Loyola University Maryland - Evergreen / Green and Gray Yearbook (Baltimore, MD)

Page 33 text:

THE LOYOLA ANNUAL 31 only been to suggest the critical value of the “ Ars Poetica ’ when its advice is removed from the stage-setting of classical times. The temptation, however, is strong to quote one more line of the graceful poem, since it finds a parallel in the “Spectator.” “Were I always grave,” says Addison, “one half of my readers would fall off from me; were I always merry, I should lose the other,” while Horace’s words are: “ He carries every vote, who mingles the useful with the sweet.” True it is that great minds often run in the same channel. Charles S. Lerch, ’ll. Silent (A Sonnet.) Upon the weary earth soft falls the night. And o’er Heaven ' s calm demesne and wide Erewhile in glorious gold and purple dyed. She casts her mantle streaked with moonbeams bright, From slumbering man enshrouds the sun’s pure light. All save the moon with silvery stars allied. From earth their pride and pomp of grandeur hide; And night rules silent o’er the hushed sight. Alas ! When vacant night comes o’er the earth. When men of blameless life lie rapt in sleep. Vice creeps from cover, and to crime gives birth. Ennobled men a riotous vigil keep ; Base revelry stalks beneath the cloak of mirth. And nature’s foes a fatal pleasure reap. Clarke J. Fitzpatrick, ’07. Prefect of Studies.

Page 32 text:

30 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL loses an opportunity of insisting upon “ plurima exercitatio ” — continuous exercise in composition. He warns authors not to publish a production, until they have made it as perfect as possible, like the statues over which the sculptor could run his finger-nail and not find an inequality. Many present writers might find this rule disagreeable, writers who dash off novel after novel with no thought of anything but their pecuni- ary value. They should remember these words of the com- panion of Virgil : “ When once the soul is rusted by the sordid greed of money, can we hope for the production of a book Vv ' orth preserving any length of time? ” A reflection of this kind leads to the thought of how few novels of the day enjoy anything more than a transient popu- larity. Whether such a short sway is due to their author’s “ rust of money ” or to other causes, it is certain that if Horace were alive today, he would not be content with saying, “ Mor- talia facta peribunt ” — “ All mortal deeds shall perish,” but would immediately add, ‘‘ and the six best sellers have the shortest life of all.” Perhaps our modern writers are chiefly at fault in making themselves slaves of the public, and catering to every whim of their readers. Of course, the book which gives the multitude the most pleasure with the least trouble to the mind, is likely to be the greatest success from a financial point of view ; but if an author wishes to perpetuate his work, he ought to think with Horace that a money-making spirit can never help him in this worthy endeavor. The Roman poet is not alone in this opinion, for Robert Louis Stevenson, of our own times, ex- presses the same truth. He refers to a writer who debates his profession only as a mercenary one, and says that if authors are taught to follow profit only, “ we must expect a slovenly, base, untrue, and empty literature.” It would be easy to fill a large volume by applying all of Horace’s precepts to modern literature, but our purpose has

Page 34 text:

32 THE LOYOLA ANNUAL %ont ; amateur j etecttoe (A Story.) I F there was one man whom newsdealers rejoiced to see ap- proaching, that man was Percival D’Arcy von Streslaus Jones. He would walk with head bent forward, eyes moving hither and thither (the effect being to make him appear some- what cross-eyed), and would affect a studied sharpness of speech. He bought every new detective story on the stand, — there are many,— and would do his level best to imi- tate each hero’s marvellous acuteness and bravery, and go him one better. There was one hair in Jones butter which Nicho- las Carter, Sherlock Holmes, Old King Brady, etc., etc., ad infinitum, could not remove. Jones was in love with one Anna- belle Rosalind Portia Smith, but that young lady did not re- turn his affections. She had not the slightest desire to pass the rest of her earthly sojourn with a freak who would be con- tinually deducing from dust that the house had not been cleaned and would make a nuisance of himself generally. One bright afternoon Jones walked into a drug store to use the telephone. Someone else was before him. This some- one seemed to be always before him (especially in the affec- tions of the previously mentioned Miss A. R. P. Smith). For one instant ‘‘ the green-eyed monster ” made Jones forget that he was Sherlock Holmes’ successor ; then he noticed that his rival, by name Charles Brown, was holding a most interest- ing conversation over the ’phone. It went something like this : “What’s that? ... Oh yes I it’ll be easy. No one will disturb us ; I’ve fixed that up . . . No, I won’t tell them our business, it might make trouble . . . Say, don’t forget any of