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Delving in Traffic's sunless mine,

We barter souls for Fortune's dross, God's lasting stores of good resign,

Unheeding our eternal loss.

We trust our all in Friendship’s grasp,

And look for added stores of bliss ; And lo! the poison of the asp

Concealed within Love's honeyed kiss !

Sin sets her snares for trustful feet,

And lures with Pleasure's gilded spoils; Then, when her triumph is complete,

Spurns the poor fool who dared her toils. Ambition's chalice greets our lip,

Red with the beaded wine of Fame, And we from seeming nectar sip

The maddening gall of Guilt and Shame.

Our stock-marts lift their giddy fronts

High over Mammon's rush and rout, And, if the Christ would enter once,

We bar the unwelcome stranger out. For greed of gain, and Folly's gaud,

We forfeit manhood's fairest dower; And on our brothers' necks is trod

Our ruthless way to place and power.

We feed content on husks of Sin,

Or kiss the gilded chains of Vice, And vainly think by fraud to win

The road direct to Paradise.

O fleshless bait ! O damning cheat !

O Upas shade! O syren voice ! We curse ye all, and still our feet

Perversely make your paths their choice ! Great God! when come the golden years

So long foretold-delayed so long? When, through Life's harvest-rain of tears,

Shall sighing blossom into song ?

When shall this waste and ruin cease

This death-blight on our manhood's lifeAnd the clear sunlight of Thy peace

Break through this cloudy pall of Strife ? Thy hands, outstretched to lift us up,

Our earthward eyes refuse to see ;
We spurn Thy mercy's proffered cup

To drink the dregs of misery!
Thy “still, small voice” in vain appeals

Where human babblers prate and rave,
Though Reason's night-shade but reveals

The bowered entrance to her grave.

O matchless Might! with strength endow

Our puny hands to dare and do, And in life's battle triumph Thou,

Whether by many or by few! Let Thy blest Spirit, as of old,

Breathe down the billowy wrath of man! And in our chastened lives unfold

The workings of Thy wondrous plan!

Not Dead.

Here, at the sweetest hour of this sweet day,

Here, in the calmest woodland haunt I know, Benignant thoughts around thy memory play,

And in my heart do pleasant fancies blow, Like flowers turned toward thee, radiant and

aglow, Flushed by the light of times forever fed, Whose tender glory pales, but is not dead !

The warm South wind is like thy generous breath,

Laden with gentle words of cordial cheer,And every whispering leaf above me saith,

“She whom thou dream'st so distant, hovers near;

Her love it is which thrills the sunset air With mystic motions from a time that's fled, Long past and gone in sooth, but oh! not dead !”

The silvery murmur of cool brooks below,

The soft, still clouds, that seem to muse on' high ;Love-notes of hidden birds that come and go,

Making a sentient rapture of the sky,
All the rare season's peaceful ecstasy,
Hints of pure joys of ours forever fled,
Joys past, indeed, and yet they are not dead !

Far from the motley throng of sordid men,

From fashion far, mean strife, and frenzied gain, In those dear days through many a mountain glen,

By mountain streams, and fields of rippling grain,

We roamed, untouched by passion's feverish pain, But quaffing friendship's quiet draughts instead Its waters calm, whose sweetness is not dead !

Above that nook of fond remembrance stands

A dove-eyed Faith that falters not, nor sleeps; No flowers of Lethe droop in her white hands

And if the watch that steadfast angel keeps Be pensive, and some transient tears she weeps, They are but tears a soft regret may shed O'er twilight joys which fade, but are not dead ! Not dead! not dead! but glorified and fair,

Like yonder marvelous cloudland floating far Between the quivering sunset's amber air,

And the mild luster of eve's earliest star,

Oh! such, so pure, so bright these memories are, Earth's warmth, and Heaven's serene around

them spreadThey pass, they wane, but, sweet, they are not

dead!

A Life-Lesson,

SPIRIT of God! our sullied wings

Soar not to heights where Thou dost dwell ; We grope among life's meaner things,

And grovel in its mimic hell.

Our coward souls, with spears in rest,

Halt on the edge of life's hot fields,
Where Faith, by Fear's battalions pressed,

The contest uncontested yields.

With bated breath we weakly stand,

Scared by the rush of Action's tide,
Unmindful of the halcyon land

That stretches on the other side.

We sit at Passion's ample feast,

And Lust's Circean gobl drain,
Where Folly waits, with song and jest,

And tempts us to her mad refrain.

So, on these mingled tides of death

Thy Love's supremest beams shall shine, And all above, around, beneath,

Pay rightsul homage at Thy shrine.

| Behold around them arid desert sand,

Beyond their reach the blessed Promised Land.

Dearest, the wasted years are unreturning,
Give, then, as spendthrifts give.
What if the oil consumes itself in burning ?
We die that we may live.
Living or dead, in essence we shall prove
The indivisibility of love.

MARY L. RITTER.

The Poet's Wood-fire.

A GRACIOUS Presence sits before the flame,

Of one like noble Paladin of old.

A knightly figure; gentle, calm, all-bold For Truth, all-stern for Honor's stainless name. What visions glow on Memory's page to claim

His thought, as ranks of silver scales unfold On shimmering brands the wealth of forest.

So, through the age foretold so long

By poet's lip and prophet's pen, Right shall hold scepter over Wrong, And Eden's garden bloom again.

S. P. DRIVER.

The Soul of the Sunflower.

The warm sun kissed the earth
To consecrate thy birth,
And from his close embrace
Thy radiant face
Sprang into sight,
A blossoming delight.

Through the long summer days
Thy lover's burning rays
Shone hot upon thy heart.
Thy life was part
Of his desire,
Thou passion-flower of fire!

And, turning toward his love,
Lifting thy head above
The earth that nurtured thee,
Thy majesty
And stately mien
Proclaims thee sun-crowned queen.

wold!
What hopes, what fears, for fortune and for

fame!
He breathes again the grand, eternal calm

Of Eastern skies, beneath empurpled nights,
Whose stars, that glisten through the fronded

palm,
Burn o'er unfathomed snows of Alpine heights;
And through it all, with tender, royal grace,
There shines for him one fair, beloved face.

MARIE MASON.

On earth, thy gorgeous bloom
Bears record of thy tomb,
And to transcendent light
Thy soul takes flight
Till thou art one,
O sunflower, with the sun !

SARA JEWETT.

Afterglow.

Irrevocable.

I DID

not know that thou couldst grow still
dearer,
With every passing hour.
I did not dream that thou couldst draw still

nearer,
Consume, absorb, devour,
Till life without thee is a barren thing,
A fig-tree cursed, and done with blossoming.

Four mounds of earth lie side by side
Where summer sunshine far and wide
Its largess throws. No dismal shade
From cypress or from yew is made;
The sweet-brier trails across the sward
Where happy-hearted daisies guard
From rude approach the precious sod
That lies upon that hill of God.
An hundred throats their carols pour
From out a full, exhaustless store,
As if their rapture bore along
Refrain from one undying song:
The light, the song, the roses' breath,
Preclude the gloom and chill of death,
As-calm and still—the holy dust
Awaits the rescued spirits' trust;
And joyous life upspringeth fair
Where they have climbed the heavenly stair.

I thought that summer of idyllic pleasure,
For us, was “summit line";
I said, the vintage grapes that give such measure
Must ripen on a vine,
Clinging to some volcanic rock, whose heart
Sends through each branch its fiery counterpart.

But oh, these days of more than tropic beauty,
These sweet and bitter days,
When passion drags the loosened chain of duty,
And every sense betrays,
When, all the ouiposts stormed, enforced retreat
Is victory more cruel than defeat.

These days when all the starved and orphaned

senses,

That through long years have cried,
Are filled and fed with heavenly recompenses,
Rested, and satisfied,
When asking lips, and eyes, and hands confess
The living love, and the lost loneliness.

Can love from out our lives be lost,
Whose fibers with our own have crossed ?
Are yon bright angel's brows more fair,
'Neath glory of the haloed hair,
Than when they bent to me below
All glistening with the Paschal-snow ?
Do they—in happy life above-
Forget their ministry of love ?
Though years on years of silence fall
Since they have answered to my call,
Their coming footsteps still I hear
(And stretch my arms to draw them near),
Their garments rustle on the stair,
Their tender accents thrill the air;
So close they seem, so calm, so bright,
The lonely way is touched with light !
Like afterglow in Eastern lands,
That flushes all the desert sands.

MARIE Mason.

These days where sin is not, nor selfish feeling,
But two souls made as one
See, in the light of this strange self-revealing,
Their birthright sold and gone-

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Beyond the gates, adown the dusty road,

A Thought.

The old man sped, while fear his steps outran; When lo! atoward the city walls there trode

A wounded man.

Here are bitter, bitter tears; here are weariness

and pain : This is life! Who that hath known it e'er could

wish it back again ? In that silent, twilight land ; in that land so far,

yet near,That is death! Who that hath known it may not hunger to be here !

LUCRÈCE.

Why did that old head bow its snowy crown?
'Twas but a Yet see his nail-pierced

hands-
His riven side! The Apostle knelt him down

In the hot sands.

man.

TOPICS OF THE TIME.

Steps in the Right Direction.

Many of these are in the legal profession, or are

studying, or are about to begin the study of, the In an article published a year ago, or more, upon law. Others are tradesmen, but men who have a the importance of political education, we said:

desire to mingle in politics, and in the management “ There is no good reason why Yale and Harvard, There are others still—young men of fortune—who

of the government of cities, or states, or the nation. or any other college, for that matter, should not have a department of politics, which should give a solid do not care to enter upon business, but who have a three years' course of study. There is no reason taste for politics. What better can any one of these why a man should not go before a high examining young men do than to enter this new department of board at Washington, from such a school as this, Columbia and the University of Michigan, and thorand win his certificate of fitness for public office.

oughly prepare himself for political life? Such a There are a thousand good reasons why such a man should receive the suffrages,of the people for any political life: it would be a preparation for citizen

preparation would be not only a preparation for office which they wish to fill."

ship. It would make every graduate an important Well, that which we presented as a desideratum and influential man in whatever community he might is already furnished by two important institutions, find himself placed. These institutions announce viz., by Columbia College and by the University of that all students who are graduated by their schools Michigan. The former, more than a year ago, fur- of Political Science will be admitted to the degree nished such a course of study, in a “ School of Politi- of Doctor of Philosophy. cal Science," and the latter now announces the We say that these schools have not come too establishment of such a school. We heartily con- soon, and that they have come in good time. A gratulate these institutions on their far-sighted enter- good many things have happened lately, that give prise, intimately related, as it is, to political reform special significance to this movement in the interest and the future statesmanship of the country.

It has of political education. The power of the party manot come too soon, and it has come in good time. chine has received a most damaging blow in the Through the operations of the political machine, defeat of Mr. Conkling at Albany. He, more than the qualifications of our legislators and diplomats any other man in America, represented the political were probably never lower than at the present time. machine. In his hands it had become the instruLet us imagine what Congress would be, with every ment for cheating the people of their power, for inmember a graduate of the three years' course of troducing partisans into place, for making all office political education which Columbia gives and the the reward of party service, for shaping executive University of Michigan proposes. Suppose every appointments, and for controlling the action of the member had systematically studied international Senate of the United States. Mr. Conkling under. law, political economy, the history of diplomacy, took to control the President, and failed; undertook constitutional and administrative law, political and to control the United States Senate, and failed; constitutional history, social science, political ethics, undertook to control the State legislature, and failed; sanitary science, finance and statistics, or, in other and with him fell the power of the machine in New words, had gone through the curriculum of one of York State. The fall of Conkling is practically the these schools of political science. The supposition fall of the stronghold of the power of the machine. presents to the mind such a Congress as this country It is safe to say that no United States Senator will never possessed during its entire history. Our ever resign again because he cannot control an ex. Congresses and legislatures are made up very largely ecutive appointment. There is, at least, no question of men who know little of any of these subjects, that the cause of civil service reform has received a men without political education, and even without great impetus in the fall of Conkling's power. political intelligence, further than they have ac- What the state has gained—what the country has quired it in their current newspaper reading. Our gained—in the cause of political morality and reform, public agents abroad, mainly put in office by the is worth all it has cost. We are thankful that everymachine, have been, in almost numberless instances, thing happened as it did. The result compensates a disgrace to the country, knowing literally noth- for all losses and all expenses. ing of good society, nothing of the languages of Then again, if we may believe the reports, the the governments to which they have been accredited, present administration has been thoroughly connothing of diplomatic history, and nothing whatever verted to civil service reform. It has been worn out of the forms and details of diplomatic business. The and disgusted by the applications for office, and has crudities of legislation and the blunders in finance had a new insight into the evils of the old system. and in all matters of political economy are notorious There is no question that men in high places and in the history of our law-making bodies. We have low are stirred in this matter as they have never had a world of bad legislation, and that legislation been stirred before. Mr. Dawes writes a letter to has fitly measured the legislative ignorance.

the people of Massachusetts, assuring them of the Now, scattered up and down the lan

there are readiness of all their representatives in Congress to a great many young men with political ambitions. agree to recommend no more candidates for office

nntil the executive asks their advice, provided the the order does not appear, and, if it should do so, it influential people of the State will stop asking them would be met by a burst of ridicule from one to do so. Mr. Dawes's logic is not good. If there end of the land to the other. Why? Simply bewere any other way provided for introducing men cause all men who have systematically learned to office, this one would not be resorted to. Let architecture know that, in classical and mediæval legislation of the right sort be had, and that would times, every strong and graceful form possible in end all the trouble of Mr. Dawes and his associates | building was embodied in an order, and that all with petitions for influence in getting office. But future architecture must draw upon these orders Mr. Dawes's letter indicates what is passing in for any new combination. We have a good many men's minds. So we greet the movement at New attempts at originality, but not a pillar, nor an arch, York and Ann Arbor as a good step taken at the nor an architrave, nor a capital, nor a frieze, can right time, and we shall be much surprised if it be appear, that a skilled architect will not at once refer not attended with signal success.

to its origin in one of the recognized orders. So, when men get outside of these orders or undertake

an incongruous mixture of them, their work is recLiterary Eccentricity.

ognized as eccentric, and eccentricity is ugliness.

So much as illustrations of what we desire to say If the foreign visitor at Brussels should omit a about eccentricity in English literature. There are journey to the Wiertz Gallery of paintings, he canons of taste in literature, as it concerns structure would miss the greatest curiosity of that interesting and style, and when men step outside of these they city. It is a collection of pictures by a local artist, offend. We do not mean by this that there is somewhose work was so eccentric and characteristic that where in English literature a model which all the city has given it a permanent home, and classed writers are to copy—that there is no room for indiit among its notabilities. These paintings do not viduality of expression; but that there are limitations, lack skill in their treatment: on the contrary, within which there is plenty of room to work, but some of them are rare pieces of work in their way. still limitations, outside of which no one can go withBut their way is so eccentric that no sane painter out convicting himself of eccentricity and bad taste. would desire the reputation of painting them. Their So those who have called for an American literature, subjects are oddly chosen. Great pains have been supposing that, somehow, it must have a charactertaken to represent things not worth representing, and istic and original form in order to be American, tricks of handling are resorted to which are considered have called for that which can never be. The Engbeneath the dignity of a good, self-respecting artist. lishman and the American, using the same lanNobody imitates this remarkable work, and most guage, are bound by the same laws of sound taste, people regard it as the product of a badly balanced and one can transgress them no more than the imagination,-all of which goes to show that, in art, other. Mr. Stedman, in one of his recent articles there are certain recognized canons of taste and in this magazine on “ Poetry in America,” quotes rules of treatment to which the general and normal and approves the statement of Mr. Richard Grant artist-mind is loyal-canons which are either ig. White that it is the spirit, not the letter, which must nored or contemned by the work in the Wiertz characterize poetry as distinctively American. Both Gallery

these men are right. There can be no distinctively Wagner, the musi in, has, by sheer force of tal- American English that is not bad English. That ent and will, compelled the world to give him which must characterize American literary art must audience, yet, from the learned in musical matters belong, not to forms, but to vitalities. It is the he has met a strong and persistent protest at life in the forms that must characterize them as every step of his progress. His theories have been

American, if anything shall do that. at war with the prevalent theories of musical art, England has given us a notable instance of a man and he is likely to leave behind him, not a school who undertook to escape from the idiomatic bond. to propagate his theories and his style, but only age of the English tongue. He was a Germanized his own work, some of which will doubtless live, Englishman, and nothing but his transcendent talent but most of which will be regarded simply as the saved him from the reputation of a mountebank. product of fruitless industry and misdirected power. If any man less than Carlyle had written in his tur. Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, Haydn, Handel, Mendels-gid, involved, and bombastic style, he would have sohn, and the better masters of opera will be con- met nothing but ridicule. His imitators and follow. tinuous in their influence and control, and Wagner ers have met nothing else, but these are few and far will subside into the uninfluential reputation of an between, and Carlyle's works, or many of them, eccentric. In the course of centuries, certain ideas will stand in all the future as warnings rather than of music become established-certain principles, as examples, so far as their style concerned. He rules, powers, and limitations. Where a composer stepped outside of the limitations of good taste. ignores or endeavors to supplant these, he is at once He trampled upon the idiomatic usages of his regarded with suspicion and met with opposition. mother-tongue. He was a lawless, elephantine blun. Orthodoxy in art is as conservative as orthodoxy in derer, whose example would do much damage if it religion and politics.

could or should be followed. This is the kind of We have had a great deal of talk, first and last, thing Americans would achieve if they should adopt concerning an American order of architecture, but the theory that an American literature is to be

VOL. XXII.-74.

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