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OF THE CHRISTIAN BROTHERS.

When, as a result of exhaustive study and intelligent research, we find that a certain agency has always been employed under certain conditions, we naturally and logically conclude that such agency, in the nature of things, must be employed. Therefore, in the story of the development of human thought and human passion, whenever we see the by-play between individual emotion and personal conviction, between individual or national impulse and personal or state obligation, we find that the impulses are best elicited by a special form of expression, that the conviction or obligation is most fittingly presented by a special style of speech. Traditions have been handed down to us in this particular form of expression; momentous events and allimportant occurrences find themselves best preserved,—as the common heritage of humanity,-in this favored form. Wherever we turn, to whatever point of the compass of human events the needle points, we find that the memory of any great event appeals to the ear as well as to the eye, that sound and sense combine in mak

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ing it easier to remember what is to be taught; that the great chariot of human progress finds its weight of experience equally borne along, equally moved forward by the twin-wheels of human utterance, of human language, the prose and poetry of the world. Poetry, like language, of which it is one form of expression, is not a development, it is a creation. Hence, its first specimens are among its most perfect achievements, and "the poet's ideal ship." was grace, moderation, fine workman

humanity's annals, we cannot but be If we open the many-paged folio of struck by the fact that our earliest traditions, our first-born thoughts, are expressed in verse rather than in prose. The earliest efforts of most nations are emotional rather than political, finding their happiest expression in measured cadence, rather than in staid prose. The earliest lessons conveyed to child mind are taught through the and ponderous sentence. "Savages, nursery rhyme, not in studied phrase who have only what is necessary, converse in figures." "As we go back in COPYRIGHT, APRIL, 1897, BY WARREN E. MOSHER.

history, language becomes more picturesque, until in its infancy it is all poetry."

What is true of the story of a nation, when best told, is likewise applicable to the earliest language-drill of aspiring, literary genius. The master designers in the workshop of words have, as a rule, first uttered chosen thoughts in poetry rather than in prose. Even those who eventually became leaders among the prose writers of the world, began their successful career by calling attention to their thoughts, expressed in measured line, rather than in homely prose.

Not less interesting than the necessity of poetry as a form of expression, is the history of the moral ascent of man, in which we find him, after he had lost the art-Divine of conversation with God, a language invented for the express purpose of enabling man to enter into communication with his Creator. Then was man gifted with thoughts so glorious that they surpass present human ken. Were not Adam and Eve, while walking with God, enjoying, in some degree, that vision of which, in our present condition, it is not given us even to conceive, much less to express?

Years rolled by; and man felt himself "Like a God among ruins." The rupture between the Creator and the creature became more complete. Man strayed farther from home. Eden had ceased to be more than a memory. The turning-point was reached. Once more, man feels that he cannot remain away from his Father's house. He has reasoned from material things, by which he is surrounded, and finds the great Originator Whose glory the stars declare, Whose power the storm-rent

mountain-sides proclaim; Whose Providence is announced by the forethought of the tiny insect, Whose winter stores the wisest of monarchs deems deserving of man's special study. Man feels that he must give tongue to his belief. He cannot consent to qualify the thought of the Divinity in terms employed for even the greatest of things, merely natural. He longs for something higher and nobler; he cannot employ ordinary speech, however chosen; his heart expands, his hands reach out to immensity. His eyes are raised to the vast dome he loves, yet dreads to explore; his whole being is wrought up to a tension beyond control; he bursts forth into what is at once an apostrophe, a hymn, an exclamation of worship, a canticle of love! He finds sound and sense united in his utterance, he steps to the measure of the lines he speaks;-Poetry has come to his aid. Later, he will be more thoughtful of his words, he will be less emotional in his language. Today, he is a child in worship! Whether enraptured by his deliverance from the Egyptian bondage, or soul-torn by captivity beside Babylon's waters; whether overjoyed by the dedication of a temple, or heart-broken beside the ruins of a consecrated city, Poetry alone serves his purpose. God's law and man's promises find expression in the formal lines of staid prose. God's chosen Psalmist is Juda's poet as the stately ark moves on. The saddest thoughts that man e'er wrote are surely "STABAT MATER.” Whether shouting Hosannahs at the altar of incense, or weeping beside the grave of a best-beloved, Poetry is high priest of the occasion.

Again, when men desire to express

some principle, to enunciate some thought, to emphasize some idea that shall go down the ages, gathering force as it moves onward, it will be found that poetry, not prose, oftenest bears the burthen, in song, to a listening world, that is too busy to be stopped, while the message is delivered; unless, to the mere word of utterance, be added the music of well-wrought sound, with sense combined.

Look over the list of great writers, ancient, or modern;-recall those that you have read, or perhaps studied, most carefully. Be just in your comparisons, that you may reach fair conclusions. Take CAESAR'S COMMENTARIES and VIRGIL'S AENEID: every student has made a fairly good study of these two classics. Yet, how few recall even the faintest remembrance of anything from Rome's ambitious ruler, while the poorest classical student can recite with pleasure, at least in the guise of a modern translation, chosen lines from the wondrously beautiful, because artlessly accurate, description of running stream and smiling meadow, furnished by the bay-bearing songster of Nature's manifestations.

How shall we compare "THE RETREAT OF THE TEN THOUSAND" as narrated by Xenophon, and that other military exploit, THE SIEGE OF TROY? Both deal with all that is bravest in deed, with all that is likely to kindle enthusiasm at the sight of "Greek meeting Greek in the tug of war." Both descriptions are by master hands. Each is narrated with an accuracy of detail that shows the writer to be a Prince among authors. Withal, the prose of "THE RETREAT" pales before the magic of "THE SIEGE." One is written with the stylus of the master-military gen

ius, the other grows under the quill of the poetic seer whose warmth of imagination makes each line live with a life all its own, with a beauty that steals from sinister war its horrors, and drowns the groans of the dying in the loud hurrahs, the joy-laden acclamations of the victor. Xenophon is the prose narrator of military movements: Homer, the creator of events that make "The Siege OF TROY" live forever in the memory of every student of classical lore, in the heart of every admirer of brave deed and noble encounter.

What would early English history become, if we destroy the work of the court-poet?-the happy mortal whose duty it was to keep the prince in good humor by putting a pleasant face on all the doings of his master. Are not some of the most serious difficulties that arose in English court-circles, those that centered around the sayings of the King's singer?

How dry the details of battle without his skill! How narrow the band of information that kept king and people united, if we omit the flattering lines that celebrated a real victory or that palliated an evident defeat! How absent from detail the court-calendar, if we reject the recital of the happy births, the gorgeous marriages, the solemn deaths and burials with which the history of each reign is dotted! Is not one of our oldest poems extant the recital of a poet's woes, when fickle fortune has turned away, and his place as King's flatterer had been given to another? For that matter, what know we of the home-life and hearths' stories of our own dear little, sweet little island of Erin, if we forego the recitals of the bards, whose lines, and whose cords, made wide open the welcome

he received from prince and peasant! How much of Scotland's mountainlore would disappear with the denial of her balladist's songs and stories! Is not the like true of England's records? Are not her most glowing tributes those paid by home-songsters and foreign-paid minstrel? How learn the grand story of the Crusades' brightest campaigns, if the troubadour's are put aside? Was it not to the happy inventiveness of one of their number, that the dungeon in which a brave prince was incarcerated, became known? Did not the answer from within prison walls tell the loyal bard that his search was successful, that the people still had a prince for whom they could fight and conquer? Or, if unfortunate still, battle, and die?

Among savage tribes, is not their medicine-man at once their priest, prophet and physician? Do not the lines he sings send forward his willing dupes to victory of death? What would the wildest orgies of Iroquois battles ever amount to, if the war-songs were hushed? Even in our own day, when the world has made so much progress, when men have ceased, so they claim, to be led away by any influence save such as they wish to be swayed by, is there not vast power in the pen of the witty punster who sends his shafts of ridicule and scorn at our political enemies? Who is more welcome to the festive board than the friend who can brighten up every face, and enliven every eye, after mere eating and drinking have ceased to entertain, and who, by his sallies of harmless, yet pointed wit, makes the closing hour of the gathering the best-remembered, and whose innocent repartee sends all away content with the cheer,

satisfied with themselves and grateful to their host?

So it is, that, "in the early dawn of poetry, we are astonished to meet with that perfection which has never been surpassed. Homer has never yielded to any in invention, sublimity of description and comprehensive knowledge of human nature; surrounded by the glories of poetry, he retired to his solitary grotto, snatched his magic pencil, and formed his daring designs."

Have you read Webster's immortal "Bunker Hill speech?" If so, do you recall the effect produced by his address to the survivors of the struggle of '76? Do you remember how your hearts were stirred at the apostrophe to the spirit of the Fathers? Is it not soul-stirring, heart-moving? Nevertheless, how much of the oration can you repeat? How many lines cling to your memory, like the aroma of a consecrated past? How different the results of a recital of "THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER." Here, the patriotic vein runs through one like a welcome contagion, and we find ourselves marching along to the step and the metre of "The Star Spangled Banner which in freedom shall wave o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave."

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of his namesake's bulky volume: one wrote poetry; the other, prose.

Who is there that fails to remember the patriotic sentiment of the late General who ordered that death should follow the attempt to haul down our country's flag? Yet, one thing was wanting to make the sentiment as world-wide as the idea the General sought to express. Barbara Fritchie, a woman, knew the language of the heart better than the brave General. Her action will last as long in memory's folds as the flag in whose defense she appealed.

We might prolong illustrations indefinitely, but further development of this idea is unnecessary.

That this language of imagination and the heart, as distinguished from that of the intellect and the soul, is an essential factor in reaching most men in many ways, and some men in all conditions, is evident from the dealings of the Almighty Himself, in His intercourse with mankind.

To all intent and purpose, the Sacred Volume, in so far as it speaks of God's action with men, is really a poem in prose, or a collection of all that is richest and highest in poetic conception, expressed in the staid and stolid forms of prose composition. What more poetic than the promise made to the dutiful son? What more imaginative, in prose form, than "THE BEATITUDES ?" Did not the poetfounder, the Seraphic Francis of Assisi, find poetic thought in each line of the Sacred Volume? But, it will be more to our purpose to come to practical illustrations: Is Tennyson's "Break, Break, O Sea," in any sense more poetic, save in form;-is it even as forcible in poetic intensity as the corre

sponding passage of the Holy Writer?

Is the mighty plunging

of the foam-flecked charger, "and Sheridan's Fifteen Miles Away" more striking, more poetic, does it approach in grandeur that greatest of all descriptions of the war-horse, so graphically pictured by Job, and handed down the ages, by critics, as the master-conception of its kind in the entire domain of all language?

Professor Potter, in "Sacred Eloquence," makes this well-known citation from Lamartine, one of the most gifted songsters France can. boast of:

"The Bible, and above all the poetical portions of Holy Writ, struck as if with lightning, and dazzled the eye of the child; he fancied that he saw the living fire of Sinai, and heard the voice of Omnipotence re-echoed by the rocks of Horeb. His God was Jehovah; his law-giver, Moses; his high priest, Aaron; his poet, Isaiah; his country, Judea. The vivacity of his imagination, the poetical bent of his genius, the analogy of his disposition. to those of the Orientals,-the fervid nature of the people and ages described, the sublimity of the language, the everlasting novelty of the history, the grandeur of the laws, the piercing eloquence of the hymns, and finally, the ancient, consecrated, and traditionally reverential character of the book transformed Bossuet at once into a biblical enthusiast. The metal was malleable; the impression was received, and remained indelibly stamped. This child became a prophet; such he was born; such he was as he grew to manhood, lived and died,-the Bible transformed into a man. If David is the most pleasing of Sacred poets, Isaiah is the

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