EXAMINERS’ REPORT.
The “Accidental Cycle” series promises to be very popular, a large number of solutions having already been received. It is really very pleasing to see how our readers struggle to acquire useful knowledge, no matter how fantastic the shape in which it is presented. Certain it is that knowledge acquired by solving a puzzle poem is likely to be retained, and we can only hope that when our solvers’ clothes catch fire, there may be a rug, a mat, or a sufficient quantity of mire at hand.
We know a doctor who had to examine a class of boys on the ways of dealing with various kinds of accidents. One lad appeared to be very nervous, and the doctor, thinking he was not able to do himself justice before the others, kept him back to test his knowledge alone.
“Now,” said the examiner, “supposing I were to catch fire in this room” (a bare schoolroom, by the way), “what would you do?”
The boy seemed to be extremely unhappy and vainly searched the ceiling and floor in turn for an inspiration. It was not until the question had been repeated with a kindly word of encouragement that the answer came:
“Put it out, sir.”
Even then the doctor did not laugh, at any rate not obtrusively.
“Excellent,” said he, “but how?”
“Throw a blanket over you, sir,” was the more confident reply.
As there were no blankets in the building, the doctor gave up his examination in despair, which was, however, somewhat tempered by his thankfulness that the boy’s “knowledge” had not been put to a practical test.
This little anecdote, which is perfectly true, suggests the question: “What would you do if the extinguishers mentioned in the puzzle were not available?” Doubtless our readers know; if not, they will be well advised to find out without delay.
The puzzle form of our advice was not difficult to decipher, but, regardless of rhythm, many solvers gave the first line as
“If your clothing catch fire.”
A large number wrote “around” for “about” in line 2, failing to discern the essential difference, and several substituted “end” for “death” in the fourth line. For this latter reading we can find no justification.
In “A railway collision” the metre proved to be very troublesome. It is certainly very modern, the lines being respectively, nine, ten, eleven and twelve syllables long. We do not know the rule which governs such a metre, and are inclined to ascribe it that licence which every true poet sometimes takes.
Considering the difficulty, we were surprised to find from thirty to forty solutions giving the verse correctly. Three out of the four lines were not difficult to solve, but the progressive nature of the metre not being established, the first was not so easy. In many solutions an adjective was inserted before railway as:
“If a terrible railway collision you fear,”
and so long as some sort of rhythm was maintained, we did not much object.
A few competitors complained that the first picture in the last line was very obscure. In our copy it was plain enough and a large majority of solvers adopted “Spring,” in preference to any other reading.
One correspondent ventures to hope that ladies will be well assured of their peril before acting on the advice given. As he points out, it is not at all desirable that a carriageful of people should, for instance, be disturbed by such athletic exercises every time a fog-signal is heard.
Such a caution is perhaps, not wholly unnecessary, for there are people who “fear” a collision every time they enter a train.
By the time this “Cycle” is ended how wise we shall all be!
Competitors whose names have not been mentioned above may rest assured that their papers have been carefully preserved in view of the special award to be made at the end of the series. Not one solution has been destroyed, and quite possibly the greater prizes will fall to outsiders after all.
ARTISTS.
[THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS.]
By ERIC BROAD.
We wander through the smiling fields,
We gather fragrant flowers,
Our childish eyes the sunshine watch
From shady, sheltered bowers;
We have our dreams of joy to be,
Nor give a thought to loss;
For youth is all too blind to see
The Shadow of the Cross.
Years come and go; tears flow and fall,
Grief touches us awhile;
And then we sleep, while round us glows
The sunset of a smile;
Joy lingers just a day with us,
Life’s pathway seems as moss:
But, faintly purple, looms ahead
The Shadow of the Cross.
Time’s drifted snows have gathered thick,
Yet still the chase is long,
Truth’s snow-white bird soars out of sight,
But faint we hear its song;
And we have lost Hope’s Light awhile,
Count Love at best but dross;
We struggle through a purple gloom—
The Shadow of the Cross.
At last! At last! a music rare
Enchants our aching ears;
And once again, not far ahead,
The radiant sun appears:
Our souls on buoyant wings are borne,
And we retrieve our loss,—
A rich content is ours, beyond
The Shadow of the Cross.
[LESSONS FROM NATURE.]
By JEAN A. OWEN, Author of “Forest, Field and Fell,” etc.