The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, August 18, 1895, Page 17

p THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, AUGUST 18, 1895. ¥ (AT LR AR L ! mm | AT rfl‘n‘” "':,’1'1',’.” propriate literary départment, the wealth of fiterary « preciated‘abroad. In evidence of may.-be cited the T r letter. written by Wal Hatte | to one of THE CALL'S contr I.am'mueh intercsted in your work in TEE CaiL and in the gro s and writers you'are in touch w . It seems from what I see of hich I tead with o get con- interest, that the ed siderable: literary. T st unusual -and f-the Olym- I hope I e generous “THE CALL’S” .#OF S awd AR ookmakers, A DEPARTMENT LITERARY APPRECIATION - suaded will afford pleasure to a large num- ber.of thoughtful readers. A JOURNAL INTIME. This is what the projectors of Moods, the new quarterly, call their quaint publica- tion.. They fartner tell us that it is a publication “wherein the artist and the athor pleaseth himself.” The inference however, that these worthies have also pleased the editor of Moods, else, we pre- sume, they had pleased themselves in private. The keynote of Moods is youth. This, Eerhaps, goes without saying, for moods elong essentially to youth, along with melancholy, which, if our artistic expres- sion goesforaught, is essentially the pre- rogative of youth. g s t is well to please one’s self, if, indeed, the true artist can ever accomplish this, and doubtless Philip Hale pleases himself when he spells “dilletante,” and E. St. Elmo Lewis may gratify an impulse of waywardness when he says ‘I confess it was not me”; but we submit that, while artist and author may be accorded the ex- emption from criticism which they claim, the proofreader should not have been al- lowed to please himself. 2 25 The best thing about Moods is the entire seriousness with which it takes itself. This seriousness is in reality the only artistic thing in the book. Thejillustra- tions are for the most part rather tenta- tive essays in various directions than genuine expressions from artists who have heard their message and comprehended its meaning. Joseph Gould Jr., has a portrait of decided merit, but there is scarcely another picture in the volume that shows definite grasp of an idea. But ideas are, herhaps, no essential part of moods. The {immrv work is somewhat better. Blanche Dillaye has a vision, in chapters, which she calls “The Tube of Truth,” which is full of literary and artistic veracity. E. PUSTER. [Sketched by Kahler.] e then any of the papers we have on, which are swamped with out- s and murders. Joaquin Miller’s vraise- of the dear old mento River will be enjoyed by every ornian 'who-is worthy of the name. deep debt of gratitude due from the and Nation to this noble stream can- be overstated. The.poet of the Sierras n"a glimpse of theglories of the his = Tiver’s pa future bless ngs for the people. Last ‘automn a. remarkable book .ap- peared in Boston that has since engaged A French Poster. considerable attention. It is pre-emi- nently a book beloved of writer folk. Zanigwill; Richard Le Gallienne,and the critic.-of . Public Opinion in London; Ham- ilton Mabie, Brander Mathews and others in‘this‘country hailed the quaint little vol- ume of ““Meditations in Motley” as witness that the art of essay-writing still survives in-America. Walter Blackburn Harte, tHe .author of thesé *Meditations,” is yet quite & young man with, it is evident, a literary future. ‘He has lately essayed fiction, and has tried the tiovel experiment of ‘treating it as sub- jectively-as- he treats life in his‘Medita- tions.” : ‘THE ‘CALL - publishes to-day a sketch by him, in which the drama’ is en- tirely one of ‘mental processes, as - dis- tinguished ‘from physical activities of life. .It is an unusual sort of studyand one which we are per- history, with. a prophecy of its | the more transitory, | 8t. Elmo Lewis’ sketch, “The Confessions of an Egoist,” isalso noteworthy, albeit itissadly given to wordiness. This, in- deed, is the trouble of most of the con- tributors to Moods. ‘“The thoughts of youth are Jong, long thoughts,” and the temptation of youth is to indulge in gar- rulous expositions thereof. We combat this tendency in middle life, warned by experience of the shortness of the years, and only in the gentle leisure of age do we feel that we may again vield to it. But Moods is not without that promise which excuses its existence. Unquestion- ably there is a necessity in these days for a series of independent publications. - They are essential to the keeping alive of literary and artistic independence. The Yellow Book, weird and yellow though it be, The Chap Book, The Philistine, even that jolly little local joke, The Lark, are valuable as they stand for protest, each in its way, against the solidifying tendency of prosperous, artistic respectability. To-day, as when Browning wrote: It were better youth Should s through acts uncouth, g, than repose on aught found And if youth’s wobbly, somewhat strad- dling, efforts to stand alone shock conserva- tive susceptibilities, we may console our- selves with Josh Billings’ thoroughly philosophic reflection that *‘the conserva- tism of most folk is nothing but their radicalism gone to seed.” [The Jenson Press, 810 Sansom street, Philadelphia.] PERPETUAL YOUTH. There isa great deal of common-sense, along with a vast amount of nonsense, in this little book of Eleanor Kirk's. There can be no doubt but that most of us grow old prematurely. Equally, there must exist in most minds'a doubt as to whether perpet- ual youth is a desirable thing. To most useful men dnd women the signs of ad- vancing years come as honorable scars, re- ceived in the battle of life, and the “mind- vour-own-business” policy preached by Eleanor Kitk as the essential preservative of youth and beauty is a deadly one in a world where society and not the individ- ual is the chief consideration. At the same time, any Frote:t against the en- grossing whirl of our modern civiiization i1s timely, and. the woman—Miss Kirk’s book is written for women—who will take the author’s advice, to the tranquilizing of her mind, will find it very efficacious in postponing the evil day, if it be an evil day, of silvered Jocks and_wrinkles. [Brooklyn, N. Y.: The Idea Publishing Company.] THE WORM THAT COEASED TO TURN. As a chip thrown overboard, so to speak, tonote the progress making by our social bark, this little book by Gorham Silva is very significant. It is an exceedingly re- alistic picture of certain phases of New England life in the early thirties. David Converse, a well-to-do elderly bacbelor, driven.to desperation by the depredations of a shiftless “‘hired” housekeeper, marries a girl from the poorhouse and brings her home. She is a nameless waif, born in the poorhouse, reared among its associations and wholly unable either to read or write. Ignorant and wicked she leads her hus- band ‘‘a dance,” as the countiy phrase goes, that reduces him evemual{y 1o beg- gary. The story is unspeakably squalid, and the only comfort to be derived from it lies in the reflection that the world has moved since David Converse's day. We have grown in wisdom and in the humani- ties. The sheer brutality of that respecta- ble community’s dealings with its pauper element could probably not be equaled in any backwoods settlement in the land to- day. That there still are men as weak as David Converse, and women as wicked as Bethesda Blow, is probably true, but that there exists anywhere to-day a community so steeped in ignorance and brutal disre- gard for the higher humanities is doubt- ful. The story is in its way a powerful and certainly an interesting one. [New York: J.S8.Ogilvie Pubiishing Company.] THE SALOON-KEEPER'S LEDGER. A series of temperance revival discourses by the Rev. Louis Albert Banks, D.D., in which he dwells upon the enormous drain, mentally, merally and financially, that A Poster of Sarah Bernhardt. the saloon-keeper is upon the Nation’s re- sources. The book has an introductory chapter by Theodore L. Cuyler, D.D. [New York: Funk & Wagnalls Company.] “Spanish in Spanish,” by Louis Duque, late instructor in the Leland Stanford Jr. University. This work is based on purely scientific principles by which the student is enabled—through a gradual elimination of English, and while mastering the essen- tials of the language—to think and ex- press himself first in English-Spanish, then in Spanish-English, and finally purely in Spanish. In the first part all parts of speech are fully treated with the proper syntactical, prosodical and orthographical observa: tions. In the second part syntax is brought to bear on points not governed by a law common to English and Spanish. In the third part the most perfect prosodv of living languages is reviewed, and in the fourth part the principles of Spanish pho- netic orthography are set forth. The ap- pendix includesa complete and important list of words that are constructed with prenositions, a treatise on Romance phil- ology in general but especially in Spanish phonetics and an exhaustive vocabulary. Published by Allen & Bacon, Boston; for sale by Cunningham, Curtiss & Welch, 327 Sansome street, and Whitaker & Ray Co., 723 Market street. The poster craze is still raging. In this interesting domain of art THE CALL has presented a new creation. A fac-simile of THE CALL’s poster in black and white is ¢ Are you an expert P ’—Printers’ Ink Poster. presented to-day. Several other specimens of poster work are also given. Collectors of posters will find a limited number of copies of Tne CALL'S posters at the main business office, 710 Market street. I. E SHAIN'S AFFATRS. A Garnishment Served on the Complaint of W. Rigby Jr. As the latest development of the finan- cial troubles of Collector J. E. Shain, a garnishment was yesterday served on the California Title Insurance and Trust Com- pany to cover a claim of $536 16 preferred by W. Rigby Jr. Mr. Rigby belongs to the Commercial Agency, and in the matter is an assignee of Macondray & Co. for $386 16 and A. Schilling & Co. for $150, representing in each case money collected, for which, with interest and costs, hs is suing. Mr. Rigby stated that the garnishment was against the equity of the disposition of property valued at $12,000, transferred on May 29 by Shain to the California Title Insurance and Trust Company. He added that Shain had issued orders against the $12,000 to secure 65 cents on the dollar of hisliabilities while he had offered to se- cure the remaining 35 cents on his personal note. At Sheriff Whelan’s office it was stated that Shain was still in business. A pre- vious attachment had been issued against the Continental Insurance Company to cover a claim for $289, but it was contended that the property attached wasexempt and should be released. D. A. Curtin, attorney for J. E. Shain, said that he had not yet investigated his client’s affairs and was only prepared to admit that Mr. Shain owed money. His assets were in such shape that he could not tell whether they would be sufficient to cover the liabilities or not. He could not hazard an estimate of the latterat present. He had given several orders on the property in the hands of the California Title Insurance and Trust Cox:?anrv, but that method had been stopp n the meantime Mr. Shain was continuing his business. The knightage ceremony at Windsor was a long affair. In the case of Sir Henry Irving, the Queen is seid to have_shown A POSTER BY JOHN SLOAN. marked interest. According to a London paper, in this case alone were added the words, “I have very much pleasure.” | say no more, Wilkins. ‘Trne CURE oF Entrusiasm. BY WALTER BLACKBURN HARTE. The poet stood leaning against the door- jamb, in the ballway leading up to the editorial rooms of the Sentinel, apparently loafing and blinking in the sunlight. One step below him the crowd meved to and fro, but his head was thrown back, hischin elevated above the level of the heads of the passers-by and his eyes were fixed upon the patch of blue sky that showed above the cluster of roofs, where the narrow, serpentine thoroughfare was lost to view in one of its many turns, and apparently ended in the fantastic ugliness of sky- scraping buildings. The busy throng, staring and e!bowing and pushing on the pavements, held no face or gleam of color or moving interest to catch and hold his incurious, dreamy eyes, and the unceasing rattle and rumble of the traffic, punctured every few minutes by the sharp, jarring clang-clang of the electric bells of the string of creeping cars, only made a dron- ing accompaniment to his stirring, roving thoughts. He had descended the long dusky stair- way with the slow uncertain step of a man stricken with pain. His heart and mind were filled to stifling with fury and bit- terness at some fresh indignity put upon him in the horrible trade he loathed but was compelled to engage in from neces- sity, and that strange quirk of intellectual incapacity for business so common among men with the esthetic temperament and creative imagination. He was bitterly con- scious of this lack of adaptability as a weakness, and cursed himself and his fate athousand times a day ; but he had learned from experience that he could not cope with other men in the cunning and shrewdness necessary in the world of affairs, and he shrank from every contact with its grim realities. And all his dreams of giving his life to literature were long ago dis- pelled by his knowledge of the actual de- mands and requirements of the literary shop. But yet poetry and beauty and truth were the supreme, the real, things in life to him, and he could not divorce his mind and_ his life from thoughts of the beauty and the mystery and poetry that filled the sad old world—even this world of trifies and tragedv—that it seared his heart to be obliged to chronicle every day. And so all the time he was fascinated and tortured by the show of life, and every day’s round of trivial interests broke his spirit anew on the wheel. But when the rich, luminous glow of the day—the tender caressing sunshine of early summer—en- wrapped and filled him_with the strange fickle passion. of mere life, more potent for the moment even than thought, the tumuit of wild and desperate Tesolves that racked his mind and gave place to the memories of old days filled with dreams and sun- shine, whose greatest sorrows were the pains of clamorous hopes deferred. Thus, finding some solace for the ills and deprivations of the present in the half ob- livion of recalling the old sorrow of those early hopes, whose fulfillment long habit had ‘duliea and diminished and made half unreal, he crossed the street to spend an hour in the Old Corner Bookstore finger- ing the books he intended to buy and read in the far-away leisure of Lotusland that was to be his when his own works should be read and famous and all his days his own to squeeze the soul out of life and weave all he had lived into the fantasies which haunted his imagination. He smiled at the thought. Itwas too late now. His ambition was gone. He was enchanted with tne unconquerable sloth that comes of debasing and frittering away the mind and imagination in the vulgar travesties of literature and the long sorrow that is inconsolable for its lost past of prime. His love of books and literature, however, survived his ambition, and in the happiest and most oblivious moods he en- joyed little snatches of the triumphs of | others, and this privilege was accorded him at the Old Corner. As he entered the store one of the clerks with whom he was on friendly terms nod- ded a **Good-morning” and said laughingly, “That was a clever sketch of yours in yes- terday’s ‘Golden Era,’ Clifford. The whole town is talking of it. Old Judge | Hawkins was in here and guffawed aloud over it, and you know twenty such men ossiping here make public opinion.” “‘Ah, then the villainy may yet reach the ears of the gods, and I shall be damned in another world as well as in this. ’Sh! These small noises carry too far, while they last, nowadays— and drown zll the articulate utterances of the time. That is the irony of enfranchis- ing the million wits to give them the ireedom of the achievements of the world of poets and men of science; the end is the obstruction of thought in the flippant, lecherous desire of 10,000,000 empty heads. Our newspapers are mirrors for 10,000,000 despots who, from ruling the hearthstone, now rule the world of thought. Let magis- trates take heed that the mere blackboard schoolmaster and his muddled devils do not prosper too long at the expense of free thought and poetry, beauty and imagina- tion, the state and civilization. With the eclipse of beauty comes complacency, ab- sorption in the peity hour, the diminish- ing of all ideals, a rupture with tradition, a break in the historic consciousness of a civilization of mere getting and mechanism without meaning or morality—anarchy! But whatever is, is right, of course, and especially inevitable in a democracy. My generation’s about slipped away, anyway, and after me, the deluge! So let us have a look, won’t you, at this new poet I see heralded in_the London papers. What's bhis name? Murchison. It may be I can make a little story out of him for the Sun- day paper.”’ e was glancing through the uncut pages of the dainty London book, when a familiar voice at his elbow gave him a little start, and he turned tosee Miss Abby Wilbourne smiling up at him. “And why were you not at Mrs, Brad- deck’s reception on Thursday? I have not seen you there once this season, and you must confess they are really more amus- ing than most occasions of the sort in Bos- ton. 1 looked for you especially last week, and only gavadyou up at the last moment, though I could have known better. You are such a recluse.” These two were well acquainted, and Clifford knew that Miss Wilbourne was neither a prude nor a mmsletou—the two things he most abhorred —but a very clever and moreover kindly and sympa- thetic little woman, as well as a pretty one. That is, he thought her pretty, for he thought the greatest beauty in life was an animated intelligence; and she was one of those rare women who set all wits ablaze, not with conscious striving to shine herself, but by the fine tact thatis the height of humanity and charity. He dropped his voice a little and inter- rupted with 2 soft laugh, “I am not a re- cluse, Miss Wilbourne, but in the world, and too much of it. On the go, on the go all the time, for the devil.”’ “In the world, yes; but not of it, I know. But a little society of another sort—a little distraction—would do you good. Your pet amusement, «‘The Fantastic,’ was there on Thursday, with all the brazen ef- frontery of sober innocence. He asked after you, but I knew not whether you were living or dead. I did not expectsuch fortune as this so soon.” “It is very agreeable of you to put it that way.” “Well, you know I mean it. Life is too short for one to go out of one’s way to disslemble." e P suppose e Fantastic’ monopolized you the whole afternoon ?”” s “More or less—perhaps—yes. The fact is, yes. But he should not have done so if yeu had been there.” He looked at her with his eyes a little more a-sparkle than they had been before, although he always lighted up in her so- ciety. “You have a tantalizing way of putting a pretty thing that makes all other women who sit merely at the receipt of custom in social intercourse seem but stone images. And your good things are spoken with a bewitching candor that puts truth into bad odor.” “Oh, but I'm quite sincere: I had ever so many things I wanted to talk to you about—my head was full of them—but they're all gone now. I am airaid I spoiled the ‘Fantastic's’ afternoon, for I kept him by me all the time. He isa great admirer of yours— and, well, I won’t say what he says of your work. Ithink his one and only error in crit- jcal judgment lies in taking himself so seriously. And—oh! but we can’t talk here. Everybody’s staring at us. Are you too much engaged or preoccupied to carry my book for me across the Mall?” “I have all the morning to loaf in, and you know I am always delighted —"" She laughed and handed him the book and led the way out of the store. Lifting her skirts to descend the two steps to the_street she looked over her shoulder at him and said: “And so, sir, itis here you spend your busy days. You are deliihled, of course, and all the rest of it—but youn have not been to see me for weeks, and only just across the Mall, too.” “Indeed,” he protested, “you can have no idea of how busy and distracted I have been.” They sauntered slowly up School street, stop- géng for a §limpse of the foreign books in hoenof’s window. “Oh, I have been reading your ‘Confessions of & Busy Man’ in_the ‘Merry-Go-Round,’ and I suppose that explains everything. Ilaughed myself into quite a tragical mood over it. But still I think you might make an exception in my fayor.” He bowed and said in great good humor, “I have always held that literature is worse than petty larceny as a secure and reputable occu- pation—but T perceive it Las some compensa- tions.” “‘And they are?” “Oneis, in this particular instance, that it helps to make my unworthy self persona grata to lh very charming goddess—and a witty one at that.” “I can’t imagine a goddess with wit—and I fear the majority of men would not ngprecinte her. Wit and dignity appear so much at vari- ance, because stupidity sits on the bench and in the jury-box. ButI hope you don’t regard me as a goddess, either humorously or seri- ously—though I know there is no danger of the latter.” “I assure you I have always found you a veritable Minerva; but, thank heaven, one with & keen sense of humor that, however, has not ruined the perception of the poetic. Ido not know why I should not seriously regard you as a goddess.” ‘‘Please don’t. I have a variety of reasons for wishing to remain a_ mortal, and one is the only goddess I ever knew at all intimately ‘was a Diana in gray stone at the end of my grandfather’s garden. One of the boys chipped her nose off because he averred she Jooked up- pish. I thought she only looked forlorn—par- ticularly so about dusk. “So to make & goddess of me might reduce me to a worse plight than the stone images you speak of in such an un- complimentary fashion. Besides I take a con- siderably keener delight and interest in life as an emancipated, independent spinster—hap- pily born in the century of & glimmering com- mon-sense.” “And you are one of the very few mortals, men or women, I know who make common- sense & haven of refuge for the spirit from the sordid game of survival instead of a hideous profanity of life. And for what are we all so anxious to survive? Our lives are ordered as if men had settled forever that the mind was mere mechanism, ineapable of questioning, and the spirit a delusion. The sole good an market of our time is to eat and sleep—to answer Shakespeare’s question.’” They were half way across the Common and had stood for & moment watching a little boy launch his toy boat on the frog pond. It sailed out with a favoring breeze and then got be- calmed in the middle, and the boy became greatly excited, The two looked on half smiling, she sank down upon one of the & benches under a great elm. “Oh, life is not so black as that,” she said, looking across the sunlit water. *The modern world has reached some plane of pity, sympa- thy, sentiment—a vague sense of moral obliga- tion,and it is growing. The world 1s slowly becoming a better place to live in.” *‘Ot course that is so, and I should be wise enough at 40 to keep the mere social circum- stance that makes thought an irony of spirit to the poet separate and distinet fn my mind from the cosmic cycle of events swinging in the slow grooves of human life. But it is diffi- cult for & man not to imagine his own mind the center of the universe. Once admit to yourself that you are but a fiy on the wheel of some unknown power, and life seems to have lost all meaning and purpose. We are the creatures of strange vanities.” ““Is this optimism—or what? It is horrible to me. It seems that taking the philosophic view of life throws one off the pivot of one's own identity. If we are but the creatures of accident, the pawns of inflexible laws, and our minds but mirrore of delusion, then ignorance is bliss indeed. 1f we all have to renounce the part we would play—give up hopeand love and the passions of the spiritand mind as mockery— what can the advance of knowledge and reason hold for us? To be more and more assured that we are but pawnsin a game of eternal blind forces is to make reason the irony of an unthinkable malevolence.” “It is men and not nature who make reason a curse. Reason, lifted above the cosmic struggle, should have been our consolation. But as long as reason only conducts a war upon necessity, mistaking mere superfiuity for Punce, we are all food for powder in the merei- ess conflict of nature’s game. If we cannot effect the moralization of intellizence—and the facts show we cannot hope for such a miracle—necessity, that was intended as the mere spur of reason, becomes the eternal jailer of all that is beautiful and real in human life. This is the trn?(c thing in life; but one is thought to be mad if one feels the burden of it. So we must live out our time in the ring as cheerfully as possible and recognize that reason but embitters the greater cosmic game that holds the destinies of all,” “But this serene acquiescence in the acci- dents of fortune leaves one’s heart and mind benumbed. The demands of the world of men and then W wooden — are not surely the decrees of the unchangeable laws of nature? Everything in life seems meaningless 1f we merely drift with the tide without aim or purpose. It makes this an en- chanted world, in which all reo(.rinue that they are prisoners, but dare not break their bonds.” “‘The world’s governed by the paradox of in- exorable, inevitable law and chance. At 40 & man should be a stoic—or he can hardly es- cape being a fool. I hope, since the grim fcci- dent of poverty will not allow of my being a poot :g{.cz"u least necessity has taught me to “Oh, but I hope to see you give the devil the slip one of these days, snd then—ah, I wonder if then you would be happy.” “At 40 years of age I cannot afford any longer to delude myself with 3 o’clock in the morning milleniums. That credulity was the error of my youth, which misled me into Grub street und for twenty years has made me the ‘mock of dreams.” I lived on 3 o’clock in the morning millenniums for years, but one must reluctantly come to wisdom. I take the world as I find it now, and deny myself even the ratification of the spleen. When one’s youth s gone one can play the game with more equanimity, and in such moments as these, in an eddy, with the world roaring around, one can feel something of the amused interestof a spectator. But at 40 one is looking for the cure of enthusiasm and not for its repair.” She felt something tighten about her heart and turned to him impulsively, and then looked in silence across the pond at the toy boat becalmed in the middle, and thought how it typified his life. e was watching some sparrows hopping around the water’s edge, picking about for food and bathing themselves in some puddles; but her movement caused him to glance round at her—and for some reason she flushed. “In such a sunlit world as this it almost seems, with a first glance around, that we counld trust ourselves wholly to God and nature, with- out fear of the morrow.” “Yes,” she answered, smiling at his fancy. “It is all very beautiful and calm, with its mausie and light and motion. Those little spar- rows there are at peace with all the world; they carry no burden of spiritual sorrow, an: nature is On}f & kind mother to them.” He laughed in & strange, hali-mocking way that grated upon her ears,and caused her to look up at him sharply. “At peace! Look at the little British beggars fighting and beating those bluebirds. One would suppose that with the whole earth and sky, and the dominion in the treetops between earth and sky open to them, they had room enough to go their way, and find their food and shelter without collision. But they are our pla{lellow! and com‘pnnions in the grim game of nature and don’t know how large is their world—only how keen is their momentary necessity. All life preys upon life. The strug- gie for existence is being waged among the silent weeds at our feet, among the bright nod- ding flowers over yonder, among these trees towering serenely above our heads—even be- tween the beasts and the vegetable world. The trees are symbols of fully developed beauty, growth and peace. But the beech and the birch, the oak and the fir, for all their maj- esty and tranquility, are engaged in a murder- ous warfare and starve each other without mercy. The conflictis unceasing throughout all nature, and even the inorganic elements participate in it. For man alone is there & refuge, and that is in the mind of man. We are capable of reasoning, of reflection, of gain- ing knowledge from accumulated experience, of prevision. Organized intelligence could strip the cosmic process for us of half its ter- rors and severity, but the vain imagination of greed has made reason the greatest curse of existence. It is the mind of man and not the cosmic process that enslaves our thoughts. And in summing up the bitterness of life we should remember this. Only stoicism is possi- ble—and that is difficult without epicurean satisfactions. Thus the cosmic idea of the mil- lions pins us all down to the bitter round of the shop, and_insight can no more escape the grim game of these perverted imaginations than itcan escape the bare necessities of na- ture upon which it is all reared. Itis a game of desperation. The mind in possession of itself can only hold the solace of a serene acquiescence in the unknown ultimate ends of the unknowable eter- nal intelligence. It is not the mere neces- sity of nature that makes the irony of free will, for free will is nurtured in necessity. It is simply the greed of man that has made free will a very motley of servitude. But God and nature are indifferent to thought and passion, and so we must play the smaller game of men as if it were the greater. We are abandoned to the merciless tyranny of each day's physical necessities, and so as the everyday round of life is governed by the dogmas of unholy fan- tasy and_the knowledge of nature is ignored or but adds & touch of bitterness, we can rea- son out the fatuity of the game, but must play it as if blindfolded, and get our wits and pock- ets picked. We all acknowledge free willasa matter of speculative philosophy, but we aban- don free will for bed and board and the priv- ilege of hopping with clipped wings in the ring of civilized society. Itisamyth of polite card parties; it is the trump card, the honors of the world of erime, but is severely forbidden to respectability. Ah, itis all a game,and a sad one, even for those who gain the hazardsof chance at the start. We must learn to accept the inevitable.” “That makes life a gloomy business, although it may be true. For myself I must cling to the idea that life has some moral purpose and mind and emotion, for we must be superior to any fortuitous circumstance, either of the so- cial world or nature. And then nature does not let us all discover that we are the sport of chances and purposes more gross than our high hopes. It would be unbearable to believe that our thoughts, our aspirations and emotions were all hopelessly imprisoned and rendered impotent by our mere bodily needs.” “'Tis so. Ineed but little more than the sparrows, but I have to give up all my thought and life for that little. Ipay a heavy price for mere existence, and cannot help envying the sparrows; for though they are in the game with the rest of us they are happy in the satis- faction of their instincts and carry no burden of futile thought and passion.” “But our one sublime compensation is that 2;“ Ehe possession of reason we are assured of 0d.” “Ah, no; God is canght imfiwtent in the game. He can only secure good through evil—a bad necessity, which gives us the pain and life as we see it—whichever way we turn. There is a lust in nature that impels us all to seek more than abundance and so cheat ourselves.” “Well, T must cling to the idea of a God su- perior to the game. And then, too, there is another factor in life that is only at its highest perfection in the freedom ana perfection of reason—love; the human love of comprehen- sion, that 1iits out of its petty round and fills it with gladness and purpose. Surely human love in this world gives the game some moral meaning? It lifts our intentions and impulses at least out of the swirl of mere chance. And even chance ceases to be the omnipotent dis- burser of happiness or woe when love holds the spirit more precious than the things it may do. It seems to me this is just as much in na- ture as the law of conflict.”” “But love is only another of nature’s lures to gain her own ends at any cost to us through our selfishness. All our finest emotions but serve the gross purposes of nature ultimately. the sentient reflecting mind, with its ideals and_aspirations of the moral life. We think we love for love’s sake, but the facts of life show us that we are deceived. But to blind us nature nas min led' e h;n with love, and so we tuate her tragic farce.” “1"3:':’3;., ‘we but serve the hidden purposes of God through nature; but to_a woman love will always be first and last of all—love for its own sake. She will never consent to open her eyes to your conspiracy of cosmic law. It may o love ls ulfiah,gmilis selifishness justified.” “Ah, yes; it is the only delusionin which we touch the spirit and realize the bond of mind in the greater game of life. But a man in this real world of circumstance has no right to drag a woman down.” “Unless—"" “Unless what?"” There was a note of eagerness in his voice, and his eyes sought hers, but she avoided the gaze. “Unless they both have some refuge in spirit from the mere chance of circumstance—the ups and downs of chance. They need a little phi- losophy to live life as life untroubled by out- ward things,” “And you? Have you so much philosophy?” “I hope so. Love is all the philosophy a ‘woman needs.” “Ah. Then love is the cure of enthusiasm. That is my creed t0o.” *“I do not think it is the cure of enthusiasm. It should be a refuge of enchantment for both man and woman, and so it may rather quicken than cure enthusiasm.” “Imean {it is the cure of disillusion, disap- pointment, thwarted ambition—the escape from the philosophy that leaves life a mere scramble for bread.” “Yes, but this illusion, to last and bring peace, must be sustained by philosophy. For gedwomen. mostly by faith in the goodness of 00.”" “ Do you think I am enough of a for such a blessing as a. woman’s would share my poor fortune?”” “ Don'’t call it philosopher; that is the wrong word—and such a cold one. A man must not be a philosopher in love—only a lover with enough philosophy to keep love intact, in spite of the pinch of circumstance.” : “Abby!” *“Oh, I think you are too philosophic for love,” hurriedly. - “ The greater game of- life is too much in your thoughts. One must shut that out and live in a fool’s paradise to get hap- piness from loving.” *No, no. Let us live our lives in a corner: and I shall find a cure of enthusiasm in some- - thing sweeter and nobler than what it cher- ished. Abby, would you play the rest of the game with me?” She looked up at him with swimming eyes. “As lovers, Henry—not mere philosophers.” He seized her hands. “You know I have loved you all along. “As lovers, of course. Ah, Abby, life looks as if it held something precious after all. Ambition, thought, misfortune, poverty, all these are un- real in the retrospect, but love—" “] believe the birds are actually twittering for us, Henry, although I know you will say they are entirely wrapped up, in “themselves. Ah, I am so happy—and I believe you will Write poetry again, atter all.”” “*Well, well; if we can’t give the devil the slip we will at least make merry with him. Anyway, we shall always have each other—and let the world slide; love is the cure of enthu- siasm.” THE SHTURDAY - OPS They Will Be Given Again in the Latter Part of Sep- * tember. hilosopher ove, if one Sigmund Beel Arranging for the Production of a Serles of Four Concerts. The “Saturday Pops,” which f:r the past four and a half seasons have entertained the musical element of San Francisco, are to be revived again this autumn. There will be new faces in the orchestra and en- tirely new programmes, and in the series of four concerts to be given some works which have never yet received correct orchestral interpretation will be presented. As formerly, Sigmund Beel, the violinist, is managing the concerts, assisted by Mrs. Carmichael Carr. They are ofganized upon asubscription basis, and the artists are only waiting until 250 subscriptions have been taken to commence active work. Itis ex- pected that the first concert will be givep in the latter part of September. The new people who have been engaged 8o far for the regular orchestra are Heine, Jauleus and Solomon. Solomon will be second violin, Heine ’celloist and Jauleus will play the viola. These with Beel and Mrs. Carr and perhaps one or two more instruments will compose the regular orchestra. For special numbers several additions will be made. Among the new works which will be presented will be Brahm’s sextet for two violins, two ’celles and two violas, Dvorak’s sextet for the same, Beethoven’s septet for two violins, cello, horn, clarionet and double bass, Syeundsen’s octet, a quar- tet of Semtana and others. The vocal feature will also be given some promi- nence, but the solo voices have not yet been selected. These concerts have always been ex- tremely popular with the music-loving folk of San Francisco, and they have been the means of introducing many works which have since been produced all over the Union. They have always been purely local, so far as talent was concerned, and local music has always been a prominent feature of the programmes. This year there will be a series of four concerts given this fall, which will bring the total num- ber given up to forty-eight. It is Mr. Beel’s desire to give a round fifty, and the other two necessary will probably be given later on. The concerts are founded on the same lines as the ‘“Monday Pops” of London, and they bave undoubtedly paved the way for the symphony concerts whicn proved so popular here some time ago. They have also been the means of developing many of the.local singers, among them C.D. To her the animal is of more importance than O’Sullivan and also loeal composer.s DESPONDENCY DOTH WRACK The entire system, and despondency is a fit of the blues and a fit of the blues means your liver is disordered. Now you can put your liver in good order with a very simple remedy. Use Joy's Vegetable Sarsaparilla moderately. The bottle will tell you how to use Joy’s Vegetable Sarsaparilla and you just go by the bottle. Sfic’k to a bottle of Joy’s Vegetable Sarsaparilla and you will carol as lightly as the birds. A great big JOY will come over you. Joy’s Vegetable Sarsaparilla is the liver, kidney and bowel regulator. It will start the blood to circulate FAIRLY and FREELY. 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