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  • 506
  • Date :
  • 4/4/2004


By: O'Henry

When The Rose of Dixie magazine was started by a stock company in Toombs City, Georgia, there was never but one candidate for its chief editorial position in theminds of its owners. Col. Aquila Telfair was the man for the place. By all the rights of learning, family, reputation, and Southern traditions, he was its foreordained, fit, and logical editor. So, a committee of the patriotic Georgia citizens who had subscribed the founding fund of $100,000 called upon Colonel Telfair at his residence, Cedar Heights,fearful lest the enterprise and the South should suffer by his possible refusal.

The colonel received them in his great library, where he spent most of his days. The library had descended to him from his father. It contained ten thousand volumes, some of which had been published as late as the year 1861. When the deputation arrived, Colonel Telfair was seated at his massive white-pine centre-table, readingBurton' Anatomy of Melancholy. He arose and shook hands punctiliously with each member of the committee. If you were familiar with The Rose of
Dixie you willremember the colonel's portrait, which appeared in it from time to time. You could not forget the long, carefully brushed white hair; the hooked, high-bridged nose, slightly twisted to the
left; the keen eyes under the still black eyebrows; the classic mouth beneath the drooping white mustache, slightly frazzled at the ends.

The committee solicitously offered him the position of managing editor, humbly presenting an outline of the field that the publication was designed to cover and mentioning acomfortable salary. The colonel's lands weregrowing poorer each year and were much cut up by red gullies. Besides, the honor was not one to be refused.

In a forty-minute speech ofacceptance, Colonel Telfair gave an outline of English literature from Chaucer to Macaulay, re-fought the battle of Chancellors Ville, and said that, Godhelping him, he would so conduct The Rose of Dixie that its fragrance and beauty would permeate the entire world, hurling back into the teeth of the Northern minions their belief that no genius orgood couldexist in the brains and hearts of the people whose property they had destroyed and whose rights they had curtailed.

Offices for the magazine were partitioned off and furnished in the second floor of the First National Bank building; and it was for the colonel to cause The Rose of Dixie to blossom and flourish or to wilt in the balmy air of the land of flowers.

The staff of assistants and contributors that Editor-Colonel Telfair drew about him was a peach. It was a whole crate of Georgia peaches. The first assistant editor, Tolliver Lee Fairfax, had had a father killed during Pickett's charge. The second assistant, Keats Unthank, was the nephew of one of Morgan's Raiders. The book reviewer, Jackson Rockingham, had been the youngest soldier in the Confederate army, having appeared on the field of battle with a sword in one hand and a milk-bottle in the other. The art editor, Roncesvalles Sykes, was a third cousin to a nephew of Jefferson Davis. Miss Lavinia Terhune, the colonel's stenographer and typewriter, had an aunt who had once
been kissed by Stonewall Jackson. Tommy Webster, the head office-boy, got his job by having recited Father Ryan's poems, complete, at the commencement exercises of theToombsCityHigh School. The girls who wrapped and addressed the magazines were members of old Southern
families in Reduced Circumstances. The cashier was a scrub named Hawkins, from Ann Arbor, Michigan, who had recommendations and a bond from a guarantee company filed with the owners. Even Georgia stock companies sometimesrealize that it takes live ones to bury the dead.

Well, sir, if you believe me, The Rose of Dixie blossomed five times before anybodyheard of it except the people who buy their hooks and eyes in Toombs City. Then Hawkins climbed off his stool and told on 'em to the stock company. Even in Ann Arbor he had been used to having his business propositionsheard of at least as far away as Detroit. So an advertising manager was engaged -- Beauregard Fitzhugh Banks, a young man in a lavender necktie, whose grandfather had been the Exalted High Pillow-slip of the Kuklux Klan.

In spite of which The Rose of Dixie kept coming out every month. Although in every issue it ran photos of either the Taj Mahal or the Luxembourg Gardens, or Carmencita or La Follette, a certain number of people bought it and subscribed for it. As a boom for it, Editor- Colonel Telfair ran three different views of Andrew Jackson's old home, "The Hermitage," a full-page engraving of the second battle of Manassas, entitled "Lee to the Rear!" and a five-thousand-word biography of Belle Boyd in the same number. The subscription list that month advanced 118. Also there were poems in the same issue by Leonina Vashti Haricot (pen-name),related to the Haricots of Charleston, South Carolina, and Bill Thompson, nephew of one of the stockholders. And an article from a special society correspondent describing a tea-party given by the swell Boston and English set,
where a lot of tea was spilled overboard by some of the guests masquerading as Indians.

One day a person whose breath would easily cloud a mirror, he was so much alive, entered the office of The Rose of Dixie. He was a man about the size of a real-estate agent, with a self-tied tie and a manner that he must have borrowed conjointly from W J. Bryan, Hackenschmidt, and Hetty Green. He was shown into the editor- colonel's pons asinorum. Colonel Telfair rose and began a Prince Albert bow.

"I'm Thacker," said the intruder, taking the editor's chair--"T. T. Thacker, of New York."

He dribbled hastily upon the colonel's desk some cards, a bulky manila envelope, and a letter from the owners of The Rose of Dixie. This letter introduced Mr. Thacker, and politely requested Colonel Telfair to give him a conference and whatever information about the magazine he mightdesire.

"I've been corresponding with the secretary of the magazine owners for some time," said Thacker, briskly. "I'm a practical magazine manmyself, and a circulation booster asgood as any, if I do say it. I'll guarantee an increase of anywhere from ten thousand to a hundred thousand a year for any publication that isn't printed in a dead language. I've had my eye on The Rose of Dixie ever since it started. Iknow every end of the business from editing to setting up the classified ads. Now, I've come down here to put agood bunch of money in the magazine, if I cansee my way clear. It ought to be made to pay. The secretary tells me it's losing money. I don'tsee why a magazine in the South, if it's properly handled, shouldn't get agood circulation in the North, too.

"Colonel Telfair leaned back in his chair and polished his gold-rimmed glasses.

"Mr. Thacker," said he, courteously but firmly, "The Rose of Dixie is a publication devoted to the fostering and the voicing of Southern genius. Its watchword, which you may haveseen on the cover, is 'Of, For, and By the South.'"

"But you wouldn'tobject to a Northern circulation, would you?" asked Thacker.

"I suppose," said the editor-colonel, "that it is customary to open the circulation lists to all. I do notknow. I have nothing to do with the business affairs of the magazine. I was called upon to assume editorial control of it, and I have devoted to its conduct such poor literary talents as I may possess and whatever store of erudition I may have acquired."

"Sure," said Thacker. "But a dollar is a dollar anywhere, North, South, or West--whether you're buying codfish, goober peas, or Rocky Ford cantaloupes. Now, I've been looking over your November number. Isee one here on your desk. You don'tmind running over it with me?

"Well, your leading article is all right. Agood write-up of the cotton-belt with plenty of photographs is a winner any time.New York is always interested in the cotton crop. And this sensational account
of Hatfield-McCoy feud, by a schoolmate of a niece of the Governor of Kentucky, isn't such a bad idea. It happened so long ago that most people have forgotten it. Now, here's a poem three pages long called 'The Tyrant's Foot,' by Lorella Lascelles. I've pawed around agood deal over manuscripts, but I neversaw her name on a rejection slip."

"Miss Lascelles," said the editor, "is one of our most widely recognized Southern poetesses. She is closelyrelated to the Alabama Lascelles family, and made with her own hands the silken Confederate banner that was presented to the governor of thatstate at his inauguration."

"But why," persisted Thacker, "is the poem illustrated with a view of the M. & 0. Railroad freight depot at Tuscaloosa?"

"The illustration," said the colonel, with dignity, "shows a corner of the fence surrounding the old homestead where Miss Lascelles was born."

"All right," said Thacker. "I read the poem, but I couldn't tell whether it was about the depot of the battle ofBull Run. Now, here's a short story called 'Rosies' Temptation,' by Fosdyke Piggott. It's
rotten. What is a Piggott, anyway?"

"Mr. Piggott," said the editor, "is a brother of the principal stockholder of the magazine."

"All's right with the world--Piggott passes," said Thacker. "Well this article on Arctic exploration and the one on tarpon fishing might go. But how about this write-up of theAtlanta, New Orleans,
Nashville, and Savannah breweries? It seems to consist mainly of statistics about their output and the quality of their beer. What's the chip over the bug?"

"If Iunderstand your figurative language," answered Colonel Telfair, "it is this: the article you refer to was handed to me by the owners of the magazine with instructions to publish it. The literary quality
of it did not appeal to me. But, in a measure, Ifeel impelled to conform, in certain matters, to the wishes of the gentlemen who are interested in the financial side of The Rose."

"Isee," said Thacker. "Next we have two pages of selections from 'Lalla Rookh,' by Thomas Moore. Now, what Federal prison didMoore escape from, or what's the name of the F. F. V. family that he
carries as a handicap?"

"Moore was an Irish poet who died in 1852," said Colonel Telfair,pityingly. "He is a classic. I have beenthinking of reprinting his translation of Anacreon serially in the magazine."

"Look out for the laws,"  said Thacker, flippantly.  Who's Bessie Belleclair, who contributes the essay on the newly completed water-works plant in Milledgeville?"

"The name, sir," said Colonel Telfair, "is the nom de guerre of Miss Elvira Simpkins. I have not the honor ofknowing the lady; but her contribution was sent to us by Congressman Brower, of her native
state. Congressman Brower's mother wasrelated to the Polks of Tennessee.

"Now,see here, Colonel," said Thacker, throwing down the magazine, "this won't do. You can't successfully run a magazine for one particular section of the country. You've got to make a universal
appeal. Look how the Northern publications have catered to the South and encouraged the Southern writers. And you've got to go far and wide for your contributors. You've got to buy stuff according to its
quality without any regard to the pedigree of the author. Now, I'll bet a quart of ink that this Southern parlor organ you've been running has never played a note that originated about Mason & Hamlin's line.
Am I right?"

"I have carefully andconscientiously rejected all contributions from that section of the country--if Iunderstand your figurative language aright," replied the colonel.

"All right. Now I'll show you something."

Thacker reached for his thick manila envelope and dumped a mass of typewritten manuscript on the editor's desk.

"Here's some truck," said he, "that I paid cash for, and brought along with me."

One by one he folded back the manuscripts and showed their first pages to the colonel.

Here are four short stories four of the highest priced authors in theUnited States--three of 'em living in New York, and one commuting. There's a special article on Vienna-bred society by Tom Vampson.
Here's an Italian serial by Captain Jack--no--it's the other Crawford. Here are three separate exposes of city governments by Sniffings, and here's a dandy entitled 'What Women Carry in Dress-Suit Cases'--a
Chicago newspaper woman hiredherself out for five years as a lady's maid to get that information. And here's a Synopsis of Preceding Chapters of Hall Caine's new serial to appear next June. And here's a
couple of pounds of vers de societe that I got at a rate from the clever magazines. That's the stuff that people everywhere want. And now here's a writeup with photographs at the ages of four, twelve,
twenty-two, and thirty of George B. McClellan. It's a prognostication. He's bound to be elected Mayor of New York. It '11 make a big hit all over the country. He--"

"I beg your pardon," said Colonel Telfair, stiffening in his chair. "What was the name?"

"Oh, Isee," said Thacker, with half a grin. Yes, he's a son of the General. We'll pass that manuscript up. But, if you'll excuse me, Colonel, it's a magazine we're trying to make go off--not the first
gun atFortSumter. Now, here's a thing that's bound to get next to you. It's an original poem by James Whitcomb Riley. J.W.himself. Youknow what that means to a magazine. I won't tell you what I had
to pay for that poem; but I'll tell you this--Riley can make more money writing with a fountain-pen than you or I can with one that lets the ink run. I'll read you the last two stanzas:

"'Pa lays around 'n' loafs all day,
   'N' reads and makes us leave him be.
He lets me do just like I please,
   'N' whenI'm in bad he laughs at me,
'N' when I holler loud 'n' say
   Bad words 'n' then begin to tease
The cat, 'n' pa just smiles, ma's mad
   'N' gives me Jesse crost her knees.
      I always wondered why that wuz-
      I guess it's cause
 Pa never does.

"''N' after all the lights are out
  I'msorry 'bout it; so I creep
Out of my trundle bed to ma's
   'N' say I love her a whole heap,
'N' kiss her, 'n' I hug her tight.
   'N' it's too dark tosee her eyes,
But every time I do Iknow
   She cries 'n' cries 'n' cries 'n' cries.
      I always wondered why that wuz-
      I guess it's 'cause
         Pa never does.'

"That's the stuff," continued Thacker. "What do youthink of that?"

"Iam not unfamiliar with the works of Mr. Riley," said the colonel, deliberately. "I believe he lives inIndiana. For the last ten years I have been somewhat of a literary recluse, and am familiar with
nearly all the books in the Cedar Heights library.Iam also of the opinion that a magazine should contain a certain amount of poetry. Many of the sweetest singers of the South have already contributed to the pages of The Rose of Dixie. I,myself, havethought of translating from the original for publication in its pages the works of the great Italian poet Tasso. Have you ever drunk from the
fountain of this immortal poet's lines, Mr. Thacker?"

"Not even a demi-Tasso," said Thacker.

Now, let's come to the point, Colonel Telfair. I've already invested some money in this as a flyer. That bunch of manuscripts cost me $4,000. Myobject was to try a number of them in the next issue-I
believe you make up less than a month ahead--andsee whateffect it has on the circulation. I believe that by printing the best stuff we can get in the North, South, East, or West we can make the magazine
go. You have there the letter from the owning company asking you to co-operate with me in the plan. Let's chuck out some of this slush that you've been publishing just because the writers arerelated to
the Skoopdoodles of Skoopdoodle County. Are you with me?"

"As long as Icontinue to be the editor of The Rose," said Colonel Telfair, with dignity, "I shall be its editor. But Idesire also to conform to the wishes of its owners if I can do soconscientiously."

"That's the talk," said Thacker, briskly. "Now, how much of this stuff I've brought can we get into the January number? We want to begin right away."

"There is yet space in the January number," said the editor, "for about eight thousand words, roughly estimated."

"Great!" said Thacker. "It isn't much, but it'll give the readers some change from goobers, governors, andGettysburg. I'll leave the selection of the stuff I brought to fill the space to you, as it's all
good. I've got to run back toNew York, and I'll be down again in a couple of weeks."

Colonel Telfair slowly swung his eye-glasses by their broad, black ribbon.

"The space in the January number that I referred to," said he, measuredly, "has been held open purposely, pending a decision that I have not yet made. A short time ago a contribution was submitted to The Rose of Dixie that is one of the most remarkable literary efforts that has ever come under my observation. None but a mastermind and talent could have produced it. It would just fill the space that I have reserved for its possible use."

Thacker looked anxious.

"What kind of stuff is it?" he asked. "Eight thousand words sounds suspicious. The oldest families must have been collaborating. Is there going to be another secession ?"

"The author of the article," continued the colonel, ignoring Thacker's allusions, "is a writer of some reputation. He has also distinguishedhimself in other ways. I do notfeel at liberty to reveal to you his
name--at least not until I have decided whether or not toaccept his contribution."

"Well," said Thacker, nervously, "is it a continued story, or an account of the unveiling of the new town pump inWhitmire, South Carolina, or a revised list of General Lee's body-servants, or what?"

"You aredisposed to be facetious," said Colonel Telfair, calmly. "The article is from the pen of athinker, a philosopher, a lover of mankind, a student, and a rhetorician of high degree."

"It must have been written by a syndicate," said Thacker. "But, honestly, Colonel, you want to go slow. I don'tknow of any eight- thousand-word single doses of written matter that are read by anybody
these days, except Supreme Court briefs and reports of murder trials. You haven't by any accident gotten hold of a copy of one of Daniel Webster's speeches, have you?"

Colonel Telfair swung a little in his chair and looked steadily from under his bushy eyebrows at the magazine promoter.

"Mr. Thacker," he said, gravely, "Iam willing to segregate the somewhat crude expression of your sense of humor from the solicitude that your business investments undoubtedly have conferred upon you. But I must ask you tocease your jibes and derogatory comments upon the South and the Southern people. They, sir, will not be tolerated in the office of The Rose of Dixie for one moment. And before you proceed with more of your covert insinuations that I, the editor of this magazine, am not a competent judge of the merits of the matter submitted to its consideration, I beg that you will first present some evidence or proof that you are my superior in any way, shape, orformrelative to the question in hand."

"Oh, come, Colonel," said Thacker,good-naturedly. "I didn't do anything like that to you. It sounds like an indictment by the fourth assistant attorney-general. Let's get back to business. What's this
8,000 to 1 shot about?"

"The article," said Colonel Telfair, acknowledging the apology by a slight bow, "covers a wide area ofknowledge. It takes up theories and questions that have puzzled the world for centuries, anddisposes
of them logically and concisely. One by one it holds up to view the evils of the world, points out the way of eradicating them; and thenconscientiously and in detail comments thegood. There is hardly a
phase of human life that it does not discusswisely, calmly, and equitably. The great policies of governments, the duties of private citizens, the obligations of home life, law, ethics, morality--all
these important subjects are handled with a calmwisdom and confidence that I must confess has captured my admiration."

"It must be a crackerjack," said Thacker, impressed.

"It is a great contribution to the world'swisdom," said the colonel. "The onlydoubt remaining in mymind as to the tremendous advantage it would be to us to give it publication in The Rose of Dixie is that I have not yet sufficient information about the author to give his work publicity in our magazine.

"Ithought you said he is a distinguished man," said Thacker.

"He is," replied the colonel, "both in literary and in other more diversified and extraneous fields. ButIam extremely careful about the matter that Iaccept for publication. My contributors are people
of unquestionable repute and connections, which fact can be verified at any time. As I said,Iam holding this article until I can acquire more information about its author. I do notknow whether I will
publish it or not. If I decide against it, I shall be muchpleased, Mr. Thacker, to substitute the matter that you are leaving with me in its place."

Thacker was somewhat at sea.

"I don't seem to gather," said he, "much about the gist of this inspired piece of literature. It sounds more like a dark horse than Pegasus to me."

"It is a human document," said the colonel-editor, confidently, "from a man of great accomplishments who, in my opinion, has obtained a stronger grasp on the world and its outcomes than that of any man
living to-day."

Thacker rose to his feet excitedly.

"Say!" he said. "It isn't possible that you've cornered John D. Rockefeller's memoirs, is it? Don't tell me that all at once."

No, sir," said Colonel Telfair. "Iam speaking of mentality and literature not of the less worthy intricacies of trade."

Well, what's the trouble about running the article," asked Thacker, a little impatiently, "if the man's wellknown and has got the stuff ?" Colonel Telfair sighed.

"Mr. Thacker," said he, "for once I have been tempted. Nothing has yet appeared in The Rose of Dixie that has not been from the pen of one of its sons or daughters. Iknow little about the author of this
article except that he has acquired prominence in a section of the country that has always been inimical to my heart andmind. But I recognize his genius; and, as I have told you, I have instituted an
investigation of his personality. Perhaps it will be futile. But I shall pursue the inquiry. Until that is finished, I must leave open the question of filling the vacant space in our January number."

Thacker arose to leave.

"All right, Colonel," he said, as cordially as he could. "You use your own judgment. If you'vereally got a scoop or something that will make 'em sit up, run it instead of my stuff. I'll drop in again in about two weeks.Good luck!"

Colonel Telfair and the magazine promoter shook hands.

Returning a fortnight later, Thacker dropped off a very rockyPullman atToombs City. He found the January number of the magazine made up and theforms closed.

The vacant space that had been yawning for type was filled by an article that was headed thus:

     Written for
A Member of the Well-known


        T. Roosevelt

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