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few whom the gods favor beyond their fellows; while for the rank and file of those who deal in the perishable wares of art a less ambitious standard may well be allowed. We must have our balladists as well as our bards, it seems; and very fortunate is the day when we can have one with so much real spirit and humanity about him as Mr. Riley.

At times the pathos of the theme quite outweighs its homeliness, and lifts the author above the region of self-conscious art; the use of dialect drops away, and a creation of pure poetry comes to light, as in that irresistible elegy "Little Haly," for example :

"Little Haly, little Haly,' cheeps the robin in the tree;

'Little Haly,' sighs the clover; Little Haly,' moans the bee;

Little Haly, little Haly,' calls the Kill-dee at twilight;
And the katydids and crickets hollers Haly' all the night."

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In this powerful lyric there is a simple directness approaching the feeling of Greek poetry, and one cannot help regretting the few intrusions of bad grammar and distorted spelling. They are not necessary. The poem is so universal in its human appeal, it seems a pity to limit the range of its appreciation by hampering it with local peculiarities of speech.

At times, too, in his interpretations of nature, Mr. Riley lays aside his drollery and his drawling accent in exchange for an incisive power of phrase.

"The wild goose trails his harrow

is an example of the keenness of fancy I refer to. Another is found in the closing phrase of one of the stanzas in "A Country Pathway":

A puritanic quiet here reviles

The almost whispered warble from the hedge,
And takes a locust's rasping voice and files

The silence to an edge."

In "The Flying Islands of the Night" Mr. Riley has made his widest departure into the reign of whimsical imagination. Here he has retained that liberty of unshackled speech, that freedom and ease of diction, which mark his more familiar themes, and at the same time has entered an entirely fresh

field for him, a sort of grown-up fairyland. There are many strains of fine poetry in this miniature play, which show Mr. Riley's lyrical faculty at its best. In one instance there is a peculiar treatment of the octosyllabic quatrain, where he has chosen to print it in the guise of blank verse, It is impossible, however, to conceal the true swing of the lines.

"I loved her. Why? I never knew. Perhaps
Because her face was fair. Perhaps because
Her eyes were blue and wore a weary air.
Perhaps Perhaps because her limpid face
Was eddied with a restless tide, wherein
The dimples found no place to anchor and
Abide. Perhaps because her tresses beat
A froth of gold about her throat, and poured
In splendor to the feet that ever seemed
Afloat. Perhaps because of that wild way
Her sudden laughter overleapt propriety;

Or who will say ?-perhaps the way she wept."

It almost seems as if Mr. Riley, with his bent for jesting and his habit of wearing the cap and bells, did not dare be as poetical as he could; and when a serious lyric came to him, he must hide it under the least lyrical appearance, as he has done here. But that, surely, if it be so, is a great injustice to himself. He might well attempt the serious as well as the comic side of poetry, remembering that "when the half-gods go, the gods arrive."

No poet in the United States has the same hold upon the minds of the people as Riley. He is the poet of the plain American. They buy thousands of dollars' worth of his verse every year and he is also one of the most successful lecturers on the platform. He gives the lie to the old saying, for he is a prophet in his own country. The people of Indiana are justly proud of him for he has written "Poems here at home." He is read by people who never before read poetry in their life and he appeals equally well to the man who is heartsick of the hollow, conventional verse in imitation of some classic.

He is absolutely American in every line he writes. His schooling has been in the school of realities. He takes the thing at first hand. He considers his success to be due to the fact that he is one of the people and has written of the

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things he liked and they liked. The time will come when his work will be seen to be something more, vastly more than the fancies of the humorist. He is the most remarkable exemplification of the power of genius to transmute plain clods into gold that we have seen since the time of Burns. He has dominated stern and unyielding conditions with equal success and reflected the life of his kind with even greater fidelity than Burns.

This material so apparently grim and barren of light and shade waited only for the creative mind and sympathetic intelligence; then it grew beautiful and musical and radiant with color and light and life. Therein is the magnificent lesson to be drawn from the life and work of the "Hoosier Poet."

PERSONAL PURITY AND NOBILITY.

HOMAS ALVA EDISON was once asked why he was a total abstainer. He said, "I thought I had a better use for my head." The answer is worth remembering by any young fellow who means to use his brains. A wonderful battery they make. Every morning they take up their work, and start us on our daily pleasure or our daily duty, if,

If we have not undertaken to impose on nature's plan for them.

If we have not tried this stimulus or that stimulus, not in the plan for which they were made.

The young man who means to do the best possible work his body and mind can do, keeps his body and mind as pure, as clean from outside filth, as Edison keeps his brain.

This is what is meant when we are told to keep ourselves as pure as little children are.

The readers of this book are so well up to the lessons of this time that they know that the men who are trained for a football match, or a running match, or a boxing match, have to keep their bodies from any stimulus but that which is given by food prepared in the simplest way, so as to suit the most simple appetite.

It is not simply that a man's body must be in good order itself. What is needed is that a man shall be ready and able to govern his body. He shall say "Go," and his body shall

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