The Portland daily press., 1878-11-09

That summer is memorable because Of an
other meeting in the City Hall. 1t was
announced that James G.. Blaine, Congress-
man elect from the Kennebec District, would
hold public discussion with L. D. M.
Sweat, Congressman from the Cumberland
District. Yorick went and listened. To
speak frankly he was not much edited, for
the discussion abounded in figures, and to
figures he had the strong and not unreasona.
BILE aversion of his years. But that evening an
other man had seized upon his hour. In the
light of later events Mr.. Baine's appearance
in that hall is recalled by Yorick as men,
orable experience.
In the volume above-quoted from, Yorick
found another poem, which commanded his
attention probably more by its indirectness
and mystery than by its undeniable lof.iness
of thought and beauty Of rhythm, 1t is not
unfair, as vague prophecies are Interpreted,
to call it a prophetic dirge over the downfall
of the Ottoman Empire:
We scanned her well as we dritted by;
strange old ship. with her poop built high,
And with quarter -galleys wide,
And huge beaked PROV, as no ships are buided
now,
And carvings all strange beside;-
Byzantine bark, and ship Of name and mark
Long years and generations ago,
Ere any mast or yard Of ours was growing hard
With the seasoning of long Norwegian snow.
As they tried to get the better of leak.
We had got signal set in the shrouds
And our men through the storm looked on in
But for wind we were near enough to speak,
1t seemed her sea and sky were IN times long, long
That we read in winter evens about;
ASH 20 other stars she had reared her old world
spars,
And her huh had kept an oId-time ocean out.
Yet another poem by Robert Lowell, too long
for quotation here, is kept In mind by its del.
icacy and tender grace. 1t is the now worn
story OF the relief of Lucknow, the pathetic
story of the Scotch lassie who in the hour
when all hope of relief had been abandoned
by the beleaguered garrison, and the babe
killers were battering down the gates, heard
the bag-pipes playing far away the air of the
Campbells. And the pipers within the walls
struck up for answer, ''Ye were lang com.
in." The story was not old when that poem
was written, and men wept over it.
"A correspondent who signs himself
"Americus'-can it be possible he pro.
nounces it "a merry cuss"-writes to defend
Paul Clifford" from the "harsh criticism
with which he says Yorick has visited that
famous novel. He says, too, "American boys
are too intelligent and high.minded to miss
the obvious lesson of Bulwer's novels" Per.
haps so. There may be boys who take a
philosophical view of the melancholy high
wayman and his adventures, and trace his
sadness to the consciousness of crime. There
may be Others whom "Paul Clifford' does
not interest because it is the story of bad
man, and others still who are not allured by
Its spirit of wild adventure. There are boys
who will never tumble-because they have
not the courage to jump. These the dime
novel will not lead into bad ways. Those Of
different temperament it may; and it is up
on them that "Paul Clifford" exercises bad
influence.
The Lieutenant'-so he signs himself
suggests that the reason why William Black
devotes so much attention to Gometra and
all the rest is because he is particularly hap.
py in descriptions of scenery" That is true,
but it is novels, not guide-books, that he pro.
fesses to give us! Who was it?-Horace? p
that tells of the painter so good at trees that
he put one in shipwreck? Arsene Hous.
saye has told wicked story of Carolus Du
ran, famous for painting everything on q
grand scale. "You have made new DOR.
traitP" asks friend of the artist. "Yes, an
equestrian figure beside the sea-" "Life
size?' "Yes." Sand the horse?" EYES,"
"And the sea?" s'Life size also," said Du.
rae. Mr.. Black seems to have the same
sense of proportion. His seas are life size.
Speaking of William Black, has anyone
noticed how fond he is of the epithet 'sproud' Z
His people have always proud smile on
their lips, or proud reserve in their faces,
or are bearing themselves with proud pa
tience or displaying proud humility.
Clara Morris is carrying "the pageant ol
her bleeding heart' all over the land, and
unrolling her woes like panorama. 1t is a
pity so great an artist should so demean her
self. But the spectacle is not uncommon.
Genius not seldom seems to be morbid
growth, thriving at the expense Of the COM
mon sense. The instances are not few in
which we find men and women unusually
gifted-with the capacity of expression if with
nothing else-parading their private griefs be.
fore the public. Look at Harriet Martineau.
II the story is not always told as plainly as
Clara Morris tells it, it is so distinctly limited
at, so clearly told by bald allusion and un.
mistakable inuendo, that we cannot mi.inter.
pret it. The habit is not one to be encour.
aged. We are told to look into our hearts
and write, but we are nowhere commanded
to reveal all we find there.
Lovers Of fair play must feel like taking
up the cudgels sometimes for the Rev. Mr..
Talmage. He is made the butt of wits and
witlings of all degrees. Not seldom he is
misrepfesented in order to give point to a
jeer. But there is good ground for some of the
criticism with which he is visited. One of
the worst features about his sensational SER
mons-like those he has lately been delivering
in New York-is that taey are reported at
full length in "fash'i sheets. There is some-
thing about them that appeals to the prurient
taste. They occupy much the same place in
religious literature that Information for the
people," "the veil lified," "man know thy