Philistinism is the world’s perpetual crusade. It reveres tradition, but it despises commonplace in purple. WILLIAM MCINTOSH. THE SANITY OF GENIUS. I talked with one who made a life “success” Along convention’s smooth and hedge-trimmed road, Type of that class who bear but their own load, And “shrewdly” shun the fiery storm and stress, When hearts and souls unselfish forward press To mitigate oppression’s stinging goad; Reformers he called geniuses, but showed That genius is “a kind of foolishness.” Well, when I thought how soon he would be cold, How soon forgotten, and in how few years His idiot heirs would spend his hoardings vain, While “the eccentrics” would in ways untold Make ever less the sum of human tears, It seemed to me—genius alone is sane! ROWLAND B. MAHANY. Legation of the United States, Quito, 1893. ENGLISH MONUMENTS. England relegates her poets to a “Corner.” The earth and the fullness thereof belongs to the men who can kill; on this rock have her State and Church been built. As the tourist approaches the city of London for the first time there are four monuments that probably will attract his attention. They lift themselves out of the fog and smoke and soot, and seem to struggle toward the blue. One of these monuments is to commemorate a calamity—the conflagration of 1666—and the others are in honor of deeds of war. The finest memorial in St. Paul’s is to a certain Irishman, Albert Wellesley, Duke of Wellington. The mines and quarries of earth have been called on for the richest contributions; and talent and skill have given their all to produce this enduring work of beauty that tells posterity of the mighty acts of this mighty man. The rare richness and lavish beauty of the Wellington mausoleum is only surpassed by that of a certain tomb in France. As an exploiter the Corsican overdid the thing a bit—so the world arose and put him down; but safely dead his shade can boast a grave so sumptuous that Englishmen in Paris refuse to look upon it. But England need not be ashamed. Her land is spiked with glittering monuments to greatness gone. And on these monuments you often get the epitomized life of the man whose dust lies below.