Page:Weird Tales Volume 27 Issue 01 (1936-01).djvu/126



HIS magazine is the pioneer periodical devoted entirely to stories of the weird and supernatural. It has had many imitators, some of which have fallen among thorns and perished. But for more than twelve years, like Old Man River, has kept rolling along. Mixing the metaphors a little more, let us add that is still flying the flag of literary merit that has kept this periodical in the vanguard of weird magazines, far out in front of all imitators. The stories that we print are well told. They hold the readers' interest. We have printed a number of blood-and-thunder stories during the twelve years of our existence, and will doubtless print others; but it is the pride of that virtually all its stories are of high literary excellence. We will continue to print the kind of stories that have given this magazine its high fame.

Miss Gertrude Hemken, of Chicago, writes: "I have finished reading the October issue just as the November issue was out, so I'll try my durndest to give you my comments on both. Ooooooooooo (extending into a guttural growl) says I, as I rub my hands in fiendish glee over Doctor Satan. He's just about the archest of arch-fiends I've ever encountered. And then, just like a woman, I wonder if Ascott Keane will suddenly awaken to realize the great love he bears for his bewful secret'ry—just my femininity coming to the fore—yearning for romance—may sound like dribble, but that's a woman fer ye. Jes' as I set to wondering if Conan were still with us—up he pops again. Nice boy he is, of that burly he-man type that I so admire. I lose myself entirely in his adventures. Three cheers for the author! And there was Jules de Grandin last month—Sacré! how I love that little man with his quaint phrases and jumping-jack ways. Only don't let him know that I called him 'little.' From what I gather, he resents that. Northwest Smith was a treat again, too. Quite a hero, and so shudderingly did Moore tell of those smoky depths in the gal's eyes—or were they eyes? Gruesome tales of such eyes give me the willies, no less—for downright everyday life. I'll take eyes that are deep, deep blue, or even brown. I appreciate them all the more after reading such tales. Somehow I can't help comparing Clark Ashton Smith with Edgar Allan Poe. The nature of their tales is so widely different, yet the utmost detail at which both writers arrive is so similar. And to keep that detail from being boresome, the selection of words, so seldom encountered, is truly food for thought. I'm still wondering what kind of a dictionary Mr. Smith has—the words he uses are so out-of-the-ordinary. I can't find them in any of my reference books. All the more credit to you, Mr. Smith. And now that I've covered the two issues, there isn't any more criticism—good, bad or indifferent, until next month."

C. L. MacDougall, of Salem, New York, writes: "This is my first letter to the Eyrie, although I have been reading your 'unique magazine' for about two years. I became acquainted with by accident a couple of years ago. At that time I was working as a night-watchman on a construction job in a little town a few miles from Salem. I had just finished reading a popular western publication and was wondering what I was going to do with myself all night (nights are rather long sometimes watching on a job of this kind) when a young lad, who happened along, stopped in and wanted 124