The mirror. (Stillwater, Minn.) 1894-1925, 1896-03-26

linen let the same DOy Jake up UOOh
III which is told. simply and with no
at fine writing, the story of
boy whose mother has died, or of one
persistently misunderstood by his
friends; and the sensitive mouth quiv-
ers, and the tears are not far away.
There is simple little story of Miss
Craiks called "Bow-wow and New
mew," which has had to be banished
from certain nursery, because it's
fascinating pictures continually tempt
to re-reading; and yet the tender-heart-
ed little Sky year-old cannot hear how !
poor MeW-mew ran away from home,
and was cold and hungry and home
sick, without sharing her suffering, in
spite of all assurances that she gets
back safely after while. Still this
same six-year-old slaughters an incred-
ible number of giants, and chops off
the heads of innumerable ''enemies."
He shoots wolves without mercy; but
it would be quite different matter if
one should propose to him to even pre-
tend to shoot bird. A few years ago
there was story in the Register about
two boys who were carried out on
Lake Michigan on a raft, and obliged
to stay out all night. 1t was true
story, told without dwelling on the
feelings of the boys; and the ending
was a happy one, as was known from
the beginning. 1t was read aloud to a
group of children. Suddenly the
mother was interrupted by half-sOb;
and she looked up in surprise to find
them all in tears or on the verge Of it,
despite the fact that they were rarely
affected by stories in that way, and
that this was a plain recital of facts.
1t is curious to note how the ideas of
novel-readers have changed in regard
to what is touching in literature. We
listen with laughing incredulity when
our elders tell us how women wept over
''The Children of the Abbey and we
wonder how far the exaggerated SEN
timentality of the heroine corresponded
|
Even with Dickens one sees the change
since the days when Taine wrote of
him: 'There is no writer who knows
better how to touch and melt. He
makes us weep, actually shed tears: be
} fore reading him, we did not know
there was so much pity in the heart. y
We are not unlike the children, after
all. Unless we have that in ourselves
: which answers to the situation, we may
be thrilled by the power of scene, as
by many of Balzac's; but our hearts
, are not touched The terrible chapter
of Pan Michael's revenge in the move
| by Sienkiewicz racks our nerves till we
refuse to be tortured by it, and tur1
l the pages unread; but our hearts are
I not moved. For real pathos we turr
l to the plain record of actual facts al
: set forth in the journals of Greedy, th'
d arctic explorer, and his companions
e or, in recent fiction, to such chapte
J. as that in "Men of the Moss-Hags,
e which describes Westerhall frightenin!
l. the children in Annandale. In readin!
the story of jamie Soutar's death, il
"Auld Lang Syne,' there is no time TO
tears. Indeed, we laugh at the word
a which were almost the last utteranc
d of the dying man. Yet the memor
if of that gentle cynic, who died with tn
l. spring in his heart, is wonderfully aki
l. to the memory of personal loss or grie
IS People may say what they will {
le Thomas Hardy in these latter day
r but, for power to touch the heart an
I'd set it vibrating in sympathetic respons
a. to anguish that under other circun
r. stances might have been our oW
w where do we find his equal? We c
ls not envy the man or woman who ca
o. put down such book as 'Tess of tt
to D'Urbervilles" unmoved, or unwillir
an to accept its lessons to those who
of more fortunate than its hapless heroin
1g This brings one naturally to the te
lis of all pathos in literature. If we re'
of books of any kind merely to indul
ut our emotional sensibilities, merely
,ly an outlet to the desire for excitemel
I'd uothlns is more weakening moral