November 3

It's a lovely morning; went to Tunbridge with Dr. Jones; fine evening; am to stay at Mr. Isaac Merrill's tonight.

Tuesday, November 3rd, Bailleul, 8.30 a.m.—Just going to load up; wish we'd gone to Ypres. Germans said to be advancing.

November 3, 1863

Tuesday. I made a raise of a postage stamp to-day and sent a letter home. The day has passed like all do nowadays, with little to do. But it has been pleasant, and that is an exception I am happy to make a note of. The quartermaster came in to-night with more tents, and more supplies.

November Third

FROM THE LAST-KNOWN DECLARATION OF THE NATURAL RIGHTS OF MAN! VIRGINIA, 1687

Man in marriage is said to repair his maimed side, and to regain his own rib. And the woman is then and thereby reduced to her first place.... From a rib to a helper was a happy change.

Col. John Page
(In “A Deed of Gift”)

 

 

November 3

November 3, 1880.--What impression has the story I have just read made upon me? A mixed one. The imagination gets no pleasure out of it, although the intellect is amused. Why? Because the author's mood is one of incessant irony and persiflage. The Voltairean tradition has been his guide--a great deal of wit and satire, very little feeling, no simplicity. It is a combination of qualities which serves eminently well for satire, for journalism, and for paper warfare of all kinds, but which is much less suitable to the novel or short story, for cleverness is not poetry, and the novel is still within the domain of poetry, although on the frontier. The vague discomfort aroused in one by these epigrammatic productions is due probably to a confusion of kinds. Ambiguity of style keeps one in a perpetual state of tension and self-defense; we ought not to be left in doubt whether the speaker is jesting or serious, mocking or tender. Moreover, banter is not humor, and never will be. I think, indeed, that the professional wit finds a difficulty in being genuinely comic, for want of depth and disinterested feeling. To laugh at things and people is not really a joy; it is at best but a cold pleasure. Buffoonery is wholesomer, because it is a little more kindly. The reason why continuous sarcasm repels us is that it lacks two things--humanity and seriousness. Sarcasm implies pride, since it means putting one's self above others--and levity, because conscience is allowed no voice in controlling it. In short, we read satirical books, but we only love and cling to the books in which there is heart.