New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1892-08-28

writing at the top. mo time to write these ou0 IL
ink, so inclose them in pencil lie got 'hrousA
No moral" Another examination story mas an
ending less comfortable for the youth In que''
ton. AZ write in tears" says Barrie, of him
who, estimating his memory as leaky vessel
did with care and forcthought draw up crlo
that was more condensed than a pocket CYCLIC
paedia, a very Lebig's essence OF the CLASSICS
timed meat for students in the eleventh hour'
Bridegrooms have been known to forget the
ring: this student forgot his crib. In the middle
of the examination came a nervous Knocking at
the door lady wanted to see the professor
at once The student looked up to see MS
moher handing the professor his crib. Tier
son had forgotten IL; she was sure 1t was I'M
portant, so she had brought it herself jump
the body of this poor victim. There was no
NJ A. for him that year but in our gowns ana
sashes we could not mourn for might-have-
been
Mr. Barrie's paper on Robert Louis Stevenson
is friendly. admring but not rapturous-he Is
critical TO the point Of acknowledging that his
brother Scot is an author fallible and that ne
has still to write great work, big DOCK
The keynote of Mr. Stevenson's writings" says
Barrie. us his Indifference. so far as his DOCKS
are concerned 10 the affairs OF life md death on
which their minds are chiefly set. whether man
has an immortal soul interests him as an artist
not whit what is TO come OF man troubles
him as little as where man came from. lie Is D
warm, genial writer; yet this is so strange as 70
seem inhuman. His philosophy is that we are
as the lght-hearcd birds This is one moment
of being; let us play the intoxicating game OF
life beautifully artistically,, before we fall dead
from the tree. The noticeable thing
-uo.nao,o +bo uncanny holds
his soul-his brain will only follow a colorcd
clew. The result is that he is chiefly picturesque
and. TO those who want more than art for arts
sake, never satisfying. Fascinating as his verses
are artless in the perfection Of art. they take no
reader step forward The children Of whom he
sings so sweetly are cherubs without souls. 1t Is
not in poetry that Mr. Stevenson will give the
great book 10 the world nor will II, think, he
in the form of essays or late he has done moth
ing quite so fine as yirginihus Puerisque, though
most Of his essays are gardens in when grow
few weeds. Quaint In matter as in treatment
they are the best strictly literary essays OF tif
day, and their mixture Of tenderness with humor
suggests Charles Lamb And here Mr.. Barrie
sets down some sentences strong with feeling 70
which many a reader will say Amen;
Some think Mr. S,evenson's essays equal to
Lambs or greater. To that say no. Inc name
Of Lamb will for many year bring paonh Ike
the rest of us. who kept his SORROWS to himself
Life to him was not among the trees. lie ha1
loved and lost Grief laid heavy hand on ms
brave brow. Dark were his nights horrld SHADOWS
in the house: sudden terrors; tho heaft STOPS
beating. waiting for footstep: At that d a,
comes Tragedy. knocking at all hours, Was
Lamb dsmayed? The tragedy of his life was
not drear n him. 1t was wound round those who
No" more a dearest to him it let him know that life
has glory even at its saddest, that humor ana
pathos clasp hands, that loved ones are drawn
nearer and the soul strengthened in the presence
Of anguish, pain and death. When Lamb sat
down to write he did not pull down his oIlnn
on all that is greatest, il most awful; IN human
life lie was gentle kindly; but he did no5
pay at pretending that there is no cemetery rounu
the corner In Mr.. Stevenson's exquisite essays
one looks in vain for the great heart that paipl-
tatcs through the pages OF Charles Lamb.