No. 43. Twentieth Century Library, Mew York, Julv 1891. [Entered at the New York post-office a& *econd-cU*a mutter.)

XTbc (Botbic Minster







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CONTENTS : Editorials, Contributed Articles, Sermon by the Rev. Cater Totherich, Correspondence, Fiction, Poetry, " Working of the Yeast," Current News of all Movements, Hook Reviews, etc.

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Read before the Alumni of Colby University

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ORESTES. A Dramatic Sketch ; and Other Poems. 192 pages. Cloth, beveled edges. Price, one dollar.

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A Novel of the Twenty-fifth Century.

3 pages, beautifully printed. Paper cover. Price, 10 cents.

The outline of an imaginary novel; containing a statement of the author's idea of what literary expression may have attained to six centuries hence.


Colby University in t!to early morning After Commencement. t^Sit.

The.morning mist enwraps thee like a dream,— The river's warm breath whitened by the dawn ; Still as deep sleep, the elms about thy lawn Mix with the vapor; on the veiled stream The sliding, slumberous ripples roll and gleam.

The morn shall wake; winds woo and sunbeams fawn To rouse thee, vainly, in thy rest withdrawn, Where summer's moons of quiet reign supreme.

Meanwhile the woods are storing up their dyes, The clematis twines wreaths of later snow, The sumacs drain the sunset's fieriest glow, The ferns catch every sweetest breath that Jlies; And all, that when thou opest again thine eyes,

Autumn's romance its web may round thee throw.

Burlington. Vt., 2 July. 1891.

The following poem is not <1 study of any one cathedral j tut for the description of the. outside it follows somewhat the lines of the minster at Vim with its single spire, among the spires of earth peerless in height and beauty ; while the colors of the interior it has drawn from the more gorgeous cathedrals of the Ile-de-France x the cradle and the throne of Gothic architecture.

Ube Gotbtc flDinster.

A symphony in stone; wherein all notes Wrung or upleaping from man's ruddy heart. The low, the loud, the dull, the penetrating, As up to heaven thronging they ascend, In labyrinthean intertanglement, O'ertaken in mid-harmony by form, Stand bodied forth, eternized, visible. No thin Memnonian murmur, faintly heard At dawn or dusk with glad or plaintive strain, Here swells a chorus never still, a vast Millennial antiphon absolved from sound, Which thrills and thunders on the eye alone. The music of the world-wide life of man. Its hopes and fears and sins and sacrifices, Unfaltering faith, rapt adoration, Keen questioning, jaw-dropt credulity, Death-scorning courage daunted by the dark, Love barred with hate, with grossness purity, Red-slipping war, the hammering hum of peace, Hand-clasping brotherhood and manliness, The joy of handiwork, whose rest is toil, The joy of breathing, moving, loving life Immortalized and eloquent in stone. Stand here at night in storm, when, through gloom,

The great bulk seems a wall across the world,

Uprising jagged to the very sky, And you could deem a hornfcd Alp, rebellious Against the encircling conclave of his peers, Had by their doom been banished here to dwell. With all his fretting pines and pinnacles. Hut let the moon break forth, and through swift scud Flicker and float upon these carven walls, The mountain vanishes, and in its place A structure gleams without a stain of earth, A temple heaven-descended, or, as if A convoy of blest angels chorusing, As back to heaven they bore a saint's white soul, Had ravished so the moonlight with their song, That, where their notes fell, there the beams, transformed,

Had stood upstriving, and, as rose the hymn, So rose the silver fane, until the sound Was muflled by the stars; while far below, Though far aloft, to men, the snowy cross Hung yearning for that vanished melody. But stand before the minster when high noon Throws its revealing light on tower and wall, The airy structure hardens into stone; Not all forgetful of the mountain form It wore in darkness, nor the winged grace And lightness of that moony masonry; Yet plainly work of man, man at his best, Highest aspiring and most self-forgetful, Therefore most self-revealing. Then, what self? The genius of what master intellect Shines here by baser hands wrought visibly ? No mighty genius, and no baser hands, But common lives by faith and art exalted ;—

Such workmen reared these walls, and carved these spires.

And shot yon shaft of beauty into air Till the eye aches that follows, and the heart Keels itself snatched from earth and swept on high, As by the current of a soaring flame.

But, if the greatness was not theirs that wrought

What mastering motive so informed their lives

As through such lowly means to win expression ?

Religion 'twas, and art its ministrant,

The records answer; but the question comes,

if unto them the word religion spake

As ;n our cars today? In every age

Rears not the word its new significance,

Or meanings manifold, though under all

Abide the root and spring of all religion,

The loneliness and longing of the soul

Orphaned of its ideal ? The eye within

Beholds an image of perfection ;

But in the outer and embodied world

Sees only crudeness, failure, death, decay ;

No circle round, no angle true, no life

But bears within the seeds of its own death ;

The redeless riddle of the universe:

The rain descending on the evil man

As on the good, and on the good as oft

The hail and lightning; nothing justified

Within the span of life; the heart awarding

Men's lot by merit, and aggrieved to find

That force on earth usurps the place of right;

Nor satisfied that with the ages' lapse

Wrong slowly is made right, if this man's hurt

Is never healed, nor that man's pride put down. The heart has vision in its inmost shrine Of love illimitable, its native air, Its birthplace and its bourne ; but sees on earth Man's hand against his brother, hate and greed Making the world a shambles, or a den Of famine and of torture; yea! the lesson, Learned after centuries, that 'tis thriftier To coin a brother's heart's-blood, drop by drop, Than spill it wastefully by the swift sword.

Hut heart and mind refuse to answer no

To the enigma of the universe.

Though earth and air and sea and human life,

With all their voices, howl a negative,

Deep in the soul resounds eternal yea.

Therefore the soul back on itself returns,

And through itself, as though a glass, beholds

The infinite brought down to human ken,

The dateless, boundless, beauty, goodness, truth.

But not in all its hours can tne *oul scale

Those dizzy heights of contemplation,

Descend those depths and breathe with mortal breath;

Nor have all souls that strength to climb and dive.

So, that the blind might share the seer's sight,

And that the seer in his hours of gloom

Might not forget the vision wonderful,

Men wrought them symbols that should reproduce

The shadowed glory, as the picture's lines

Recall the absent loved one. Yeat they strove

By strong suggestions so to realize

The world unseen, that o'er the symbol seen

The unseen through the parted heaven should burst


Many the symbols that in many lands Throughout the ages have moved human hearts With heavenly persuasion ; but with some An age, a race, drank all the meaning dry, And left a rocky channel to our thirst. Yet other symbols spake to all men's hearts And speak to after ages. Such are those Vast emblems of the life of man in God And of God's life with men, that, long perfecting, After the opening of the new millennium For half a thousand years ceased not to break Flower-like on Europe's air, as if the rocks Had risen in worship, and the forest aisles Had joined them in uplifted adoration.

For him who from our naked shore brings eyes

Of unblest innocence, which never saw

Beauty in stone or vaulted awfulness.

Yet brings a heart that thrills to grace and gloom,

What ravishment awaits ! On him unwarned,

In all their beauty and their fragrance, burst

These fadeless blossoms of the centuries.

Upon his ears not dulled by frequency

The mighty chords of these vast instruments

Shatter full diapason. O'er his soul

The symbol once again breaks up the depths

Of the unfathomed blue to melt beneath

The glory of the infinite descending.

Man's life in God, so mounts the soaring pile;

Foundations vast and broad laid far below

In sunless depths of unseen sacrifice;

The walls arising, buttressed all about

With mutual support; oft scarcely more


'J <T

Than buttresses, so precious is the room

For inward light; then shrinking in the roof,

Then, as if taking heart, once more the walls

Rise heavenward, many-windowed, through a maze

Of buttresses that spring to meet the lower,

Then leap in upward flame for very joy

Of help received and given; while, through all

The length and breadth of the vast edifice,

No line but upward strives, no stone but lifts,

No smallest spire and finial but stands

On tiptoe to ascend. But not so broad

Can mount the highest life. The roof shuts in;

And all the upward impulse of the pile

Narrows into the tower, which climbs and climbs,

But though so far from earth not yet finds heaven ;

Too earthly still, it throws more weight away;

A flying cloud is scarce so airy now;

But still the vision waits, and still the spire,

Now narrowed to a staff, holds on its aim,

Will not give o'er until the blessing fall;

And see, the stone begins to bud with hope;

Swifter the spire shoots up, then suddenly

Stops, and in the rose-cross blossoms forth

For rapture of the beatific vision.

vSo finds the life of man its rest in God, After long toil, repose, long warfare, peace. Where finds it? Yonder, never here on earth, The upward-pointing answers. Finds what life? The heart still urges, and for answer given Receives the beckoning of the sculptured portal. With heart upturned and chastened soul go in ; The world shuts down behind, and thou art left

Alone in presence of the ineffable.

The very light is not the light of day;

For here the sun shines not, but living light

With its effulgence glorifies the air,

As if the rainbow's promise filled the world.

All vistas end in light; past range on range

Of columns down the illimitable aisle

A glory shuts the vision ; while, above,

From gloom to splendor soar the vaulted heights.

To right, to left, the air is dyed with hues,

Rich, darkling, solemnly magnificent,

Like the deep organ tones that from aloft

Roll under the huge vaults, and die away

Along the lessening arches dim and far.

Hours here are ages; time has oped his hand

And let the soul fly free ; the bounds of space

Ilem its light wings no longer. Where and when

Have lost their meaning to the mind entranced.

Yea, self itself is lost; the weary soul,

After long flight, within the bosom rests

Of the eternal, as the spray-flung drop

Sinks back in ocean's immensity.

What shall bring back the soul to earthly life, After such heavenly ravishment, lest it faint, Being clothed upon with ilesh, in that fine air? Beauty: which links the human and divine, And lures the soul on heavenly meads astray, Down its bright pathways to humanity. At last the eye begins with separate sight To mark what wholly had but dazzled it. The mind, by suddenness of the splendor stunned, Now step by step and slowly traverses

The strange new world revealed ; and finds it all

Not wholly new or strange. The forms are here

That build the forest's awe, the cavern's dread,

And, more familiar still, the lowlier shapes

Of leaf and bud and flower, with vines that cling

And coil and twine and creep and nestle or climb;

All wrought with faithfulness that comes alone

To love, a love that cherishes the life,

Not merely the dead forms. Then the mind's eye

Pictures the workman of that elder time

On Sunday with his children wandering

In wood and field, and noting form and poise

Of flower and leaf and stem, while constantly

His children bring him brighter, sweeter blooms

For his approval. Wearying at last,

They lighten with their songs the homeward way

No man might hope to sec the pile complete,

But yet his daily, weekly, yearly task

He wrought and finished, and in doing it

Found happiness. Toil might his body tire,

Hut in his heart was never any wish

Save to renew his task with the new day ;

So much he loved the work. His toil to him

Was recreation, for it ministered

To mind and heart; in it his thought and will

Wrought their creative impulse, and he knew

The artist's joy, finding in art his life.

Men build no more cathedrals ;—walls may rise, With tower and window, and be consecrate To the old purpose, but the soul is fled. Small need the cause to question. Who toils now For love of art, with high creative joy?

rhr OOTHfC minstkr. i j

No laborer. Then in vain the master plans,

Or, rather, vain his plan, and void of soul.

Art knows no sundering of the hand and brain ;

The two as one must labor, for in art

The greater sinks or rises with the less.

But, given the art, should we be able still

To lift such clouds of incense to the sky,

By marble less than faith made permanent ?

The question holds its answer ; for the faith

That bade these mountains be removed and wrought

Into new shapes of heavenlier loveliness,

Is dead on earth, never to live again.

That faith is dead ; light slew it ; when men came

To know the world they live in, and themselves.

The faith that pointed them away from earth

And bade them scorn and flee it, could not live.

With all the beauty and the nameless charm

And soothing of the soul and inspiration

And lessons, which their monuments retain,

The old beliefs of twilight, when day dawned,

Must needs grow thin and vanish like the night.

That faith is dead which made the earth a waste,

And man's life but a desert pilgrimage

O'er burning sands and flinty shards to find

Beyond its bounds a Paradise and rest.

That faith is dead which in the body saw

Only the spirit's prison, a house of sin,

To be escaped from, not indwelt with joy.

That faith is dead, with its black pessimism,

Which deemed this world the devil's world, and then,

That men might not die wholly in despair,

Fashioned a heaven for earth's apology.

That faith is dead, but its dark influence

At Inst, with change of times, the order changed: The windows robbed the wall's supremacy, Grown wider, yet aspiring far aloft In slender shafts th:it broke the restful lines Of level, broken further by support s To prop the weakened sides. The roof, upheaved As by a strong convulsion, eleft the air A wedge, no more a shelter. Losing power To lift great domes in flir, men reared instead Dizzy and toppling spires. Even the round Of the strong arch was broken, and the whole, To hide its death, was draped with earven flowers. So, when at Amiens chnnjjc had wrought its worst, In the completed pile no trace was left Of the old meaning; and to eyes that saw Alter the ancient order seemed alone Ruin, where we behold the full-blown rose Of Gothic beauty, and discern therein Meanings that more transcend what they displaced Thnn those the coldness of th? Roman hall. The elder order built with lifeless weight Of stone on stone against the outer light; With all it°. strength it perished; but the new Abide*, which builds with life and light ;md


Voltaire's Romances !

Translated from the French. Complete in one volume.


including three authenticated Portraits of the author.

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A Romance of Voluntary Socialism. By WILLIAM MORRIS, Poet. Novelist, and Social Agitator. Papor, 50 Cerate ; Cloth, 81.

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reply yet made to it 4 Mr. Morris Is infinitely removed from all othor imiutor* of Bellamy's book. Ho it as much aloof from them in th© matter of his i^ry as be la supper to Mr. Bellamy himself (n the manner of relating: iL"-P!jiLa<le!phla Press.

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HARRY Lyman Koopman.


"THE ANOINTED", -^eprint from Ariel, Burlington. Vt. May, I85X.

pa^es II3-II5.

A Novel of the Twenty-fifth Century.( Imagined)

" THE GOTHIC MINSTER," -A Poem. Read before the Alumni of Colby Univ.

June 30th. 1391.

Published by tb Twentieth Century Publishing Company. N.Y. 1391. -Twentieth Century Librsry. N.Y.July 30th .1891. No 43. Reprinted as a 15 psg© booklet.

Letter written to BenJ.R.Tucker from Harry layman Koopman, of Burlington. Vt. dated January 26th. 1892. in wticb he sends his trans-Jat ion of a poem on pa.^e 30 of " STURM". This is the poem " ANARCHIE." by John Henry wackay.

This poem as thsafllated by Harry Lyman Koonman is printed in "LIBERTY" January 30th. 1892. ( Vol". VIII. No 34. Khole no. 216) It is traslated

from the C-ermna.

Tucker , thereupon showed his skill at tanslatin-? from the German, and LIBERTY" for February 6th, I892, ( V/hole nnmber2I7) published another poem from "STURM" entitled " THE POETRY of the FUTURE".

"LIBERTY" February I3th. 1892, { Vol.VIII. No. 36 V/hole no. 218) reprints " VORLD- CITIZENSHIP" by John Henry Mackay. translated from the German by Harry Ionian Koopman,

Folllov.'lnr these translations LIBERTY prir.t3 a poem entitled " V.'KEN" by Harry Lyman Koopman. ***** " LIBERTY" June 4th. I8?2. ( Vol.VIII. No. 42 . '.-Thole no. 224)

A Review of Harry Lyman Koopman* s " GOTHIC MINSTER " written by Miriam Daniell appears in "LIBERTY" July 2, 1892. ?Vol.VIII. No. 42. V/hole no, 228)

A few other poems p#jjf#JOfJ|s# follow written by Harry Lyman Kooppan. as In July 23, and Xfcly 30th and 3ept. I7th.