That art is to dissipate reality. That the social vision implies the creative vision. That man’s organic necessity to listen to music or be thrilled by poetry is identical with the art impulse. That to live fully is the requisite of art. That intellect is the motive power in creation. That philosophy, which directs or explains, has some relation to art, which makes or reveals. That special insight implies creative power. That special knowledge means special intelligence. That one must experience to know. That facts or fancies belong to art. That a poetic temperament makes a poet. That to act with great feeling and passion is to be a great actor. That to “be Mary Garden in every role she does” is to be a bad actress. That “the books we read and reread” are those that stand the test of literature. That the artist escapes from life into beauty. That this “escape” is a falsification of life. That criticism should be sincere and unprejudiced. That artist and genius are identical terms. Finally, that art is the expression of the whole man, as even Mr. Willard Huntington Wright and _The Seven Arts_ believe. It is not. It is the expression of the thing that man brings into the world with him. His life is the expression of the whole man. His art is the carefully-selected expression of his personality. Chinoiseries EUNICE TIETJENS Crepuscule Like the patter of rain on the crisp leaves of autumn are the tiny footfalls of the fox-maidens. Festival of Dragon Boats On the fifth day of the fifth month the statesman Küh Yuen drowned himself in the River Mih-lo. Since then twenty-three centuries have passed, and the mountains wear away. Yet every year, on the fifth day of the fifth month, the great Dragon Boats, gay with flags and gongs, search diligently in the streams of the Empire for the body of Küh Yuen. Kang Yi When Kang Yi had been long dead the Empress decreed upon him posthumous decapitation, so that he walks forever disgraced among the shades. The Dream When he had tasted in a dream of the Ten Courts of Purgatory, Dr. Tsêng was humbled in spirit and passed his life in piety among the foothills. Poetics While two ladies of the Imperial harem held before him a screen of pink silk, and a P’in Concubine knelt with his ink-slab, Li Po, who was very drunk, wrote an impassioned poem to the moon. The Son of Heaven