Until we have a school of literature that will combine all schools and give the liberty to a full expression of every mood, there will be a warfare between the “sects” that give free rein to imagination and the sect that, having no imagination, merely describes. When one school driven by the jibes and jeers of the other tilts to t’other side, a heavy man will start the teeter back, and he is the man we crown. And let us ever crown the heavy man when we find him. ELBERT HUBBARD. THE LORD OF LANTURLU. IDEA, METRE AND REFRAIN CRIBBED FROM THE FRENCH OF GABRIEL VICAIRE AS SET FORTH IN _Le Figaro_ OF MARCH 30, 1895 (_q. v._). When swallows southward flew, Forth rode in armor fair Guy, Lord of Lanturlaire And Lanturlu. Vowed he to cross the brine, Pausing not night nor day, That he might Paynims slay In Palestine. Faithful a knight and true As you’d find anywhere, Guy, Lord of Lanturlaire And Lanturlu. Half a league on his way Met him a shepherdess, Beaming in loveliness, Sweet as young day. Gazed in her eyes of blue, Saw Love in hiding there, Guy, Lord of Lanturlaire And Lanturlu. “Let the foul Paynim wait,” Plead Love, “and rest with me; Sullen and cold the sea, Here’s brighter fate.” ... When swallows northward flew, Back to his home did fare Guy, Lord of Lanturlaire And Lanturlu. Led he his charger gray, Bearing a shepherdess Beaming with loveliness, Sweet as young day. White lambs, beribboned blue, Herded with anxious care Guy, Lord of Lanturlaire And Lanturlu. Fine sport of him they made, Knights famous, old and lone, Strength, youth and hope all gone In the Crusade. But in their hearts they knew, “He hath the better fare— Guy, Lord of Lanturlaire And Lanturlu.” G. F. W. A FREE LUNCH LEAGUE. Before George Du Maurier created the one complaisant female who is admitted into all the good society of Europe and America he achieved some fame as the author of a recipe for keeping peace in families. The good wife was to apply the prescription, and it read “Feed the Brute.” Whether this meant to keep a good cook or to cater to the element in human nature which the paradox of civilization constantly brings into abnormal prominence among the overwrought people Mr. Du Maurier describes, is not clear. The man as a whole or his grosser nature may be the brute referred to. But the policy of feeding the unidentified fauna of Mr. Du Maurier’s world is in no doubt. Modern custom has settled the most direct road to satisfaction of the men and women who compose society. You may see its sign boards at any formal social meeting, and they all point to the dining room.