No More Learning

"I fancy that my pal is all right, though I see you have got his
coat-tails. "
"There are three men waiting for him at the door," said
Holmes.
"Oh, indeed! You seem to have done the thing very com-
pletely. I must compliment you. "
"Your red-headed idea was
"And I you," Holmes answered.
very new and effective. "
"You'll see your pal again presently," said Jones.
"He's
quicker at climbing down holes than I am. Just hold out, while
I fix the derbies. "
"I beg that you will not touch me with your filthy hands,"
remarked our prisoner, as the handcuffs clattered upon his wrists.
"You may not be aware that I have royal blood in my veins.
Have the goodness, also, when you address me always to say
'sir' and 'please. ""
"All right," said Jones, with a stare and a snigger. "Well,
would you please, sir, march upstairs, where we can get a cab
to carry your Highness to the police station ? »
"That is better," said John Clay, serenely. He made a
sweeping bow to the three of us, and walked quietly off in the
custody of the detective.
«< Really, Mr. Holmes," said Mr. Merryweather, as
we fol-
lowed them from the cellar, "I do not know how the bank can
thank you or repay you. There is no doubt that you have
detected and defeated in the most complete manner one of the
most determined attempts at bank robbery that have ever come
within my experience. "
"I have had one or two little scores of my own to settle with
Mr. John Clay," said Holmes. "I have been at some small
expense over this matter, which shall expect the bank to
refund; but beyond that I am amply repaid by having had an
experience which is in many ways unique, and by hearing the
very remarkable narrative of the Red-Headed League. "
"You see, Watson," he explained, in the early hours of the
morning, as we sat over a glass of whisky and soda in Baker
Street, "it was perfectly obvious from the first that the only


## p. 4837 (#635) ###########################################

A. CONAN DOYLE
4837
possible object of this rather fantastic business of the advertise-
ment of the League, and the copying of the Encyclopædia,'
must be to get this not over bright pawnbroker out of the way
for a number of hours every day. It was
a curious way of
managing it, but really, it would be difficult to suggest a better.
The method was no doubt suggested to Clay's ingenious mind by
the color of his accomplice's hair. The £4 a week was a lure
which must draw him,-and what was it to them, who were play-
ing for thousands? They put in the advertisement, one rogue
has the temporary office, the other rogue incites the man to
apply for it, and together they manage to secure his absence
every morning in the week. From the time that I heard of the
assistant having come for half wages, it was obvious to me that
he had some strong motive for securing the situation. "
"But how could you guess what the motive was?
"Had there been women in the house, I should have sus-
pected a mere vulgar intrigue. That however was out of the
question. The man's business was a small one, and there was
nothing in his house which could account for such elaborate
preparations and such an expenditure as they were at. It must
then be something out of the house. What could it be? I
thought of the assistant's fondness for photography, and his trick.
of vanishing into the cellar. The cellar! There was the end of
this tangled clue: Then I made inquiries as to this mysterious
assistant, and found that I had to deal with one of the coolest
and most daring criminals in London. He was doing something
in the cellar-something which took many hours a day for
months on end. What could it be, once more? I could think of
nothing save that he was running a tunnel to some other build-
ing.
"So far I had got when we went to visit the scene of action.
I surprised you by beating upon the pavement with my stick. I
was ascertaining whether the cellar stretched out in front or
behind. It was not in front.
Then I rang the bell, and as I
hoped, the assistant answered it. We have had some skirmishes,
but we had never set eyes upon each other before. I hardly
looked at his face. His knees were what I wished to see. You
must yourself have remarked how worn, wrinkled, and stained
they were. They spoke of those hours of burrowing.
The only
remaining point was what they were burrowing for. I walked
round the corner, saw that the City and Suburban Bank abutted


## p. 4838 (#636) ###########################################

4838
A. CONAN DOYLE
on our friend's premises, and felt that I had solved my problem.
When you drove home after the concert I called upon Scotland
Yard, and upon the chairman of the bank directors, with the
result that you have seen. ”
"And how could you tell that they would make their attempt
to-night? " I asked.
"Well, when they closed their League offices, that was a sign
that they cared no longer about Mr. Jabez Wilson's presence-
in other words, that they had completed their tunnel. But it
was essential that they should use it soon, as it might be dis-
covered, or the bullion might be removed. Saturday would suit
them better than any other day, as it would give them two days
for their escape.
For all these reasons I expected them to come
to-night. "
"You reasoned it out beautifully," I exclaimed, in unfeigned
admiration. "It is so long a chain, and yet every link rings.
true. »
"It saved me from ennui," he answered, yawning. "Alas! I
already feel it closing in upon me. My life is spent in one long
effort to escape from the commonplaces of existence. These little.
problems help me to do so. "
"And you are a benefactor of the race," said I.
He shrugged his shoulders.
some little use," he remarked.
c'est tout,' as Gustave Flaubert wrote to George Sand. "
THE BOWMEN'S SONG
From The White Company'
"Well, perhaps after all it is of
"L'homme c'est rien-l'œuvre
HAT of the bow?
The bow was made in England:
Of true wood, of yew wood,
The wood of English bows;
So men who are free
WHA
―――
Love the old yew-tree
And the land where the yew-tree grows.
What of the cord?
The cord was made in England:
A rough cord, a tough cord,
A cord that bowmen love;


## p. 4839 (#637) ###########################################

A. CONAN DOYLE
4839
So we'll drain our jacks
To the English flax
And the land where the hemp was wove.
What of the shaft?
The shaft was cut in England:
A long shaft, a strong shaft,
Barbed and trim and true;
So we'll drink all together
To the gray goose feather,
And the land where the gray goose flew.
What of the men?
The men were bred in England:
The bowman - the yeoman -
The lads of dale and fell.
Here's to you-and to you!
To the hearts that are true
And the land where the true hearts dwell.
Reprinted by permission of the American Publishers' Corporation, Publishers.


## p. 4840 (#638) ###########################################

4840
HOLGER DRACHMANN
(1846-)
OLGER DRACHMANN, born in Copenhagen October 9th, 1846,
belongs to the writers characterized by Georg Brandes as
"the men of the new era. "
Danish literature had stood high during the first half of the nine-
teenth century. In 1850 Oehlenschläger died. In 1870 there was prac-
tically no Danish literature. The reason for this may have been that
after the new political life of 1848-9 and the granting of the Danish
Constitution, politics absorbed all young talent, and men of literary
tastes put themselves at the service of the
daily press.
(
In 1872 Georg Brandes gave his lectures
on Main Currents in the Literature of the
Nineteenth Century' at the University of
Copenhagen. That same year Drachmann
published his first collection of Poems,'
and so began his extraordinary productivity
of poems, dramas, and novels. Of these, his
lyric poems are undoubtedly of the greatest
value. His is a distinctly lyric tempera-
ment. The new school had chosen for its
guide Brandes's teaching that "Literature,
to be of significance, should discuss prob-
lems. " In view of this fact it is somewhat

HOLGER DRACHMANN
hard to understand why Drachmann should be called a man of the
new era. He never discusses problems. He always gives himself up
unreservedly to the subject which at that special moment claims his
sympathy. Taken as a whole, therefore, his writings present a cer-
tain inconsistency. He has shown himself alternately as socialist and
royalist, realist and romanticist, freethinker and believer, cosmopoli-
tan and national, according to the lyric enthusiasm of the moment.
Independent of these changes, the one thing to be admired and
enjoyed is his lyric feeling and the often exquisite form in which
he presents it. His larger compositions, novels, and dramas do not
show the same power over his subject.
If Drachmann discusses any problem, it is the problem Drachmann.
He does this sometimes with what Brandes calls "a light and joking
self-irony," in a most sympathetic way. Brandes quotes one of Drach-


## p. 4841 (#639) ###########################################

HOLGER DRACHMANN
4841
mann's early stories, where it is said of the hero:-"His name was
really Palnatoke Olsen; a continually repeated discord of two tones,
as he used to say. " Olsen is one of the most commonplace Danish
names. Palnatoke is the name of one of the fiercest warriors of
heathen antiquity, who, like a veritable Valhalla god, dared to oppose
the terrible Danish king Harald Blaatand. When Olsen's parents
gave him this name they unwittingly described their son, "forever
drawn by two poles: one the plain Olsen, the other the hot-headed
fiery Viking. " With this in mind, and considering Drachmann's liter-
ary works as a whole, one is irresistibly reminded of his friend and
contemporary in Norway, Björnsterne Björnson. There is this differ-
ence between them, however, that if the irony of Palnatoke Olsen
may be applied to both, one might for Drachmann use the abbrevi-
ation P. Olsen and for Björnson undoubtedly Palnatoke O.
It might be said of Drachmann, as Sauer said of the Italian poet
Monti: — "Like a master in the art of appreciation, he knew how to
give himself up to great time-stirring ideas; somewhat as a gifted
actor throws himself into his part, with the full strength of his art,
with an enthusiasm carrying all before it, and in the most expressive
way; then when the part is played, lays it quietly aside and takes
hold of something else. "
When a young man, Drachmann studied at the Academy of Arts in
Copenhagen, and met with considerable success as a marine painter.
His love for the Northern seas shows itself in his poetry and prose,
and his descriptions of the sea and the life of the sailor and fisher-
man are of the truest and best yielded by his pen. He is the author
of no less than forty-six volumes of poems, dramas, novels, short
stories, and sketches, and of two unpublished dramas. His most im-
portant work is 'Forskrevet' (Condemned), which is largely autobio-
graphical; his most attractive though not his strongest production is
the opera 'Der Var Engang' (Once Upon a Time), founded on
Andersen's 'The Swineherd,' with music by Sange Müller; his best
poems and tales are those dealing with the sea.
At present he lives in Hamburg, where on October 10th, 1896, he
celebrated his fiftieth birthday and his twenty-fifth "Author-Jubilee,"
as the Danes call it. Among the features of the celebration were
the sending of an enormous number of telegrams from Drachmann's
admirers in Europe and America, and the performance of two of his
plays, one at the Royal Theatre in Copenhagen, the other at the
Stadt Theatre in Altona.


## p. 4842 (#640) ###########################################

4842
HOLGER DRACHMANN
THE SKIPPER AND HIS SHIP
From Paul and Virginia of a Northern Zone': copyright 1895, by Way and
Williams, Chicago
THE
HE Anna Dorothea, in the North Sea, was pounding along
under shortened sail. The weather was thick, the air dense;
there was a falling barometer.
It had been a short trip this time. Leroy and Sons, wine
merchants of Havre, had made better offers than the old houses
in Bordeaux. At each one of his later trips, Captain Spang had
Isaid it should be his last.
<<
He would lay up" at home; he was
growing too stout and clumsy for the sea, and now he must
trust fully to Tönnes, his first mate. The captain's big broad
face was flushed as usual; he always looked as if he were illumi-
nated by a setting October sun; there was no change here-
rather, the sunset tint was stronger. But Tönnes noted how the
features, which he knew best in moments of simple good-nature
and of sullen tumult, had gradually relaxed. He thought that it
would indeed soon be time for his old skipper to "lay up"; yet
perhaps a few trips might still be made.
"Holloa, Tönnes! let her go about before the next squall
strikes her. She lies too dead on this bow. "
The skipper had raised his head above the cabin stairs. As
usual, he was in his shirt-sleeves, and his scanty hair fluttered in
the wind. When he had warned his mate, he again disappeared
in the cabin.
Tönnes gave the order to the man at the helm, and hurried
to help at the main-braces. The double-reefed main-topsail swung
about, the Anna Dorothea caught the wind somewhat sluggishly,
and not without getting considerable water over her; then fol-
lowed the fore-topsail, the reefed foresail, and the trysail. When
the tacking was finished and the sails had again caught the
wind, the trysail was torn from the boltropes with a loud crack.
The captain's head appeared again.
"We must close-reef! " said he.
The last reef was taken in; the storm came down and lashed
the sea; the sky grew more and more threatening; the waves
dashed over the deck at each plunge of the old bark in the sea.
The old vessel, which had carried her captain for a generation,
lay heavily on the water-Tönnes thought too heavily.


## p. 4843 (#641) ###########################################

HOLGER DRACHMANN
4843
The second mate—the same who had played the accordion at
the inn came over to Tönnes.
―――――
"It was wrong to stow the china-clay at the bottom and the
casks on top; she lies horribly dead, and I'm afraid we shall have
to use the pumps. "
"Yes, I said so to the old man, but he would have it that
way," answered Tönnes. "We shall have a wet night. "
"We shall, surely," said the second mate.
Tönnes crawled up to the helm and looked at the compass.
Two men were at the helm-lashed fast. Tönnes looked up
into the rigging and out to windward; then suddenly he cried,
with the full force of his lungs:-
"Look out for breakers! "
Tönnes himself helped at the wheel; but the vessel only half
answered the helm. The greater portion of the sea struck the
bow, the quarter, and the bulwarks and stanchions amidship, so
that they creaked and groaned. One of the men at the helm had
grasped Tönnes, who would otherwise have been swept into the
lee scupper. When the ship had righted from the terrible blow,
the captain stood on the deck in his oilcloth suit.
―――――――
"Are any men missing? " cried he, through the howling of
the wind and the roaring of the water streaming fore and aft,
unable to escape quickly enough through the scuppers.
The storm raged with undiminished fury. The crew-and
amongst them Prussian, who had been promoted to be ship's-dog
-by-and-by dived forward through the seething salt water and
the fragments of wreck that covered the deck.
Now it was that the second mate was missing.
The captain looked at Tönnes, and then out on the wild sea.
He scarcely glanced at the crushed long-boat; even if a boat
could have been launched, it would have been too late. Tönnes
and his skipper were fearless men, who took things as they were.
If any help could have been given, they would have given it.
But their eyes sought vainly for any dark speck amidst the
foaming waves-and it was necessary to care for themselves,
the vessel and the crew.
"God save his soul! " murmured Captain Spang.
Tönnes passed his hand across his brow, and went to his duty.
Evening set in; the wind increased rather than decreased.
"She is taking in water," said the captain, who had sounded
the pumps.


## p. 4844 (#642) ###########################################

4844
HOLGER DRACHMANN
Tönnes assented.
"We must change her course," said the captain.
pitches too heavily in this sea. "
The bark was held up to the wind as closely as possible.
The pumps were worked steadily, but often got out of order on
account of the china-clay, which mixed with the water down in
the hold.
« She
It was plain that the vessel grew heavier and heavier; her
movements in climbing a wave were more and more dead.
During the night a cry arose: again one of the crew was
washed overboard.
It was a long night and a wet one, as Tönnes had predicted.
Several times the skipper dived down into the cabin - Tönnes
knew perfectly well what for, but he said nothing. Few words
were spoken on board the Anna Dorothea that night.
In the morning the captain, returning from one of his excur-
sions down below, declared that the cabin was half full of water.
"We must watch for a sail," he said, abruptly and somewhat
huskily.
Tönnes passed the word round amongst the crew.
One might
read on their faces that they were prepared for this, and that
they had ceased to hope, although they had not stopped work at
the pumps.
The whole of the weather bulwark, the cook's cabin and the
long-boat, were crushed or washed away; the water could be
heard below the hatches. While keeping a sharp lookout for
sails, many an eye glanced at the yawl as the last resort. But
on board Captain Spang's vessel the words were not yet spoken
which carried with them the doom of the ship: "We are sinking! "
In the gray-white of the dawn a signal was to be hoisted; the
bunting was tied together at the middle and raised half-mast high.
Both the captain and Tönnes had lashed themselves aft; for
now the bark was but little better than a wreck, over which the
billows broke incessantly, as the vessel, reeling like a drunken
man, exposed herself to the violent attacks of the sea instead of
parrying them.
"A sail to windward, captain! " cried Tönnes.
Captain Spang only nodded.
"She holds her course! " cried one of the crew excitedly.
"No," said Tönnes, quietly. "She has seen us, and is bear-
ing down upon us! "


## p. 4845 (#643) ###########################################

HOLGER DRACHMANN
4845
The captain again nodded.
"Tis a brig! " cried one of the crew.
"A schooner-brig! " Tönnes corrected.
finely. I am sure she is a fruit-trader. "
At last the strange vessel was so near that they could see her
deck each time she was thrown upon her side in the violent
seething sea.
"Yes, 'tis the schooner-brig! " exclaimed Tönnes.
remember, captain, the time when -"
——
"She carries her sails
"Do you
Again Captain Spang nodded. He acted strangely. Tönnes
looked sharply at him, and shook his head.
Now Tönnes hailed the vessel:
"Help us! We are sinking! "
At this moment two or three of the bark's crew rushed toward
the yawl, although Tönnes warned them back.
Captain Spang seemed changed. Evidently some opposing
feelings contended within him. Seeing the insubordination of the
men, he only shrugged his shoulders, and let Tönnes take full
charge.
The men
were in the yawl, still hanging under the iron
davits. Now they cut the ropes; the yawl touched the water.
The crew of the other vessel gestured warningly; but it was too
late. A sea seized the yawl with its small crew, and the next
moment crushed it against the main chains of the bark. Their
shipmates raised a cry, and rushed to help them; but help was
impossible. Boat and crew had disappeared.
"Didn't I say so? " cried Tönnes, with flaming eyes.
Over there in the schooner-brig all was activity. From the
Anna Dorothea they could plainly see how the captain gave his
orders. He manoeuvred his vessel like a true sailor. To board
the wreck in such a sea would be madness. Therefore they
unreeved two long lines and attached them to the long-boat, one
on each side. Then they laid breeching under the boat, and
hauled it up amidships by means of tackle. Taking advantage
of a moment when their vessel was athwart the seas, they un-
loosed the tackle, and the boat swung out over the side; then
they cut the breeching, the boat fell on the water aft, and now
both lines were eased off quickly; while the brig caught the
wind, the boat drifted toward the stern-sheets of the bark.
Tönnes was ready with a boat-hook, and connections were
quickly made between the boat and the wreck.


## p. 4846 (#644) ###########################################

4846
HOLGER DRACHMANN
"Quick now! " cried Tönnes. "Every man in the boat. No
one takes his clothes with him! We may be thankful if we save
our lives. "
The men were quickly over the stern-sheets and down in the
boat. Prussian whined, and kept close to Captain Spang, who
had not moved one step on the deck.
"Come, captain! " cried Tönnes, taking the skipper by the
arm.
"What's the matter? " asked the old man angrily.
Tönnes looked at him. Prussian barked.
"We must get into the boat, captain. The vessel may sink
at any moment. Come! »
The captain pressed his sou'wester down over his forehead,
and glanced around his deck.
The men in the boat cried out to them to come.
"Well! " said Captain Spang, but with an air so absent-
minded and a bearing so irresolute that Tönnes at last took a
firm hold on him.
Prussian showed his teeth at his former master.
"You go first! " exclaimed Tönnes, snatching the dog and
throwing him down to the men, who were having hard work to
keep the boat from wrecking.
When the dog was no longer on the deck, it seemed as if
Captain Spang's resistance was broken. Tönnes did not let go
his hold on him; but the young mate had to use almost super-
human strength to get the heavy old man down over the vessel's
side and placed on a seat in the boat.
As soon as they had observed from the brig that this had
been done, they hauled in both lines. The boat moved back
again; but it was a dangerous voyage, and all were obliged to
lash themselves fast to the thwarts with ropes placed there for
that purpose.
Captain Spang was like a child. Tönnes had to lash him to
the seat. The old man sat with his face hidden in his hands,
his back turned toward his ship, inactive, and seemingly uncon-
scious of what took place around him.
At last, when after a hard struggle all were on the deck of
the schooner-brig, her captain came forward, placed his hand on
his old friend's shoulder, and said:-
"It is the second time, you see! Well, we all cling to life,
and the vessel over there is pretty old. ”
-


## p. 4847 (#645) ###########################################

HOLGER DRACHMANN
4847
Captain Spang started. He scarcely returned his friend's
hand-shaking.
"My vessel, I say! My papers! All that I have is in the
vessel. I must go aboard, do you hear? I must go aboard.
How could I forget? "
The other skipper and Tönnes looked at each other.
Captain Spang wrung his hands and stamped on the deck, his
eyes fixed on his sinking vessel. She was still afloat; what did
he care for the gale and the heavy sea? He belonged to the old
school of skippers; he was bound to his vessel by ties longer
than any life-line, heavier than any hawser; he had left his ship
in a bewildered state, and had taken nothing with him that
might serve to prove what he possessed and how long he had
possessed it. His good old vessel was still floating on the water.
He must, he would go there; if nobody would go with him, he
would go alone.
All remonstrances were in vain.
Tönnes pressed the other skipper's hand.
"There is nothing else to be done. I know him," said he.
"So do I," was the answer.
Captain Spang and his mate were again in the boat. As they
were on the point of starting, a loud whine and violent barking
sounded from the deck, and Prussian showed his one eye over
the railing.
"Stay where you are! " cried Tönnes. "We shall be back
soon. "
But the dog did not understand him. Perhaps he had his
doubts; no one can say. He sprang overboard; Tönnes seized
him by the ear, and hauled him into the boat.
And then the two men and the dog ventured back to the
abandoned vessel.
This time the old man climbed on board without assistance.
Prussian whined in the boat.
"Throw that dog up to me! " cried the master.
Tönnes did so.
"Shall I come up and help you? " he called out.
"No, I can find my own way. "
"But hurry, captain! do you understand? " said Tönnes, who
anxiously noticed that the motions of the vessel were becoming
more and more dangerous, while he needed all his strength to
keep the boat clear of the wreck.


## p. 4848 (#646) ###########################################

4848
HOLGER DRACHMANN
An answer came from the bark, but he could not catch it.
In this moment Tönnes recalled the day when he rowed the
captain out on the bay to the brig. His next thought was of
Nanna. Oh, if she knew where they were!
And at this thought the mate's breast was filled with conflict-
ing emotions. The dear blessed girl! - Oh, if her father would
only come!
"Captain! " cried Tönnes; "Captain Spang! for God's sake,
come! Leave those papers alone. The vessel is sinking. We
may at any moment-
>>
He paused.
The captain stood at the stern-sheets. At his side was Prus-
sian, squinting down into the boat. There was an entirely
strange expression in Andreas Spang's face; a double expression
- one moment hard and defiant, the next almost solemn.
The sou'wester had fallen from his old head.
His scanty
hairs fluttered in the wind. He held in his hand a parcel of
papers and a coil of rope. He pointed toward the brig.
There! " he cried, throwing the package and the rope down.
to Tönnes. "Give the skipper this new line for his trouble.
He has used plenty of rope for us. You go back. I stay here.
Give-my-love-to the girl at home. - You and she - You
two- God bless you! "
"Captain! " cried Tönnes in affright; "you are sick; come,
let me ->
-
He prepared to climb on board.
Captain Spang lifted his hand threateningly, and Prussian
barked furiously.
"Stay down there, boy, I say! The vessel and I, we belong
together. You shall take care of the girl. Good-by! "
The Anna Dorothea rolled heavily over on one side, righted
again, and then began to plunge her head downwards, like a
whale that, tired of the surface, seeks rest at the bottom. The
crew of the brig hauled in the lines of the boat. Tossed on the
turbid sea, Tönnes saw his old skipper leaning against the helm,
the dog at his side. His gray hairs fluttered in the wind as
if they wafted a last farewell; and down with vessel and dog
went the old skipper-down into the wild sea that so long had
borne him on its waves.


## p. 4849 (#647) ###########################################

HOLGER DRACHMANN
4849
THE PRINCE'S SONG
From Once Upon a Time>
PR
RINCESS, I come from out a land that lieth-
I know not in what arctic latitude:
Though high in the bleak north, it never sigheth
For sunny smiles; they wait not to be wooed.
Our privilege we know: the bright half-year
Illumines sea and shore with sunlit glory;
In twilight then our fertile fields we ear,
And round our brows we twine a wreath of story.
When winter decks with frost the bearded oak,
In songs and sagas we our youth recover;
Around the hearthstone crowd the listening folk,
While on the wall mysterious shadows hover.
The summer night, suffused with loving glow,
The future, dawning in a golden chalice,
Enkindles hope in hearts of high and low,
From peasant's cottage to the royal palace.
The snow of winter spreads o'er hill and valley
Its soft and silken blue-white veil of sleep;
The springtime bids the green-clad earth to rally,
When through the budding leaves the sunbeams peep.
The autumn brings fresh breezes from the ocean
And paints the lad's fair cheeks a rosy red;
The maiden's heart is stirred with new emotion,
When summer's fragrance o'er the world is spread.
To roam in our fair land is like a dream,
Through these still woods, renowned in ancient story,
Along the shores, deep-mirrored in the gleam
Of fjords that shine beneath the sky's blue glory.
Upon the meadows where the flowers bloom
The elfin maidens hide themselves in slumbers,
But soon along the lakes where shadows gloom
In every bosky nook they'll dance their numbers.
VIII-304
There are no frowning crags on our green mountains,
No dark, forbidding cliffs where gorges yawn;
The streams flow gently seaward from their fountains,
As through the silent valley steals the dawn.


## p. 4850 (#648) ###########################################

4850
HOLGER DRACHMANN
Here nature smoothes the rugged, tames the savage,
And men born here in victory are kind,
Forbearing still the foeman's land to ravage,
And in defeat they bear a steadfast mind.
I'm proud of land, of kindred, and of nation,
I'm proud my home is where the waters flow;
Afar I see in golden radiation
My native land like sun through amber glow.
Its warmth revives my heart, however lonely:
Forgive me, Princess, if my soul's aflame,—
But rather be at home, a beggar only,
Than, exiled thence, have universal fame.
Translation of Charles Harvey Genung.


## p. 4851 (#649) ###########################################

4851
JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE
(1795-1820)
CONSPICUOUS among the young poets, essayists, and journalists,
who made up literary New York in the early part of the
century, was Joseph Rodman Drake, the friend of Halleck,
and the best beloved perhaps of all that brilliant group. Hardly
known to this generation save by The Culprit Fay' and 'The Amer-
ican Flag,' Drake was essentially a true poet and a man of letters.
His work was characteristic of his day. He had a certain amount of
classical knowledge, a certain eighteenth-century grace and style, yet
withal, an instinctive Americanism which
flowered out into our first true national
literature. The group of writers among
whom were found Irving, Halleck, Wil-
lis, Dana, Hoffman, Verplanck, Brockden
Brown, and a score of others, reflected
that age in which they sought their lit-
erary models. With the exception of Poe,
who belonged to a somewhat later time
and whose genius was purely subjective,
much of the production of these Americans
followed the lines of their English prede-
cessors,-Johnson, Goldsmith, Addison, and

Steele. It is only in their deeper moments JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE
of thought and feeling that there sounds
that note of love of country, of genuine Americanism, which gives
their work individuality, and which will keep their memory green.
Drake was born in New York, in August 1795. He was descended
from the same family as the great admiral of Elizabethan days, the
American branch of which had served their country honorably both
in colonial and Revolutionary times. The scenes of his boyhood
were the same as those that formed the environment of Irving,
memories of which are scattered thick through the literature of the
day. New York was still a picturesque, hospitable, rural capital, the
centre of the present town being miles distant in the country. The
best families were all intimately associated in a social life that was
cultivated and refined at the same time that it was gay and uncon-
ventional; and in this society Drake occupied a place which his lov-
able qualities and fine talents must have won, even had it been


## p. 4852 (#650) ###########################################

4852
JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE
denied him by birth.
He was a precocious boy, for whom a career
was anticipated by his friends while he was yet a mere child; and
when he met Halleck, in his eighteenth year, he had already won
some reputation.
The friendship of Drake and Halleck was destined to prove infi-
nitely valuable to both. A discussion between Cooper, Halleck, and
Drake, upon the poetic inspiration of American scenery, prompted
Drake to write The Culprit Fay'-a poem without any human
character. This he completed in three days, and offered it as the
argument on his side. The scene of the poem is laid in the High-
lands of the Hudson, but Drake added many pictures suggested by
memories of Long Island Sound, whose waters he haunted with boat
and rod. He apologized for this by saying that the purposes of poetry
alone could explain the presence so far up the Hudson of so many
salt-water emigrants. The Culprit Fay' is a creation of pure fancy,
full of delicate imagery, and handled with an ethereal lightness of
touch. Its exquisite grace, its delicate coloring, its prodigality of
charm, explain its immediate popularity and its lasting fame. But
the Rip Van Winkle legend is a far more genuine product of fancy.
Drake's few shorter lyrics throb with genuine poetic feeling, and
show the loss sustained by literature in the author's early death.
Best known of these is 'The American Flag,' which appeared in the
Evening Post as one of a series of jeux d'esprit, the joint productions
of Halleck and Drake, who either alternated in the composition of
the numbers or wrote them together. The last four lines only of
'The American Flag' are Halleck's. The entire series appeared be-
tween March and July, 1819, under the signature of "The Croakers. ”
Literary New York was mystified as to the authorship of these skits,
which hit off the popular fads, follies, and enthusiasms of the day
with so easy and graceful a touch. Politics, music, the drama, and
domestic life alike furnished inspiration for the numbers; some of
whose titles, as 'A Sketch of a Debate in Tammany' and 'The
Battery War,' suggest the local political issues of the present day.