consequently it follows that the magazine must be an instrument of good or evil effect upon those thousands of minds. Now, in this matter of horror tales, it seems to me that there is a distinct line that can be drawn. On one side are grouped the stories that are weird, gruesome perhaps, almost any type that will make the shivers run up and down the readers' spines, but—they do not include the one class that must be placed on the other side of that dividing line: the stories which fill the mind with fear of death.
"Why fear death? It is the most beautiful adventure of life!" Frohman's words when he stood on the sinking Titanic.
And anything which places in receptive minds a fear of that adventure, a terror of what awaits them in that "bourne from which no traveler returns" is an unmitigated evil.
Does that bar ghost stories? Not for a minute. Nor the depiction of evolving elemental or what have you. It bars no single type of story; it means merely that every type should be examined with that thought in mind, and every story rejected if it crosses that invisible line of demarcation between the story that may be sheer horror but leaves no buried death-fear in the reader's mind, and the other story that does have a definitely detrimental psychological effect.
And again I call your attention to the fact that this is not a criticism of your policy, for I do not yet know your policy very well; but I have taken advantage of your invitation to submit suggestions and am giving you this one for what it may be worth.—C. W. Diffin.
Likes Many Stories
Dear Editor:
Congratulations on the January number of Strange Tales. It is the best issue that you have brought out yet, and if you can maintain such a high level of excellence, your magazine will certainly be a crackerjack. I am also pleased to note that this issue contains eight stories. This is very much better than having, say, from five to seven comparatively long stories: and if Strange Tales occasionally contains nine or even ten stories it will be all right as far as I am concerned, as it will give the magazine plenty of variety.
I think "Wolves of Darkness" is one of the best weird stories I have ever read. It is told with great skill and remarkable vividness and shows us the werewolf from an entirely new angle. I found this story highly engrossing and entertaining from start to finish.
"The Door to Saturn" is a very amusing story and I had many a chuckle over Mr. Smith's fantastic drollery as I read it. I don't know whether or not the author intended this to be a satire on interplanetary stories in general, but it would do for such, admirably.
I also liked "The Door of Doom" very much as I am especially fond of stories dealing with grim, old, deserted h houses. I hope you will publish many of this kind in Strange Tales.—Paul S. Smith, 56 Berwyn St., Orange, N. J.
"Oy! Oy! Oy!"
Dear Editor:
I have read the two issues of Strange Tales so far published, and think that you have the beginning of a fine magazine. In these issues, three tales stand way out above the rest, and it is of them that I would speak a couple of words.
In the present issue, "Cassius," by Henry S. Whitehead, is remarkable. It is good, even for Whitehead, and that's saying a great deal. Dr. Whitehead is a past master at depicting the joys and sorrows and strange macabre terrors of the West Indian negro. The abnormal little evil entity, the "twin brother" cheated out of his birthright, is a grotesque, yet very pathetic conception. Certain scenes in this story stand out as vivid, unforgettable pictures. The grotesque little black abnormality scuttering across the floor, black against the white moonlight; the sinister suggestive swinging of the liana vine; the monstrosity pursuing the madly fleeing pickaninny lying crushed, bleeding and helpless, beneath the mangling and tearing claws of the cat. In the depicting of the Western Indian negro, Whitehead has no equal, and all his pictures of them have all the color and subtle shading of an exquisite oil painting. Whitehead is not merely a supreme story-teller, he has the feeling of a true artist, and I hope in the future to see a great many of his stories in S. T.
"The Place of the Pythons," by Arthur J. Burks, in the last issue, is a masterpiece. No other word will adequately describe it. I consider it worthy of Poe or Bierce. I shall take very good care that my copy of this story is not lost. Its originality of conception is unique, astounding. The man's being the python, and the python the man, is exceedingly powerful, the more so as it is not postulated or explained; it is simply taken for granted. The steaming jungle night, the warm slash of the rain, the dread of the swamp, the sinuous and sinister shapes that glide; heads upraised among the vine-clad depths and the lyrical, exquisite poetical style in which these things are narrated; all these make up a story, the reading of which is one of the events of a lifetime. I congratulate the author most warmly on having produced such a wonderful piece of work, and am certain that it will go down in history as one of the finest masterpieces of weird tales. I cannot sufficiently express my admiration for it.
"The Return of the Sorcerer," by Clark Ashton Smith, is a deliciously gruesome tale. Oy! oy! oy! if those moving parts, separated or conjoined should to-night
