diligent study of simple textbooks on grammar and rhetoric, intelligent
perusal of the best authors, and care and forethought in composition.
Almost no excuse exists for their persistent occurrence, since the
sources of correction are so numerous and so available. Many of the
popular manuals of good English are extremely useful, especially to
persons whose reading is not as yet extensive; but such works sometimes
err in being too pedantically precise and formal. For correct writing,
the cultivation of patience and mental accuracy is essential. Throughout
the young author's period of apprenticeship, he must keep reliable
dictionaries and textbooks at his elbow; eschewing as far as possible
that hasty extemporaneous manner of writing which is the privilege of
more advanced students. He must take no popular usage for granted, nor
must he ever hesitate, in case of doubt, to fall back on the authority
of his books.
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