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liness to a poem called A Night in Camp. Space will not allow of more than the conclusion : Curious, I halt, and silent stand, Then with light fingers I from the face of the nearest, the first, just lift the

blanket: Who are you, elderly man, so gaunt and grim, with well-greyed hair, and flesh all sunken about the


? Who are you, my dear comrade ? Then to the second I step-and who are you, my child and darling ? Who are you, sweet boy, with cheeks yet blooming ? Then to the third--a face neither child or old, very calm, as of beautiful yellow

white ivoryYoung man, I think I know you ; I think this face of yours is the face of the

Christ himself:
Dead and divine and brother of all, and here again he lies.'

· There are some who may be scandalized, and some who may be mystified: surely there are few who cannot see the beauty ?

There is a real and touching simplicity in A Grave, of a sort somewhat different from The Idiot Boy, and Alice Fell: The Dresser, though painful, has a sweet and quiet regret about it, a taste of the old, half-grievous happiness of giving help to the wounded, a sense of the old fire of those fiery times, the experience sweet and sad, mixed with the peaceful remembrance that the good work is not all unheeded on earth, since

Many a soldier's loving arms about this neck have crossed and rested,

Many a soldier's kiss dwells on these bearded lips.' Here it will well be seen that we are in the thick of the war and the hospitals. The next poem relates an incident common enough, one may suppose, in the war : but the commonness of it takes none of the pathos away.

The simple and strong words in which A Letter from Camp is written mark themselves on the memory with a vividness which is no bad proof of their beauty. In Wardreams we come to one certainly of the most perfect of all these poemsone of those where the seemingly rugged sentences and ugly words fall as naturally, at least, if not as perfectly, as Tennyson's or Swinburne's, and the sense is mirrored by the words: a poem, one might say, if one did not know some “educated people, which would strike to every heart. Far other is the Veteran's Vision in time of peace, to whom, while his wife at his side lies slumbering and the wars are over long,' come back the sounds and sights of war, and the old mad joy stirs from the depths of his soul: here the verse has a rush and vehemence unlike the rhythmical, measured lines of the preceding and sweeter poems. This is full, not of regret and love for the dear dead faces, but of the crash and the

clamour of the war, the 'grime, heat, rush,' 'bombs bursting in air, and at night the vari-coloured rockets.' Again in Over the Carnage, and others of which there is no space to speak particularly, we have the war delighted in because of the goodness of the cause, but it is also proclaimed

• Be not disheartened-Affection shall solve the problems of Freedom got:

Those who love each other shall become invincible.' The Dirge for Two Veterans, Survivors, and the Hymn of Dead Soldiers, are three of a sort in their calm and peaceful tone, written, as it might seem, when the war was well-nigh done They lead one up gently, perhaps artlessly, to the beautiful little piece headed Reconciliation, where the work of blood is done and


but a

Word over all, beautiful as the sky !
Beautiful that war, and all its deeds of carnage, must in time be utterly lost :
That the hands of the sisters Death and Night incessantly, softly wash again,

and ever again, this soiled world.
For my enemy is dead-a man divine as myself is dead.
I look where he lies, white-faced and still, in the coffin- I draw near:

I bend down and touch lightly with my lips the white face in the coffin.' Here, then, end Drum-taps; and it would have been well if this beautiful thing might have been the last


of the war; sequel was needed. Here there is neither room nor courage to speak of President Lincoln's Funeral Hymn, but the shorter poem may be given

• O Captain! my Captain ! our searful trip is done !
The ship has weathered every wrack, the prize we sought is won.
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring.

But, О heart, heart, heart!
Leave you not the little spot
Where on the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.
"O Captain, my Captain, rise up and hear the bells !
Rise up! for you the flag is flung, for you the bugle trills ;
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths, for you the shores a-crowding:
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning.

O Captain ! dear father!
This arm I push beneath you.
It is some dream that on the deck

You've fallen cold and dead.


• My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still ;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
But the ship, the ship is anchored safe, its voyage closed and done :
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won !

Exult, O shores ! and ring, O bells !
But I, with silent tread,
Walk the spot my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead. Surely here the voice of a nation, speaking melodiously from its heart, the voice of America. Pity for us, nay shame for us if our hearts cannot echo it at all!

I have glanced very hastily at a few of these Drum-taps, my aim being principally to give some remarkable specimens which should awake curiosity. I would not venture as yet to advise anyone to yield himself to Walt Whitman's influence in toto, but this at least is true of him: his faults are so very palpable that they are in no great danger of vitiating one's taste, and it will do us no harm if they awake in us some interest in the great Western World We have to remember that interest of any deep kind in foreign affairs is apparently a thing very much wanting to our people. As a nation, we have perhaps as much excitement in our domestic welfare as is good for us: it is a noteworthy and shameful fact that of the 660 supposed representatives of the country there is only one (Mr. Grant Duff) who alludes ever to foreign politics in his political programme. He has succeeded in educating his constituency, to some extent, in this matter ; I believe I am safe in saying that he stands alone, though Mr. Gladstone, in 1866, shewed that he possessed what a man of his generous sympathies must possess—care for Italian progress. Despite this, and despite the testimony of men who on such subjects are of all men most trustworthy, such as Mr Frederic Harrison, that the working classes were strongly moved in favour of Italian revolution, Polish restoration and American unity, the fact remains as stated. If the reading of such poems as Whitman's will rouse our educated classes to some feeling beyond care of stocks and shares, it will surely have done incalculable good It is possible that they may then watch with interest, if nothing else, the coming crisis on the continent, have some affection for the welfare of Italy despite her increasing national debt, some care to see the Eastern question settled at the expense of a fall in Turkish bonds.

Testimonial to Dr. Barry.


OWEVER inadequate as an expression of the feelings of

the donors any testimonial to Dr. Barry might be, it was not therefore useless, but might serve as a tangible record of a more intangible affection. Everyone was glad to contribute -masters and boys united in the choice of central and corner fruit dishes for the dinner table, of light frosted silver work and glass. The masters at a private meeting on Thursday, the 26th, presented the four corner dishes; on the following day the whole school was convened in the Great Classical Room, and assembled with as little disturbance as their enthusiasm would permit. The appearance of Dr. Barry was the signal for a burst of cheering such as that room, despite of many prizegivings, had seldom rung with. When at last it died away, M. R. Corbett, the senior prefect rose and said

* You heard, sir, yesterday, the farewells of those whom you have worked with; I now ask you to listen a few moments while I speak in the name of those whom you have worked for. We do not need the experience of our elders to tell us the value of a good head master. It cannot be but that their school should fill a very large space in the eyes of schoolboys, and that they should look very anxiously to its head as to one who has it in his power to mould for good or evil, for honour or for shame, the society in which they live, and themselves with it. We know it is an arduous task, but at least we'would fain have you believe it is not without its reward—the reward of honest gratitude and affection, as well as the consciousness of having done good work. In token of that gratitude and affection we bring with us this gift to-day. We mean it not so much to be a proof of our feelings to you now (for surely in this place and on this day there can be little need of that), as to be a reminder to you elsewhere, and at other times, that you have at least no firmer friends than the boys of Cheltenham College. Six years only have you worked among us, and the


fruitfulness of those six years compels us all the more to say regretfully to each other, “The time has been too short.” Too short it has been for our desires, but not too short to have left us a legacy of of inspiring example, not too short to have imparted impulses which shall never lose their force, not too short, we trust, to have sown in many hearts the seeds of affectionate memories which shall

never die.'

When the cheers died away, Dr. Barry found voice to reply:

You have made it hard for me to answer you by this most beautiful present, and still more by the words which accompanied it -words which I know to be not words of course, but only the plain and spirited expression of what you have long implied in deed.

'I do not, indeed, need this as a memorial of this College. Since I first came here, six years ago, more than a thousand boys have gone out from these walls, and our hearts have gone out with them into the battle of life;. more than 800 I have presented for Confirmation, and learnt to sympathize with them in the crisis of their spiritual life; some have already passed away from us, and their memories are hallowed to us by the touch of death. Do you think I can ever forget this, or forget your faces, as I see them gathered round to-day? No; I shall want no memorial of Cheltenham, so long as I have my memory left.

Nor is it more needed to show your feelings to me. We have indeed always dealt plainly with each other. I have not been always able to do what you would; I have been forced at times to do what perhaps you would not. I cannot, of course, think that I have never failed in justice and consideration to you. But I know you have trusted me, so far as to believe that I really desired to be true and just to you that I really cared from my heart for you. I have felt that confidence deeply, and I can never forget it. But you

have shown me something more than this. Not even this day can make me forget that other time, now three years ago, when I stood on this spot after my recovery from long illness, and was so received as to make me feel that I had come homethat we were, in fact, as in theory, one family here.

'But yet I shall dearly prize this beautiful work of art as a visible memorial to others, of all that of which we need no visible token. I shall be proud to treasure it myself and to leave it to those who come after me, when my time is over. And there is one point inwhich I také special pleasure--that you have so arranged it as to suit well that other memorial, which my colleagues here have been good enough to give me, so that the oneness of the gift represents the oneness of action in the whole College.

You know how I have always desired to give you liberty and responsibility of action, because it seemed to me that an English School should be an epitome of England herself, by the union of authority and freedom, in which the rulers shrink not from their burden, and yet they who are ruled leave them not to bear it alone. I can say truly that you have accepted it manfully, and we have found from you not only loyalty, but help. As it has been in the past, so it should be in the future of yet greater fame and useful

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