And, finally, he sums up for us, in words how few and simple, his theory and love of art life, and his faith.

"I work in freedom wild,

But work as plays a little child,

Sure of the Father, Self and Love alone."

Perhaps some may say that here are only isolated passages, that to concede their beauty or aspiration is merely to grant the charm of the special thoughts, and does not necessarily prove the value of the poems as a whole; that, therefore, nothing has been said to prove the place that Sidney Lanier should occupy among the world's poets.

Be it so. Even if the limitations of this paper had not prevented the critical study of his work from an artistic standpoint, for doubtless all art work must bear the tests of art before it can be finally adjudged to its proper niche in Time's vast Walhalla, it was only the intention of this study to place before those who are better qualified as critics his oneness of purpose, the peculiar correspondence between his individuality and his work, the unusual degree in which he himself was fashioned by his ideals, the unfailing loftiness of his aspirations, and the uplifting force he was invariably felt to possess by those who came near to him. Without such knowledge of the man in his wholeness, gained from personal acquaintance, or from those who intimately knew him, it is impossible that his work should receive an adequate interpretation. With it those critics who are fitted for their office, and who feel the sacredness of their responsibility in directing the eyes of a seeking world to include all holiness and beauty in all art and nature, will surely find a niche for a man who lived for “whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report."

Whether the Greek standard of art, as applied to the intellectual life, shall suffice for our fevered modern time?

whether new breadth of thought does not necessitate more freedom in form? whether some forms peculiar to Lanier, which were not accidental, but were wrought after his own technical Science of Verse, shall stand the tests of time? whether an extraordinary unity of purpose throughout work that was finished, and that which was merely sketched, may atone for some didacticism, some roughness, or carelessness? these and kindred questions are not for his friends to decide. The world must finally ask, "How does Sidney Lanier rank as a poet? How have his own words spoken for him?" and time shall answer, "Time, whose judgments are inexorably moral."

Because of our growing catholicity, of the many moods and minds to be ministered to, it is increasingly difficult to keep within the lines of criticism we have hitherto felt to be fixed; and new determining principles, allowing larger latitude, may possibly be among the changes not far distant. As works of transcendent genius in any period are a law unto themselves, having power to move the hearts of all future ages-yet the laws deducible from their being, however closely followed in minor works, lack this emotional power— so must there not be a genius for every period, who shall show forth the spirit and needs of his time after a method which shall be new for those who judge by what has gone before?

Just as now we are beginning to allow-nay, almost to crave an expression indicative of some noble moulding emotion in the faces of our marble groups, may not the case arise where the question to be asked is, not whether the outline is severely classic, but whether the passionate emotion flows purely and harmoniously, revealing new lines of grace? whether the thought moves us in the direction of the tendency for which the artist strives? whether that tendency is upward?

"There are, it may be, so many kinds of voices in the world, and none of them is without signification. Therefore, if I know not the meaning of the voice, I shall be to him that speaketh a barbarian, and he that speaketh shall be a barbarian unto me.'

Would not life be richer in harmonies if we knew the meaning of these many kinds of voices?

And if a new voice, whose signification is just growing clear to us utters-not new truth, since truth is one-but widening aspects of the truth; and if in the spacious

temple of art gracious acceptance is granted to this new voice, no other voice that has ever added one least grace-note to the full psalm of life is less needed than before. In the symphony that earth breathes up to heaven there are many parts-strong chords of wondrous power, sweet choruses of lesser voices-but no discords of jealousy, for even the painful minor strain has its sequence of perfection; and the spirit of catholicity, the glad "Lark of the Dawn" shall teach us all lovingly to welcome each tone that makes for harmony and light.

FRANCESE L. TURNBULL.