veneer were unknown. Art had not resolved itself
into the possession of a class of idlers and dilettantes who hired
long-haired men and fussy girls in Greek gowns to make pretty things for
them. All worked with their hands, through need, and when they made
things they worked for utility and beauty. They gave things a beautiful
form, because men and women worked together, and for each other. And
wherever men and women work together we find Beauty. Men who live only
with other men are never beautiful in their work, or speech, or lives,
neither are women. But at this early time life was largely communal,
natural, and Art was the possession of all, because all had a share in
its production. Observe the setting of any Wagner opera where Walter
Damrosch has his way and get that flavor of bold, free, wholesome,
honest Beauty. And yet no stage was ever large enough to quite satisfy
Wagner, and all the properties, if he had had his way, would have been
works of Art, thought out in detail and materialized for the purpose by
human hands.

Now turn to "The Story of the Glittering Plain," "Gertha's Lovers,"
"News From Nowhere" or "The Hollow Land," by William Morris, and note
the same stage-setting, the same majesty, dignity and sense of power.
Observe the great underlying sense of joy in life, the gladness of mere
existence. A serenity and peace pervades the work of both of these men;
they are mystic, fond of folklore and legend; they live in the open, are
deeply religious without knowing it, have nothing they wish to conceal,
and are one with Nature in all her many moods and manifestations--sons
of God!

* * * * *

In the history of letters there is a writer by the name of Green, who
exists simply because he reviled a contemporary poet by the name of
Shakespeare. Green's name is embalmed in immortal amber with that of
Richard Quiney, who wrote a letter to the author of "The Tempest"
begging the favor of a loan of forty pounds.

There are several ways of winning fame. Joseph Jefferson has written in
classic style of Count Johannes and James Owen O'Connor, who played
"Hamlet" to large and enthusiastic audiences, behind a wire screen; then
there was John Doe, who fired the Alexandrian Library, and Richard Roe,
the man who struck Billy Patterson. Besides these we have the Reverend
Obadiah Simmons of Nashville, Tennessee, who, in Eighteen Hundred Sixty,
produced a monograph proving that negroes had n