The record-union., 1896-10-25

the East End. She wrote him nice lit
tie note and told him so.
~
When Brownrigg next found himself
In Miss Campbell's drawing room, his
book had been published, and a copy.
the gift of the author, was on the table
before him. It was very pretty to look at,
printed on rough paper. bound in white
with gold lettering, Poems
by Ormond Brownrigg," amid a device
of passion-fiowers. Within. "A Souls
Epic formed the piece de resistance, to
use his own we'll chosen words In
modest preface he had forestalled OBJ
vious criticism by an apology for youth
full immaturity. On the dedication page
sea of margin.
TO L. c.
Lady, If ever in these listless days
A singers voice be welcome to thine ear,
1t may be thou wilt turn aside to hear
The music wrought in these enchanted
lays.
For this thy poet turns each golden phrase,
And loves own lyric voice doth silence
fear
If such dim hope can make a song so
Shall 1t not be thrice dearer for thy praise?
The poet sat in a state of feverish
anxiety, awaiting Miss Campbell's YER
dict. He had led up to it by devious
paths. as thus for instance: You have
shown me many aspects of your marvel
lous mind, and one, indeed, which l
had not suspected. 1t seems 1 make
some new discovery in you every day"
And she had answered.: Indeed?
You are quite natural philosopher
",
they are so fatiguingly progressive; you
never know when you have got to the
end of them"
He saw his opening and dashed into it
headlong. He said that there was one
further discovery he would like to make.
He felt that he stood at the bar of her
mercy, convicted of a heavy offence
(here he laid his hand lightly on the
poems), and he had yet to know her in
the character of an impartial judge.
And now the verdict was being given.
Il would rather not criticise your
pretty book, which I value as your gift;
but, as you have asked for my honest
opinion 1 must say l think you've hard
ly done yourself justice in publishing
such very minor poetry, you who can
write SO delightfully."- in prose. man
with a career, a definite goal before him,
really ought not to indulge in these SUI
perfiuous gambols by the way" Here
she took up the book and began turning
over the leaves. Yes, you have a great
metrical felicity-facility, l mean-but
your verse lacks the true quality of
poetry, charm and distinction" She
picked out a sonnet at random, and
read it aloud to him. He listened shud-
deringly; it did lack charm and diStinc
tion You see what l mean?" she con-
tinued cheerfully. Your melodies are
sweet, but reminiscent; one seems to
have met with most of your ideas be-
fore and you have found no new setting
for them. Forgive me; this is only
friends criticism; and there's nothing
new under the sun, If it comes to that;
everybody must plagiariZe from some
body, you know. What I mean is that,
when you have achieved distinction in
prose, it seems pity to waste your
really admirable powers in pursuit Of
the unattainable.'
Brownrigg had sat pulling his mus
tache during this speech. He now rose
stiff1y, and held out his hand without
speaking.
I've not offended you?" she asked in
nocently.
No. You have only condemned my
life -work-that is, me. You may not
know it, but / have put myself, the di-
vine part of me, into that book, which
you have read in twenty minutes and
appraised in three"
I'm sorry; but you told me to be
honest, and my opinions not final.'
Far from it, it is the opinion of
the average light reader who can only
grasp one idea at a time, and can't be
expected to understand versatility. |
am cursed by my many sidedness. Be
cause / have succeeded in prose, I'm
not permitted to be poet"
so it would SEEM"
He drew himself up proudly. This
IS a wCman's judgment on mans
work
She saw his suffering and hated her
self for inflicting it. But the thought
of jamie Morris (hs cousin) hardened
her heart for the final blow. Not alto
gether a womans opinion. 1t is shared
at least by Mr.. Horace Gibson.
He turned a sickly green. He had
always cherished the belief that Gibson
privately recognized his genius as
poet. while condemning it from an ed
itorial point of view. If she were right
the doom of his book was sealed. Glib
son is literary specialist. But you
did we'll to quote him.
With this Parthian shaft he covered
his retreat. He met Gibson on the
stairs and passed him without word.
Yes" she said in answer 20 the ed
itors inquiring eyebrows; after three
attempts I've succeeded at last
May 1 ask how?"
She glanced significantly at the 20
ems. Il merely ventured on a little
friendly criticism"
Brownrigg's passion was dead; he
had awakened as from a delirious
dream. Leonora had labored to deface
his ideal of her. with apparent failure:
now she had shattered his ideal of nim-
self: and having done this her former
experiments justified themselves at
once. a result which shows that no
he nest, conscientious labor is in vain.
He felt deeply the passing away CT that
great love. 1t reused unpleasing uues-
tions. He had loved jamie and forgot
ten her; he had adored Leonora and
he adored her no longer. Could it be
possible that he was tickle? He remem-
bered how in his boyhood he had once
made a friend of a man called Haynes;
how he wrote a sonnet To Young
Friend" (Haynes being five years his
elder) in which he spoke Of holding
"High Converse with a spirit mild and
wise;
And how he excused himself afterward
on the ground that these epithets were
wrung from him by the exigencies of
rhythm and rhyme. For an absurd
Quarrel had brought that friendship
to an abrupt end. He remembered the
and disgust, and also