FLORENCE EARLE COATES. THE HE poetry of Florence Earle Coates is characterized by a genuineness, a sincerity, a grasp of the deeper meanings of life, which show that her utterances come from no mere graceful impulse to poetize her impressions of the world and of herself, but rest on the sober foundation of a real experience and a clear analysis of the passion and aspirations that move humanity. She takes her subject not to embellish it with charming conceits, but to draw from it thoughts of joy, of strength, of consolation. The critic, finding in her writings much to denote that they are the product of a mature and disciplined mind, might ask how it happens that so comparatively untried a writer has learned to discard the fluent versification which generally accompanies the passionate enthusiasm of youth, and mastered so firm and delicate a method, so fastidious a selfrestraint. The truth is that Mrs. Coates's first strong artistic bent found its expression in other arts than that of poetry. A Philadelphian by birth, and carefully educated both in this country and in Europe, at an early age she attained a high degree of excellence as a musician. In addition to technical skill, and delicacy and precision of style, she possessed an insight and power of interpretation of the great masters, denied to all but real artists. Besides being an exquisite musician, she was endowed with rare dramatic talent. The special needs and aspirations of the poet developed later. The writings of Matthew Arnold were a great inspiration to her. Later she was destined to know the master who had revealed so much to her, and to receive from him sympathy and encouragement. At their house in Germantown, which was his home during his visits to Philadelphia, Mr. and Mrs. Coates formed with him a friendship which lasted until his death. Mrs. Coates has acknowledged her debt to Mr. Arnold in many ways, and has perhaps in manner of treatment and in large utterance gained something from him. Florence Earle Coates belongs to a well-known Philadelphia family; the founder, Ralph Earle, having come from England to America in 1634. Her father, George H. Earle, is an eminent lawyer, and her grandfather, Thomas Earle, was noted as a philanthropist and a worker for the public good. Her husband, Edward H. Coates, is a well-know and influential man, and is connected with a number of the charitable and other institutions of Philadelphia. He is chairman of the schools of the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, and is one of the most generous patrons of art and artists. What time Mrs. Coates is able to give to her literary pursuits, is snatched from the duties and obligations of an unusually full social and domestic life. Yet none of her work is hurried, or marred by over haste and a desire to see it in print. Many of her poems have, no doubt, been written at her summer retreat at Camp Elsinore, charmingly situated on the Upper St. Regis Lake, in the Adirondacks. Mrs. Coates is still a young woman, with a beautiful, brilliant face and a charming manner. Those who know her best, if called upon to give the final touch in describing her, would be inclined to add, that of her many gifts, her most fortunate endowment is, perhaps, that of being a E. O. K. delightful conversationalist. DEATH. I AM the key that parts the gates of Fame; I am the storm-tossed spirit's resting-place: The messenger of sure and swift relief, Welcomed with wailings and reproachful grief; The friend of those that have no friend but me, I break all chains, and set all captives free. I am the cloud that, when Earth's day is done, I am the brooding hush that follows strife, REJECTED. THE World denies her prophets with rash breath, While to his spirit, slighted and misprised, IN DARKNESS. I WILL be still; The terror drawing nigh Shall startle from my lips no coward cry; For oh! I know. Though suffering hours delay, Yet to Eternity they pass away, Carrying something onward as they flow, Outlasting woe! A force which he unconsciously adores Tempts to o'erleap their changeless boundaries The waves that tumble, foaming, to those shores,So thou, my soul! impatient of restriction, With deathless hopes and longings all aglow, Aspirest still, and still the stern prediction Stays thee, as them, "No further shalt thou go!" But, ah! the eagle feels not thine affliction, Nor can the broken waves thy disappointment know. MORNING. I WOKE and heard the thrushes sing at dawn,— Fragrant, as springtime breaths, of wood and lawn. DIDST THOU REJOICE? DIDST thou rejoice because the day was fair,- crest The sun complacent smiled? Ah! didst thou dare The careless rapture of that bird to share Which, soaring toward the dawn from dewy nest, Hailed it with song? From Ocean's treacherous breast Didst borrow the repose mild-mirrored there? Thou foolish heart! Behold! the light is spent; Rude thunders shake the crags; songs timorous cease; Lo! with what moan and mutinous lament O thou who seeketh sure and fixed content, SIMEON TUCKER CLARK. IMEON TUCKER CLARK was born in Can SIME ton, Mass., October 10, 1836, the child of the Rev. Nathan Sears Clark and Laura S. Swift. It may well be supposed that the poetic faculty came to him by inheritance, for Mrs. Clark wrote in verse easily and well, and in very early boyhood her son began to give outward signs of the grace that was in him, a grace, we may infer, carefully watched and cultivated by his gifted mother. To love of reading the future physician joined a hearty delight in the study of natural science, this latter disposition very probably influencing his subsequent choice of the medical profession as pre-eminently a calling in which he might most usefully to his fellowmen and most honorably to himself exercise those talents with which Heaven had so bountifully blessed him. In 1860 he was graduated from the Berkshire Medical College; and sometime later Genesee College gave him an honorary degree of Master of Arts. The year 1861 saw Doctor Clark beginning practice in Lockport, N. Y., where ever since he has devoted himself unwearyingly to the multifarious duties of his vocation-at times turning from watches at the bedside to write a paper for some learned society, or from the teacher's chair summoned to take part in the debates of the ablest thinkers in his profession; everywhere leaving the impress of his strong individuality and many-sided genius. Inclination and experience having led him to give particular attention to medico-legal studies, he was offered,—and accepted—the Professorship of Medical Jurisprudence in Niagara University, the department of medicine in that school being then in the second year of its existence. His lectures, always attended by enthusiastic classes, attract no less through the charm of the lecturer's eloquence than by reason of the subjects treated. With Dr. Clark fidelity to the requirements of his profession has not meant disloyalty to his muse: rather have those close relations with suffering humanity which it entails stimulated the creative spirit, and he has sung when inspired to sing. Many of his poems have been contributed to our best periodicals, and many more have been first published in leading newspapers, the most popular among them reappearing in various collections, notably in "Waifs and their Authors," which contains a discriminating sketch of the poet's work. It can easily be understood that a man of such broad culture must feel strongly the influence of the sister arts of music and painting. Indeed, Dr. Clark has always been, as he himself expresses it, "a firm believer in the unity of the æsthetics," and holds that the same critical faculty guiding his appreciation of what is true and beautiful in poetry enables him to discern these qual ities, when they exist, in music and painting. His own melodious verses show so delicate a sense of both color and rhythm that they illustrate forcibly the principle alluded to, and certain quaint graces of rhyme in many of the poems recall the delightful word-music of the Minnesingers. Facility of expression, however, `does not constitute Dr. Clark's sole claim to a place among our bards. Two poems peculiarly happy in this respect-"Toward Emmaus" and "Love is Sweeter than Rest"-the latter developing a thought akin to the great Carmelite's exalted prayer-evidence what we cannot fail to remark throughout his work-that the idea is supreme, and abides with us even if the music of his verses be forgotten; and that the poet is most a Poet when singing of highest things. E. A. C. TOWARD EMMAUS. "A JOURNEYING to Emmaus; As we went down to Emmaus. We journeyed down to Emmaus!" As you went down to Emmaus! As He walked down to Emmaus! |