usly.

Mr. Foster is an American poet who has read Hawthorne, which is wise of
him, and imitated Longfellow, which is not quite so commendable.

_Andiatorocte_ is the title of a volume of poems by the Rev. Clarence
Walworth, of Albany, N.Y. It is a word borrowed from the Indians, and
should, we think, be returned to them as soon as possible. The most
curious poem of the book is called _Scenes at the Holy Home_:

Jesus and Joseph at work! Hurra!
Sight never to see again,
A prentice Deity plies the saw,
While the Master ploughs with the plane.

Poems of this kind were popular in the Middle Ages when the cathedrals of
every Christian country served as its theatres. They are anachronisms
now, and it is odd that they should come to us from the United States.
In matters of this kind we should have some protection.

As for the triolets, and the rondels, and the careful study of metrical
subtleties, these things are merely the signs of a desire for perfection
in small things and of the recognition of poetry as an art. They have
had certainly one good result--they have made our minor poets readable,
and have not left us entirely at the mercy of geniuses.

Poetry has many modes of music; she does not blow through one pipe alone.
Directness of utterance is good, but so is the subtle recasting of
thought into a new and delightful form. Simplicity is good, but
complexity, mystery, strangeness, symbolism, obscurity even, these have
their value. Indeed, properly speaking, there is no such thing as Style;
there are merely styles, that is all.

Writers of poetical prose are rarely good poets.

Poetry may be said to need far more self-restraint than prose. Its
conditions are more exquisite. It produces its effects by more subtle
means. It must not be allowed to degenerate into mere rhetoric or mere
eloquence. It is, in one sense, the most self-conscious of all the arts,
as it is never a means to an end but always an end in itself.

It may be difficult for a poet to find English synonyms for Asiatic
expressions, but even if it were impossible it is none the less a poet's
duty to find them. As it is, Sir Edwin Arnold has translated Sa'di and
some one must translate Sir Edwin Arnold.

Lounging in the open air is not a bad school for poets, but it largely
depends on the lounger.

People are so fond of giving away what they do not want themselves, that
charity is largely on the increase. But wit