  The hot hush of noon was stirred into uneasy billows by the shuffling of sandals over marble porches; all Rome sped to the spectacle in the circus. A brave day, the wind perfumed, a hard blue sky, the dark shadows cool and caressing and in the breeze a thousand-colored canopies fainted and fluttered. The hearts of the people on the benches were gay, for Diocletian, their master, had baited the trap with Christians; living, palpitating human flesh was to be sacrificed and the gossips spoke in clear, crisp sentences as they enumerated the deadly list, dwelling upon certain names with significant emphasis. This multitude followed with languid interest the gladiatorial displays, the chariot races; even a fierce duel between two yellow-haired barbarians evoked not a single cry. Rome was in a killing mood: thumbs were not often upturned. The imperial one gloomed as he sat high in his gold and ivory tribune. His eyes were sullen with satiety, his heart flinty. As the afternoon waned the murmurs modulated clamorously and a voice shrilled forth, "Give us the Christians!" The cry was taken The low doors of the iron cages adjoining the animals opened, and a dreary group of men, women, children were pushed to the centre of the arena; a half million of eyes, burning with anticipation, watched them. Shouts of disappointment, yells of disgust arose. To the experts the Christians did not present promise of a lasting fight with the lions. The sorry crew huddled with downcast looks and lips moving in silent prayer as they awaited the animals. In the onslaught nothing could be heard but the snarls and growls of the beasts. A whirlwind of dust and blood, a brief savage attack of keepers armed with metal bars heated white, and the lions went to their cages, jaws dripping and bellies gorged. The sand was dug, the bored spectators listlessly viewing the burial of the martyrs' mangled bones; it was all over within the hour. Rome was not yet satisfied and Diocletian made no sign. Woefully had the massacre of the saints failed to please the palate of the populace. So often had it been glutted with butcheries that it longed for more delicate devilries, new depths of death. Then a slim figure clad in clinging garments of pure white was led to the imperial tribune and those near the Emperor saw him start as if from a wan dream. Her The populace hungered. Fresh incense was thrown on the brazier of coals glowing before the garlanded statue of Venus as flutes intoned a languorous measure. A man of impassive priestly countenance addressed her thrice, yet her eyes never wandered, neither did she speak. She thus refused to worship Venus, and angered at the insult offered to the beautiful foe of chastity, Rome screamed and hooted, demanding that she be given over to the torture. Diocletian watched. A blare of trumpets like a brazen imprecation and the public pulse furiously pounded, for a young man was dragged near the Venus. About his loins a strip of linen, and he was goodly to see—slender, olive-skinned, with curls clustering over a stubborn brow; but his eyes were blood-streaked and his mouth made a blue mark across his face. He stared threateningly at Diocletian, at the multitude cynically anticipating the punishment of the contumacious Christians. Sturdy brutes seized the pair, but they stood unabashed, for they saw open wide the gates of Paradise. And Diocletian's eyes were a deep black. Urged by rude hands maid and youth were bound truss-wise with cords. Then the That night at his palace the Master of the World would not be comforted. And the Venus was carried about Rome; great was the homage accorded her. In their homes the two flute players, who were Christians, wept unceasingly; well they knew music and its conquering power for evil. ? By JAMES HUNEKERMEZZOTINTS IN MODERN MUSIC Essays on BRAHMS, TSCHAÏKOWSKY, CHOPIN, RICHARD STRAUSS, LISZT, WAGNER 12mo ... $1.50 Opinions of the Press: Seven essays are included in this work: a masterly and exhaustive study of Brahms entitled "The Music of the Future;" "A Modern Music Lord," dealing with TschaÏkowsky (the only personal and professional study of the kind in print); "Strauss and Nietzsche;" "The Greater Chopin," an inquiry into what Chopin was and was not, that has no superior; "A Liszt Étude;" "The Royal Road to Parnassus," a fluent survey of modern primitive works; and last, "A Note on Richard Wagner."—Literature. The most interesting contribution to musical criticism that has come from the American press in years. It is marked by that exceptionally brilliant style which is Mr. Huneker's individual gift.—New York Sun. By JAMES HUNEKERMezzotints in Modern Music Opinions of the Press: Mr. Huneker is, in the best sense, a critic; he listens to the music and gives you his impressions as rapidly and in as few words as possible; or he sketches the composers in fine, broad, sweeping strokes with a magnificent disregard for unimportant details. And as Mr. Huneker is, as I have said, a powerful personality, a man of quick brain and an energetic imagination, a man of moods and temperament—a string that vibrates and sings in response to music—we get in these essays of his a distinctly original and very valuable contribution to the world's tiny musical literature.—London Saturday Review. The most valuable treatise ever written on pianoforte studies is incorporated in Mr. Huneker's recent volume, "Mezzotints in Modern Music."—New York Evening Post. It is rare indeed to find a critic on music who can in his criticisms combine German accuracy with French grace, and above all with American independence and freedom of speech.—Musical Courier. Mr. Huneker's book is a series of essays filled with literary charm and individuality, not self-willed or over-assertive, but gracious and winning, sometimes profoundly contemplative, and anon frolicsome and more inclined to chaff than to instruct—but interesting and suggestive always.—New York Tribune. By JAMES HUNEKERCHOPIN With etched Portrait. 12mo, $2.00 Part I. The Man I. Poland: Youthful Ideals. II. Paris: In the MaËlstrom. III. England, Scotland, and PÈre la Chaise. IV. The Artist. V. Poet and Psychologist. Part II. His Music VI. The Studies: Titanic Experiments. VII. Moods in Miniature: The Preludes. VIII. Impromptus and Valses. IX. Night and its Melancholy Mysteries: The Nocturnes. X. The Ballades: FaËry Dramas. XI. Classical Currents. XII. The Polonaises: Heroic Hymns of Battle. XIII. Mazurkas: Dances of the Soul. XIV. Chopin the Conqueror. Bibliography. Opinions of the Press: No pianist, amateur or professional, can rise from the perusal of his pages without a deeper appreciation of the new forms of beauty which Chopin has added, like so many species of orchids, to the musical flora of the nineteenth century.—The Nation. We have not space to follow him through his luxurious jungle of interpretations, explanations, and suggestions; but we cordially invite our readers, especially our piano-playing readers, to do so.—The Saturday Review. By JAMES HUNEKERChopin: The Man and his Music Opinions of the Press: It is written at white heat from beginning to end; the furnace of the author's enthusiasm never abates its flame for a moment.... I ransack my memory in vain for another instance of such unflagging fervor in literature.... I think it not too much to predict that Mr. Huneker's estimate of Chopin and his works is destined to be the permanent one. He gives the reader the cream of the cream of all noteworthy previous commentators, beside much that is wholly his own. He speaks at once with modesty and authority, always with personal charm.... Mr. Huneker's business was to show the world Chopin as he, after years of study and spiritual communion, had come to see him; and this he has done with a brilliancy and vividness that leave nothing to be desired.—Boston Transcript. It is a work of unique merit, of distinguished style, of profound insight and sympathy, and the most brilliant literary quality.—New York Times Review. We have received from the Messrs. Scribner an admirable account of Chopin, considered both as a man and an artist, by James Huneker. There is no doubt that this volume embodies the most adequate treatment of the subject that has yet appeared.—New York Sun. CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
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