as it is, and nothing beyond it, we say it is a "fact" that the apple falls. When he gives it to us plus some activity of his reason which links it with the revolving moon, expressing now the law of universal gravitation, we say it is a great "truth." And if, in its expression, he adds also the free play of his own mind and feeling upon it, he may give us a work of pure literature; perhaps most likely, in this case- a lyric poem.

The secret of all art, then, is simply this open secret that it is the giver of what we most of all desire, abounding life. It draws upon an inexhaustible supply. For it is not merely the artist's own individual spirit which is imparted to us; the greater the genius, the more deeply his fountain drinks of the tides of the common humanity. And it is genius alone that knows to stir in us those truths, emotions, impulses, that are wrought into our inmost being by the long race experience. We are seldom thoroughly awake and alive. Like the little fitful spire of violet flame that we sometimes see hovering and playing over the surface of a coal fire, so our consciousness plays about the different tracts of the otherwise dormant mind now here, now there; now sensation, now memory, now one or another of the emotions, starts for the instant into fluttering life, then darkens back into unconsciousness. What we desire is the glow and illumination of the whole spirit; and it is art, and especially the literary art, that best ministers to this desire.

It is not enough that a picture, or a novel, or a poem, should move us the question is, What does it move in us? How much of the whole possible range of our inner life does it awaken? Nor is mere intensity of impression any sufficient test. For one must inquire, Whither does this tend, toward further renewal of full existence, or toward reaction and stagnation? Some feelings

are kindled only to smoulder away and leave dead ashes on an empty hearth within the spirit; others tend to kindle on and on, awakening thought, rousing to vigorous action. Nor are the most easily moved activities always the most important ones in the effect of art and literature. Laughter and tears lie on the surface of the mind: the gleam and the dusk may interchange quickly at any passing cloud. It is the great motive powers down deep in the soul that most contribute to abounding life, and whose awakening most surely proves the presence of genius: the sense of right and justice; the feelings of pity, awe, aspiration; love, too, - not the sodden sort of love, which is dear to the decorative poets in their maudlin moods, but mother-love, and father-love, and menschen-liebe, and love of friend, and lover's love, that desires not selfish possession, but the infinite welfare of its object, and for this will die or will live.

The test, then, for literature, as for all art, is its life-giving power. In the essay, for example, perfection would consist in giving us, through that free and unpremeditated play of the whole bevy of spiritual faculties (which is the characteristic of this literary form), the widest excursions possible to the mind's lighter and leisure hours. In the novel, it would consist in imparting to us profound life-truths, pure emotions, noble intentions, in connection with the opportunity to re live, or live in imagination, the most significant experiences of human existence. In the poem, the requirement is that it shall be full of lovely images, that it shall be in every way musical, that it shall bring about us troops of high and pure associations, the very words so chosen that they come "trailing clouds of glory" in their suggestiveness; and in its matter, that it shall bring us both thought and feeling, for whose intermingling the musical form of speech alone is fitted; and that,

coming from a pure and rich nature, it shall leave us purer and richer than it found us.

Wordsworth said a profound thing, and said it very simply, as he knew how

to do, when he gave as the criterion of a book that "it should make us wiser, better, or happier." And if it be the greatest sort of book, will it not do all three ? E. R. Sill.

FOR bird-lovers who know the mocking-bird only as a captive in our houses he has few attractions: a mere loudvoiced echo of the inharmonious sounds man gathers about his home, — car-bells, street cries, and other unpleasing noises, - and choosing for his performances the hours one wants to sleep. Unfortunate is the neighborhood in which one is kept. Such has been my feeling about the bird, for I never knew him in freedom, where he has a song of his own. But in my search for native birds I often saw the mocker, was surprised to notice his intelligence of look and manner, and at last took one into my birdroom, resolving that the moment he began to "mock" he should be given to some one who liked having the street in his house. My bird was very obliging in the matter; six months I watched him daily, and he was kind enough not to utter a sound, except an occasional harsh "chack." Probably he had too much liberty and too many interests about him; whatever the reason, I thanked him for it, and heartily enjoyed my study of his manners.

This bird was perhaps the most intelligent one I ever watched, the catbird being his only rival in that regard. Fear was unknown to him, and from the moment of his arrival he was interested in everything that took place around him: looking at each bird in succession; making close study of every member of the family; noticing the sounds of the street, including the spar

row broils on the porch-roof; in fact, extremely wide-awake and observing. To the goldfinch's song he gave attention, standing motionless except for a slight nervous jerk of one wing, looking and listening as intently as though The studying the notes for future use. freedom of the birds in the room surprised him, as he showed plainly by the eager glances with which he followed every movement and marked each act. Upon joining the party of the free, he took note of pictures in a newspaper, distinguishing objects in the cut, which he tried to pick up, as a small wheel and a bar. In colors he had a choice, and his selection was red; from a vase of roses of many hues he never failed to draw out the red one to pull it to pieces on the floor.

Liberty, the mocking-bird emphatically enjoyed, and at once recognized a string attached to his door as a device to deprive him of it; after vainly trying to pick it apart, he betook himself to another cage, and refused to go back to his own. In any strange cage he stood quietly while I walked up to him, and made no attempt to leave his quarters, knowing perfectly well that I did not care to shut the door upon him; but when at home I could not lift my hands, or make the slightest movement, without causing him to dart out of the cage instantly. Having contention with his room-mates about the bits of apple put out for all to enjoy, he often carried a piece away to eat at his leisure. From

habit he flew first to the top of a cage, that being his favorite perching place; but he evidently appreciated that, if he dropped the morsel, he should lose it through the wires; and after looking one side and the other, plainly satisfying himself of this fact, he went to the table with it. I never before saw a bird who did not have to learn the treacherous nature of cage roofs by experience. He appeared to work things out in his mind, to reason, in truth. One cold morning in spring, when the furnace fire was out, a large, brilliant lamp was put by his cage to take off the chill, for he felt changes keenly. He seemed to understand it at once, and though, no doubt, it was his first experience of warmth from a light, he drew as near it as possible, and remained there perfectly quiet until the sun warmed the room and it was removed. Fear, as I said, he knew not, coming freely upon the desk, or even upon my lap, after apple or bread, or anything he fancied.

It was plain to see that this bird's first week with us was one of quiet study and observation.

Not a move

ment of bird or man escaped his notice. He wished to understand, to take measure of his neighbors, to be master of the situation. This was manifested not only by his thoughtful manner and his wise and knowing looks, but by his subsequent conduct. During this period, also, he submitted to impositions from all the birds, even the smallest, without resentment. The wood-thrush easily drove him away from the apple; the little goldfinch chased him from his perch. He appeared to be meekness itself; but he was biding his time, he was making up his mind.

The first time the mocking - bird's door was opened, he was not in the least surprised; no doubt, seeing others at liberty, he had expected it. At rate, whatever his emotions, he instantly ran out on the perch placed in

any

his doorway, and surveyed his new world from this position. He was in no panic, not even in haste. When fully ready, he began his tour of inspec tion. First, to see if he really could reach the trees without, through those large, clear openings, he tried the windows, each of the three, but gently, not bouncing against them so violently as to fall to the floor, as more impetuous or less intelligent birds invariably do. Having proved each to be impassable, he was satisfied, and never tried again. Next, the ceiling interested him, and he flew all around the room, touching it gently everywhere, to assure himself of its nature. Convinced thus in a short time, that his bounds were only widened, not removed, he went on to investigate closely what he had looked at from a distance every bird-cage, inside as well as outside, if the owner happened to be away, every piece of furniture, pictures, books, and the pincushion,

where he was detained some time trying to carry off the large black heads of shawl-pins. The looking-glass absorbed him most completely on the first day; he flew against it, he hovered before it, slowly passing from bottom to top, alighted on top and looked over behind. I think he never solved that mystery to his own satisfaction, as he did that of the window - glass, which must have been quite as inexplicable, and it was never without a certain charm for him. He had no trouble in finding his way home standing on a cage next to his, he saw his own door-perch, recog nized it instantly (though he had been upon it only once), and, being hungry, dropped to it and ran into the cage.

The new-comer soon made thorough acquaintance with all his surroundings, and had leisure to turn his attention to a little matter yet unsettled; namely, his position in the small colony about him. The first few days, as already noted, he submitted to impositions: allowed himself to be driven away from

coming from a pure and rich nature, it shall leave us purer and richer than it found us.

Wordsworth said a profound thing, and said it very simply, as he knew how

to do, when he gave as the criterion of a book that "it should make us wiser, better, or happier." And if it be the greatest sort of book, will it not do all three? E. R. Sill.

FOR bird-lovers who know the mocking-bird only as a captive in our houses he has few attractions: a mere loudvoiced echo of the inharmonious sounds man gathers about his home, car-bells, street cries, and other unpleasing noises, and choosing for his performances the hours one wants to sleep. Unfortunate is the neighborhood in which one is kept. Such has been my feeling about the bird, for I never knew him in freedom, where he has a song of his own. But in my search for native birds I often saw the mocker, was surprised to notice his intelligence of look and manner, and at last took one into my birdroom, resolving that the moment he began to "mock" he should be given to some one who liked having the street in his house. My bird was very obliging in the matter; six months I watched him daily, and he was kind enough not to utter a sound, except an occasional harsh "chack." Probably he had too much liberty and too many interests about him; whatever the reason, I thanked him for it, and heartily enjoyed my study of his manners.

This bird was perhaps the most intelligent one I ever watched, the catbird being his only rival in that regard. Fear was unknown to him, and from the moment of his arrival he was interested in everything that took place around him looking at each bird in succession; making close study of every member of the family; noticing the sounds of the street, including the spar

row broils on the porch-roof; in fact, extremely wide-awake and observing. To the goldfinch's song he gave attention, standing motionless except for a slight nervous jerk of one wing, looking and listening as intently as though studying the notes for future use. The freedom of the birds in the room surprised him, as he showed plainly by the eager glances with which he followed every movement and marked each act. Upon joining the party of the free, he took note of pictures in a newspaper, distinguishing objects in the cut, which he tried to pick up, as a small wheel and a bar. In colors he had a choice, and his selection was red; from a vase of roses of many hues he never failed to draw out the red one to pull it to pieces on the floor.

Liberty, the mocking-bird emphatically enjoyed, and at once recognized a string attached to his door as a device to deprive him of it; after vainly trying to pick it apart, he betook himself to another cage, and refused to go back to his own. In any strange cage he stood quietly while I walked up to him, and made no attempt to leave his quarters, knowing perfectly well that I did not care to shut the door upon him; but when at home I could not lift my hands, or make the slightest movement, without causing him to dart out of the cage instantly. Having contention with his room-mates about the bits of apple put out for all to enjoy, he often carried a piece away to eat at his leisure. From

habit he flew first to the top of a cage, that being his favorite perching place; but he evidently appreciated that, if he dropped the morsel, he should lose it through the wires; and after looking one side and the other, plainly satisfying himself of this fact, he went to the table with it. I never before saw a bird who did not have to learn the treacherous nature of cage roofs by experience. He appeared to work things out in his mind, to reason, in truth. One cold morning in spring, when the furnace fire was out, a large, brilliant lamp was put by his cage to take off the chill, for he felt changes keenly. He seemed to understand it at once, and though, no doubt, it was his first experience of warmth from a light, he drew as near it as possible, and remained there perfectly quiet until the sun warmed the room and it was removed. Fear, as I said, he knew not, coming freely upon the desk, or even upon my lap, after apple or bread, or anything he fancied.

It was plain to see that this bird's first week with us was one of quiet study and observation. Not a movement of bird or man escaped his notice. He wished to understand, to take measure of his neighbors, to be master of the situation. This was manifested not only by his thoughtful mauner and his wise and knowing looks, but by his subsequent conduct. During this period, also, he submitted to impositions from all the birds, even the smallest, without resentment. The wood-thrush easily drove him away from the apple; the little goldfinch chased him from his perch. He appeared to be meekness itself; but he was biding his time, he was making up his mind.

The first time the mocking - bird's door was opened, he was not in the least surprised; no doubt, seeing others at liberty, he had expected it. At any rate, whatever his emotions, he instantly ran out on the perch placed in

his doorway, and surveyed his new world from this position. He was in no panic, not even in haste. When fully ready, he began his tour of inspection. First, to see if he really could reach the trees without, through those large, clear openings, he tried the windows, each of the three, but gently, not bouncing against them so violently as to fall to the floor, as more impetuous or less intelligent birds invariably do. Having proved each to be impassable, he was satisfied, and never tried again. Next, the ceiling interested him, and he flew all around the room, touching it gently everywhere, to assure himself of its nature. Convinced thus in a short time, that his bounds were only widened, not removed, he went on to investigate closely what he had looked at from a distance every bird-cage, inside as well as outside, if the owner happened to be away, every piece of furniture, pictures, books, and the pincushion, where he was detained some time trying to carry off the large black heads of shawl-pins. The looking-glass absorbed him most completely on the first day; he flew against it, he hovered before it, slowly passing from bottom to top, alighted on top and looked over behind. I think he never solved that mystery to his own satisfaction, as he did that of the window - glass, which must have been quite as inexplicable, and it was never without a certain charm for him. He had no trouble in finding his way home standing on a cage next to his, he saw his own door-perch, recognized it instantly (though he had been upon it only once), and, being hungry, dropped to it and ran into the cage.

The new-comer soon made thorough acquaintance with all his surroundings, and had leisure to turn his attention to a little matter yet unsettled; namely, his position in the small colony about him. The first few days, as already noted, he submitted to impositions: allowed himself to be driven away from