him with a
philosophic essay. Page would have none of it. 'I know what you are
thinking of,' said Page. 'You are thinking of the barriers we set
up against you, and the handicap of your lot. If you will write
what it feels like to be a Negro, I will print that.' The result
was a paper which has seemed to me the most moving expression of
the hopeless hope of the race I know of.

"Page was generous in his cooeperation. He never drew a rigid line
about his share in any enterprise, but gave and took help with each
and all. A lover of good English, with an honest passion for things
tersely said, Page esteemed good journalism far above any
second-rate manifestation of more pretentious forms; but many of us
will regret that he was not privileged to find some outlet for his
energies in which aspiration for real literature might have played
an ampler part. For the literature of the past Page had great
respect, but his interest was ever in the present and the future.
He was forever fulminating against bad writing, and hated the
ignorant and slipshod work of the hack almost as much as he
despised the sham of the man who affected letters, the dabbler and
the poetaster. His taste was for the roast beef of literature, not
for the side dishes and the trimmings, and his appreciation of the
substantial work of others was no surer than his instinct for his
own performance. He was an admirable writer of exposition,
argument, and narrative--solid and thoughtful, but never dull. . . .
I came into close relations with him and from him I learned more of
my profession than from any one I have ever known. Scores of other
men would say the same."

But the fact that a new hand had seized the _Atlantic_ was apparent in
other places than in the _Atlantic_ office itself. One of Page's
contributors of the _Forum_ days, Mr. Courtney DeKalb, happened to be in
St. Louis when the first number of the magazine under its new editor
made its appearance. Mr. DeKalb had been out of the country for some
time and knew nothing of the change. Happening accidentally to pick up
the _Atlantic_, the table of contents caught his eye. It bore the traces
of an unmistakable hand. Only one man, he said to himself, could
assemble such a group as that, and above all, only Page could give such
an enticing turn of the titles. He therefore sat down