New-York tribune., 1912-04-19

against verbal preciosities, and of late
it has been strongly nourished by the
tendencies in fiction and in drama The
writer who thinks there is something
talismanic about the process of calling
spade a spade is always with us, bu.
where he has been wont 10 invoke the
name Of Art in support of his plain
speech he now rests his claim upon the
broad back of Humanity. The poetry OF
pity is nothing If not candid. The poets
are sorry, terribly sorry, for the woes of
mankind; they deal not in porphyry, but
in sordid clay, and. having no nonsense
about them, they propose that the stuff
in which they deal shall color their die
ton. though 1t may color that diction but
a painful drab.
Mr.. John Masefeld is a good type of
the current school. In the first of the
two poems of which his new volume Is
composed he relates the experience OF
poaching ne'er- do-weel who battles In
the prize ring with one of his cronies,
gets very drunk after this performance,
then runs amuck among his fellow VII
layers. and. being all the time much dis
tressed in his mind, ends UP repentant
under the admonitions Of a compassion
ate young Quakeress Thus the narra-
tive set forth in THE Everlasting
Mercy" begins:
From Al to 81
was my folks contrary son:
bit my fathers hand right through
And broke my mothers heart in two.
] sometimes go without my dinner
Now that l know the times I've gin her.
Through nearly a hundred pages the
tale continues in this blunt vein. and 1t
is to be said TO the authors credit that
substance and form are we'll matched:
one Of the laws of poetry. at any rate.
is perfectly fulfilled. Mr.. Masefield tells
his story so that every development in
81 is absolutely clear The character Of
Saul Kane is revealed in action and Is
made understandable almost If not
quite down to the end. Indeed, there is
something credible about the illumna-
ton that invades him when the Quak-
eress speaks, though her intervention,
with its overwhelming effect, smacks a
little of that unreality which we asso-
ciate with the visits of the god from the
machine. Something broke inside my
brain" exclaims Saul, and turns over
new leaf. Well. regeneration often
comes that way amongst the Saul
Kanes Of this world. AS a tract THE
Everlasting Mercy" has an undeniable
force.
The same value attaches TO THE
Widow in the Bye Street" wherein a
harmless lad living with his poor,
widowed mother is beguied by a hussy
and so lured TO a murderer's end There
is a deeper pathos in this poem, fed, of
course, from the spring at the old
woman's heart, and again Mr. Mase-
field closely suits his craftsmanship to
his theme Witness the following pict-
ure. picture both vivid and tender. of
the two in their forlorn home on the eve
of tragic things:
And there they sat OF evenings after dark
Singing their song of "Binger," he and she.
Her poor old cackle made the mongrels
bark
And You sing Binger, mother" carols he:
BY crimes, but that's a good song. that
And then they slept there in the room they
shared.
And all the time fate had his end prepared.
One thing alone made Iifo not perfect
sweet:
The mothers daily fear OF what would
come
When woman and her lovely boy should
When the new wife would break up the
old home
Fear OF that unborn evil struck her dumb.
And when her darling and woman met,
She shook and prayed Not her, o God.
not yet"
II is impossible to contemplate this
interior without certain sympathy. and.
In fact, as the drama which lays It in
ruins moves naturally and steadfastly to
its cruel climax, we cannot but confess
ourselves touched. Unfortunately we
are touched by this poem as by the other,
not POLITICALLY, but as through a purely
tractarian fervor.
Why are we thus disilIusioned? The
FAULT lies entirely. we fear. with Mr..
Maseield. There is, of course, nothing
in his subjects inirnicai to the compost
tion of poetry. His realism has the sane
ton OF more than one great name In
English verse. Cowper, II is true, delib-
erately rejected the more sinister types
of human frailty-though not. we may
add, without paying his compliments to
them In lines that are weighty and still
live--but Crabbe, from whom Mr.. Mase-
field consciously or unconsciousy de-
;eaes fixed permanently enough stand