The Portland daily press., 1879-03-15
Y0rick's Drawer

Absence, says Rochefoucauld, DESTROYS
trifing intimacies but invigorates strong
ones.
-Yorck is opulent in correspondence this
week. One, who must surely be the 'gentle
reader" to whom all scribblers appeal, SAYS !:
"The Drawer smells not only of pipes. but
pansies and rosemary" 1t is unnecessary
to remark that this correspondent is DOS
sessed of most excellent wit and consider
ate Judgment The gentle reader asks,
"Does Yorick know if any copies Of the old
Portland Sketch Book are available 9n
Some one of the readers of the Drawer ought
to be able to answer the question.
Another correspondent, who may be de-
scrlbed as the cynical-yet appreciatiye-
reader, says: ga rather remarkable thing
about the last Yorick is that one can breathe
freely from beginning to end without danger
of being choked by tobacco smoke" The
charm, alas! is broken. The Fairy Princess
has opened her lips and her quest has failed.
Tobacco is once more mentioned in these
columns and the "Stygian smoke of the pit
that is bottomlesse" offends the nostrs of
our readers. 1t rouses too, in Yorick the old
appetite, and he returns to his pipe.
Yet another correspondent, who with
Chinese politeuess signs himself ga Dull
One" and who may, perhaps, be best de-
scribed as the impatient and unsympathetic
reader, writes this:
Who is Yorick? What is Yorick? Who
likes him or her? To what Institution must
one go?-from what institution must one be
graduate, to comprehend and like ''Yorick's
Drawer" Give us speeches; give Us ESSAYS
on "Heathen Chinee"; give US rest-any-
thing to fill up the space Yorick fills, until
we can reach the standard of comprehension
we are now destitute OF. A DULL ONE.
So that fly is embalmed in amber.
"Launcelot', as welcome here as to the
arms Of the lily Maid of Astolat, contributes
these reflections in which both wit and wis
dom play part:
If all men were whole and sound emotion
ally and intellectually, we should have a
world full of poets. The divine afflatas is
not thing to be acquired. 1t is the normal
result of the harmonious play of the facul-
ties. Necessarily we can have but little true
poetry in the world, the race has so neglected |
and abused its powers. Nor is it as easy now
as In primitive times to utter postry. We
have gotten farther away from the true
meaning OF words, and. consequently, can
not 80 readily adapt our thorghts to our
words, and so they troop along often in mot |
ley array Still many beautiful thoughts
can be found this side the antiques. These |
are good lines OF Lengfellows:
"And with nv skates fast bound,
Skinned the half frozel sound
Which the poor whinpering hound
Trembled to walk on"
And of Keats:
''The owl for all her featters was acold
The hare mpei trembling through the frozen grass
And silent was the flock IN Wooly fold"
And of Mrs. Browning:
cat that hour
A lion couched, part 'aised upon bis paws
And his name listening. Right suddenly
He sprang up ram ant and stood straight and stiff
AS If the new realty Of death,
Were dashed against his eyes-and rOared fierce
Such thick, caTnUoTous passion in his throat
TeaIing passase through the wrath and fear
hat the forest beasts,
One after one aid mutter a response
In savage apfin sorrowtul com plaint,
Which iraile@ along the gorges."
Many moe examples might be added if space
permitted Poets, like painters, should not
be too realistic. Painting, however. and
poetry re so near akin that it Is diff cult to
saw when one leaves off and the other begins.
by nture. How many pictures fail for want
OF ttat subtle thing we call poetry. A bar
rem rock may be made charming with moth
log but solitary heron standing in a medi-
tatve mood upon it; or gray sea and clouds
by stream OF sunshine breaking through
and lighting up the waves; or a simple figure,
by sorae little accessory, in itself apparently
of small moment. 1t is the same with writ
ten poetry. A single happy stroke has sent
maQV a staDZa down tn nOstpritu
The difference between knowledge and
wisdom is aptly set forth in the Gulistan. 1t
is something like this (Launcelot quotes from
memory. "He who learns much but does
not put what he learns into practice is like a
man who is ever plowing but who sows not"
or as Launcelot puts it into verse
"Who learns and learns but does not what he knows
Is one who pows and pl0ws but never sows.'
Speaking of wise things these of Count de
Maistre may be put down as such:
"'Fhe Turks shut up their women" said
Lord Byron, and are all the better for it,
Yes replied the Count, they need either
the four walls or the four evangelists." And
this, "'Thou shalt not KILL 1'Where is the
man who even knows what it is to kill? In
how many ways, to what different degrees
me may be Withdrawn, obstructed, destroyed
Ihe Devil, who was homicide from the be-
ginning. has been so always, and throughout
'S A6NO-as nh0 ~ 10 NY uO m0duS WltQ Ll6
sword that he has cut off the msjority of
men.' -
A legend which M. de Maistre greatly ad-
mired represents on the one hand the arrival
before the throne of God of the penitent souls
whom his pity admits into the eternal city:
ana on the other, Satan reproaching God
with his injustice: "These souls have
offended thousand times and only once"
Hast thou ever asked for pardon ?'' replies
H,tlrn1I ar1a ,,ls1 II
Maistre altered from Boileau, which appeared
TO him too Jansenistic.
"L' Evangile resprit n'offre de toutes cotes
Que penitence faire ct tourments mertes'
red thus
MSvangile pesprit noffre de toutes c6tes
and rorde otfertn nt t"'---'' 49, A. ----. -
he has Se Sdeesireceased to believe ih,God until
ne Th;s Has uesa. .ssa tb, annihilate hlm.
on Descartes's tom Zone: p'ace
Esciave dans s.t les ,ie minrisu doitIe ct de f.,
Je fletris de vieux mots la seiece frivole ,
Et c'est moi que donna Newtol puniverse. I
Speaking of the dead, how hateful is
| thought of death in the spring time of (
year. 1t is hateful enough at any time,
now, when things begin to be "llsh wit. a
new life," more hateful than ever ThiJ'
from Morris:
| "Deah have we Date0 showing not what 1t meant,
Life have loved, through green leaf and through
sere,
| Though still the less we know Of its intent;
The Earth ana Heaven through countless year on
year,
Slow changing, were to us but curtains fair
Hung round about little room where play
Weeping and laughter of mans empty day.
This is an age of envy and detJaction.
People delight in calumny. Nothing pleases
them like the story of the downfall of some
public man, unless it be the downfall of some
woman. 1t is a skeptical age, believing
neither in itself nor its fore-goers. Here in
America we listen with eagerDess to tales
going to show that the fathers of the repub-
lie were as weak and wicked as our neigh
bors. Foul scandal is heaped upon the sacred
name of the Pater Patrie himself. Jefferson is
accused of low and disgraceful amonrs. An
attempt was made the other day to prove
Israel Putnam liar and the story OF his
break neck ride myth of his own invention.
We do not hesitate to deile "the affairs OF