The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, January 17, 1897, Page 25

THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUN AY, JANUARY 17, 1897. Hymn Before Action. BY RUDYARD KIPLING. The earth s full of anger, The seas are dark with wrath, ations ir harness We seek thy The sinner i | | a terror, ws 10 reln, wiess error, undeservine, e shuddering breath, nd unswerving by lesser death! | . Mary, plerced with sorrow, ber, reach and save | At comes 10-m Orrow Mado E’en now their vanguard gathers, E'en now we face As thou di ath, mad Thun A Song of the English. KIPLING. nd years, DYAED for a thous unfted, awave of all her waves Lord God, we ha’ paid i er a fl00d goes shoreward DOw nned | 1 ebp goes seaward DOW | r dead Lord God, we ha’ p d for & thousand years, w and prid feed our book, certa has pre ERHAPS no recent erstand that t T who asks, Tepeats scc W e great poe tand w al. With more pof H sal criticism has sanctioned, be poetry, what is this new school of and iron, of slang and profanity? poetry is no more poetry than the When we have read (notably what b ude that “Y. Y fact ne proves h the two great que which u! 1, shuddering, slavish modern, utilitarian 1’ Now & man may not like mschine more sympathy, & mind a li genially tempered, would make I 2pable of understanding the enthusiasm’ of man who does. ny one who can read “McAndrews’ Hymn” \d not feel a responsive thrill for tho old Scotch engineer’s fervor and exaltation when he speaks of his engines must also be lacking in these two prime qualitiesof sympathy and rstanding, Moreover, Y.” cites as s of Mr. Kipling's wor! Gloster,” a poem that many lovers of ing must wish expurgated, and this he ing’s longest and most am- Hymn* rt this eritic’s candor is the only saves him; he frankly couf rejudiced before beginning his re to turn to Charles Elliot Nor- | cle in the January Atlantic. He he splendid continuous fertility of the unbroken, poetic expres- sh character and life, from ng, which is eion of E Chauce un- her ra This ition, as ranked by Norton. < of the onward sweep of nt, fitst shown in prose ) has waited for its poet; to see the worla and de- es the highest exercise of the po ation. The outward thing, the actusl aspect is in truth the real hing and the true aspect only when seen by imaginative vision.” then he goes on to show how Kipling has this “imagina- tive vision,” this abi 10 see “through not the eve, which makes him a true realist and combined with his mere technical skill & cates Kipli ealistic mc and w ficti “for realism—t pietitas it i imag! great poet.”” Andrew Lang puts the same thing more tersely when he says of Kipling that “he can find the rare strange things in midst of the commonplace.” interesting after these various critieisms to come to the consideration of the poems for ourselves. One reader here con. fesses to having et two sittings read strajght ough irom cover to cover, with unfiagging erest, o thing never personslly done before With any book of short poems. This was pos. sible, it seems to me, because there is adistinct motif, a dominant theme carried through all the poems. Sometimes lesser themes are in- troduced, but Kipling recurs again and again 10 hus original motif. Whatis this dominant the, Rudely put into words, it is the feel- ing that life is as full of Tomance to-day as ever it was. He contends that there is as much to stir the emotion, to fire the blood, to inspire the heart, in the commonplaces of life to-day es there was whep men lived epic poems. In *‘The King” he expresses this as plainly as words can express it. He shows that in esch of the successive epochs of man's lile | 8lso. Wor | thai acteristic of Mr. Kipliug than the abstraction. | understand” so full of this vital power of | And the lean-locked ranks go rosring down to | romance was considered dead and was sap- | posed to have lived only in a past age, and with the progress of science and with each new invention folks sighed, ‘‘Romance, fare- well!” And all unseen Romance brought up the nine. fifteen. His hand was on ths leverlaid, Tifs olican soothed the worrying cranks, His whistle waked the snowbound grade, His fog-horn cut the reeking banks; In dock and deep and mine and mill The boy-god reckless labored stiil. Robed, crowned and throned, he wove his spell When heart-blood beat or hearth-smoke curled With uncousidered miracle, ed in a backward t his chosen “The king was with us not original in asserting pling power of romance to-day. Other | poets have assured us of the same, but I ven ture to think that Kipling is criginal in mak ing us feel it. He not only sees and feels this | h, but he makes I ader see and ieel it | erted again and again facts of humanity lay the to be found | domain of romance. We may theo- | accept what ne says, but whether we to be true as vividly ajter reading his | as after reading Kipling's depends lividual temperament. nfess tnat nothing of an strain in Wordsworth’s has | painiully as parts of An- | For Wordsworth, despite his | move us more often by his poetic | diction than by his simple narrative of com- mon life—narrations which are often simple to the point oi baldness, For example, contrast, re sonnets end ode on “Lines on Tintern Abbey” with “Luc 1 «Peter Bell the But Kipling carries us along with a splendid enthusiasm. He is “vivid, vital and virile,” to quote Mr, Mabie. He is resolved to PN Draw the thing ashe see it for the God of things as they are. A word may mean too much to one and too | litte to another. Let us be sure that we under- | stend what Kipling means by this romance he | exalts so greatly. Itis very ferirom being the merely romantic or sentimental of com- mon usage. Iwonde fitis not akin to what Matthew Arnoid expressed by the word cul- ture, that diffusion of *sweetness and light” e minds of men. It isthee 1 truth, it by what name we will, that unde all human happiness, It is the something which vitalizes, which makes a. glow and pulse wi and | —that com because so few hav. 10 see. calls this the * nence,” ar the most beautiful of his poems he say Who holds b To gitd And k ure A child until be dle. Th s dros: ath Heaven In fee i To highe r show, Who iat lovely Troth The careless augels know ! Epough for me in dreams to see And touch thy garment’s hem: Thy feet bave trod 50 Dear to Gor I may not follow them. | In “McAndrews’ Hymn” we have the prac- tical illustration, which is always more char- is the dour Scots engineer, a t, ready to admit this world to hadow of & dream,” McAndrew taught by time I take it so, excepting al- ways—Steam ! eam is to him the one visible symbol of all power and mysters. Beyond repression is his tempt for the young Viscount, who, after being shown over the ship, as “Mister McAndrews, don’t you think steam s romance at sea?” ed ijjit!” Romance! of McAndrews’ life is steam. “Lord, send a man like Robbie Burns to sing the song o' steam!” he working of his engines, in the perfect isiment and faithfulness of each part, he All the romance Interdependence absolute, foreseen, ordained, de- creed. Now, a’together hear thim 1ift their lesson—theirs | and min “Law, Ora Restraint, Obedience, Discip But no one ceres except myself that serve and understangd My seven thousand horsepower —they’re gra McAndrews' Hymn” to “The Song of the Banjo” is & far cry; yet the latter is a gayer, lighter treatment of the same theme. If prosaicsteam is to those who “serve and e, eh, Lord! romance 50 also is the gay little banjo, the anion of “the white man round the The words go like the strmaming of and make a tingle in the blood. in the memory and repeat them- 1 and egain, and under all the | e we feel the courage and the splendor | 1d the pathos of human endeavor. e silence of the eamp before the fight, vhen iU's good to make your will and say your prayer, You can hear my strumpty-tumpty overnight Explaining ten to one was always fair. But the word—the word is mine, when the order moves the line dle. The imperialism of England Kipling feels as & part of this same romance, with her do- minion over the sea, her pride of blood. is & magnificent nationalism in the Song of the English.” The heart of every nglisn-born must glow at the words. Itis amazing to remember that this man is not poet laureate. Perhaps he was considered too young; perhaps he was born too far away from home; perhaps he was never thought of at all. “These be trifling reasons, my mas- ters,” yot surely for no weightier wes Alired Austin chosen. Bombay is Kipling’s native city and he was born in 1865, so that he is still a surprisingly young man considering the work he has done. He was educated, as the word is used, at Westward Ho—named after Kingsley's novel. Whatever his school lile may have been one feels sure that his real education was gained from men rather than books. He went into joarnalism, and every one knows about the humble beginnings of his literary fame in the Anglo-Indian news. paper. He visited this country in 1889 and married an American girl. She was a sister of Walcott Balestiér, a young writer whose great promise an untimeiy death left unfulfilled. Kipling and Balestier coliaborated on one ctory, and Balestier’s “‘Benefits Forgot” was running in the Century at the time of his death. Mr. Kipling has dedicated to his birthplace this latest volume. The title is significant of the greatness of the English dominion and is 1o doubt borrowed from those Persian mystics to whom “The Seven Seas” embraced the whole of creation. One of the most remarkable of tributes to the young Anglo-Indian was that paid by Walter Pater. He confessed that he was airaid to read Kipling, having heard thathe was so strong a writer and fearing his influence uvon his ownsiyle It is hardly possible to imagine a greater difference than that between the style of Kipling and of Pater. Ono cannot | But with yelier curls, all tangled, and tender RUDYARD KIPLING. PLEASANT MOMENTS WITH NEWSPAPER RHYMESTERS Gettin’ Religion. I 1 ain’t much on religion, nor prayer-meeting beside; I’ve never jined the church as yet, nor ain’t | been sanctified; | But a tender sort of feeling draws me nearer to the skies, Since I got a peep of heaven through a pair of \ trusting eyes. Time was when nothing moved my thoughts ab his sinful world; No preacher’s words conld stir me up, in wrath an’ fury hurled But lately I've been drifting nigher to the bet- ter land, And the force that leads me upwerd is a little, dimpled hand. \ | i | Seems like the bad thoughts sneak away, with | that wee chap hard by, And cuss words that were handy onct won't come whenehe s nigh. | Fact is, it sort o’ shames me to sce those clear blue eyes | Look at me (when I'm gettin’ riled) in pity an’ surprise. I don’t know much of heaven or angels an’ | such things, | But, somehow, when I picture’em, it ain’t | with harps and win, eyes that shine, An’ lips that’s soft and loving, like that little chap of mine. Then, when he folds his dimpled hands in his little bed at night, An’ whispers, “Now I lay me,” why thar's something ails my sight, A my throst gits sort of husky when he blesses me, an’ then 1’m dead sure I've got religion by the time he says “Amen!” IpA GOLDSMITH MORRIs in Louisville Courfer- Journal. pely To the End. Asthe wings of an angel might guard, as the | hands of & mother might cherish, | So heve I loved you, mine own, though hope | and though faith should perish: | And my will is set to hold you yet, close hid | m my deep heart's center, In & secret shrine that none may divine, where no one but I may enter. When the stars shine dimly and wan, when | the leaves on the pane are iretting, i When themist has biotted the world in a dutl and drearer forgetting, Over the hill where the wind blows chill, over the wintry hollows, A wild voice calls, on my sleep it falls, and my spirit awakes and follows. | And the tropical birds, with their whirring, | Call, and I come through the night, though { the mist and the darkness hide you, | Weary and desolate heart, my place is surely beside you. From the depth of your black despair, come back, my arm shall be strong tomove you, To bear you up to the golden gates of heaven, because 1 love you. Pall Mall Gazette. —- The Fountain of Youth. The fountain of youth—did you know I had found it? And where do you think? Did you dream that the palm trees are clus- tering round it, That the sea gardens bloom with the life that it brings, | swift wings, Fiy down to fts brink? Eastward and westward and southward | and north, | In mountain or vale, | AlL D vain, all in vain go ye wearily forth, In the sand of the desert, the cave of the hill, Ye may dig, ye may delve, ye may die an’ ye will, And yet ye shall fail. I strayed, one dull day, by & poor kitchen garden, | And this is the truth— In Arcadie's vales, or the forest of Arden, | Such springs never flowed as I saw in the‘, shade | Of & pokebonnet’s brim; tor the eyes of & maid Aro the fountains of youth, EDGAR MAYHEW BACON in the Independent. Lo o No. A Remnant. TLove keeps a shop beneath the troeg Where orange blossoms sway Forever in the fragrant breeze, And every month is May. And there some twenty years ago A heart I wished to bu 'Twas Anna’s, but she scorned me 8o 1 found ihe price too high, To-day again I chanced to trace My way (0 that same store, And there I found the same fair place That I had known before. And there hung Anna’s heart, unsold; It bore this sign: “To-pay THIS SPINSTER'S HEART, A TRIFLE OLD, AT WHAT YOU PLEASE TO PAY.” id I, “This wreck will never sell; Tis damaged paxt recall. 1 care for it no more,” and, well— 1 bought it, after ali! E1L1s PARKER BUTLER in New York Sun. E I Know Not How I Like Her Best. Iknow not how I like her best, Or clad in green or clad in white, Since either way— In each array— With wimple white or broidered vest, She is to me a dear delight. I know not how I like her best, In smiling or in tearful mood; Or when she weeps, Or when she sleeps, Or when she laughs, each way is good, Nor know I which is lovelfest. Iknow not how I like her best, In russet robes, wind-blown and rent, In white or green, Or crown-ed queen In gold and crimson gayly dressed, Or wan as some pale penitent. Iknow not how I like her best, When, wooing me to some green wold, She bids me lie With face anigh Her face, or when, grown stern and cold, She cloaks the bosom I caressed. Iknow not how I like her best, Or in her mad wmidsummer mirth, With vine-decked brow, Or when, as now, In fold on fold above her breast, Soft snows enshroud my Mother Earth! MARY NORTON BRADFORD. The Old-Time Fire. Talk erbout yer buildin’s That's all het up by steam; Give me the old ok fire Whar the old folks uster dream. The rickety dogirons— One-sided as could be; The ashes banked with ’ taters— Roastin’ thar fur me. The dog on one side drowsin® Or barkin’ nigh the door; The kitten cuttin’ capers With the knittin’ on the floor. An’ me a little towhead By mammy’s side at night, ‘With both my cheeks a-burnin’ From the red flames leapin’ bright! These steam het buildin’s make me Just weary fur the blaze That wuz a heap more comfortable In childhood night an’ days. An’ I'd give the finest heater In the buildin’s het by steam Fer the old-time chimbly corner Whar the old folks uster dream. —Atlanta Constitution. help wondering what might *have been t| result if each had modifiea the other, if Kip. ling had acquired some of Pater’s exquisite polish and subtlety of phruse, and Pater had taken to himself some of Kipling’s vigor and power of vivid suggestion. Probably each man would have been less individual and characteristic and therefore less interesting; except to those unhappy people who deplore the “mannerisms’’ of both. GRACE §. MUSSER. HOW AND WHAT TO READ. THE MASTERY OF BOOKS—By Harry Lyman Koopman. American Book Company, New Y ork, Cinclnnati, Chicago. Price, 90 cents. This brief guide to readers by the librarian of the Brown University is weil worthy of recommendation to all those who wish to use the time they have for reading to the best a vantage, The author’s style proves him to be aman of fine literary taste, and a natural aptitude combined with his life in a library have given him that mastery of books which he here endeayors to aid others in the acquisi- tion of. Although he gives a classified list of books, that is quite a secondary object of his publication. In a number of wise and charm- ingly written chapters he makes general sug- gestions which cleariy point the way to profit- able reading and yet leave the reader great ireedom of choice. Besides telling why and | how much to read, and what and how to read, there is & valuable chaptcr on reference books and catalogues. He discusses newspapers and fiction, and shows their great usefuiness in & complete mental equipment for the battle of life. Language study and memory and note taking are given a prominent place in his dis- course, and the position the library should have in education is explained, Here is & sample of the advice he gives to reader: “Sculptare has been defined as the art of knocking off superfluous marble, Rapid read ingis the equelly difficult art of skipping needless words and sentences. To recognize them as needless without reading them is a feat that would be thought impossible if scholars everywhere did not daily perform it. With the turning of & few leaves to pluck out the heart of & book’s mystiry, this Is the high art of reading—the crowning proof tnat the 1eader has attained the mastery of books.” NEW HISTORY CF CALIFORNIA. The history written by William Heath Davis, entitled 'Sixty Years in Californis,” having met with a ready sale, he was and is encour- aged to labor for another work of more than a million words, which has occupied his time since the disposalof his first book. The work, which will contain more than eight hundred subject matters, will be in two octayo volumes, with portraits of early representative men and women and illustrations of notable scenes—in all about one hundred of the pictorials of the epochs before and after the great rush of gold- seekers in 1849. The author is constrained to say much in bebalf of his latge manuscript, but he thinks his labor and application to the task and the responeibilities of preparing it will be awarded by the reading community of California and other States with the judgment that it constitutes an exhaustive history of the Golden State. In talking with Mr. Davis he quoted a few lines from a Spanish author which were written several hundred years ag. ara que una historia sea verdaderay interesante es necessario que los ojos vea y las orejas hoyen.” * [For a nistory to be truthful and interesting it is necessary for the eyes to see and ears to hear. The application of this quotation in the premises may be appreciated when it is considered that Mr. Davis is one of the oldest ploneers of California. The author thinks that the book will be published in 1897, WHERE NATURE IS SUBLIME. YOSEMITE AS I SAW IT—By Dr. Cora A. Morse. Published by “The Ouilook,” Okland, This description of California's wonderful natural park by an eloquent California writer is, in 1ts illustrations as well as in its word painting, beautiful. It needs an eloguent pen to befittingly tell of that glorious valley where nature’s grandeur compels reverence for nature’s God, and this California lady has shown herself possessed of the appreciation necessary to catch the inspiration from those lofty peaks and lovely waters, and the gift of language to make us understand their sub- limity. The author tells us that these descriptions were written at intervals during ber stay in Yosemite, to husband and friends, and were not intended for the public. “They were written under the inspiration of nature's revelations, and from a heart too full to con- tain its joy unexpressed.” Here are some fine pieces of descriptive writing: +:Once actoss the river we are in the edge of Yosemite Park. Soon the trees show taller, larger growth, the mountains tower still fa; ther heavenward, the chasms grow darker and deeper, the curves more Abrupt, the road nar- rower, the ascent steeper. At the bottom of these vast chasms the river winds ke a ser- pentine thread of light. Great projacting LMr. Harland 1n the Lounger’s possession are | author's bust in Westminster Abbey with a | bunch of violets, 10 which was tied a card bowlders add beauty to the tall trees as we look down upon them. Vines and lupines, | together with azallss and dogweed blossoms, relieve the otherwise somber scene. The sky | above is lost now, excepting patches here and | there, being hid by the lofty pines around us.” “The magnitude of this scene is indescrib- able. The great gorges, hewn through the s0lid rock, are lighted here by the fire in | heaven and shaded there by the wings of night; the echoes of the tearing cataract exert a magic spell upon us.” LIFE IN THE WILDERNESS | AN AMERICAN NOBLEMAN, By Willlam Armstrong. Rand, McNally & Co. Chicago and New York. The nobleman about whom we are told in this story belongs to that class of nobility of which all may become members who have kind hearts and sufficient energy of | will to put their heart promptings into action. It is a good story well told. The writer is pleasingly fluent, and the descriptive parts are so well done as readily to transport the reader’s imagination to the mountains and woods where the hero, Abel Long, lived a Ditter life, but won his place in the peerage of true manhood. The firstchapter, “The Gold Findin’ on Sas’- fras Mountain,” would make a complete and unusually good short story in itself. It tells of how & mountain family suddenly got a very bad spell of the gold fever by finding a little nugget in their cabbage paich. All hands, from the father and mother down to the least of the children, dug frantically without stop- ping for dinner or supper, till it ws too dark to toil longer, but found no morg gold. Then their visitor, who was a Duichman with s fancy for practical jokes, explained that the nugget was a gold filling which had dropped from his tooth. Merriness ends with the first chapter, and the rest of the book is sad but beautiful. Abel Long loves an untaught but noble mountain girl, Josephine, but she preters a efty man, who, for his amusement while tem- porarily in the mountains, marries the girl. The unscrupulous husband soon tires of a country life and coolly forsakes his mountain bride and their baby without even saying good-by. Abel becomes the sole friend and support of the forsaken woman, but Josephine continues through weary years to love and trust her husband and look forward to his return. Findiug his love for Josephine hope- less, Abel marries another girl out of a sense of duty to his mother. His wife proves false. | The thoughts and deeds of this strong, noble | and simple nature under the stress of the | trials put upon tne noble man are systemati- cally and wholesomely treated by the author. el adeny COMMUNION WITH NATURE. IN THE GARDEN OF PEACE—By Helen Mil- man, John Lane The Bodley Head, London and New York. Price $1 50. For sale by Wii- liam Doxey, Palace Hotel, City. This is & pretty little bouk of rapturous talk about birds and flowers by one who evidently loves them very much and has studied them closely. Their songs and their architecture make the birds interesting inhabitants of the beautiful garden described. The character sketches wherein the likeness of the wavs of Dbirds 10 those of human beings are brought | outis an amusing feature of the book. Scat- tered through the pages are some choice quo- tations from authors who have loved to hold communion with nature, such as this: I heard the rapture | nightingale Tell from yon eimy grove his tale 01 iealousy and love 2 In thronging notes that seemed to falk As faultless and as musical As apgels’ siraius above. LITERARY NOTES Sir Herbert Maxwell’s “Lifefof King Robert, the Bruce,” will be published in America this month. “Les Meres,” by Alphonse Daudet, with il lustrations by Myrbach, will be ready imme- aiately. Frank R. Stockton is writing a serfes of sto- ries to fllustrate the history of the State of New Jersey. The most luxurious English volume of the season will be a work, dedicated by special permission to her Majesty Queen Victoria, dealing with Raphael’s designs for tapestries. In Mrs. Annie Fleld’s “Authors and Friends” she tells us that Emerson regarded Tennyson and Carlyle as the two men connected with literature in England who were most satis- factory to meet and better than their books. Hisreticence with regard to Carlyle’s strong expressions against America was as well marked as it was wise. Herbert S. Stone & Co., publishers of the Chap Book, announce that with the issue of January 10 that periodical will be enlarged to the size of the English weekly reviews and will begin at once the publication of literary criticisms. Poems, essays and stores will con- tinue as at present, and at the same price. It will aim at being a critical journal of the first rank. The Louager exposes the identity of Henry Harland, the editor of the Yellow Book, with that periodical’s amusing “Yellow Dwarf.”’ The expose is based entirely on circumstantial evidence—a caricature of the “Yellow Dwarf,” | by Max Beerbohm in the latest number of The Yellow Book,and an amateur photograph of the only clews. Some one showed his devotjon to Thackeray’s memory on Christmas day by decorating the bearing this inscription: “William Makepeace Thackeray, died December 24, 1863, Adsum. And his heart throbbed with an exquisite joy.” It is related in the Newcomes that | “Adsum” was the word by which Colonel | Newcome responded to his Maker’s call when he lay dying in the Charter-house. The other part of the inseription were the last words of an unfinished manuscript found in the novel- ist’s bedroom on the morning of his sudden death. S0 The January number of the North American Review contains & paper on the “Meaning of the Votes,” by Senator Henry Cabot Lodge, in which he shows that the Bryan claim that iree silver nearly won, and that a slight change of the votes from one State to another would have made history different by Brydn's eiection, is a most absurd one. Poultney Bigelow gives an article on “The German Press aud the United States.” E. J. Kelly discusses ‘'Strikes as a Factor in Progress,” and asserts that strikes mean progress whether successful or not, for they awaken interest fn the working people and their relation 1o eiviliza- tion generally. The britliant essayist, Androw Laug, discusses “Genius in Children.” The Hon. Albion W. Tourgee in ““Pending Prob- lems” treats of the character of the monetary questions with which the new administration will have to deal. “Root Difficulties of Irish Government” is a paper in which T.W. Russell, M. P, tells the reasons of the great political discontent of the people of Ireland. The actor, Herbert Beerbohm, writes of “Some Aspects of the Drama To-day.” Captain John Codman mukes & plea for the revival of American ship- ping in the articie, *Folly of Differential Du- ties.” and the Hon. Lioyd Bryce writes about the late election in *A Study of Campaign Au- diences’’ Andrew Carnegie is satirical in “Mr. Bryan as & Conjurer.” There are several 23 n elaborate poetical work, in the preparation of which he has spent yeats of study, and before this final execution of his design, in the form that satisfies his aspiration to produce a thorough piece of workmanship, he essayed to reach the ideal he had set himself with four successive works, each of which he successively destroyed as 100 defective for publieation. His self-sppointed task was to produce & poem devoted to the nature and the principles of the fine arts, such as music, painting, sculpture, arcnitecture and poetry. Mr.Duraind submitted his unpublished work to Professor David §. Jordan and Professor Hadson, of the Stanford University, and from both of these abie gentlemen received words of encouragement and praise. This work asa whole hus not been examined by THE CALL, but extracts from it have been sent in, and some of them are here published, which will glive the resder a limited opportunity of juds: ing the author’s capacity for poctic compo-i~ tion and a slight insight into the general pur- port of his poetry. Such a strenuous and long. sustained effort by & young man to produce something excellent, unique and needed in literature certainly deserves the consideration of careful examination, and if wheu tbe whole work is submitted to the public the au- thor is found to have produced as fine & work ashe believes he has, unstinted praise and wide purchase should reward an effort so ar- duous and so devoted. Speaking of this forthcoming volume of poetry Mr. Duraind says: “About ten years ago in going over the litera- tures of the different, countries of the world I was struck with the fact thatin nolanguage was there such a thing as a professed Song of the Arts.” Concerning the great wave of artistic criti- cism and discussion which has swept over Europe add America during this century, he states: *‘Above all, the nature of art and its influence on humanity s a creator and shaper of human ideals were first cleariy set forth in this great movement.” Outlining the design of his book, he con- tinues: “Isaw that as poets represent genera- tions more than any other kind of artists, the poet Who represents this age should have art for his theme and treat of its ethical influ- ences on the race. The poet whose work is enduring always represents some fmportant social, moral or intellectual movement of his time. “To seize the spirlt of an age's culture is one thing, but to erystallize that culture in the form of & living work of art requires ability of another order entirely. For years I studled this art movement in all its phases. “Finally I struck a literary form which gave me an opportunity to combine grandeur of scene, dignity of character, and allow of the expression of art thought—not permissible in s story or tale, whose fundamental law is the subordination of everything to passion, action and character. It permitted me to em- body the critical conceptions of the age on tho subject of art, and couple this culture with some of the splendid figures of medieval Italy. I worked long on this book and called it “The Coronation of Michael Angelo, a Cele- Dbration of the Renaissance as Expressive of the Ideals of Art.” Mr. Dursind says he put all other business aside and worked exclusively on this poem for seven months, and often sixteen hours a day, in putting the poem into its final per- fected state. He believes that no work of iasting worth can be produced unless one throws one’s whole soul into it to the exclu- sion of everything else! Here are some of the extracts from the manuscript; ART. Art i3 a minister of human good, A priestess of the high sublime in man, ‘And when the beauty of a statue wakes A pulse of noble longing in the soul, It passes from the marble to the life: From the ideal flows reality. ART AS AN EXPRESSION OF LOVE. 1 see its beauty in the palnted prayer Of rapture writ upon the sainted face Angelice upturned to heaven to show How angels 100k when gazing at thelr Goda 1 grasp its power pictured in the sone, Eowrapt as in an everlasting dream. 1 taste its sweetness in the magic lines Where fair Francesca meets Paolo’s lips; But ob, I feel its soul and know iis depih Alone in music, love’s sublimest voice. ., THE POET. The poet listens to & voice that comes 1In dreamlike intonations from afar, Silent to other men, and when be speaks ‘His language vibrates with the song he hears. He treads the House of Anguish, yet bis tones Forever echo heavenly refrains. fiEORGE J. DURAIND has just completed Ideals are the stepson which men mount From earth along the lines of heaven 10 God. The price of all soul-treason is defect Which holds within itself predestined doom. Forever in the painting and the stone 1s wrapped the mind immortal of a man. The trend of wrong!s always to the grave. The personal estate of the late William Mor- ris was about §$280,000, which is nearly the same as that of Lord Tennyson. The wealth- iest poet of recent times, or probably of any date, was Longfellow, who was worth $350,- 000. X An English paper says: Rudyard Kipling may not have taken up his residence in Eng- 1land for any great length of time after all. He was recently offered a handsome price for his house in Vermont, but refused to seil, intimat~ ing that he mightoccupy it permanently afier next year. Mr. Sherard tells us that Dr. Ibsen is s great reader of the German philosophers. His only relaxation is tospend two noursaday at the Grand Hotel, where he reads the papers and sits with a glass of aqua vite on his right hand and a glass of beer on his left, from which as he reads he takes alternate sips. He is never seen in the theater or in society or in any place of entertainment. e————— e NEW TO-DAY. OLD GRIST MILL Entire WHEAT COFFEE. 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