The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1900-05-06
STILL A LITERARY FACTOR.

The small critics have for some time been
lamenting, with a hypocritically regretful
air. what they profess to regard as the
literary decadence of Rudyard Kipling. The
most of his published productions of the
past two or three years show, they say, a
decided falling off in vigor of expression
and in literary finish, and they assume
with needless haste that he has, in view of
the fact that he is now but thirty-five years
of age. written himself out" Most of the
utterances to which they object, including
such rhymes as THE Absent-minded Beg
gar" had political bearing or related to
the war in Africa. Now. political talks by
a layman, a plain citizen and even politi-
cal poems are usually the expressions Of
some sudden thought or emotion; they are
intended to achieve an immediate effect. to
make clear a certain point, and, as a rule,
their literary form and finish are secondary
considerations with the author. They are
not the result of careful study and CAL
culation. as when given out by a public
man. Even Mr.. Kipling may be permitted
when he is seeking to drive political nail
home in the most direct style possible. But
even the critics who insist upon holding
him up to his highest standard at all times
will have to admit that, however he may
nave fallen short of 1t In the year or SO
past, his letters from South Africa lack
nothing Of vigor or picturesqueness. or the
peculiar Kiplingesque quality that made
him famous And what can they find want
ing in that bit of description of a Vermont
winter in Harper's Magazine? He had prob
ably never known what really cold weather
is until his first winter in his Brattleboro
home, and the vivid impression made on his
mind is admirably conveyed to his readers.
We who have once known iron-bound win
ters may think there is nothing new to learn
Of them, but it is at least worth while to
read what he says to revive old memories
of the days when such weather was a Joy
and an inspiration. Writing of a January
ice-storm, when every twig is coated with
frozen rain, he says:
If the wind and sun open the day to-
gether the eye cannot look steadily at the
splendor OF this jewelry. The woods are
full of the CHATTER of arms; the ringing of
bucks horns in fight: the stampede of
mailed feet up and down the glades: and a
great dust of battle is pulled out into the
open. till the last of the ice is beaten away
and the cleared branches take ND their
regular chant.
Again the mercury drops twenty and
more below zero, and the very trees swoon.
The snow turns TO French chalk squeaking
under the heel, and their breaths cloak the
oxen In rhine. AT night a trees heart will
break in him with a groan.
But 1t is not natures phenomena alone
which he observes. His discernment Of the
characteristics of the Vermont native is as
keen as his understanding of the Queen
subjects in India. "In the silence of the big
snow" he says. "is born. perhaps. not a
little of the New England conscience which
her children write about. There is much
time to think. and thinking is highly dam
gerous business. Conscience, fear, undi-
gested reading, and, it may be. not too
well-cooked food have full swing A man,
and more particularly a woman. can easily
hear strange notes.-the word Of the Lord
rolling between the dead hills: get revela-
lions and an outpouring CT the spirit. and
end (such things have besn) Iamsntably
onouGh ~ those biz houses By The Con-