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naturalness. There is no enhancement of ciency' and 'economy of motions,' by the facts into a large impressive truth, as reason of the few lines employed to one discovers again in the 'Heavy Sledge.' create the desired impression.” The 'Bovet-Arthur-A Laborer' impresses

Young has not confined his efforts to me most from the rear, where the strong,

the industrial world alone. He is an expressive line of the neck and back becomes apparent.”

indefatigable student of animals and

their rhythmical movements, even the Mahonri Young's aim to express the clumsy harmonies of the much-dis

“His best work is distinguished by nobility and breadth of conception, close and conscientious observation of nature, predilection for virile form and plastic line of great beauty and power. ... He is a master workman whose technical facility is at all times subordinated to the spiritual significance of his work. It is, lofty tone, simplicity and dignity of his work are the result of a perfect union of every element that goes into the creation of a complete work of art."

The same magazine notes the quality of strength both in the drawings and sculptures of this artist—an admiration for strength and for the men who “do things.” There is a message of the glorification of labor almost akin to that of Brangwyn.” But this “glorification of labor” evokes a comparison with Meunier, and Mr. Young denies that his art resembles Meunier's, except, perhaps, in externals.

“I seeni to remember,” remarks Charles Caffin in the New York American, "his telling me that labor, except as a motive for studying its structural possibilities, did not interest him. If so, despite his personal feelings, he makes it humanly as well as artistically interesting.' The emotional appeal is present, Jr. Caffin believes, in his “Tired Out," a seated man whose every muscle is slack from weariness. The same quality, he says, is present in the “Scrubwoman.” Mr. Caffin continues:

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"A noble piece in miniature is the "Chiseler,' who, bent over on

one knee, is reaching down to hold the chisel at a lower level. How interestingly contrasted are the different directions of the pose; what a concentration of effort welds all into a harmonious whole! Another fascinating piece is the organ grinder, cast in rusty iron. It is a grotesque, but so human and withal so expressively sculptural in the designed rudeness of its technique. On the other hand the 'prospector' appears quite commonplace in its merely literal

rhythm of labor has perhaps found its cussed elephant “Gunda.” One of his most eloquent manifestation in some of most noteworthy achievements is the his sketches and drawings from life Seagull Monument in Salt Lake City, , These drawings are mainly interesting erected at a cost of $40,000 by the as studies, the art critic of the New Vormon Society. A close student of York Times points out, “and some of the history of the Mormon pioneers, them make their special appeal, in Young was struck by the artistic value these days of active discussion of 'effi- of the seagull legend of the Mormons.


OXA UTAH FIRM In this sketch, Mahonrie Young makes rough outdoor work humanly as well as artistically interesting.

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The blind girl has figured frequently in novels and plays as a center of pathos, but we seldom find our writers or playwrights setting forth the pathos in the lives of those afflicted as Effie was. It is a sad little story—not too sad but just sad enough to arouse

a sympathetic interest. We find it in The Smart Set, told by Tarleton Collier. VERY person in the Clover- bench, and as he came, with hand out- fear seized her. She clutched her skirts, wood station was attracted by stretched, toward her father, who sat by and moved over to the wall, into the the trim little figure in a tan her side, Effie started, when she saw him smallest possible space. It was the most linen dress one morning in greet her father in the familiar sign lan- obvious of invitations. The man seemed

early June. From her flower guage. A inute? That admirable young to hesitate. Then he sat down beside her, basket hat to her round, silk-clad ankle person? With the curiosity of a child, and she smiled into his eyes so gayly and and tiny tan pumps, there was that ap she stared at him. Easily, he continued unaffectedly that a sober look on his face pearance of freshness, exquisiteness and the conversation of gestures, and she melted into an answering smile. harmony which is the world's demand of decided that he could be nothing else but “We are going on a picnic,” she spelled And from under the low-hang one like herself.

on her fingers. There seemed no answer ing hat peeped the brightest and cheeriest Effie had never pitied herself, but her to be made, and after a pause, she spelled : of faces.

heart went out to the young man; she "We are going to Lake Monroe." 1 The girl was with her father and saw in him perfection deprived of oppor For ten minutes there was a continumother and three others : man and tunity and of full pleasures. But it is ance of the simple conversation. Her two women. Her companions were sin- hard to sustain sympathy with a person name, her father's, her mother's, Terry's gularly alike in the respect of a common whose condition is identical with your and those of the other two, she told him. blankness, almost stupidity, of expression. own; so with Effie, whose pity became She asked his, and he spelled it out for The people in the waiting-room recog- interest. She sidled closer to her father her: nized it as the characteristic of deaf and slipped her land under his arm. "Frederick Washburn Clarke.” mutes, for they perceived interchanges of The stranger would see; ah, he did, and Effie was having the time of her life. gestures, which they knew as sign lan as he looked in her wide eyes, he smiled, She had never experienced anything like guage.

as the others had, at tlie daintiness of this before. It was new to be riding, side Strangely, they did not identify the her. Effie's heart gave a throb, and she by side and lightly in contact with a young girl as one of the group of mutes, altho looked away.

man who was big and good-looking and she sat with them on the long bench. Effie wished that she knew him; she brave—she knew that he was brave and But when two small boys, who were knew nobody. There were father and good: to be conversing with him was wrestling, slipped and fell on the smooth mother, who loved her, and who cried wonderful. And he was one like her! tiled floor, she touched the arm of the now and then when they hugged her; She fell to picking out with a pin the woman who sat on one side of her, and there was Terry, the deaf and dumb man letters of his name on a newspaper. laughed. Then they knew; it was a high, who came to their house often; there He was oing to the city, he had told uninflected, uncanny shout, rather than a were Mr. Simpson, and Asary and Mrs. her. She was going beyond, ten miles, laugh; it was plainly the utterance of one Dardell—all like herself. But none of to the lake. When the factory stacks who had never heard a laugh that be- them looked especially pleasing in blue and the multiplicity of rails told her that tokens real mirth and enjoyment of life; serge, or otherwise, and none of them they were nearing the city, her heart grew it was a laugh like that of the others who looked as if they could pick her up and heavy. When she saw him look to his sat there, blank of faces, nimble of hands carry her away off, and make her glad suitcase and fold his newspaper, a sud—the laugh of a deaf mute.

that they did. And, she reniembered, den impulse nerved her. She took a penHer glance settled for the space of a they were all timid, and always seemed to cil from her satchel, and wrote on the minute on a tall young man who stood shrink from some unknown terror. The edge of his paper : "1005 Cloverwood before the ticket seller's window. He man in blue serge was afraid of nothing, Avenue. Come sometimes." was clad in the most conventional of because he looked good and smiled. He shook her hand as he rose, and the summer clothes-straw hat, blue serge, And to think that he was one like her memory of her big eyes, smiling for tan shoes. But blue serge was Effie's self!

once, as he saw them then, haunted him ideal of desirable manly raiment, and she She caught her father spelling out her for a long time after. looked. At first she saw only a broad name on his fingers. The young man She leaned out of the window, and back; then the man turned, and she saw nodded to her and smiled again. In her watched him. As he stepped from the a youthful face that plainly was made to childish manner, she smiled back, snug- coach to the platform and turned away, smile, a face that combined the physical gled closer to her father, and motioned she saw a man come behind him, and essences of good companionship and of the young man to the seat beside her. touch him on the shoulder. He turned. good sense. In all, it was a very pleas Effie was untutored, natural, in many He smiled, and then, plainly, unmistaking face, and Effie realized that this was

way's a child still.

And when she putably, he spoke to the newcomer and the kind of a man that she would like her hand in the young man's, it meant laughed. to know. Not that she had fixed a type nothing but that she understood, and was The two walked off together; they or ideal; with all her superficial sim- sorry, and that they were alike. It 'was passed directly under her window, and plicity, Effie was wise enough to know strange, she thought, that the young man she saw the young man in the blue serge that she must not dream. She had should change color and glance askance engaged in the most animated of condreamed, now and then, when she first at her father; but Mr. Wilson was in- versations. He was talking—she saw it. began to read, and she found that her different, and the man held her hand As hie passed under her window, he did life could be very miserable if she allowed lightly for a minute or two. The train not look up, but went on into the station, it. Thereupon she had rigidly schooled for which they had been waiting rolled his arm around the shoulder of the man herself not to think of what she would into the shed, and there was a rush for to whom he was talking. like to be or to have. She had never scats.

The train filled with passengers. The looked with interest at a man before; now She found one across from her father man who took the seat which the blue -oh, well, it must be that blue serge that and mother. The man in blue serge serge man had left was startled from his fitted so well.

came in; she was watching for him, and newspaper by the sight of a tear that She watched him as he, glancing she nodded toward him. He raised his trickled down Effie's face and fell on her around, smiled in the direction of her hat. He was about to pass by, and a hand.



, TH



OF THE LIVING POETS HEN the guns of the is always wholesome and sincere. We And in my neighbor's house there is the world are crashing in find this in the Cosmopolitan:

cry of a child. our ears, wliat chance

I close my window that I need not hear. is there to hear the

UXSATISFIED. songs of the thrush and

Norman Gale's “Collected Poems”. meadow lark? None at all it would

By EllA WHEELER Wl ilcox.

have been published by Macmillan and seem; yet even in the tumult of war

they furnish a delightful treat to one the inspiring words of the poets ring

HE bird flics home to its young; who remains fond of quiet, refined, the

The flower folds its leat es about pastoral reading, in spite of the anarMarseillaise and the Wacht am Rhein

an opening bud.

And in my neighbor's house there chic note that has for years been have power to send molten fire through

is the cry of a child.

pervading our literature. Mr. Gale is the veins of men as they march on to

I close my window that I need not liear. never anarchic, never stormy, and yet almost certain death. For the poet is.

never anemic or flat. The following not for our moods of tranquillity alone. She is mine, and she is very beautiful ; gives a fair taste of his quality : He gives the world its battle songs as And in her heart there is no evil thought. well as its cradle songs and celebrates There is even love in her heart

A PASTORAL. its deeds of slaughter as well as its Love of life, love of joy, love of this deeds of love. fair world,

By NORAAN Gale. Less and less, however, as the years

And love of me (or love of my love for roll around do the poets find their best Yet she will never consent to bear me a


LONG the lane beside the mead

Where cowslip-gold is in the inspiration in the clash of arms. The child.

grass, conquests over nature, the struggles And when I speak of it she weeps.

I matched the milkmaid's easy against social injustice, seem to appeal Always she weeps, saying:

speed, more strongly than the glory of the “Do I not bring joy enough into your A tall and springing country lass: war-lords; and the modern poet sing life?

But tho she had a merry plan ing of a modern war has the air of Are you not satisfied with me and my To shield her from my soft replies, an apologist even in his most eloquent


Love played at Catch-inc-if-you-Can lines.

In Mary's eyes.
We have reached the point is I am satisfied with you?
where war in the abstract, at least, has

Never would I urge you to some great

A mile or twain from Varley bridge few or no defenders, and that is some

To please my whim; yet ever

so you

I plucked a dock-leaf for a fan, thing.

urge me,

And drove away the constant midge, The storm that broke over Europe ['rge me to risk my happiness—yea, life And cooled her forehead's strip of tan. last month brings again to mind one itself

But tho the maiden would not spare of William Watson's best sonnets: So lightly do you hold me.” And then My hand her pretty finger-tips,

Love played at Kiss-me-if-you-Dare
Always she weeps until I kiss away her

On Mary's lips.
By William Watson.

And soothe her with sweet lies, saying I Since time was short and blood was bold,
am content.

I drew me closer to her side, HE sleek sea, gorged and sated, Then she goes singing through the house And watched her freckles change from basking lies; like some bright bird

gold The cruel creature fawns and

Preening her wings, making herself all To pink beneath a blushing tide. blinks and purrs; beautiful,

But tho she turned her face away, And almost we forget what fangs are

Perching upon my knee, and pecking at How much her panting heart confessed! hers,

Love played at Find-me-for-you-Way And trust for once her emerald-golden With little kisses. So again love's ship

In Mary's breast. eyes;

Goes sailing forth upon a portless sea, Tho haply on the morrow she shall rise

From nowhere unto nowhere; and it takes And summon her infernal ministers,

Surely Mr. Untermyer meant to give Or brings no cargoes to enrich the world. And charge her everlasting barriers,

a portrait of the times of Jane With wild white fingers snatching at the Are passing us. We will yet be old

Austen rather than one of our own skies. Who now are young. And all the man in militant and rebellious times when he

wrote the following, which we find in So betwixt Peace and War, man's life is

Cries for the reproduction of myself the Smart Sot: cast.

Through her I love. Why, love and Yet hath he dreamed of perfect Peace at

youth like ours last,

Could populate with gods and goddesses
Shepherding all the nations
This great, green earth, and give the race

By Louis UNTERMYER. sheep.

new types, The inconstant, moody ocean shall as

Were it made fruitful! Often I can see, AY after day she knits and sews, soon, As in a vision, desolate old age

Waiting for nothing — yet she At the cold dictates of the bloodless And loneliness descending on us two,

waits ; And nowhere in the world, nowhere be

Hemmed in by silence, pansy Swear an eternity of halcyon sleep.

yond the earth,

Fruit of my loins and of her womb to A set of Lytton, five old plates, Ella Wheeler Wilcox always was


There is a bird that seldom sings, rather daring in her choice of sub- Our hungry hearts. To me it seems Four geure pictures on the wall

Vore sorrowful than sitting by Small jects for poetry. Her early “Poems

Day after day she sees these things, graves

And that is all. of Passion,” tho they seem innocent

And wetting sad-eyed pansies with our enough in these days of unrestraint,


Great joys or sorrow's never came were rather daring in their time,

To set her placid soul astir; especially for the middle West. Yet The bird flies home to its young; Youth's glowing torch, Love's leaping however perilous her themes may seeni The flower folds its leat'es about an open flame, at times to be, her treatment of them

ing bud.

Were never even lit for her.

she weeps.


my lips

The years

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The harsh years only made her wear

SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY. almost at haphazard from the sequence Misfortune like a frail perfume

fail entirely, of course, to give the :hung behind her on the stair


cumulative effect of Mr. Ficke's work: And filled the room.

BLIND JACK, Cending her lilac grief with tears,

SONNETS OF A PORTRAIT Her soul grew prim and destitute; HAD fiddled all day at the county

PAINTER n empty guestroom, locked for years,

fair. Musty with dreams and orris root. But driving home “Butch" Weldy and

By ARTHUR DAVISON FICKE, he strengthening cares, the kindling

Jack McGuire, strife

Who were roaring full, made me fiddle Of living never swept her highand fiddle

OUR beauty is as timeless as the or even in the midst of life,

earth; To the song of Susie Skinner, while Life passed her by.

All storied women meet rebloomed whipping the horses Till they ran away.

in you: A note of pathos similar to that Blind as I was, I tried to get out

Yet with some element of later birth, ound in Mr. Untermyer's poem is As the carriage fell in the ditch,

Some savor strange, some light troubling

and new. eard in the stanzas contributed to And was caught in the wheels and killed. Iarper's Nagasine by Fannie Stearns There's a blind man here with a brow

You were not possible until to-day;

For in your soul the risen Celtic wind Davis. They are beautifully wrought As big and white as a cloud.

Breathes audible; and tragic shadows tanzas, but the sadness is character. And all we fiddlers, from highest to low


gray stic of her work, as it is not of Mr. Intermyer's : Writers of music and tellers of stories, From dark Norwegian winters tinge your

Sit at his feet,
And hear him sing of the fall of Troy.

The longing of young painters who have


Lemans of beauty, and grown


thereby:OME days, when I am drest in shimmer-stuff,

The fierce unrest of toilers who have
Take note passers-by of the sharp ero-
With yellow roses

at my breast sions
and hair :
Eaten in my head-stone by the wind and

Life as a cage of steam-shot agony,Vhen just the air and sunlight seem rain

All weave around you, in the burning enough Almost as if an intangible Nemesis or

Now, To make the whole world delicately hatred

A lure undreamed on Helen's Phidian

brow'. rare;

Were marking scores against me, Vhen people love me, and I them, and all But to destroy, and not preserve, my sy heart is like a hill-brook's lilting call: memory.

I am in love with high far-seeing places I in life was the Circuit Judge, a maker That look on plains half-sunlight and Chen, if I pass Her, in her clim black of notches,


Deċiding cases on the points the lawyers In love with hours when from the circling With heavy eyelids darkened by old scored,

faces tears, Not on the right of the matter.

Veils pass, and laughing fellowship glows feel a sudden clutch of loneliness : () wind and rain leave my head-stone I stare down vistas of unsparkling alone!

You who look on me with grave eyes years, For worse than the anger of the wronged,

where rapture and there behold myself, clad close in The curses of the poor,

And April love of living burn black, Was to lie speechless, yet with vision

fessed, Vith tired brows, thin hands, and aching clear,

The Gods are good! The world lies free back.

Seeing that even Hod Putt, the murderer, to capture!
Hanged by my sentence,

Life has no walls. O take me to your )h, Sorrow's Shadow ! let me be awhile! Was innocent in soul compared with me. breast! Wreck not my happy yellow roses: set

Take me,-be with me for a moment's To watch upon my sudden cry and smile.

GRIFFY THE COOPER. Why should I not forget — ah, half

I am in love with all unveiled faces, forget!

The cooper should know about tubs. I seek the wonder at the heart of man; 'hat Sorrow's Self will meet me some But I learned about life as well,

I would go up to the far-seeing places. strange day, And you who loiter around these graves

While youth is ours, turn toward me for .nd take my hand, nor let me dance Think you know life.

a space away?

You think your eye sweeps about a wide The marvel of your rapture-lighted face!

horizon, perhaps, One of the most interesting experi- In truth you are only looking around the You are not peace, you are not happiness; ients in verse, or semi-verse, that we interior of your tul).

I look not on you with content or trust; ave seen in some time is published in You cannot lift yourself to its rim Nor is there in you aught with power to

bless cody's Mirror, of St. Louis. It is And see the outer world of things,

And at the same time see yourself. atitled “Spoon River Anthology,” and

Or heal my spirit weary of life's dust. onsists of a series of thumb-nail por

You are submerged in the tub of your- Nay, you are that which, on a leaden day. self

As endless clouds sluggish with rain pass aits, usually autobiographical in form, Taboos and rules and appearances,

by, the occupants of the graves in a Are the staves of your tub.

Leaps brilliant once across the sullen gray, llage cemetery! Spoon river is a

Break them and dispel the witchcraft A vivid lightning-gleam in that dead sky. -ritable stream in Central Illinois and Of thinking your tub is life!

And I, whose days of sun or cloud have pparently the portraits are based to And that you know life!

grown considerable degree upon fact. They

Changelessly furled in one gray mon'e written in very free verse, destitute A remarkable sequence of fifty-seven

strous pall, —

I thirst for fierce lights, triumphs, trumeither rhyme or rhythm, yet they sonnets appears in The Forum. They em to compel recognition as poetry called “Sonnets of

pets blown, Portrait

And you, most wild and passionate of ther than prose. We publish a few Painter," and the note of sustained

all, ecimens out of several score that passion is an achievement seldom at- You, the bright madness lightening the ive already appeared in successive tained by any but the great masters. -ues of Mr. Reedy's journal.

The few sonnets which select Of reason's dull reign in the universe.



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With this number of CURRENT OPINION, that exceptionally bright and
sane business men's magazine, The Caxton, becomes merged in this depart-

Every unexpired subscription for The Caxton, by an arrangement with
its publishers, will be filled by CURRENT OPINION. This department will be
conducted on the same lines as those that made The Caxton so useful and
attractive, and with the active editorial cooperation of The Caxton's staff.


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and it is a further question what other

nation will have the power to do so. INDUSTRIES

Whatever is done the United States will T LAST the awful tension is over. tain industries and in causing a gen- carrying charges."

pay the price Europe must pay, less the Europe is at war. More than eral rise in the cost of living. seventeen million men

George A. Post, president of the withdrawn from European industry.

Captains of Industry De Railway Business Association, remarks More than five billion dollars may be

plore the Conflict.

HE President of the Federal Sugar that altho carrying materials to the consumed, even tho the war lasts but

Refining Company, Claus Spreck- seaboard to belligerents may bring a comparatively short time. All the

els, voices the opinion of many

American railroads some revenue, it is important stock exchanges of the world captains of industry when he says: “It

hard to believe that on the whole the closed. International financial is almost unbelievable that there can

war can do our business anything but channels have been blocked, and many be a great European war in this day.”

harm. industrial activities are at a standstill.

Its consequences, Mr. Spreckels goes The United States must supply a large on to say, will be to demoralize trade

Destruction of Capital

a World Calamity. part of the foodstuffs needed by Eu- everywhere and the United States will

HAT American railroads need rope. We must fill a great many of be a long time in recovering from the

more than anything else,” acour own wants for finished goods that shock. Vinety per cent. of the sugar

cording to the New York have previously been imported. It is beet used by Europe for the manufac

Iar cannot beet used by Europe for the manufac- Sun, “is new capital

. no longer possible for Europe to fiture of its sugar comes from territory

help them it.


It sends savings nance even their own or our industries. which will be the scene of the strife.

to the sock, it unsettles the machinery We must, therefore, become the world's The men needed to . harvest this crop

of credit, and whatever is consumed bankers and to a large extent the in September will be found fighting

in useless waste or destroyed in bomworld's producers during this critical instead of harvesting. The sugar-beet

bardments and battles, or, in period. And it is questionable whether

the case of agriculture and industry, crop of Europe will probably be anniwe shall find much net profit for our

hilated, and Cuba, Java and the United prevented for a time from producing selves in the undertaking. The PresStates will be forced to make up a tre

wealth, must be replaced out of funds ident has denied the statement attribmendous shortage. This will result in

which otherwise might in part be uted to him that the United States

available for investments in our raila sugar famine, because prices will go would be the beneficiary of the war

up very high to the consumer not only ways.” A. D. Juilliard, of A. D. Juilwhich is upsetting the industrial world.

abroad' but also in the United States. liard, jobbers in dry-goods, asks: “How Most business men in the United States Edward Cudahy, president of the pack- will we get our goods over there if contemplate the European Armageddon ing company of that name, declares they want them?" From any standwith grave forebodings. The nations

that while the present supply of cattle point, he adds, a European war will be of the world are so closely bound tois adequate our foreign markets will

most injurious to the United States. gether that anything that affects one be completely unsettled. American

Feverish activity in some branches will will also affect the other. Even tho meat packers will have to pay abnor

be offset by the demoralization of we are non-participants, we have been

mal prices for cattle, and necessarily others. “At the close of the war all dragged part way into the whirlpools.

the nations engaged will find their reOne of the two leading bankers of the prices for wheat will advance. Charles Rohe, of Rohe Brothers, provision

so impaired, their industries United States describes the present

demoralized and the purchasing power European conflict as “the worst thing himself in a similar vein: packers and lard refiners, expresses

of the people so reduced that our forthat has happened since the days of the

mer profitable markets would disapHuns." Others point out that even if

“The direct effect of a European war pear for an indefinite period, with the this war should temporarily stimulate will be to raise the prices of staple ar result that our own superabundant catrade and industry for the United ticles of food not only for export but pacity will mean the closing down of States, the wholesale destruction of for home consumption. In meats the mills and workshops in our own land capital, for that is the economic mean United States has become an importer and a period of general depression.” ing of war, cannot react to the advan from Argentina and we must pay the

Early Financial Effects tage of anyone. The representatives price, depending upon the ability of ocean

or to take it of various branches of industry inter- carriers to bring it to us

'HE most palpable effect of the viewed by the New York Sun, Times abroad. That will be a serious problem, for it is a question whether or not the

war has been the quick drop in and other papers confirm the opinion

very few American ships would be able cotton, the sharp rise in wheat that the effects of the war will be man

to carry supplies abroad, particularly if and, because of the very sudden deifest here in retarding activities in cer they are regarded as contraband of war, sire to liquidate credits and secure gold,


of the War.

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