Among the writings of Mrs. McClurg are also two articles on the Washington Headquarters of Morristown; being "quotations, comments and descriptions on two Order Books of the Revolution, daily records of life in camp and at Headquarters, in the year 1780." A passage from this is given in the opening chapter of this book.
The "Seven Sonnets of Sculpture" came out in 1889 and 1890. This book was widely and favorably noticed by some of the largest and most important journals. Says the writer in the Chicago Daily News: "It was a happy inspiration that led Mrs. McClurg to the idea realized in the publication of her latest volume 'Seven Sonnets of Sculpture'. The work is artistic from cover to cover, but the conception of equipping each one of the stanzas it contains with a photograph of the piece of sculpture which suggested it, was unique. * * To translate a work of art from its original form to another, to find the hidden sense of a conception imbedded in stone and revive it in words, to endue marble with speech, is in its nature a delicate task and one that demands the keenest of perceptions and sensibilities." The author says, in her dedication that seven was a Hebrew symbol of perfection.
The sonnet we select from these, to represent Mrs. McClurg, is "The Questioner of the Sphinx". This sonnet was written from the impression received from Elihu Vedder's engraving of the Sphinx and the artist expressed in a letter to the author, his appreciation of the fidelity of the interpretation in verse of his picture. His criticism is perhaps the best that could be given.
"I think it," he wrote, "good and strong and shall treasure it among the few good things that have been suggested by my work. My idea in the Sphinx was the hopelessness of man before the cold immutable laws of nature. Could the Sphinx speak, I am sure its words would be, 'look within,' for to his working brain and beating heart man must look for the solution of the great problem."
THE QUESTIONER OF THE SPHINX.
(SUGGESTED BY ELIHU VEDDER'S PICTURE.)
Behold me! with swift foot across the land,
While desert winds are sleeping, I am come
To wrest a secret from thee; O thou, dumb,
And careless of my puny lip's command.
Cold orbs! mine eyes a weary world have scanned,
Slow ear! in mine rings ever a vexed hum
Of sobs and strife. Of joy mine earthly sum
Is buried as thy form in burning sand.
The wisdom of the nations thou has heard;
The circling courses of the stars hast known.
Awake! Thrill! By my feverish presence stirred,
Open thy lips to still my human moan,
Breathe forth one glorious and mysterious word,
Though I should stand, in turn, transfixed,—a stone!
Charlton T. Lewis, L.L. D.
A sketch of Dr. Lewis will be found under the grouping of Lexicographer.