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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 mg writer 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. on duty, 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 &. Co. 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 So ell. 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? 11