"fussa
THE COURIER.
THE PASSING SHOW
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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
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Regular dinner, 25 cts.
Short orders a Specialty.
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