The record-union., 1899-09-03


conclusive. Indeed, there are some ugly
gaps and contradictions in the proofs,
evident to any reader on simple in
spection. But Byron's latest editor,
Mr.. Prothero, will doubtless soon be
heard from on the subject. Byron's
reason for practising the deception,
writes Mr.. Cover, was that he desper-
ately wanted the money he might get
for the fraudulent poem to help him in
aiding the Greeks Gt was in 1S22).
Lack of ready cash seems to be a per-
sfstent family trait, as the present Lord
Byron, We observe, is now passing
through the bankruptcy court. One of
his creditors showed a letter from his
Lordship, as an inducement to making
him a loan of $4,000, solemnly assert
ing that he was perfectly solvent"
What he meant was, so he now asserts
on cross examination, that he was not
a declared bankrupt
= 4
A good word for the minor poet-the
tImid refugee of the magazines-is
spoken by a correspondent of the
Academy" who would like to see an
Anthology of Minor Poetry" In a
recent volume of poetical parodies, by
L. w. II. Crosland, there is an address
to the minor muse, which certainly
ought to find favor with that divinity.
TO THE MINOR MUSE
Out Of the light of the age,
An age of superior things,
l call unabashed unto thee,
y little Muse of the valley.
Scorn for the simple pipe,
The trivial trite tune
That man may make in his youth,
Is the fashion with all the world;
A fashion dear to the cheap
Young SuperciliouS scribe,
Also, to wits and wags,
And every honest fool.
So that thy numerous sons,
Sired by the windy spring,
BrlSte, or blush, or blench
AT hint of their parentage.
But, little Muse of mine,
They err who have shame in thee,
And gr1eyously do they err
Who handy thy name when they scoH.
For comely art thou, and WISE
And aff1uent of heart,
White are thy feet by the brooks,
And pleasant thy voice in the vines.
Thy Sister, the beautiful-brow'
Calm friend of them that endure,
Loyeth thee from her nights,
And wherefore not we, who are naught?
New York Post: John Lane has just
brought out in this country Lord Rose
berry's volume of "Appreciations and
Addresses This is the book which
the publisher was last week enjoined
from selling in England, on account of
a dispute over the copyright of a part
of the contents. But an English writ
does not run in this country, thank
Heaveni (as we used to say in the days
before the alliance), and doubtless the
work can be sold here without let or
hindrance.
A collection of 400 Wellington letters,
most of them unpublished, was. recently
brought under the hammer in London.
The larger part of them were addressed
to the old companion in arms and fell
low-Irishman, General Beresford, and
many are highly characteristic. One
in particular, dated at Paris in July,
1915, gives the Dukes impression of
Waterloo. He wrote that it was a bat
tie fought 'tin the old way" without
any tactics to speak of, and in which
both sides were "gluttons, as they say
in the prize ring''-that is, could take
deal of beating.
s. =
London Academy: In the second act
of Strindberg's drama, "The Father"
of which an English translation has
just been published, there is either an
instance Of literary borrowing or
striking literary coincidence. The Cap
tain is addressing Laura, who has. COM
mented on his tears. "Yes. I am cry
iv1r he saI+
But has not a man eyes? Has not a.
man hands, limbs, senses, opinions,
passions? Is he not fed with the same
food, hurt by the same weapons, warm
ed and cooled by the same summer and
winter as a woman is? If you prick
US do we not bleed? If you tickle US do
we not laugh?" And so forth. Remem-
bering the tremendous force which the
same words, or nearly the same. have
as spoken by Shylock, we wonder that
Strindberg borrowed them for the new
situation. But perhaps he did not bor-
row them at all.
Frank Norris, the author of that
clever novel, "McTeague," is about TO
publish a love story which he calls
Blk" The first book is in it's fourth
edition.
Mrs Oliphant was almost as devoted
to her garden as to her pen. Black
more, the novelist and gardener, visit
ing her for the first time one day, spent
the visit in discussing pear tree which
he found in full fruit in her garden.
After rushing to catch his train and
getting home" says "The Quarterly {"
he sat down to write his regrets that
the conversation had not been literary
as he had intended. Mrs. OIiphant re-
lated this as a triumph of her horticult-
ure." The same writer quotes what
Mrs Oliphant said of Turgenieff, who
called upon her in 1879. She spoke of
him as "a great giant, with much mel
ancholy, much gentleness of expression.
He was not to be hurried not given to
converse, but contemplative-oh, a. very