Edward J. McPhelim, a singer of many sweet songs, became mute in 1896 at an age all too young. For several years he was dramatic and literary critic for “The Tribune,” departments in which his rare critical ability and wonderful command of language found full scope. His poems, which have never been collected, contain fancies as poetic and delicate as any in the English tongue. The following, on Lamb and his sister, is significant, considering where McPhelim’s last days were spent:

Across the English meadows sweet,
Across the smiling sunset land,
I see them walk with faltering feet,
Brother and sister, hand in hand.

They know the hour of parting nigh,
They pass into the dying day,
And, lo! against the sunset sky
Looms up the madhouse gaunt and gray.

He keeps the lonely lamp aglow,
While old loves whisper in the air
Of unforgotten long ago
Before his heart had known despair.

He waits till she may come once more
From out the darkness to his side,
To share the changeless love of yore
When all the old, old loves have died.

Between me and this gentle book,
Shining with humor rich and quaint,
The sad scene rises, and I look
Upon a jester—or a saint.

I lift my eyes, still brimming o’er
With love and laughter—and there falls
Across the page forever more,
The shadow of the madhouse walls!