The semi-weekly messenger., 1898-01-25


the literary form may be less elegant
and perfect. We confess to an admi-
ration of the forgotten "Festus" We
read it in our teens. Some ten years ago
our venerated and highly esteemed
friend, the late Rev. DR.. Huske, of
Fayetteville, observing that We still
cherished good opinion of the almost
forgotten work of Phillip James Bail
ey, of England, sent us a copy from his
own library which we cherish much.
We read again the poem some years
since, and while it did not impress US
as it did in our youth, it satisfied us
that it was production of a true poet
and that it belonged to noble class
of verse-"Paradise Lost" The Di-
vine Comedy" Manfred" "The Drama
of Exile" and, we might now add, we
suppose, Vondel's "Lucifer." Holding
the good opinion of Mr. Bailey as
with unusual interest an article from
the pen of Mr.. William Winter, the en-
inent dramatic critic, and also author
of some good poetry and several de-
l:ghtful books of travel in England,
written to the New York Tribune
from Nottingham, England. He is a
New Englander of generous culture
and refined taste. He met the author of.
"Festus." We are really gratified to
read this and reproduce it with salts
faction:
Do people read that poem, in these
days as much they did forty years
ago? 1t is a great poem-nagniticent
equally with Thought, imagery and feel
ing, vital with splendid audacity, and
marvellous with eloquence; and 1T is the
most lucid and most potent exposition
that has been made, in poetry, of the
, ministry of evil.
Mr.. Winter learned from the vener-
able poet that his poem had passed
through thirty editions in the United
States from all of which he had never
received one cent. A shameful fact.
This could not happen now. 1t has
gone through eleven editions in Eng
land. We add description that will
be read with pleasure by many and
will serve to introduce the poet to
| others:
! Mr.. Bailey is 80 years Old but, al
| though a little infirm he is still a strong
| man, and his mind is vigorous as ever.
| L found him in a. cosy, pleasant mouse,
| in the street called the Ropewalk, not
| far from the Castle of Nottingham, and
| we converSed in his draw ng room and
| in his study, and strolled in his garden,
| and the morning as you may Well imag-
| ine very pleasant.
| The poet is man of medium height, of
| a sturdy figure of a benign aspect, COM
posed III manner, deliberate in movement,
| and remarkable for his fine gray eyes
! and thick, buShy, gray hair. He spoke in
| soft and gentle tones, sometimes with
| humor, invariably with Kindness and
| good nature, and he seemed the absolute
| embodiment of peace. l have never met
! with person more serene, more content
| with fortune, more confident of the fu-
| ture.
The positive neglect the deliberate
| ignoring of Mr. Bailey is very strange
indeed. The poem is far too
| great an expression of genius
| to be shelved so long, and
while the poet was living. 1t is
too decided product of creative power
| to be ever shelved. The time must
come when it will be read with more
of insight and appreciation than now.
Mrs. Bailey is dead, and the old singer
| lives alone, in sad neglect as to con-
! temporaries. 1t is very strange to us,
| as we'll as sad, to know of such DELHI
| crate oversight, of such revolution in
! the fortunes of one whose name was
| in every mouth. Writes impress
sively and with classical reference,
Mr.. Winters:
| No mention was made of 1tm during
| the Diamond Jubilee; no mark of respect
| and honor was conferred on him; yet
| it would not be easy to name so great
| living poet, in England or anywhere else.
have seen many impressive objects in
| this city and in it's neighborhood the
! birthplace of Henry Kirl1e White; the
| caves beneath the Castle, that are aSse-
| ciated with THE romantic and tragic story
| of Mortimer, Queen Isabelle and King
| Edward; the spot where Charles 1. un-
| furled his standard for the fatal war
| with the parliament and people of Eng
land; the treasures and wonders of Wei
L
| silver cup from which King Charles took
| the sacrament on the morning of the day
| of his execution the priceless relics Of
| Byron at Newsstead Abbey, and the grave
| in which his ashes repose, in the old
| lowered church at Hucknall- -TOrkark; +;
| but l have seen nothing more significant
! of intellectual greatness and the muta-
| bility of human affairs and earthly fame
| than this lonely, neglected, almost for
| gotten poet, Philip James Bailey.
| This survival OF tie tittest" will one
day, we hope, have literary resurrec-
tion, when he will come forth from
'the dead past" not in the cerements
of forgotten authorship, but clad in
the robes of literary immortality. AS
a sign of this, we note the sympathetic
article of Mr.. Winter, and an interest
ing interview of the poet in the jan
e n~~:A -.