Posted to Wiretap in July 1993, as lenox.txt.

Two volumes. Both volumes are included in this file.

Italis are represented as _italics_.

There several {sic}'s in this etext due to printing
errors in the source book.

This text is in the PUBLIC DOMAIN.

                SUSAN LENOX:  HER RISE AND FALL

                              by
                     David Graham Phillips

                           Volume I

                        WITH A PORTRAIT
                         OF THE AUTHOR

                    D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
                    NEW YORK        LONDON
                             1917

                      COPYRIGHT 1917, BY
                    D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
                             ----
  COPYRIGHT, 1915,1916, BY THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE COMPANY

            Printed in the United States of America

                     DAVID GRAHAM PHILLIPS
                           A TRIBUTE

Even now I cannot realize that he is dead, and often in the city
streets--on Fifth Avenue in particular--I find myself glancing
ahead for a glimpse of the tall, boyish, familiar
figure--experience once again a flash of the old happy expectancy.

I have lived in many lands, and have known men. I never knew a
finer man than Graham Phillips.

His were the clearest, bluest, most honest eyes I ever saw--eyes
that scorned untruth--eyes that penetrated all sham.

In repose his handsome features were a trifle stern--and the
magic of his smile was the more wonderful--such a sunny,
youthful, engaging smile.

His mere presence in a room was exhilarating.  It seemed to
freshen the very air with a keen sweetness almost pungent.

He was tall, spare, leisurely, iron-strong; yet figure, features
and bearing were delightfully boyish.

Men liked him, women liked him when he liked them.

He was the most honest man I ever knew, clean in mind, clean-cut
in body, a little over-serious perhaps, except when among
intimates; a little prone to hoist the burdens of the world on
his young shoulders.

His was a knightly mind; a paladin character.  But he could
unbend, and the memory of such hours with him--hours that can
never be again--hurts more keenly than the memory of calmer and
more sober moments.

We agreed in many matters, he and I; in many we differed.  To me
it was a greater honor to differ in opinion with such a man than
to find an entire synod of my own mind.

Because--and of course this is the opinion of one man and worth
no more than that--I have always thought that Graham Phillips
was head and shoulders above us all in his profession.

He was to have been really great.  He is--by his last book,
"Susan Lenox."

Not that, when he sometimes discussed the writing of it with me,
I was in sympathy with it.  I was not.  We always were truthful to
each other.

But when a giant molds a lump of clay into tremendous masses,
lesser men become confused by the huge contours, the vast
distances, the terrific spaces, the majestic scope of the
ensemble.  So I.  But he went on about his business.

I do not know what the public may think of "Susan Lenox." I
scarcely know what I think.

It is a terrible book--terrible and true and beautiful.

Under the depths there are unspeakable things that writhe.  His
plumb-line touches them and they squirm.  He bends his head from
the clouds to do it.  Is it worth doing?  I don't know.

But this I do know--that within the range of all fiction of all
lands and of all times no character has so overwhelmed me as the
character of Susan Lenox.