smiling' are worthy of a place, were it only to immortalize the author of them." And he pays her the more sincere tribute of his imitation. In the Henly edition of Burns, we find this note to his "Culloden": "Scott Douglas has noticed that this feeble performance is largely a cento of expressions and ideas selected from Mrs. Cockburn's 'Flowers of the Forest.' And indeed he is right.

But the verses need no further comment or eulogy. Love and honor have long been given to them and their author, whose life embodied and radiated so much that was brave and tender and true. Alike as a "heartsome" Scotch lassie, a brilliant literary woman and a gentle, cheery old lady, did she brighten the little world around her with a wholesome humanity that, in itself, makes her life worth the study. We can do no better than close it with her own words. "I shall be vain while I live of the attentions and good will of all my compatriots,— ay, and try to keep it as long as I live; for there is nothing so pleasant and wholesome to the human heart as to love and be loved."

WINIFRED SNOW.

Chicago.

THE PHILOSOPHY OF AMERICAN POETRY

It is a significant fact that during the three centuries of grim, unceasing struggle on the American continent, the paramount question concerning every production or movement has ever been: What is the use of it? Other nations have asked, with more or less persistence, the same question; but so emphatically has the New Citizen demanded utility in all things that the foreign world not infrequently has pointed the finger of scorn and dubbed the American an uncompromising materialist. And it is natural that such is the case. Brought face to face with an unconquered wilderness and its harsh, threatening realities, this child of the nations has had but little time to deal with Art for Art's sake.

As in the material world, so has it been in the spiritual and literary world. Doubtless all literature should be studied primarily because it is an "expression," equally doubtless is the fact that every creator of a classic should be considered first as one who had the power to express. His thought may have been in the minds of millions, but he it is who has expressed this thought supremely well, and he it is who has created from the vague a something concrete and tangible. His individuality, his Art, has made him stand forth from among men. In that vast volume, the History of Humanity, he has inserted one page, one picture which the world of all the hereafter may place its finger upon, and say, "This is the authentic record of his soul and therefore the authentic record of all the nations, movements and environments among which he moved." This is the indisputable claim of Expression for Expression's sake.

But America has rarely, if ever, accepted a lovely song merely because of its loveliness. It has demanded of its poets aid, a strong arm, a word of counsel, be it offered artistically or rudely. The manner of presentment has been, for the most part, of secondary importance; the fact that it is strong assistance has made it acceptable. Surely, then, it is not strange that the writers, and especially the poets, of the New World have placed substance far above form.

Looking through the list of singers in American poetry, we find all, with a single exception-that of Poe-offering a philosophy, indeed almost a theory. Empty nothings with fanciful frills have failed to win praise. In spite of the emphatic statements of French critics and in spite of the elegant and thoroughly enjoyable productions of French poets and their followers among other nations, the poets of this western world have steadfastly placed contents above form. The Anglo-Saxon people, and especially the Americans, demand a message. It has been given.

The phases of philosophy set forth by the American poets, if combined, would make a rational, practical system. No one writer has expressed it all; all of them have not given a complete guide for living; but each has given "supremely well" a partial answer to that great question: What shall we do to be happy?

Beginning with Bryant, we find at least three living ideas expressed the healing power of Nature, the excellency of purity, and the absolute power of God over man's destiny.

To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks

A various language: for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides

Into his darker musings with a mild

And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness ere he is aware.

This is the unfaltering belief of Bryant. Time and again during the long years of his life he spoke the same comforting message. Turn to the forest for solace; for

The groves were God's first temple.

The vast prairie brings him new life; "Old Ocean's great and melancholy waste" arouses his soul; there is inspiration in every aspect of the natural world.

As for the excellence of purity, read conviction in the closing lines of Thanatopsis:

So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan which moves

To that mysterious realm where each shall take

His chamber in the silent halls of death,

Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,

Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and soothed

By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch

About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

His life, spotless, so far as human vision can perceive, was but a concrete form of his message. Stern righteousness was his ideal, and his faith in the power of that ideal never wavered:

Truth crushed to earth shall rise again;

The eternal years of God are hers.

The nobility of an honest soul commanded his admiration: Peace to the just man's memory; let it grow

Greener with years, and blossom through the flight

Of ages.

power

And the of God over the movements of men-how it seems to overwhelm Bryant! Time after time he sees the hand of the Creator wisely, yet unsparingly, writing upon the wall. God is everywhere:

And this same power that guides the far-wandering water-fowl guides man:

He who, from zone to zone,

Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,

In the long way that I must tread alone,

Will lead my steps aright.

His belief becomes almost a comforting form of predestination, and boldly he declares that

God hath marked each sorrowing day

And numbered every secret tear,

And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay

For all his children suffer here.

Thus the first full voice in American poetry spoke philosophy, and to speak these beliefs was the primary, ruling passion in the poet's soul. The lark-like love of singing for singing's sake was not the all-mastering motive; the form of the song, though good, was a secondary consideration.

America has had one philosopher who was almost a great singer-but not quite. In the words of this singing-philosopher, Emerson, are to be found various contributions for the guiding of life; but above all others, three elementary facts seem to stand forth the teaching power of Nature, the usefulness of everything, and the necessity for individual independence. These three themes in various forms he sang; and his own life was the embodiment of his poetry.

Nature, to him, as to Bryant, was a healing power; but Emerson loved it in detail; Bryant, as a vast whole.

If thou wouldst know the mystic song
Chanted when the sphere was young,

go listen to the pine-tree. "The Humble-Bee" is radiant with love and sympathy. This busy creature of the wood-land teaches him the abounding exuberance of a natural life, a life drawing its strength from the earth and things earthly, and full of the light and joy of summer. To that man, says Emerson, who looks with understanding eyes at the elements of Nature, the way of life is shown:

Who so walks in solitude
And inhabiteth the wood,

Choosing light, wave, rock, and bird
Before the money-loving herd,

Into that forester shall pass

From these companions power and grace.

It seems utterly impossible to Emerson that there should be anything useless in the universe. Every object, no matter how lowly, how far removed from the eyes of man, has a message; it cannot live in vain.

All are needed by each one.

Far in the woods, beside the black, sluggish brook, he finds the beautiful rhodora, and, answering the question, Why does this secluded flower exist? he declares that beauty is its own excuse for being and further declares to the lovely flower that

The self-same Power that brought me there brought you.

Again, it is his abiding philosophy that by our very nature we must be useful, we must be influential: