passed his college days. He was not a high stand man, or even a student in the ordinary sense of the word; he cared too much for society and was too much interested in his literary efforts. A great beau in the world, a man very careful in his dress and even more so in his compliments, he liked to be courted by older men of distinction, especially if they appreciated his poems, and by the belles of the town, to whom his hauteur was most pleasing. As Willis was in after life a distinguished poet, we should expect to find his genius appreciated at college both by his classmates and himself. And we are not disappointed. He was Class Poet at graduation, and all through his course was known to have much literary ability. In fact he acknowledged that his four years had been devoted entirely to the development of his poetic tastes. He was too much of a society man to be popular among men and as he enjoyed the companionship of but few of his classmates, he found in the flow of fancy a forgetfulness of the darker side of college life. Of these youthful efforts, many did not show a great amount of depth of feeling, while a few, such as "The Sacrifice of Abraham" and "Absalom" will ever remain among the most popular of his writings.

We have touched upon the old customs of old Yale, and have sketched a picture of the gay young poet of '27, but we must not forget that in spite of his dreamy character, Willis had a more serious side. He had much respect for "the pious students," got along well with the "professors of religion," took an interest in the Linonian society, and in spite of reports to the contrary, was a most conscientious youth. Such were the characteristics and such the college life of Yale's greatest poet, of whom Thackeray has said "It is comfortable that there should have been a Willis."

Anson Phelps Stokes, Fr.

WAGNER.-THE MUSICAL DRAMA.

"Hitherto Apollo has always distributed the poetic gift with his right hand, the musical with his left, to two persons so widely apart that up to this hour we are still waiting for the man who will create a genuine opera by writing both its text and its music."

THE

Jean Paul.

HE curtain has risen, amid a wild, revelling rush of orchestral music, and we are looking into the vast grotto of the Venusberg. The sweet, sensuous strains of a Siren chorus blend beautifully with the wild but perfectly harmonizing bursts of music from the throats of leaping Bacchantes. In the foreground, bathed in rosy light, kneels Tannhäuser at the side of the reclining Venus, and as the choruses slowly vanish, these two are left alone. Suddenly, in all the passion of the ensuing duo, there comes a rumble, a crash, as of thunder, the music is rapid and terrible, and the Goddess with her grotto of Sirens has disappeared. Tannhäuser stands alone, in a rich, green valley, under the bluest of skies, while way up to one side a young shepherd, with his pipe and song, is beguiling the time, as he watches his roaming flocks. From the distance is heard the approach of chanting bands of pilgrims.

Music alone, can convey no impression of this scene. Without the music, the eye is fascinated by the moving rhythm of the picture; but the union of the soft tints, the living, breathing figures, the great dramatic power of the duo, the grand scenic transformation, together with the music's sensuous, alluring strains, stirs the very soul by its rich expression, and brings all the grandest arts into one dazzling focus.

Wagner's earliest conception was to set the drama of a Shakespeare to the music of a Beethoven, and before his twelfth year, he had made his first attempt. The result was startling,-a drama tragic and gruesome, said to have been a cross between "Hamlet" and "King Lear," during the first four acts of which forty-two of the charac

ters had perished. It was necessary to call on their ghosts to finish the play. For a number of years he clung to his Shakespearian methods, until he finally began to yearn for something broader than the stage of a Globe Theatre, something more universal. He strove to create types that combine the personal life with the larger ideals. Then for the first time he turned to the Greek drama, with its clear outlines and simple plots, where he found all the best elements of drama intensified by a grand chorus. The noblest, together with the simplest feelings, seemed to find their true expression in the rush and sway of its impassioned music. He felt that now there was nothing for him to invent, after the metre of the Greeks, the drama of Shakespeare, the poetry of Schiller and Goethe, and the stream. of Beethoven's music. But he saw that none of these combined all the life, color and intensity of feeling as they could when brought together in the musical drama.

One might travel the world over, dwelling first on a grand painting, a glorious landscape, a wonderful and expressive sculpture, a few dreamy strains of music or a gorgeous drama, but when he comes upon the brilliant creations of Wagner he opens his eyes and ears, for the first time, to the one grand impression of art, heretofore hopelessly indistinct and disconnected. In order to bring this about he blended poetry, music, scenery, and acting, so that no one of them should stand in the way of the other. The acting, above all, must not be impeded by the music. Some fleeing Don Juan must not stop in the midst of his flight to sing to the moon, when at that very moment the hounds are baying in the distance. No chorus, as that in Faust, stands motionless, singing "We are dancing like the wind,"-nor does the libretto attempt to express a feeling which the music is more competent to convey. The drama moves on uninterrupted, with the swing and crash of Wagnerian orchestra to lift it to its highest powers of dramatic color.

Wagner's dramas have dealt mostly with myths and legends. He first tried the historical, but finally felt him

self impelled toward the imaginative, full of passion and human interest. The plot of "Hamlet" hangs on the appearance of the paternal ghost, and becomes a great tragedy. So, such inventions of mythology as waternymphs, dwarfs, giants, and maidens whirling through the air on horseback are accepted without question.

In these myths and legends, Wagner reveals with unerring inspiration, the various types of women, their loves and their emotions. First he gave us Senta in the "Flying Dutchman," she who surrendered herself unconditionally to a true love that overruled every other feeling in her heart, nor cared to know more of her lover than that she loved him. Then came Elsa, the heroine of "Lohengrin." But Elsa's love is not self-sacrificing. It is not content without the full possession of its object, but must own all, even to the knowledge of Lohengrin's origin. It is her eternal loss; for as he tells her his name, the swan-boat again appears and bears Lohengrin away, never to return. With these two, Wagner contrasts the woman, Otrud, who has goaded Elsa on to this luckless step. Otrud is incapable of a spark of real love in her callous heart; she is Wagner's unimpassioned, soulless womana Regan and Goneril in one.

Wagner not only understood the highest functions of dramatic art, in combining music, painting, poetry, and action, but he knew every device and turn of stage machinery. Some of the grandest transformations of landscape, coloring and entire scenes, are found in Wagner's productions, that scene in Parsifal, for example, where the hero is seen ascending through the wood toward the castle of the Grail. Then there begins a slow change in the picture. One rocky slope after another takes the place of lake and woods, while up these Parsifal continues his climb with the procession of knights. This solemn march is attended by the most melodious strains of music, growing grander every moment, until now the scene has changed to a brilliantly lighted hall, and as the curtain falls and the orchestra ceases there is heard the sweet chanting of the Hymn of the Grail, far up in the lofty dome.

But the perfection of dramatic power is reached in Wagner's trilogy of the "Nieblungen Ring." It opens with the theft of the Rhinegold ring from the Rhine daughters, by Alberich the Nieblung; and from that point to the fall of the Gods in Walhalla, it is the most brilliant, artistic, and harmonious conception of music, and of drama ever produced.

After the theft of the Rhinegold comes the lawless love of Siegmunde and Sieglinde and the scene of the Siegmunde Love Song." The trunk of a huge ash, in the center of a rude hovel, serves as a support for the roof, while the walls and floor are covered with skins and trophies of the forest. A dim fire on the small hearth, lights up the faces of the lovers, Siegmunde and Sieglinde. The wind and storm are howling outside in the forest, and the whole scene is fraught with mystery and forebodings of tragedy. In the gloom of this woodland dwelling, the passion of the love duo rises to a fearful height. The music is one glorious burst of impassioned melody, animated and thrilling with manly, adoring love; when all at once the great door is burst open by a gust of wind, a flood of moonlight pours in upon the floor, and the woods are revealed in all their silvery gleam. The last traces of the storm have passed away. The whole has merged into a picturesque, enchanting, love scene of the most rapturous beauty.

Now Brünnhilde, the messenger of death, arrives. Noble Brünnhilde! More a woman than a goddess; how our hearts go out to her who must suffer, because she yields to her compassionate impulses and spares those trembling, fearful lovers! She has to flee before the unrelenting wrath of Wotan-Wotan the pitiless. The whole host of Walkyries try to shield their Queen during that fierce, whirring ride through the clouds, from one peak to another, driven on and on, until at last Brünnhilde is overtaken and condemned to exposure on a rock surrounded by fire. Here she is wakened by the kiss of the brave Siegfried.

In all the dramatic poetry of the world there is no stronger piece than this where Wagner's heroine-his