The Cambria freeman. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1867-1938, 1888-06-15

Na7 "--~A A4S ScucE1llOu must De-
stow
Ny collection is now nearly complete"
he said 10 her one day, about three years
after their marriage. 81 have only TO
write the dedication to you and then all
Will be ready for a publisher
She smiled and looked sffectionately
into his face with her brown dove-liLo
eyes. THAT will be no labor for you, i
am sure, Campbell" )" she said, "or at best
only one of love"
True" he answered. And then as II
shaping in words what had long lain in
his thought, he slowly added: But Rosa,
i want an opinion on the work before it
goes to press. You understand, my dear,"
An opinion:" she questioned surpris-
edly.
"Yes. ! want some man Of proved GEN
ius poet to read my lines and tell me
frankly what he thinks of them. And
who is there here in New York; 1t is
after all, only n big overgrown CONNER
cial village. OF course, il will intellectu-
ally change during the next twenty years
or 30, but Mt present / have scarcely an
acquaintance here who would even sym
pathize with my poetic design apart from
either understanding or approaching it,
Now in Boston il Is Ill fierent"
Boston. Oh, yes" murmured his wife.
showing that instant respect for what
was then truly the Athens of America -
which so many cultivated minds in our
larger city had securely acquired. But
whom do you know in Boston, dear Camp
bell, whom you could safely consult!''
"a pleasant correspondence. a. you seem
TO forget, Rosa WAS Lawrence's answer,
has OF late sprung up between the Poet
l. and myself l. is still young in
fame, but his accomplishments have not
merely received the approval of all impor-
tsnt critics: they are beginning TO bo
recognized a rare and national product.
think l. would receive me with cour-
tesy il went TO him, and extend TO mo
the candid valuation Of which stand in
need. / have already more than half
made up my mind TO visit him during the
next month"
Lawrence soon afterward decided pos
itivefy TO make this pilgrimage. He did
so, and l. received him with all desired
gentility. But when il came to n frank
criticism upon the profIered verses, there
this Boston poets reception underwent =
marked chill. He read all the poems at
tentively, and then did what so few men
under like circumstances Will ever do: he
told the plain truth.
What you have shown me, Mr.. Law
renee" ;" he said, with the gentlest amia-
bility of manner, ''hss an unerring cor
rectaess OF metrical form. 1t i evidently
the work of "A scholar. But regret 10 tell
you that il is no more"
You mean that it Is not poetry" ex-
claimed Lawrence, aghaSt.
slowly nodded. You have made
1T easier for me TO give you my honest
Judgment - he answered, by putting me
that abrupt question. Yes, do mean that
St i not poetry
Lawrence returned TO New York a sad
der and wiser man. Whatever humiIiating
conviction Of their truth the BosJouian's
words may at first have engendered began
rapidly to lessen and vanish after he had
left LIS presence. His wife, too, almost
angered by the unfavorable decision re-
ported TO he-, and certainly stung into n
loving sense of injury Ly its presumed un-
fairness, mingled her consolation with the
sort of eulogy that he w ho heard it found
prcciously grateful
Every poet, my dear Campbell" she
insisted, 'hss his own special ideal, his
own peculiar cult. VIII you be foolish
enough to accept as infallible the dis
approval of one fellow-writer, no matter
how much you respect his abilitiesi Seek
the more liberal Acknowledgements of the
world. You have influence enough to
publish your book in England; there Is
that London publisher of whom you have
often spoken your fathers old friend
Let the book appear on both sides of the
ocean, and then watch its effect with that
select few whose appreciation or disfavor
will alone have telling weight"
Lawrence took the easy counsel con
veyed in these words. He published his
poems both here and in England-and
waited. The book failed to stir the least
ripple Of interest. II was not assailed nor
contemned; il WAS not commended nor
lauded. 1t was dismissed with cold re-
spect and nothing more. The influences
of Scott, OF Wordsworth, of Byron, OF
Keats, were in separate reviews touched
upon, one after another. The hawless
method of prosOdy was repeatedly not
iced. But not a sneer of animadversion,
as not pulse of enthusiasm, gave dis
tinctive spirit to the general reception OF
the volume. 1t fell fat upon the reading
public, and was in most cases, very prob
ably, forgotten as soon as read
Lawrence suffered keenly. The truth
had dawned upon him at last, and il dealt
him a crushing blow. What, after all,
had this windfall OF early prosperity
meant to him but the realization that his
aims far transcribed his powers, IL he
had folght and striven for years against
harsh odds OF poverty, he would ut least
have kept the cheer within his soul of hav-
Ing Dccu born nODlcr enUS- but now
the veil of illusion was ruthlessly torn
He saw his own weakness and shortcom-
ing. Opportunity had been given him,
and he had failed to grasp it. He would
always thus fail. The cruel truth was
clear at last. He wept tears of blood it
was an actual anguish of poignant self
discovery. 1t was one of those noiseless
and covert tragedies of the human soul,
bitter. perhaps. as any that we know.
81 shall never write another line of
poetry as long as live ~ he told his wife;
and be kept his word.
But he wrote, nevertheless. Like SO
many men who are fated to feel though
not to create in the largest imaginative
way, he possessed the natural gift of a
fluent and lucid prose style. A scholar Of
no mean requirement, the idea came to
him OF writing a history which should
combine rigid accuracy with picturesque
and eloquent narration. Hechose Byzan-
tium, from the accession of its first EN-
peror to the final overthrow of the Roman
Empire, and he set to work upon his un-
dertaking, after several months of de-
spondeDcy, with vigor that put CLEANS
of encouragement into his wife's tender
eyes, and spoke well for his own inherent
fortitude. II he could not win the golden
prize lie would try for the silver one. Tho
crown Of oak leaves would have its value
even IL he missed that of bay.
But his wound achsf and bled, always.
u never really healed. He strovr To hide
his chagrin, his disappointment. and did
so 10 all except his wife. She alone knew
and understood, and yet it was only AZ
times that the sad truth plainly rose be
fore her. She took keen interest in his
new literary plan, and when it became
necessary for him to delve among the re-
sources of the famous foreign libraries,
she readily sailed with her young son and
himself for European shores.
They remained abroad several years,
and Lswrence's great work Gt had now
become tacitly accepted as "a great work"
by the two most concerned in it) was still
far from completion. When Gerald was
I'm,