Life — December 2, 1899 — page 30: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

470 -LIFE- things. They know the great law down there now—it is strength that rules the world. The strong man and the strong nation survive. If you sentimentalize about it you know it is all wrong for a strong nation to bully a weak one — but it is inevitable, and the world will be better for it in a hundred years. Sue: Go on—carry out your theory! And the strong man shull bully the weak ; and the rich man the poor; and the well man the sick; and the young the old—and the world will be better for it a hundred years hence! It is a beautifui world you modern writers have created. No wonder you do not approve of expressing emotions in your books. If you did, they would be so terrible in their barc and selfish cruelty that the world would turn from you in horror. For, believe me, the world is still gentle at heart. All that Christmas pageantry is not a hollow sham. He: And you were once asupreme artist! How I marvelled at your faultless technic — the result of pertinacity and strength. You yourself were the ‘‘ survival of the fittest "—and the world of art was better for it. And yet you would have us gush over the weak and incompetent to make them ‘feel good” over their miserable travesty of art! Suz: Now you are a logical man bullying an illogical woman. My plea is for sympathy and gentleness, and not for gush. I want to believe in a world where the competent help the less competent, where the strong hold up the weak, where the great artist inspires the small one to do his best. I don’t believe that the world is ruled by cunning and brute strength, I don’t believe that boys like Stalky & Co. grow into the great men of the world. I do believe in ‘Brushwood Boys” and * William the Conqueror.” He: And so do I, and so do all men who have thought about it, But we have been so disgusted with the expression of false or exaggerated emotion that we fear to touch the dangerous ground. Indeed, I believe that any emotion fully expressed is an exaggeration. The artist and the man of taste will barely touch the keys and start the music in the heart. Sue: It is hard to make conscious art out of what is the inner temple of life. He: Children are the only unconscious artists. Sue: There, my friend, is the secret of it all—Except ye become as a little child!” Droch, A Terrible Example. HE time was autumn. The leaves, loosed from the trees, ple fell with a light, crackling sound upon the 22s «KU grass. How much more worthy of remark C would it have been if they had left the grass and, flying to the trees, had affixed themselves to the _, branches. In the far distance the billslooked purple, S| m which shows how little we can be guided by appear- —atttbe ances, for they were the Green Mountains, A little prooklet would have run by with a sound as of tinkling silver but it had dried up six weeks before and the bed of the brook lay perfectly motionless, as beds do unless they are moved. The trees, scorning to Jean on their branches for support, stood ercct on their trunks as if waiting for somethinc. Hark, a sound disturbs the Sabbath stillness of the place, A golf hunt is coming by. Four players, madly pursuing four 4 Y/ i VA Wy, / Le Po Siz the Ad