" This is a proposition to
which one would cordially subscribe if it were not so intemperately
stated. A suggestive commentary on Mr. Ruskin's impressive dictum is
furnished by his own volume of verse. The substance of it is weighty
enough, but the workmanship lacks just that touch which distinguishes
the artist from the bungler--the touch which Mr. Ruskin, except when
writing prose, appears not much to have regarded either in his later or
"in his earlier and better days."
Miss Dickinson's stanzas, with their impossible rhyme, their involved
significance, their interrupted flute-note of birds that have no
continuous music, seem to have caught the ear of a group of eager
listeners. A shy New England bluebird, shifting its light load of song,
has for the moment been mistaken for a stray nightingale.
THE MALE COSTUME OF THE PERIOD
I WENT to see a play the other night, one of those good old-fashioned
English comedies that are in five acts and seem to be in fifteen. The
piece with its wrinkled conventionality, its archaic stiffness,
and obsolete code of morals, was devoid of interest excepting as a
collection of dramatic curios.
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