A. B. (Alfred Barton) Rendle.

The Century online

. (page 79 of 120)
Online LibraryA. B. (Alfred Barton) RendleThe Century → online text (page 79 of 120)
Font size
QR-code for this ebook

system to the study of Shakspere during the
opening weeks of the autumn term, with a
recommendation to students of certain pre-
hminary reading in the same line during the
vacation. Mr. Greet, on his part, is planning
for New York, and later for Boston, a con-
siderable season of the tragedies, comedies,
and histories, approximately in the fashion
of the seventeenth centiu-y, with such
scenery, text, costiunes, and traditions as
his scholarly study has been able to re-
cover from the records of the period.
Several of the plays he has already pro-
duced in this country in this fashion, and
these and the morality play of " Every-
man" have had antiquarian interest and
value, as well as dramatic excellence.

The force of the plan we are consider-
ing is that it substitutes in the minds of
many persons a systematic preparation for
a given drama instead of the casual know-
ledge which most bring to the front of the
curtain. It is understood that the sugges-

tion has met with encoiu-agement from
authorities in Columbia University, the
College of the City of New York, and
other institutions, and it would be fortu-
nate if Barnard College, the Teachers'
College, Manhattan and St. John's col-
leges, the leading private schools and lit-
erary clubs should fall into the fashion.

The idea was broached rather late in the
past school year, and there may be obsta-
cles to its full fruition this autumn ; but it
is certainly in the Hne of legitimate uni-
versity extension, and when the long-
talked-of "endowed theater" comes to
realization, some such scheme of informal
cooperation is likely to form part of its
work. Mr. Greet's plan would involve
the planting of intellectual seed which
any theater-manager might reap, and it is
to be hoped that the coming season will be
rich in such a harvest. We believe Mr.
Sothern and Miss Marlowe are to con-
tinue their series of Shakspere plays, and
there is some hope of seeing Miss Mat-
thieson in a larger range of work. With
such a help to the study of Shakspere as
one can now get in the Variorum Edition by
our master of criticism. Dr. Horace How-
ard Fumess, it will be no small gain to the
stage and the public when one may go
from the authoritative text to the reason-
ably authoritative representation.

The Century's American Artists Series


paintings the Cabman and the Poet, Pari-
sian boulevard types, are reproduced on pages
528 and 529, was born at Paola, Kansas, in
1870. His first artistic education was at the
Art Institute of Chicago, under Vanderpoel
and Freer and for a brief period under William
M. Chase. He later became an illustrator.
In 1898 he went to Paris and studied for a
short time at the Academic Julien, and later
with Raphael Collin and with Whistler. He
also spent some time in Madrid studying the
works of Velasquez and Titian, perhaps the
most fruitful time of all. Mr. Hubbell has
exhibited mainly in Paris, Philadelphia, and

Chicago, and is a member of the Society of
American Artists. **The Bargain," a large
canvas with which he made his debut at the
Salon in Paris in 1901, received a ** men-
tion honorable." In 1904 his picture **Les
Cuivres" received a medal, and was bought
for the Wilstach collection of Philadelphia.
At the Louisiana Purchase Exposition he re-
ceived a silver medal.

His work has been chiefly figure-pieces
(with occasional portraits), among which, other
than those mentioned, are *'The Return,"
''The Caress," *'At Grandmother's," '*A
Paris Cabman," ''Serene Old Age," and

Mr. Hubbell in his work displays unusual
versatility, "The Poet" having an admirable

Digitized by




tonal quality, and in its seriousness and mass-
ing of light and shade suggesting Courbet ;
while " A Paris Cabman " is a piquant piece
of work, brilliant in color and masterly in
technic. Both pictures are excellent in de-
lineation of character. • ♦ ♦


Henry Ward Ranger, whose picture,
"Bradley's Mill-Pond," is reproduced else-
where in this magazine, was born in central
New York, near Rochester, in 1858, and was
practically self-taught, since, save for a year
at the Syracuse University, where he entered
for an art course, he has worked out his own
artistic salvation. He came to New York and
took a studio in the early seventies, making
acquaintance for the first time with the work
of the Barbizon men, by whom he has ever
since been greatly influenced. With the ex-
ception of the American Water Color Society,
Mr. Ranger was, until lately, a member of
none of the art bodies, though recently he was
made an Associate of the National Academy
of Design.

It was in the medium of water-color that he
first attracted attention to himself, for he was
and is an adept in its use, following along the
methods of the modern Dutch school, paint-
ing with breadth and simplicity, in excellent
color. For many years he worked in Holland,
at Laren and elsewhere, where he enjoyed the
intimacy of Israels, Mauve, and other leaders
of the group, possessing to-day a collection of
their work that is unique of its kind, having
been selected with rare discrimination and
artistic judgment. From the first Mr. Ranger
has experimented to such an extent that for
years his manner changed with each exhibition,
though always there were intelligent study
and searching for the best method of express-
ing nature's truths, until, at the present mo-
ment, the man has developed a distinctive
manner of his own, effective in enabling him
to render that which appeals to him.

There were years of travel abroad, when he
returned home with foreign themes for pic-
tures ; but for some seasons past Mr. Ranger
has confined himself strictly to views about
New York, or at Lyme, Connecticut, which he
has given in all their characteristically Ameri-

can setting, with a richness and variety of
color most attractive. It is, too, the larger and
more forceful aspect that appeals to this artist,
and there is apparently no time of the day that
has not caught his fancy. Painting the strength
and dramatic forcefulness of the sunset, ren-
dering the delicacy and tenderness of the
opalescent gray day and early dawn, reveling
in the brilliancy of midday sunlight with its
intense shadows, all the hours seem to have
come under Mr. Ranger's subjugation, and
each has been set down faithfully.

I know of no artist whose pictures are so
thoroughly representative of the man himself
as are those by Mr. Ranger, whose powerful
physical personality and rugged strength are
reflected in his own canvases. Yet behind
this unusual virility and tireless energy there
is a gentle strain of poetry and tenderness,
which manifests itself not only in the refine-
ment and delicacy of the sentiment in the
interpretation of the theme, but, away from
his easel, takes its outlet through the medium
of the man's expression in music, since Mr.
Ranger is a capable performer on the piano
and organ, splendid instruments of both kinds
being a part of the outfit of his New York
studio. Of an analytical mind, a serious stu-
dent of the works and lives of the older mas-
ters, he is a convincing and interesting talker
on the subject of art.

Although one of the best known and most
admired of our painters, Mr. Ranger has been
singularly opposed to competition for honors
of any sort, objecting on principle to distinc-
tions other than come from the ability of his
canvases to attract serious attention, and to
this end he has rarely exhibited in public dis-
plays, confining himself to modest groups of
his own works at private galleries. His paint-
ings, however, are in many of the most im-
portant public and private collections, and,
despite his objections, some honors have come
his way. Painting with the most generous use
of pigment, scraping, repainting, glazing,
scumbling, or again floating on color into
rich undertones with varnish, Mr. Ranger
attains his end somehow, and a depth of tone
is secured that is highly effective, while al-
ways his composition interest is sustained to
the last degree.

Arthur Hoeber,

Digitized by


Drawn by H. W'Arde BUi»dell


The Fish That Qet Away

I'VE fished in the old Ohio,
When a freckled, barefoot boy,
Pulled **cats" from the hole
With a hickory pole

And carried them home with joy ;
But among the cats, both large and small,

That I hooked in my bygone day,
The cat that I wanted most of all
Was the one that got away.

I Ve tossed the lively shiner,

With rod of supple steel,
Where lie the bass
By the floating grass,

And brought them in with the reel ;
But of all the bass I ever caught,

None was so large and fine,
None sent the blood through my veins so hot

As the bass that broke my line.

I Ve waded the clear, cold Northern streams

And cast for the speckled trout;
Have found the fly
That took their eye,

And lured the beauties out ;
But of all the troilt that ever rise

From many a teeming brook.
None loom so large in memory's eyes

As the ones that slip the hook.

So runs the world : our wisest words

Are the words we fail to speak;
The sweetest kiss
Is the one we miss;

The sweetest grapes we seek
Hang just too high ; and we long and look,

And sigh as we sadly say.
The best of the fish that come to our hook

Are the fish that get away.

IV, //. Johnson,

Digitized by




An Appeal to a Wonder- Worker

(See "A Wonder- Worker of Science," in The Ckntury
Magazine for March and April)

Oh, Mr. Burbank, won't you try and do some
things for me ?

A wizard clever as you are can do them easily.

A man who turns a cactus plant into a feather-

Should have no trouble putting brains into a

A chap who takes a cherry young and grows

it sans a pit
Might easily work up, I think, a cat without a

And he whose genius makes a peach from out

a po-ta-to
Ought to be able hired men who like to work

to grow.

And won't you please, some afternoon when

you 're not busy, try
To make a pointless hat-pin that won't stick

into your eye !
I 'd like also a mortgage new that when each

six months ends,
Instead of asking interest due, declares big


A pitless plum is very sweet, but, oh, think
what a pull

You 'd have if you should evolute a plumber
pitiful !

And you who on geraniums have such im-
provement set.

Why can't you make a gasolene that smells
like mignonette?

Why can't you turn each motor-man into a

And turn the trusts to charities that innocency

Why can't you give us chauffeurs, too, who

auto as they ought,
Not as they had n't ought to when they think

they can't be caught?

And what a boon to diners-out if some plan
you *d pursue

To breed a race of speakers who would know
when they were through ;

And then some day when laggard time incon-
tinently sticks

Work up a cactian conscience that is quite
devoid of pricks.

Oh, Mr. Burbank, won't you try and do these

things for me?
A wizard clever as you are can do them easily.
And when you 've got 'em done, good sir,

indeed I promise you
I '11 have another lengthy list of things for

you to do.

John Kendrick Bangs,

Some New Rays

Is n't it interesting about these radium
rays ? " she asked, as she threw aside a cur-
rent periodical.

"Have you been reading them up?" he

" Yes ; I get all my science from the maga-

"In spite of the fact that your father is a
professor ? "

"Oh, he never professes with me," she
laughed. " He reserves his science for the lec-

"It might not be altogether safe to profess
with you," he observed.

She gave him a puzzled glance.

"I 'm not sure that I get all the bearings of
that remark," she said.

"That 's just what I should prefer," he re-
plied genially. "It gives me a reputation for
cryptic sayings, you know. As long as you *re
assured that it 's not uncomplimentary — "

" But I 'm not assured," she protested.

He laughed teasingly.

"You ought to be, by now. But about this
radium. We started with radium, did n't we ? "

" Yes, I was sa\nng something about it."

" Well, there are rays much more wonderful
than radium."

"Oh, I know; you mean thorium and po-


"Berzelium and carolinium, then? "

"None of those compare with the ones I

"How curious! Some still newer discov-

"Well, in a way, they 're partly my own

"Why, I did n't know that you went in for
those things."

"I don't, as a general rule. But these rays
have interested me very deeply of late."

" And you 've been experimenting on your
own account ? "

"Whenever I could, yes."

"Tormenting poor little guinea-pigs? " she
queried reproachfully. " It 's cruel ! "

"I have n't been using guinea-pigs. I Ve
been experimenting on myself."

"That 's very dangerous."

"I 've found it so."

"Oh ! " she cried, in quick alarm; "I hope
you have n't hurt yourself."

" I 'm afraid I have, rather."

" I 'm so sorry ! Tell me about it. What
rays are they ? How do you make them ? "

"I don't make them myself. I discovered
them in a— a precious substance belonging to
your father."

"Oh, father knows of them, then?"

"Well, he has n't been interested in study-
ing them, in the way I have."

Digitized by




"Tell me what they are like."

"Why, they *re like radium rays, in some
respects. They keep on darting at one,— 1
mean radiating, you know,— with no apparent
loss of power in the object or objects from
which they come."

" Yes, that 's one of the striking things about

"Then their effect is very insidious at first."


"And it seems to increase constantly."

"What do they do? Do they photograph
bones and bullets, like the X-rays ? "

"I have n*t tried that yet. I should think
they might. They seem to pierce through
almost anything."

" Have you named them ? "

" Yes. Instead of X-rays, I call them I-rays."

A sudden look of suspicion came into her

"It 's well not to handle these substances
carelessly, you know," she advised.

"I did n't find that out till too late," he
confessed. "You remember, one of those
French professors burned himself badly with
his rays without knowing it. Mine seem to
have injured the heart."

"Indeed! Then you certainly should n*t
subject yourself to their influence any longer."

"Possibly not. And yet there *s a further
experiment that I want to try."

"What is that?"

" You know some of these foreign rays cure
as well as kill."

"Yes; they *re using them for cancer."

" Then why not for hearts ? Don't you think
the same rays that injured my heart could
cure it ? "

"There *s father coming," she said sud-
denly. "You *d better ask him."

"No," he urged; "you *re the only one that
can answer me."

There was a moment's pause. Then she
laughed happily, and put out her hand. He
caught and kissed it eagerly.

"Is n't it answering you," she saiid, "when
I tell you to ask father ? "

Edwin Asa Dix,

A Summer Night

SUMMAH is de lovin' time-
Do' keer what you say.

Night is alius peart an' prime,
Bettah dan de day ;

Dough de day is sweet an' good.
Birds a-singin' fine,

Pines a-smellin' in de wood,—
But de night is mine.

Rivah whisperin', "Howdy do? "

Ez it pass you by ;
Moon a-lookin' down at you,

Winkin' on de sly.

Frogs a-croakin' f'om de pon*,

Sin gin' bass dey fill ;
An' you listen 'way beyon'

or man whippo'will.

Hush up, honey, tek my han',

Mak' yo' footsteps light ;
Somep'n* Idn' o' hoi's de Ian'

On a summah night.
Somep'n' dat you nevah sees

An' you nevah hyeahs,
But you feels it in de breeze—

Somep'n' nigh to teahs.

Somep'n' nigh to teahs ? Dat 's so :

But hit 's nigh to smiles.
An' you feel it ez you go

Down de shinin' miles.
Tek my han', my little dove:

Hush an' come erway—
Summah is de time fu' love,

Night-time beats de day !

Paul Laurence Dunbar,

Where Broadway Meets Fifth Avenue

Where Broadway meets Fifth Avenue,
Here let me stand a while and gaze ;

Familiar scene, yet ever new.

How shall I picture thee ?—how praise f

Hark ! the voices of things that are
Surge in a song of the busy street :
Babble of tongues and fret of feet,
Rumble of cab and clang of car—
Sounds that another's ear might jar.
But sweet to me whose childhood knew
The clamorous city's cry and hue ;
Sweet the street with its buildings tall
And this loud spot (the best of all).
Where Broadway meets Fifth Avenue,

Yonder, soaring above the trees,
The Tower seems to float in air ;
While close at hand (just over there)
The Flatiron's looming bulk one sees
(Man-made Pillars of Hercules
Set where the tide of traflic plays) ;
Between them, threading a tangled maze,
The hurrying people come and go.
Mimicking ocean's ebb and flow—
Here let me stand a while and gaze,

Howe'er downcast, 1 find at last
New heart amid this buoyant throng ;
I mix with men clear-browed and strong.
Vigorous sons of a city vast ;
I watch the women, trooping past
With a sibilant, silky-suave /n?//yhj//,
And the world no longer seems askew ;
Fears vanish, Faith resumes her sway;
What is thy magic?— who shall say?
Familiar scene, yet ever new.

Digitized by




By day a boisterous sea ; by night
A languorous, low-laughing stream,
Flowing down through a land of dream
Aglow with many a gleaming light ;
Diana on her airy height

Is not more bright than this golden haze —

O wondrous crossing of the ways !

When darkness comes to soothe thy rout.

And all thy flaring lamps flash out,

How shall I picture thee ?— how praise f

Charles Love Benfafnin.

Drawn by Rollin Kirby

Uncle Ananias

His words were magic and his heart was true,
And everywhere he wandered he was

Out of all ancient men my childhood knew
I choose him and I mark him for the best.

Of all authoritative liars, too,
I crown him loveliest.

How fondly I remember the delight

That always glorified him in the spring;

The joyous courage and the benedight
Profusion of his faith in everything !

He was a good old man, and it was right
That he should have his fling.

And often, underneath the apple-trees.

When we surprised him in the summer-
With what superb magnificence and ease

He sinned enough to make the day sub-
And if he liked us there about his knees,
Truly it was no crime.

All summer long we loved him for the same
Perennial inspiration of his lies ;

And when the russet wealth of autumn came,
There flew but fairer visions to our eyes,—

Multiple, tropical, winged with a feathery
Like birds of paradise.

So to the sheltered end of many a year
He charmed the seasons out with pagean-
Wearing upon his forehead, with no fear.

The laurel of approved iniquity.
And every child who knew him, far or near,
Did love him faithfully.

E, A, Robinson.


Digitized by


THE DE VU.NE PRESS. ^.^.^.^^^ ^^ GOOglC


Digitized by


Digitized by


Digitized by


Digitized by


From a iMJnting by John W. Alexander


Digitized by



Vol. LXX


No. 5



Author of '* The Prisoner of Zenda," " Double Harness,*' etc.

OLD Tom Gladwin was not a man to
whom you volunteered advice. He
had made an immense deal of money for
himself, and people who have done that
generally like also to manufacture their own
advice on their own premises ; perhaps it is
better done that way, perhaps there 's just a
prejudice in favor of the home trade-mark.
Anyhow, old Tom needed no suggestions
from outside. Yousaid, " Yes, Sir Thomas,**
or " Of course not. Sir Thomas," or " Cer-
tainly, Sir Thomas.*' At all events, you
limited your remarks to something like that
if you were — as I was— a young solicitor
trying to keep his father's connection to-
gether, of which Sir Thomas's aflfairs and
the business of the Worldstone Park estate
formed a considerable and lucrative por-
tion. But everybody was in the same story
about him— secretary, bailiff, stud-groom,
gardener, butler— yes, butler, although Sir
Thomas had confessedly never tasted
champagne till he was forty, whereas Gil-
son had certainly been weaned on it. Even

Miss Nettie Tyler, when she came on the
scene, had the good sense to accept Sir
Thomas's version of her heart's desire;
neither had she much cause to quarrel
with his reading, since it embraced Sir
Thomas himself and virtually the whole of
his worldly possessions. He was worth
perhaps half a million pounds in money,
and the net rent-roll of Worldstone was
ten thousand even after you had dressed
it up and curled its hair, for all the world
as it were a suburban villa instead of an
honest, self-respecting country gentleman's
estate, which ought to have been run to
pay three per cent. But the newcomers
will not take land seriously ; they leave that
as a prospect for their descendants when
the ready money, the city-made money,
has melted away.

So I took his instructions for his mar-
riage settlement and his new will without
a word, although they seemed to me to
be, under the circumstances, pretty stiff
documents. The old gentleman— he was

Copyright, 1905, by THB CENTURY Co. All rights reserved.

Digitized by



thp: century magazine

not really old, fifty-eight or -nine, I should
say, but he looked like a granite block
that has defied centuries— had, of course,
two excuses. In the first place, he was
fairly crazy about Nettie Tyler, orphan
daughter of the old vicar of Worldstone,
an acquaintance of two months* standing
and (I will say for her) one of the prettiest
little figures on a horse that I ever saw. In
the second, he wanted— yes, inevitably he
wanted— to found a family and to hand
on the baronetcy which had properly re-
warded his strenuous and successful efforts
on his own behalf ; it was the sort of bar-
onetcy which is obviously pregnant with a
peerage— a step, not a crown; one learns
to distinguish these varieties. Accordingly,
to cut details short, the effect of the new
will and of the marriage settlement w^
that, given issue of the said intended mar-
riage (and intended it was for the following
Tuesday), Miss Beatrice Gladwin was to
have five hundred a year on her father's
death, and the rest went to what, for con-
venience' sake, I may call the new under-
taking—to the Gladwin-Tyler estabhsh-
ment and what might spring therefrom.
Even the five hundred was by the will only,
therefore revocable. Five hundred a year
is not despicable, and is good, like other
boons, until revoked. But think what Bea-
trice Gladwin had been two months before
—the greatest heiress in the county, mistress
of all ! So the old will had made her— the
old will in my office safe, which, come next
Tuesday, would be so much waste paper.
I have always found something pathetic
about a superseded will. It is like a royal
family in exile.

Sir Thomas read over the documents
and looked up at me as he took off his

" One great advantage of having made
your own way, Foulkes," he observed, "is
that you 're not trammeled by settlements
made in early life. I can do what I like
with my own."

And I, as I have foreshadowed, observed
merely, " Certainly, Sir Thomas."

He eyed me for a moment with an air
of some suspicion. He was very acute and
recognized criticism, however inarticulate ;
an obstinacy in the bend of one's back was
enough for him. But I gave him no more
opening, and, after all, he could not found
an explicit reproach on the curve of my
spine. After a moment he went on, rasp-

ing the short gray hair that sprouted on
his chin :

" I think you 'd better have a few min-
utes with my daughter. Put the effect of
these documents into plain language for
her. " I believe he half suspected me again,
for he added quickly : " Free of technicali-
ties, I mean. She knows the general nattire
of my wishes. I 've made that quite clear
to her myself." No doubt he had. I
bowed, and he rose, glancing at the clock.
"The horses must be round," he said;
" I 'm going for a ride with Miss Tyler.
Ask if my daughter can see you now ; and
I hope you '11 stay to lunch, Foulkes," He

Online LibraryA. B. (Alfred Barton) RendleThe Century → online text (page 79 of 120)