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About The courier. (Lincoln, Neb.) 1894-1903 | View Entire Issue (Nov. 30, 1895)
"fussa THE COURIER. THE PASSING SHOW if ym J 1 i 1 IE E Sarah Bernhardt, In her one thous andth interview, is said to have ex pressed her mad admiration for Julia Marlowe. Now I don't believe Sarah ever aald It. She did rave over Clara Morris once, for Morris was quite her style. But Marlowe! I should not ex actly call it the yearning of the star for the moth, nor yet the passion of Heine's palm for the pine, but rather the longing of the range for the re frigerator. The old question of the laureateshlp Is up again in England, and the tide of favor seems to set toward Swin burne. Undoubtedly Mr. Swinburne is the greatest living English poet, indeed, since his brother In Apollo is picking okum In prison, he is the only one left us now. Swinburne is a great lyric poet, perhaps he is almost too much of a poet. Sometimes the matchless com pleteness of his rythm almost drives one to distraction. English ears were not made for much rythm. What with his rythm and rhyme and alliteration, his meaning Is frequently quite subordinat ed. He repeats his pet rhymes over and over. Just as Homer takes those great thundering lines and hurls them at you again and again for very delight In his own thunder. Swinburne is thor oughly a Greek, in his thought and treatment, as well as in his theme. The Greek tendencies are dlscernable in every detail of his verse, even in his indomitable love of joining an ad jective and a verb to merely do the work of an adjective. Its the old trick of Homer's"loud sounding sea." Some times I think Swinburne himself quite forgets his meaning in the delight of his measure. He can do anything with poetic measures. He has even imitat ed the Sapphic measures perfectly in stubborn, unyielding English syllables. He is intoxicated with melody and drunk with sound. He Is like a bac chante singing himself hoarse and scourging himself with rods at the Eleuslnlan mysteries. And yet he is a mighty singer. As Oscar Wilde said of him; And he hath been with thee at Thes saly. And seen white Atlanta fleet of foot In passionless and fierce virginity Hunting the tusked boar. His hon eyed lute Hath pierced the cavern of the hollow hill, And Venus laughs to know one knee will bow before her still. And he hath kissed the lips of Pros erpine. And sung the Galilaean's requiem. That wounded forehead dashed with blood and wine He hath discrowned, the Ancient Gods in him Have found their last, most ardent worshiper. And the new Sign grows gray and dim before its conqueror. Le Temps, the great Paris Journal, makes the following announcement: "The height of decency has apparently been reached in "Ie Charnet du Diable" the new fantaslo piece in three acts and eight scenes, by MM. Ferrier and Blum, at the Varieties." Ever since I can remember some hope ful and ambitious French theatre has been announcing that it has reached the height of indecency. I wish that one of them really would reach those glitter ing heights some day and then direct their energies into some other channel. The Scotchmen seem to be the gods of the hour among the devotees ol epnem eral literature Just now, and the gen tlemen who were last year wearing Trilby neckwear are cultivating bonnie briar bushes in their coat lapels. Mr. Ian Maclaren and Mr. Crockett have written some very fresh and satisfac tory stories. They are all in dialect, which is a great advantage, as the read er, not understanding them, will not recognize their faults and will take their virtues for granted. Seriously, though, they have virtues and very pro nounced ones. They are simple and they are direct. They are full of the quaint pathoof a sad people and the dim landscapes of a bleak country. But pathos In itself is not greatness. There are some facts and conditions that are in themselves pathetic, such as poverty, loneliness and death. A mere newspa per account of them is pathetic That Crockett and Maclaren handle this ele ment of pathos simply and without be coming maudlin, is greatly to their cred it, but I doubt if it gives them any very high rank In literature. I doubt if local color alone ever gave real greatness to any man. There is a sameness and mo notony about the work of these two Scotchmen that all too plainly asserts their limited powers and limited imagin ation. Apparently, living has taught them but a few lessons, that life is sad, that the world is Scotch and that crea tion is made up principally of heather and bonnie briar bushes. Local color, as Kipling once remarked, is a danger ous weapon. It Is the element of wo men, they seldom write about anything else. The .greatest artists, like Turgen eff, have always used it with an almost niggardly care. There are places in Turgeneffs novels where you can fair ly feel him refraining from assisting himself by somber Russian landscapes and the thread-bare, pathetic Russian peasant. Certainly Mr. McLaren's most ardent admirer cannot call him versa tile. One likes to read about sound, active, healthy men of the world some times, and not always about a collection of melancholy freaks. There is a weari some sameness about the romances of old men and old women and boys and spinsters, who should have married and did not. The world is really not respon sible for age or celibacy and gets tired of having the romances of these sad old people thrust forever In its face. And then In these plaintive Scotch romances the men are always preachers. I won der If the population of Scotland is en tirely made up of preachers? One thing, these Scotch story tellers will certainly do, they will supply the Sun day school libraries for generations to come. the doctors approve of Scott's Emulsion. For whom ? For men and women who are weak, when they should be strong ; for babies and children who are thin, when they should be fat; for all who do not get from their food the nourishment they should. Poor blood is starved blood. You eat and are nourished. Consump tion and scrofula never come when the blood gets its proper food. And nothing is better for starved blood than cod-liver oil. Scott's Emulsion is COD-LIVER OIL with the taste taken out. It is for all who feel weak, have lost appetite or are losing flesh. No one else breaks up cod-liver oil as it is broken up in Scctt's Emulsion. if you need it, get IV So substitute via do. TWO SIZES, 5c. mm SI.M. SCOTT & BOWNE. Chemists, New York. gutton & Hollowbusfy -HAVE MOVED lS&O Streets ZEHRUNG'S OLD STANDI Will accept engagements for high grade . music for concerts, receptions and parties. Any number and variety of instruments furnished. TermB reasonable. Apply to .i.s.- MtaUST M&NQVl Orders may be left at residence 523 so 9th or at Dunn's drug store. University Cotuervatory of 11th and R Streets Mrs. J. C.BELL 114 no 14 St LINCOLN HAIRDRESSING MANICURING FACE MASSAGE FACIAL BLEMISHES REMOVED, etc HAIR GOODS and COSMETICS if Go rAPITAL fMTY yEAT fAOMPAXY $ 1014 E Street 9 "WTtieire Yot Can JBtx-y - - - - Choice Sirloin Stealc at lOo 9 Verv Good Steele et So ( Brolllne tee am low ai Baoon So per pound TE DOKT CHANGE PRICES VERY OAY j Give us ea. trtc&l sia CK$C$CCKCCC$9 Neither Mr. Crockett nor Mr. Maclar en have, so far as I know, succesfully handled a long story. Stevenson said Pall Style Xtoyv on i 129 S. Twelfth street Ladles and Qentlemen's Grill and Oyster Parlors Regular dinner, 25 cts. Short orders a Specialty. All the delicacies of the season. OPEN ALL NIGHT. A CALL WILL CONVINCE YOU. Celebrated Hat: inle y : . rJ Z A. SAUTH, Sole agt M PER Yi S 9 9 9