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7" 7Vn which had brought him to Spain
? eIS ars earlier, he bad been an easy dupe In
•*' hards of Charles V, failing to prevent the
£ c of BO!"* and the humiliation of the Pope.
**h could look back with satisfaction to those
f l *iort years which he had spent near Guido
**; had been generously treated in Urblno. A
cf lively intellect, of fine presence and of
" - e( j jnanner?, he had been admitted as a
#° ored guest to those symposia in which some
» »r-e brightest wits and most urbane courtiers
C / nily bad talked at large of all tilings under
°j ' yen. £3 ve those wbich universal respect tor
L i-»Hrrharacters of the : ike and his duchess
. j p,j^ outside the bounds of conversation.
v re and there in "The Book of the Courtier"
tht're are passages mark' d by a certain freedom.
-j ,v, e WO rk Is distinguished among the courtly
'MJcatlona o f the time for the sustained ele-
of Its argument and the essential refine
nt of its tone. Castiglione, we may be sure,
a= r.o prig. He was a soldier. He had quitted
himself valiantly in the field. He had en
' ho f men and of affairs. He could carry
hW'e-lf on even terms with those artists and
•••ior*. princes and prelates, courtiers and men
•t arms, who. being hat they were, and living
in me of the raciest, as well as one of the most
cultured epochs of the world, were accustomed
to call a spade a :-pade, even in the presence of
women. l>"t ;t uas one of the engaging para
, Xi c °* tn> * Renaissance that the man who
could relish a Jest of Poggio, or Boccaccio, or
Ear.dt-110. could delight in the mysticism of Pico;
if },c was free with his dagger he could put his
Tif-n to good purpose, and Castiglione. who must
hive been well versed in the sinister ways of his
contemporaii'-.s was one of those men whose
taste inclined them, on the whole, to the cuiti
ration of the humanities on their fairer side.
Thus "The IV, k of the Courtier" remains so edi
fvi- <r a contributi" n to the literature of manners
tiat Roger Ascbam himself could find a good
word to say for it, and Dr. Johnson did not hesi
tate to give it his countenance.
Its popularity has l>een due •■■ a variety of
causes. Conspicuous among these is its value
as a picture of a representative court of the
Renaissance In Italy. There is. too. the charm
cf its style, to which, we may observe in I ass
ing, Mr. Opdyck* does full justice. The compo
sition is cast, moreover, in a very interesting
form, the four books into which It is divided
being made up of supposititious conversations
which the author does not hesitate to attribute
to historical personages. Not only "my lady
duchess" and other members of the I ■-•■ of
Urbino, but fiiuliano d<> Medici, Bibbiena,
Cembo and similarly noted individuals are
among the interlocutors, and the references to ,
diwrs r."ta! ilities of the Renaissance in and out
cf Italy are s i numerous that throughout we
F-H-ni to be in the private company of the great
cn..s of this earth. And of what do they talk?
Of ait and of love; of literature and of polities;
cf war and of humor; of all the things that
entered into the busy life of an Italian gentle
man in the sixteenth century. But while th y
talk of what we may call the mint and cummin
cf their various themes, they ate guided chiefly
by a desire to fix the broad lines on which the
perfect life of the gentleman should be lived;
they aim always at the spirit rather than at the
letter of noble conduct. There could be no
greater niisiiik-,' than to look in this Look for
mere forms of ceremony. Though Johnson could
fr p ak warmly of Castiglione, he did him as
much injustice when he credited him with no
higher ambition than "to teach the minuter
decencies and inferior duties" as when he re
pnached Chesterfield with having the manners
cf a dancing master. Just as there Is a vast
difference between the substantial drift of
Chesterfield's famous admonitions and the nar
row precepts of an ordinary "Manual of Eti
quette," so th^re is a great gulf between the
philosophical breadth of "The Book of the
Courtier" ar.d the limited ope of a book, say.
like the shallow compendium of courtly maxims
put together by the Spanish Graci in. If a
rnr.ee wo':ld perform his duties rightly, says
Castiglione, "he must devote every study and
diligence to wisdom," and his book makes not
■Imply for the "coed form" of well disciplined
6oci». -ty, but for a "wisdom" which raises man
ners to a moral plane.
The things that he counsels are magnanimity,
and tJ c hal it which Is perhaps best summarized
in the old words "noblesse oblige.." an
ticipated Chesterfield in his advocacy of a de
meanor always dignified but never stiff, always
spontaneous and natural but never familiar.
He praises courage and truth, but he reprob it s
vainglory and tactlessness. He would not have
■.man too closely absorbed in art or letters, but
neither would behave him a mere swashbuckler,
and if in his attitude toward affairs of state he
necessarily inclines somewhat to the principles,
more scientific than altruistic, of Ifachiavelli,
te scorr.s mere ruthlessness and the triumph of
Ignoble crr:ft. His own good faith was his un
doing. "He was too honest a man," says Mr.
Qpdjxke, "to c pc with the tortuous politics of
the ttaes." Ills literary monument is one long
encomium of honesty In word and deed, and so,
«iule he was powerless to stem the tide of cor
ruption arj chicane 5n his own day, his legacy
to the world Is a fountain of virtue to those w ho
car to study bis pages. "The Book of the
Courtier" has a tain qualntness; it is, in a
measure^ a literary curiosity; but it has in
flnbitable vitality, and la a human, as well as
a literary, document. While it will continue to
£-d most of its readers among the amateurs of
'are episi d< s in the history of letters, it ought
NEW-YORK TRIBUNE ILLUSTRATED SUPPLEMENT.
ultimately, as editors like Mr. Opdycke make it
better known, to achieve a stronger position
among readers of all sorts. Tn one respect es
pecially it has a mission to perform in this coun
try. Disclosing as it does that urbanity which
always has been, and still is, a prime element In
the Italian genius, it should correct the Influ
ence of the provincialism which has allowed
Sicilian and Neapolitan traits, as Illustrated In
the baser and more sanguinary types thrown
upon our shores, to obscure the truth, known to
students of morals and manners, that Italy
has fur centuries b< en a home of quod breeding.
7///; cm:' >\ \nn\ our.
From Th<- London Morning I. St.
We are more than a little sorry for the "small
commitl f literarj men" which is to sit In
Judgment on the MSS sent in in response
to the off.r of the propri< ; irs of "Good Words"
to give three prizes of £50, £15 and £10 respect
r-.rr -.r tha best odes on the coronation of the
King. The conditions will not be declared until
the January number of the magazine appears,
but we venture to believe that there exist al
ready the rough drafts of at least a hundred
lnt< nded for this competition. It is not
easy for outsiders to play the part of Income
lax commissioners but it is doubtful ;f there are
■■ ke so much
s £f«o a year by tl • xereise oi their art,
take it seriously ar.d do ntn t produce I
In any ca bstantial and the offer
• remind ma ny people tha ; th< j
■ ses In the da ■• s of their
■ the number <>t competitors Is likely t"
. ■ .:•■ Ind I.
An ode has been defined as "a poem ■ harai '■ •
istaii d noble sentiment and appro
priati I pnitj of style." The author of whose
:■ h a phrase was used would probably be
and might not be without ition if
he advertised it on sandwich boards In the
!. < >ur pity for •.!)■• small con
arises mainly from the fact that very few
poems have been written since the ■■■.
whose authors did not regard them as charac
terized by the qualities enumerated in this def
inition. There will be plenty of work foi the
June ii imber of th
azine appears and the names ; th< winners ar.
given to the world.
I \( I! /V HIS U\\ V VI Ml
l:V PROFESSOR CAURI'TH.
A fire mi-! ■ net,
A crystal and a cell ;
A jellyfish and a saurian."
And caves where the cavemen dwell;
Th. n a * nse of law and beauty,
A i ■! a fac< 11 111 1 r- ?j- -- J ! rum the clod
til it Involution,
And 11 it G< d.
A haze on the far horizon,
The infinite tender sky;
The rit^e, rich tints of the con Held .
Ai ■ geese sailing high .
And all over upland ar.d lowland
The i harm of the gold* nn ■! -
Borne of us call it Autumn,
And others call it God.
• t sen beac h.
When the moon is new arid thin,
Into our hearts I i ings
■ c ocean
Whi • rim no foot has trod
Bon •• of us call it Longing,
And others call it tJud.
A m< ther starved for her br i,
Socrates drinking the hemlock,
And J< sus on the rood ;
The million who, humble and nameless,
The straight, hard pathway trod -
Some call it Consecration,
And others call it UuJ.
A SHAMAN'S STORY.
THE AUTHOR OP "THE CRUISE OF THR
CACHALOT" ONCE MORE.
THE APOSTLES OF THE SOI'THEAST. By
Frank 'J. Bullen. Octavo pp 304. I>. Appleton
The larger part ( ti,; s curious book is devoted
to what might be called the Acts of the Apos
tle of the Wren Lane Mission 'All. The leader
•'» that little band of narrow minded, ignorant
and perfervid Raptisi that worship at first in
the stuffj parloi of one of the neater houses In
Lupin-st.. Hotherhithe, and afterward in a
stable, or, rather, a cowshed, converted Into a
chap< .. i ■ the soft-hearted, shiftless but enthusi
astic ehlmnej sweep, Jemmy Maskery. Jemmy
is extn mely fluent In prayer, and he addresses
the Lord With delightful familiarity. ;.s. for ex
an pie, at the communion one Sunday morning:
Dear Master ar.' Lord, ugen we've met aroun'
your tab.- f remember your broken body, your
poured-out bl l til) you com". We're very
poor, very Ignorant, very 'umble. hut we be
lieve an' are .hole 'at you are glad f 'aye us
FRANK T. I'.ri.l EN.
■ i phot •■
come an' do • I've told us t 1 do. We
■t no pri si made b> man, because you've
told us that you Igh Priest
We < aii t see thee, but we
know :• ou're '• re An" tho' the •■ ; r '
t up], and br< aky
It as j that upper room loriß ago, v.r
know that Iff all j'. I you as it
was w'.r, you 'ad all your disciples aroun* you.
\\.l- t all your belo\ ed
«,i,-s is on< with yi>u as this loaf la one r....\.
an' we know thai as we break this loaf
[ brea kii I rdin' to thy < im
bo your l)l< • l bod :■ the
body you .■.,•■• .K.~. was broken fur
us. An 1 n< .ve're Koln' t' 'an 1 it r.> ;e i gjj' i..it
of it. ac< i»rdin* r t ■ . -.-. . ■ ■! In re
: I come."
The real 1 i f th< tory. if a very I
c, . HI;. .'. .[ ■. • . (if J •.• . . ■ >... , ; I], M | a
story, . tl or Saul Andrews. He had been
I, bul hol been , ..
:: t t t lr- ■ ■ : w hile still ,: • ervlng bis
name of Saul, ow, when at home from
his long pillar of th ngre
paj Ing liberally from hi I for the
• . ■ ■ he n< nd I ■ ; • ■ A par!
of the book f< I ■ : ■ ■ hap
ters are the i I the moi t real
tic of th< riu read like • utrai ts from
, [.• ; ii L'hi Long
. o f his i • ■ ' itlona are gh en,
M ,l ne S om< how seen more natural than the
pi., us chirm ■ his f.ats at sea
strain om '•• credulitj to a certain degri c.
Let us get a glimpse of him on board ship.
Ti i pah
, ,,.( mirni r.t of fui lou qu ills of bltti r t .in.
lie had Blent a dr< amli and ai the
watchman's call he l< ap< 1 from I a bunfc
i-l hi pipe and drei ■■! with mar' i llou
b rity, si oking vigoi iusly the w hlle. 1 1<
: > !. • ship is about to sail. Sa ul n
1 orts to the mate, an i almo I Immediately, h iv
ised a gi op, sets to work Bel tiriL'
his i nto work, for. as the author t ■!,. ■ Lome
space to explain, the bosun corresponds to the
foreman of a gang. He Instantly comes Into
conflict with some of the shirks of tin- crew, and
shirking he will not allow. We will let Mr.
Bullen describe the first rencounter:
His keen eyes soon detected the absence of
certain members of Ins crew, whom h< had
mentally nnted before as "being slack In stays."
And leaving those who were at work to get on
with th.-ir tasks t>y themselves for a while, he
went in search of the black sheep. The first
one he found was reclining comfortably in a
corner of the "focsle." with pipe in full Tolnst
and a look of utter Indifference on his fa*r. To
him Saul suddenly entered with the crfsp re
mark. "Now, then, young man, you're in the
wrong place. I want the work finished, and
wh( n it's knot k off tin;.- I'll !• t you krw.w." He
was a big Liver] I Irishman, a peculiar breed
of men found in considerable numbers at sea,
and hardly to be matched on the wide earths
Burface for truculence, Insubordination <>r lazi
ness when they give their minds to the practice
of Hi.-.- things, as so many of them do. Ho
!■• '■• 1 up nonchalantly at Saul, saying: "Me
nairves demand a verse o' th' poipe at reg*lar
Intervals r kape 'em in orrdher, an' ef y.-r don't
like me little ways yea km just git f vil out ov
it an' lav.- me recover. Me n.im's Larry
Doolan, an' I come from Scotland Road, an' I
don't take any nigger dhrivin' frnm any
lime Juicer afloat, d'ye moind." Saul listened
patiently, and when be had finished, for all
answer took two steps toward him, seiz-d him
by waist and neck and hurled him on deck. He
fell in a heap, dazed. When ho recovered fie
Struggled to his feet and mad.- a blind rush at
the quiet man before him. his mouth full of
cursing and red murder in his heart, l'.ut he
was met by two lists as grimly irresistible as a
stono wall would have been. And as he stag
gered back, once more Saul's quiet, certain
voice penetrated his cars: "You'd better get on
with the work, and not try and impose on your
shipmates. You'll only get badly hurt if you
keep on as you're goln*." This self-evident fact
was so very clear to him that after a nionu-n
tary pause he turned and walked aft, to where
a little group of men were busy lashing some
spars in the starboard scuppers, and without
another word he joined in the work.
Before tin- ship has reached Calcutta the crew,
with scarcely an exception, have been trans
formed Into a choir of saints; and the captain,
who at first had sneered, confesses his conver
sion at the Gospel meeting at the Radha Ba
zaar. On his return to London the bluff bu'sun
succumbs to the charms of Elizabeth Carter and
marries her. much to the detriment of the Wren
Place Mission, now deprived of his weekly
■Upend. He poes t<-> sea again, is shipwrecked,
saved in a very melodramatic manner, and after
a lotiK voyage, in which he saves his captain
from a mutiny, he at last returns. While he is
pone the chapel has hard times; the fund is
stolen by a crook named Patterson, whose ulti
mate conversion is described with sreat unc
tion; poor Jemmy is driven by his wife's con
stant naming to take some of the chapel funds,
but is saved from any tragic consequences, and
Elizabeth becomi s so desperate by poverty, not
hearing anything from her husband, that she is
driven to e\il eoursea. When at last Saul com. 3
homo from his long wanderings, like thoso
of Ulysses, he finds his wife, bears with her
p.-tiilanee, ill temper and bad character, and
finally redeems her. Such are the outlines of a
book which, though crude and often clumsy in
construction, has no small power of description
and considerable humor.
com- I -i:\i\i; ll'Ti<>\ IX EXGLAXD.
From The London • Chronicle.
A large proportion of the u,.\, !s for this au
tumn, arid certainly the most interesting, are
now out. How are they faring? Not very well,
In many cases. "So far." said a leading book
seller yesterday, "it has not been a v Ini vel
season, whatever else it may prove to be." A
few stories have "boomed" heartily enough, but
the averagely successful novel, which, after all,
Is the r .. ;i i t k overturn, lags behind in sales.
I . h might !■•• • spected to sell
from two to four thousand copies. It has pro>, ;l
.i.M ..f it-; usual Bale by live hun
opies in some cases by more than that
nun,!" r. This i-- the estimate made i,y a trade
and certainly it is not encouraging.
■ is the explanation of this dulness in the
world of novels? Win. us explanations might
• -.l. only they will suggest themselves
! knian ;!.•• war. too many novels, and
t SOSO OF Till' SITTU\Ii:\T.
H. 11. Rashford. in The London Spectator.
i ne a song of the West land.
Thoußh how Bhall a song but fail
To capture the blue horizons
That swallow the prairie trail!
And how shall letters and paper
Imprison the breadth of life!
They Know, who travel the prairie,
We know the song of its strife—
Th shouting nights, when he blizzard
Is r'«-lin« across the plain.
The lazy hum ■>!' the west wind
At play with the gleaming grain.
The sigh rf the sleeping grassland
To the low hung golden moon,
Th" souk of the waving wheat tops
Ala/c with the crown of noon.
The low hoarse voice of the hunter.
11. eyes, and their warning gleam,
The creep in rnoccasined silence.
The old log trail to the stream.
The sudden rap of a rifle,
The fall •■: n startled moose.
The day-long wait and at evening
The songs In the old caboose.
Th KHnt of now through the shadow:
The echo of sharpened st- el,
The crack of the falling timbers,
The poplar's earthward reel.
The ring of sleighs on the home trail.
The glimmer of lights afar.
The glow of th.- shanty firelight,
The gleam of the evening star.
The wall of wolves In the darkness.
The children's song in the light,
The large sweet grip of the daytime,
The awe of the great deep night.
But how shall letters and paper
I'.rintr aunht of its life to you.
The fruitless toll of the many,
The scant success of the few;
Tin- hopes and fears of the i rail
Its word to the sons of men ;
Nay. how should a volume hold it,
Inscribed with a human pen?