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B/>e MIRROR Published Weekly <^% if- Mlinnesdta. 'c^ w w IPrisogi - * y v -"" Vol. XVII.—No. 18. the minuet. When Marjorie dances the minuet slow, The mandolins sound like a harp, long ago; And curtsying low, with a smile so demure, She looks like a girl in an old miniature. So stately her bearing and lovely her face, Battling out over billows of creamy old lace, That she seems like a lady that Abbey might paint. In powder and patches and pompadour quaint— Or as tho from some great golden frame she stepped down, When Marjorie puts on her grandmother’s gown. When Marjorie gives me her hand in the dance I try to express what I feel in a glance, As I bend o’er her glove with a sigh full of bliss. And press on her fingers an eloquent kiss; Then over her shoulder she throws me a smile, And a look that means much—and means little, the while. But what is the use of my fibbing along Just to make up some words for aud old-fash ioned song? Because not a thing that I’ve written is true, But I think ’twould be nice if it were—do not you? —Kate Masterson, in Frank Leslie’s, The Pearl of the Baltic. IF you cast your eyes over the map of Europe you will find in the Baltic Sea a good sized island southeast of Stockholm and known as Gottland. And in all truth a Good land it is, which is shown by the title it earned many centuries ago of “The Pearl of the Baltic.” To be historically correct, however, it was not the island which earned it, but then as now its only city—namely Wisby. During the thirteenth century Wisby was in its glory. The central and dis tributing point of nearly all the com merce from the south of Europe on one side, it was also the mecca of the Northmen for their valuable furs, whalebone and splendid steel weapons. In fact the town was so prosperous that her renown was sung in many a tongue and her legends never failed to inspire the fame she so justly laid claim to. To form a fair idea of this little city, I would but mention that there is not a street in it that is straight, but all with unexpected turns and twists, a crook edness which is remarkable; side streets and by-streets, pockets and precipices, till a stranger is absolutely bewildered. No city of its size in the world has so great a number of perfect ruius, buildings, landmarks, crypts, caves and a labyrinth of streets, to show from the Middle Ages and Dark Ages, as Wisby. And not to mention the wall that sur rounds it, or its underground passages to the cloisters and other ruins all over Gottland. Let it suffice that today it has a floating population of 15,000 peo ple all the year round and during the summer months at least 4,000 more. Artists and invalids, tourists and sight seers, beggers and millionaires, all mingle or rub elbows here, and besides royalty often displays its gorgeous col ors, for may it please you to know that “Fridham” a few miles south of town is the summer home of the Bernadottes. The population of Wisby is about 10,- 000, but being the only town on the whole island it is always crowded with farmers, bringing their produce to market and trade is brisk with the merchant. To go back seven hundred years and gloat over its wealth and traditions, its wonderful churches and boasted strong holds, doesn’t require legends and sagas, but history is sufficient. Besides those who doubt can verify the almost unbelievable tales —relics and thou sands of inscribed stones, some of great size are there to tell it for years to come. Early in-the thirteenth century Wal demar,King of Denmark, nicknamed “Atterdag” (some other day) having ,had his fill of wonderful tales of this same city of Wisby, made up his mind to number it among his own posses sions, to which end he set forth with an army of reckless soldiers, Danes and Dutchmen, Franks, Spanish adventur ers and lusty Saxons, some on foot, others gallantly caparisoned on stal wart and long haired jntland hones. Once aboard his ships, before STILLWATER, MINNESOTA, THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 19, 1903. many days he caught sight of the steep cliffs of the south end of Gottland, and with many mishaps he at last managed to land his many followers in small boats on the longed for shore. Wisby lies on the northeastern end of the is land, with a splendid harbor (to which, two-score years ago was added an outer harbor, for monitors, cruisers and oth er deep sailing craft) which was pro tected by a fort; palisades reaching a height of eight hundred feet and abun dantly furnished and situated to de fend the only vulnerable entrance to the city. Waldemar knew this, there fore his choice of a difficult landing place. The news flew fast, even in those days, and by sunrise the following day the city had a warlike appearance. Ev ery fifty feet on the wall which encloses Wisby from shore to shore, from the palisades on the north to the fort on the south, are towers reaching up a hundred and sixty feet, and each had their full quota of defenders and arms, ammunition,stones, pitch, caldrons, and the wide, deep ditch which surrounded the wall was full of water and was steadily replenished from springs and pumps by the younger lads, servsfnts and country folk who had entered dur ing the night for refuge. For a year and a Waldemar and his army lay outside the walls besieg ing the city to no avail; provisions be gun to run low; Iris soldiers becoming dissatisfied at the impossible task of entering, gibed and sneered at by the successful defenders on the wall, until he was about to give up in des pair and give the order for home and five squares per day. In order to real ize his unwillingness to this effect it is only to be remembered he could see those eighteen church-spires glittering night and day, for in them were fixed carbuncles and jewels of great value. The spires could be seen by passing ships and did duty as beacons for the unwary mariner, helping to spread the fame of this wonderful city of the north. Those same carbuncles and jewels came from Northern India and Tibet and were worth millions in gold, and so secure dicf the Wisbyans feel they displayed them on their churches. He could hear the shouts of triumph from within, the songs and festivities, the abandon of hilarity too, in their long since forsaken worship to the old gods of the Norsemen, Thor, his ham mer and Odin his wisdom and justice. The nut seemed too hard for him to crack! Then lo and behold! Cupid came to his aid in the form of a young officer with small honor and a beautiful peas ant girl with a large heart. Think of it, Cupid turning traitor! To be sure the young captain was only amusing himself with a maiden of humble station (methinks not the first or last one to play with sacred fire) but by fair means or foul he had gained the maid en's heart, and by promise of happy years to come in a foreign land, by tak ing oath as to his honorable love, by proving to her that since she loved him she was his, of his country and thus alien to her own, she was to gain entrance to the city, open a gate during the night and let him in disguised to look and feast on the beautiful church es, the jewels and to take some notes. That was all. She resisted. He pleaded, argued, coaxed—won. -When the king heard this great plan he could hardly restrain himself for joy. lie swore a mighty oath he would make the captain a general and raise him to knighthood—some other day! He immediately sent for the maidep (much against the youngofficer’s wishes) and let her kiss bis hand to show his favor and assured her of a prominent place ’mongst his court ladies —some other day! You see his name was Wal- demar Atterdag! And the maiden — she cried! Whether they were tears of joy and happiness*, or a welling up of her conscience against unnatural crav ings of a heart too far gone to be re called, is not for me to say. She cried and buried her face in the arms of her lover—perhaps she had a premonition of her fate to come, perhaps a fleeting “IT VS NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND.” vision flashed before eyes of fearful tortures, of sufferings intolerable, of a damned soul’s outcry—if so, I say, do not forget the man, the gallant soldier, the houorable lover—and his share in hellish payments yet to come! But to my story! The maiden car ried out her part of the contract faith fully and opened the gate. Her lover met her, wrapped in a large cloak, in which he folded her and they strolled slowly up a side street leaving the gate unfastened; he feasting his eyes and lips on this virgin body, on the wealth of churches and houses muchly dis played on the outside, until two hours had gone by when they returned to the gate. Then she realized what she had done. Thousands of the enemy were already inside the walls, lined up in the shadows like ghosts, and pouring in through the gate came a steady stream as water out of a fire nozzle. She gave a heart-breaking scream followed by a thousand throats giving vent to their lust for plunder and the citizens awoke to find the meaning of sacking a city. Murder and lust, murder and gold! Fire! Fire! Fire! Churches plundered, sacked and burned, no place sacred, nothing holy! Some other day! But there was one place sacred. Sacred be cause Waldemar himself was in it. The church of St. Maria was his head quarters, and tho looted was not burned; and here many women,children and aged people found safety and shel ter. Here also fled the maid; presuma bly waiting for her lover to the eyes of the king’s guard amid much laughter and jest, but in reality to pray to her Father in Heave ft for strength to face a more vital passion than love. O fear ful hate! O traitoress! “Confess to thy people thou art a traitor;” cried her inner soul. “Wait for thy lover!” cried her bleeding heart. And so the sun rose, calling the gods to Valhalla for speedy counsel. Aba Dah. (To be continued.) “0 traveler fcy Unaccustomed Ways.” Oh, traveler by unaccustomed ways— Searcher among new world’s for pleasures new— Art thou content because the skies are blue, And blithe birds thrill the air with roundelays, And those fair fields with sunshine are ablaze? Doest thou not find thy heart’s-ease twined that rue, And long for some dear bloom on Earth that grew, Some wild, sweet fragrance of remembered days? I send my message to thee by the stars— • Since other messenger T may not find Till I go forth beyond Earth’s prisoning bars, Leaving this memory-haunted world behind, To seek thee, claim thee, whereso’er thou be, Since Heaven itself were empty, lacking thee, —Louise Chandler Moulton, in Harper’s. The Daily Press. LAST week the writer prepared a paper on the subject of “Amer ican Journalism,” intending to offer it to The Mirror, but found his theories punctured by a fow lines in a current weekly which stated that a newspaper like the London Times could have no existence in this country, that the Englishman can take everything seriously while the American demands his news served up in flippant style, and places a prem ium upon the Townsend-Ade manner of handling current topics. This must be true, as there is a demand for breezy serio-comic work even in handling news of serious import and the slow, careful and conservative style similar to*that of the London Times would be a drug on Park ltow. The reporter who can not work in all the latest slang in his story of the football game and invent some new vulgarism for the oc casion would be soon transferred to Harlem. The editor probably justifies himself by the fact that the public demand such stuff and we must give it to them, in this he is but partly right; the pub lic demand is there, but should not the editor have a higher motive than to sat isfy the mob ? It is not the slang or the flippant manner of treating serious subjects that work the greatest barm, but it is lack of thoroughness in invest- igating subjects to which they give pages every day for months at a time. Take, for instance, the boom in indus trial stocks a few years ago. The press of this country by its stories of millions made overnight is to blame for the fact that the public is now hold ing the bag. The papers lauded the Wall Street millionaires up to the skies and made them demigods in the eyes of the public; they boomed stocks as if they were the subsidized organs of a stock brokerage firm. ThePierpont-Schwabs needed no press agent, a snap shot was taken of them in their every act and blossomed forth on the first page with a double leaded tribute to their genius. What was the result? Millions of dol lars were paid by the American public for worthless stocks. Now these very papers turn around and in no less lurid style inform the public that they have been “done up,” that these Captains of Industry of yesterday are today a pack of swindlers. Out west some years ago a man failed in business, owing some two hundred thousand dollars. Creditors came from miles away in a special train ac companied by a corps of attorneys, but did not get a cent. Mr. Delinquent in formed them that he was “all in.” A rough and ready stockman from the next county came riding in on a cayuse with his claim for some odd thousands. He held a gun to the head of Mr. Delin quent and was paid in full. If this man was caught in the recent clean-up in Wall Street he could probably justi fy himself in going to the editor of some of our metropolitan papers and after producing his gun demand why he was not informed of all this water in his stocks two years ago. The water was there two years ago in the same quantity as it is today and it seems pos sible that careful investigation would have disclosed the fact. Our metropol itan press boasts that its facilities for making investigations are far superior to any detective agency in the country. Its duty to the public was to investi gate and make its disclosure early in the game, instead of waiting until the crash came and then hurl odium at the promoters of graft. In some of the business offices of our great papers the greatest care is taken that no objectional or fraudulent advertisement is allowed space in the publication, and it stands to reason that the same care should be used in guarding the news columns. This is especially true of our larger dailies, as they practically influence the whole country. A few lines in a New York daily becomes a column in Seattle and the writer of a stick on Park Row may see it blossom forth into a whole page in the interior. We do not want restriction of the press but we do want a press that will print things as they are rather than as the public wants them. A more con servative press would be a great thing for this country, a press which would not entangle itself in a position where they call a man a god one day and a devil the next, where their hero of today will remain a hero and not be the cow ard of tomorrow. Another little weakness of the fourth estate is its proneness to play the jug gler with some piece ot nonsense and j keep it up in the air all the time. We suppose the editor who would drop the Carrie Nation item would be counted out of the game and considered guilty |of unprofessional conduct. The pub j lie may demand to know every move ment made by Carrie, but we doubt it. The pdwer of the press is wonderful, but the daily paper under present con ditions is on the decline. People are turning more and more to magazines and reviews for their ideas on moment ous subjects and unless a change for the better occurs there is danger of it deteriorating to the place of a bur lesque furnishing a vaudeville enter tainment to amuse, but not influence, the public. W. E. C. Teach thy necessity to reason thus, There is no virtue like necessity. Richard IL • Teruo.l Sl.OOper year, In advance itKMS.-j six Months 60 cent*. Critic and Criticism. POSSIBLY in my endeavor to deal with so hard a subject as critics, 1 am attempting to han- dle a class so wide in its scope, as to almost include everyone, and of course that means myself. The pur pose of this paper is not to find fault with any criticism that has been passed upon myself or my endeavors, but to state clearly what I think the word “critic” means and what is meant by just and unjust criticism. We are surrounded by critics.' We hear them on every hand, and judging by the numbers, one naturally wonders if they are the products of some ma chine, because most of them are so auto matically constructed that all one has to do is to press the button in order to start them going. When we hear the expression “critic” used we naturally associate the word with “grumbler” or those who are at home at finding fault. When I hear of a so-called critic and j his criticisms, my first thought is this: I What kind of a man is he?'ls he a per | feet machine of human nature and hu ! man intelligence? Invariably I find that he is not. There is an old saying that still water runs deep, and it is a pretty safe proverb to go by. I gener ally classify the man whose capabilities of wagging bis tongue, who finds fault with the acts and sayings of others as a man of a very limited storage capacity, and in the majority of caseslam correct. No, proper use of words, moods, tenses, etc., does not lessen a man’s endeavor, and it is the honest endeavor that should be criticized, not a man’s gift of ex pression. In our American literature of today one can scarcely read a page without detecting some grammatical error, but if one reads for the purpose of detecting errors and judges by them ’ the ability of the writer to handle his subject, then we are in nowise capable of criticising fairly the article read or its author. Critics should be divided in no less than three classes: First, those who criticise for the sole purpose of creat ing an inspiration; second,those whose criticisms show there was bias existing which creates unfairness; third, those who criticise because it is second na ture to them to do so. Those who criticise for the sole pur pose of creating an inspiration or to encourage another are really the only ones that come within the true mean ing of the word “critics.” Their first consideration is “How much of an en deavor was it? What are the present or past advantages of the writer ? How much experience has he had ? Has he ap peared in public before ?” If these ques tions are answered in the affirmative, the question is whether there has been any improvement in the manner of handling his subject, in his manner of expressing himself and is he improving in his delivery or not. Too often unfair criticism is caused by some personality that is known to the critic and which he has allowed to influence his judgment. The existence of this personality in the beginning ren ders him unfit to criticise unless he can forget everthing except the subject, the endeavor, the advantages, the improv ment and the experience of the one criticised. If a critic is unable to drop from his mind all personal feeling, then his criticism will fail to accomplish its purpose, and the unjustness of his crit icisms will cause others to doubt his ability to deal fairly with them. Very little can be said of those who criticise because it is second nature to them to do so. We have heard them by the score and all that can be said is that we sympathize with them in their ailments because they are unable to refrain from it. They are as they were created. Fair criticism has been the making of men and has inspired them with an endeavor to perfect their endeavor, while on the other hand unfair criti cism has ruined and discouraged many a man. In our criticism let ns make more use of that grand and noble word “Jus tice” in its true meaning, for in that way we can encourage many a man to greater efforts. C. L. C. 1 .