owerful fall of water. "Wonderful, all that water coming down!" cried
the tourist at Niagara, and the Irishman said, "Why wouldn't it?" He
recognised the simplicity of that power. It is a second-rate
passion--that for the waterfall, and often exacting in regard to visitors
from town. "I trudged unwillingly," says Dr. Johnson, "and was not sorry
to find it dry." It was very, very second-rate of an American admirer of
scenery to name a waterfall in the Yosemite Valley (and it bears the name
to-day) the "Bridal Veil." His Indian predecessor had called it, because
it was most audible in menacing weather, "The Voice of the Evil Wind." In
fact, your cascade is dearer to every sentimentalist than the sky.
Standing near the folding-over place of Niagara, at the top of the fall,
I looked across the perpetual rainbow of the foam, and saw the whole
further sky deflowered by the formless, edgeless, languid, abhorrent murk
of smoke from the nearest town. Much rather would I see that water put
to use than the sky so outraged. As it is, only by picking one's way
between cities can one walk under, or as it were in, a pure sky. The
horizon in Venice is thick and ochreous, and no one cares; the sky of
Milan is defiled all round. In England I must choose a path alertly; and
so does now and then a wary, fortunate, fastidious wind that has so found
his exact, uncharted way, between this smoke and that, as to clear me a
clean moonrise, and heavenly heavens.

There was an ominous prophecy to Charmian. "You shall outlive the lady
whom you serve." She has outlived her in every city in Europe; but only
for the time of setting straight her crown--the last servility. She
could not live but by comparison with the Queen.

THE CENTURY OF MODERATION

After a long literary revolt--one of the recurrences of imperishable
Romance--against the eighteenth-century authors, a reaction was due, and
it has come about roundly. We are guided back to admiration of the
measure and moderation and shapeliness of the Augustan age. And indeed
it is well enough that we should compare--not necessarily check--some of
our habits of thought and verse by the mediocrity of thought and perfect
propriety of diction of Pope's best contemporaries. If this were all!
But the eighteenth century was not content with its sure and certain
genius. Suddenly and repeatedly it aspired to a "noble rage." It is not
to the wild light hearts of the seventeenth centu