n mere artifice. It is self-conscious, overworked — the product of mature cleverness; while the other, issuing always, be it understood, from a genuinely gifted or highly talented person, is unconscious, partaking of the quality of life itself. Against this taste of mine for green flavors may be urged the juvenilia of celebrated authors. But here I am strongest in my plea; for I find in the juvenilia of many writers—Byron, Shelley, Keats, to go no further—that tang of the newly awakened ego attacking the world or enjoying it with a lack of premeditation, self-consciousness, or worldly wisdom, which is the true wisdom that comes out of the mouths of babes. In Japan they have a saying to the effect that the old should listen to the wisdom of the young; and talent, or genius, before it has crystallized into technique, has often a crude individual mes- sage, or shout, or murmuring, which it forgets later, but which those who love all the strange accents of the soul, would fain hear. We want all that is. And we fear to miss the first stammerings, or clamors, or unartful songs of inspired beings in adolescence. Some solved riddle may be in them; some beauty not native to this sublunary sphere; some reminiscence, or some prophecy we need. For while this earth and this earth's human society is still alien to the soul, that may be the soul's moment of most pure authenticity. While still isolated and unaccustomed, its com- ments might be more truly illuminating concerning earth and its inhabitants, the ego newly born here than later when that ego has related itself to environment and has grown accustomed to what is, or appears to be, here as we circulate about the sun. Louise Gebhard Cann. Seattle, Wash., November 39, 1916. 1916] 525 THE DIAL m Piein ^ookg. A Leader in Constructive AMERICANISM.* At a time when the hyphen has received more attention than it merits we may recall to our profit the character and career of a man who, with every temptation to foster dissension in our national life, gave his whole energy to the upbuilding of a sane, unembit- tered, whole-hearted Americanism. The man was Booker T. Washington, whose death a year ago was a loss to our nation as a whole. Though the death of this great and good man is so recent, we may speak with confidence of the work he wrought. He applied him- self to one of the most baffling and terrible problems that ever confronted a people; more than any other man he indicated the lines along which the solution of that problem must be found, and more than any other man he contributed to this solution. Well might Mr. Andrew Carnegie write: "History is to know two Washingtons, one white, the other black, both Fathers of their people." Almost simultaneously two volumes have appeared that discuss the labors and the char- acter of this man. "The Life and Times of Booker T. Washington" is precisely the kind of work that the title suggests. Against the slowly changing background of social, polit- ical, and economic conditions that prevailed in the South during the last sixty years it traces the career of Washington. It borrows interest from the fact that its author, Dr. B. P. Riley, is a Southern white man of marked ability who has renounced distinction in other fields in order that he may give his entire powers to the alleviation of the state of the negroes and to the promotion of better racial relationships. The second volume bears also a felicitous title: "Booker T. Washing- ton: Builder of a Civilization." Assuming that the reader is acquainted with "Up from Slavery" and with the course of Washing- ton's life, it analyzes and vivifies various aspects of his work. Such chapter-headings as "The Man and his School in the Making," "Leader of his Race," "Washington: The Educator," "The Rights of the Negro," "Meeting Race Prejudice," "Getting Close to the People," "Managing a Great Institution," and "Washington: The Man" will show the scope and nature of the volume. There is * The Life and Tikes of Booker T. Washington. By B. F. Riley. New York: Fleming H. Revell Co. $1.50. Booker T. Washington: Builder of a Civilization. By Emmett J. Scott and Lyman Beecher Stowe. New York: Doubleday, Page & Co. $2. abundant emphasis on psychological matters as well as on the character of Washington's work. This book, like the first, has extrinsic as well as intrinsic interest for us. One of the authors was for eighteen years Washing- ton's secretary; the other is a grandson of Harriet Beecher Stowe. By reading both books anyone may obtain a satisfactory understanding of the negro leader. The two works supplement each other. Both are illustrated, the latter pro- fusely. The first is provided with an index; the second unfortunately is not. Each work is good in its kind. Errors in details are few; the only one noticed by the reviewer is Dr. Riley's statement that the celebration of America's triumph in the war with Spain was held in 1897. It was really a momentous occurrence in American history when a negro lad in a West Virginia salt mine overheard two colored laborers discuss a school through which a black youth could work his way. Extinguish- ing the lamp in his cap that he might creep nearer, he learned that the school was called Hampton and that it was situated in distant Virginia. He at once conceived the ambition to attend it. His prospects of doing so were meagre enough. Born in slavery, unable to read or write until he was well in the teens, long kept by his step-father from the wretched school which at last had been open to him, he had obtained the pitiable begin- nings of learning by utilizing such hours as could be spared from days of hard manual toil. Until he had entered school he had been known simply as Booker, but then in accord- ance with a custom he had assumed a sur- name, choosing that of a great man of whom he had vaguely heard. At the same time he had taken another step toward more civilized living: he had previously worn neither hat nor cap, but at this juncture had persuaded his mother to make him a cap from a piece of jeans cloth. Now upon hearing of Hamp- ton he began planning and laboring to enroll there. Two years later, after severe difficul- ties, he made his way to the place and passed his entrance examination — the sweeping of a room — with honors. After a few years in the institution so capably administered by General Armstrong and a few more years in finding himself, he was made principal of a negro school which had theoretically been founded at Tuskegee, Alabama. The rest of his story is known, at least roughly, the world over. Never did a man accomplish his task under conditions more delicate and trying. It was as if he carried fire through a powder factory. 526 [December 14 THE DIAL The Southerner, however much he may like a negro, is suspicious of the negro; and more than once Washington had the bad luck to arouse the spirit of distrust and ill-will. A chambermaid in Indianapolis who refused to care for his room on the ground that she "would not clean up after a nigger" brought him unpleasant notoriety in a section of the Southern press. After he had dined at the White House a negro, who afterward stated that he was in the pay of some Louisiana white men, came to Tuskegee to assassinate him, but fortunately fell ill and was cured of both his physical and his emotional distemper at the hospital of the institute. It is to be noted that these exhibitions of hostility came from those who were actuated by an idea merely, who did not know Washington him- self. Though sensitive of temperament, he was too wise to regard the restrictions he so often encountered as in any sense personal affronts; and it is a remarkable fact that he not only had loyal friends among Southern white men, but "was never insulted by a Southern white man." Grieved as he was by unfairness shown to the negro, he found consolation in the assistance which a negro may readily command. The reviewer heard Washington only once; but, as a Southerner, was gladdened at heart at his assurance to a Massachusetts audience that where a negro has succeeded the success is due nine times in ten to the friendship, encouragement, and help of a Southern white neighbor. The susceptibilities and inclinations of his own race had likewise to be reckoned with. After their liberation most negroes thought of slavery as meaning labor and of freedom as meaning immunity from labor. Led astray by ill-advised Reconstruction measures, they were in no frame of mind to do the one thing they were capable of doing — to toil with their hands. Even where they were learning to work, their manner of existence was deplor- able. Washington "found the great majority in the plantation districts living on fat pork and corn bread, and sleeping in one-room cabins. They planted nothing but cotton, bought their food at the nearest village or town market instead of raising it, and lived under conditions where the fundamental laws of hygiene and decent social intercourse were both unknown and impossible of application." Furthermore there were parasites in plenty — negroes who were prompt to come "unin- vited and armed with huge empty baskets" whenever a picnic was given, and to promise Washington a turkey for Thanksgiving and then borrow a dollar from him wherewith to fatten the fowl. To give such a people self- respect, to lay solid foundations for its progress, was a task from which anyone might shrink. But as Washington himself said in the speech referred to above, he did not mind difficulties; he thanked God, rather, that he lived in an age and under conditions wherein there were problems to be solved. His meas- ures, in the main, were homely enough. He preached soap, toothbrushes, and nightgowns, pigs, and paint. Of the toothbrush, which he made an entrance requirement at Tuskegee, he said: "There are few single agencies of civilization that are more far-reaching." He taught his students to raise and prepare their own food, and to make the bricks wherewith the buildings at Tuskegee were constructed. He insisted on frugality, on diligence, on keeping out of debt. This was partly from prudential reasons, partly as a refutation of the popular belief that negroes, simply because they are negroes, must be slipshod and unsystematic. "He built up an institu- tion almost as large as Harvard University which runs like clockwork without a single white man or woman having any part in its actual administration." By his watchfulness in small matters as well as great he won the confidence of the Southern business man; likewise he astonished Mr. Andrew Carnegie by demonstrating that the building for a library could be erected for $15,000. He founded organizations for the promotion of negro welfare. He engaged in extension work before anything of the kind was done at Wisconsin. He attracted strong support from black people as well as from whites, and by his close touch with negroes everywhere he exerted an incalculable influence upon the rank and file of his race. He was interested in concrete and practical matters. He saw that the negroes had begun "at the top instead of at the bottom." For this reason, and because "he never forgot that over 80 per cent of his people drew their living directly from the soil," he said little of the things he regarded as non-essentials. In his wish to emphasize the need for the economic independence of the many, he also said little about the cultural opportunities of the few. Because of his silence on these topics he was denounced by radical negroes for cowardice and for truckling to the whites. While the charge was absolutely unjust, the thoughts that it suggests ramify into pathos, into tragedy. "I do not think I exaggerate when I say," declared Washington, "that perhaps a third or half of the thought and energy of those engaged in the elevation of the colored people is given in the direction of trying to do the thing or not doing the thing 1916] 527 THE DIAL which would enhance racial prejudice. This feature of the situation I believe very few people at the North or at the South appre- ciate." Yet he could be outspoken when the occasion demanded. He protested that negroes should not be charged for equal accommodations on the railroads and at the same time given inferior accommodations. He himself violated Southern laws by riding in Pullmans — a measure for the conservation of his sorely tried strength which met with the approval of the whites. Except in the South he refused to be bound by Southern customs in regard to racial relationships, though he never accepted purely social invita- tions from white people anywhere, and allowed himself only that degree of social intercourse with them which "seemed best calculated to accomplish his immediate object and his ultimate aims." He urged that negroes be given a just chance educationally, and dwelt upon the connection between igno- rance and crime. He pleaded with legislators against the disfranchisement of negroes as negroes, his position being shown by the words: "I do not advocate that the Negro make politics or the holding of office an important thing in his life. I do urge, in the interest of fair play to everybody, that a Negro who prepares himself in property, in intelligence, and in character to cast a ballot, and desires to do so, should have the opportunity." Though in general he thought it was wisest to work quietly and indirectly against the murder of negroes by mobs, he proved both his convictions and his courage when he went to Jacksonville, Florida, in the midst of a race war and denounced lynching. The success of Washington did not come from transcendent intellectual qualities. These he did not possess. Much of it came from sheer character — from the instinct which caused him to be patient under adver- sity, to shun even the appearance of exploit- ing his own name by giving Chautauqua lec- tures for profit to himself, to write innumerable letters after his journeys to "each and every person who had tried in any way to contribute to the pleasure and success of his trip." Much of it came from his right- mindedness,— from what Mr. Howells has called "his constant common sense." This quality revealed itself in a multitude of ways. It was shown by his judgment in not taking too much for granted in his extension work, in insisting "that the meetings be conducted for the benefit of the ignorant and not in the interests of the learned." It showed in his anxiety that while the North was being educated to give money, the cultivation of wise relationships with the Southern white people should not be neglected. It showed in his use of his influence with Presidents Roosevelt and Taft, "not to increase the num- ber of Negro appointees, but rather to raise the personnel of Negro officeholders." It showed in "his unerring instinct for putting first things first," and for watching minute details without losing sight of large ends. It was supported by a patient, constructive, and optimistic spirit. "Lynchings are widely reported by telegraph," he explained; "the quiet, effective work of devoted white people in the South for Negro uplift is not gener- ally or widely reported." He reminded negroes that the handicaps to which they were subjected "were after all superficial and did not interfere with their chance to work and earn a living." He pointed out the superiority of the condition of the negro to that of the peasant in Europe. And his con- ception of his own task was that it consisted not "so much in conducting a school as educating a race." To the gifts which were his through character and purpose must be added the qualities of the born leader, the natural administrator. When he bade, he was obeyed; when he set an example, others were inspired to emulate it. The last years of his life constituted a race against time. He had started his people upon the upward course; he felt that nothing was more vital than that capable leaders should be provided while vast adjustments were still in the making. Already Tuskegee had turned out men and women who had proved they might be relied on,— had proved they were the hope of their race. He was eager that this leadership should be still more rapidly and successfully created. Hence at a time when his strength was giving way under the pressure of innumerable duties he applied himself with even more prodigious energy. There can be no question that his unselfish exertions hastened his death. He left a great work unfinished, but the impulse he gave it was such as neither the black race nor the white will willingly let die. Garland Gbeever. The series of articles by Isaac F. Marcosson now appearing in the "Saturday Evening Post" is to be published in January in book-form by the John Lane Co., under the title "The War after the War." In addition to the articles, which are the result of the author's investigations in England and France, the book will include a character study of Lloyd-George together with his message to the American people, and a sketch of Hughes of Australia, the "Overseas Premier." 528 [December 14 THE DIAL FOUR AMERICAN POETS* Recognition of two principles underlies the present poetic movement: the first, that there exists no poetic subject as such — no one matter, that is, more susceptible than another of poetic treatment; the second, that rhythm is organic — that the musical form of verse must be intimately moulded by its emotional content. On them has been based almost entirely its broader appeal. As a result there is observed a certain tendency to misunderstand them and pervert their sig- nificance. Because it is admitted that a poet may find ample inspiration in modern life, it is often contended that the theme of vital poetry must necessarily be contemporary; and because it is evident that every poet worthy of the name invents his own versification, however "regular" it may appear — when did such a poet ever consciously write "iambs"? —it is urged that only through deliberate divergence from traditional practice is genu- ine originality possible. Mr. Edgar Lee Masters, at least, is the victim of no such vain illusions. In his latest book, "The Great Valley," the author of the "Spoon River Anthology"—"the only poet with Americanism in his bones," accord- ing to Mr. John Cowper Powys, his "dis- coverer"—writes of Apollo, the Furies, Marsyas, and St. Mark, as freely as of the men and women who made Chicago, while this leading exponent of a new medium, mid- way between prose and poetry, shows him- self quite impartial in his employment of traditional metres and of those free rhythms more peculiar to himself — blank verse, the rhymed pentameter couplet, and vers libre. It would be hard to say in which he displays the greater artistic ineptitude; and if one were casting about for a convenient confuta- tion of Mr. Max Eastman's theory of "lazy verse," he need look no farther than a book in which the worst of Whitman ("Come Republic") is found side by side with the worst of Shakespeare ("Man of Our Street" and "The Typical American"). Not that there do not occur flashes of the power and penetration, coupled with the harsh felicities of word and phrase, that made of the "Spoon River Anthology," with all its obvious cru- dities, a really notable performance. But they * The Great Valley. By Edgar Lee Masters. New York: Macmillan Co. SI.BO. Chicago Poems. By Carl Sandburg. New York: Henry Holt ft Co. $1.26. Men, Women and Ghosts. By Amy Lowell. New York: Macmillan Co. S1.26. Mountain Interval. By Robert Frost. New York: Henry Holt ft Co. $1.26. are relatively few, and largely lost in the welter of words. The truth is, of course, that Mr. Masters, who seemed at one time to give a certain artistic promise, is not primarily an artist at all, but a moralist and social philosopher of vague ideological tendencies. For the moment, in the "Spoon River Anthology," his discursive instincts were held in check by the sheer mechanical requirements of the restricted form he imposed upon himself, in the brief space and inscriptional succinctness of the epigram. This artificial restraint once removed, however, the poet appears in his proper guise as a popular preacher of semi- literary, pseudo-scientific pretensions, who has read "Bob" Ingersoll, Darwin, Gobineau, Grote — a whole shelf-full of the "World's Best Literature,"—and is eager to bring the conglomerate wisdom thus acquired to bear upon the solution of social problems, the mystical interpretation of our national des- tinies. In this merely edifying end, all sense of artistic proportion is lost. A story like that of "Cato Braden," which would have been compressed into fourteen lines in the "Spoon River Anthology," is here developed interminably through as many pages. Even then the poet, fearing lest he may not have exhausted all its implications, returns to the attack in a supplementary poem, "Will Boyden Lectures," a sort of funeral sermon for the country editor, dead at the age of fifty-one, of wasted opportunities and Bright's Disease. The significance of the whole is summed up in the admonition addressed to city-dwellers, at the end of the first poem, to Think sometimes of the American village and What may be done for conservation of The souls of men and women in the village. — a fairly representative example of his habitual homiletic style. The poems in which Mr. Masters is least unsuccessful are those in which he only too seldom seems stirred by some note of personal feeling, such as "Malachy Degan," the lightly touched portrait of a prize-fight referee; and "Slip Shoe Lovey," a genuine enough bit of greasy kitchen genre. Those in which, on the other hand, he is seen at his absolute worst, are the Chicago series, where the "bigness" of his theme, as he conceives it, betrays him into almost incredible turgidity and bombast. "Bigness" has an equally bale- ful effect upon Mr. Carl Sandburg, inciting him, in his "Chicago Poems," to a brutality and violence of expression about which there seems a good deal that is alien and artificial. But there are apparently two Mr. Sandburgs: one the rather gross, simple-minded, sen- 1916] 529 THE DIAL timental, sensual man among men, going with scarcely qualified gusto through the grimy business of modern life, which, mystical mobocrat, he at once assails and glorifies; the other, the highly sensitized impressionist who finds in the subtle accords between his own ideal moods and the loveliest, most elusive aspects of the external world, material for delicate and dreamlike expression. The first Mr. Sandburg is merely a clever reporter, with a bias for social criticism. The second, within his limits, is a true artist, whose method of concentration, of intense, objective realization, ranges him with those who call themselves "Imagists." This method of Imagism, with its insistence upon the clear, concrete, sharply defined rendering of the poet's idea or "image," whatever this may be,— Miss Lowell protests against the current notion of the Imagist as exclusively a picture-maker,— naturally tends to restrict his range, to throw him back upon the briefer lyric or dramatic forms for expres- sion. There are Imagists, however, who refuse to accept as inevitable the narrow limitations seemingly imposed by their artistic ideal. They are ambitious to achieve longer, more considerable aeuvres than the epigram. Doubt- less one of these days we shall have an Imagist epic, and perhaps Miss Lowell will be the author of it. At present, however, she is content to appear in the more modest role of story-teller. Not that the tales contained in her latest collection, "Men, Women and Ghosts," are by any means her first, whether in the more usual verse forms to which she, no less than Mr. Masters, turns from time to time; or in her more characteristic vers libre; or in her still more personally flavored "polyphonic prose." Those who have read her earlier vol- ume, "Sword Blades and Poppy Seed," will recall, particularly, two pieces in the last- mentioned manner, "In a Castle," and "The Basket," as among the best things it con- tained. Indeed it is doubtful if the new book, with the possible exception of "Pat- terns"— a perfect thing in its way — has any- thing to show quite so successful. One cannot help feeling, as one reads, that Miss Lowell, exhilarated by former successes, has come to write too much and too rapidly. Often her instinct for what is really signifi- cant fails her in those poems in which, as she says, "the dramatis personse are air, clouds, trees, houses, streets, and such like things"; her impressionism — or rather "expressivism"—degenerates into a mere passion for the picturesque; and she seems content to achieve upon occasion a scattering effect with a charge of buckshot, where we should have expected a succession of bull's- eyes. And if this is true even of so richly and warmly colored a composition as "Mal- maison"—which suffers also from a certain sluggishness of movement in spite of its brisk phrases — it is felt very much more in many of the other poems — particularly in those where Miss Lowell employs that "unrelated" method, or method of the "catalogue," which, however fascinating for the artist, constitutes a very distinct menace for her art. Nor do we always feel the same variety and elasticity in her rhythms as before, owing no doubt to the constantly increasing strain put upon them. Formerly Miss Lowell was satis- fied to make them merely the appropriate musical embodiment of her thought and feel- ing — organic, in short. Now she seeks often to render them directly imitative of the "pro- nounced movements of natural objects," such as the hoops and shuttlecocks of the little girls in "A Roxbury Garden," or of the "flow- ing, changing rhythm" of musical instru- ments in "The Cremona Violin." and "Stravinsky's Three Pieces 'Grotesques,' for String Quartette." Each reader must decide independently as to the success of these novel and daring experiments. But in the opinion of the present reviewer, at least, Miss Lowell has very largely sacrificed that beauty which comes from the handling of the line of verse as an instrument in itself, in order to achieve what is at best but a faint, far-off suggestion of the alien effect aimed at. The same straining effort after imitation as an end, not as a means merely, leads Miss Lowell to invent words, or rather vocables, to represent sounds in nature directly, instead of simply suggesting them imaginatively. This is always a questionable device, to be used sparingly. With Miss Lowell it has become a habit, almost a vice, threatening to spread like a blight over all her work. Scarcely a poem of any length in the present collection but presents one or more example, like the Whee-e-e I Bump! Bump 1 Tong-ti-bump! with which she attempts to rival the dis- sonances of modern music. Such a practice, carried to such bizarre excess, simply bears witness to the poverty of the poet's verbal resources. In general it may be said of Miss Lowell that her feeling for the color values of words is much superior to her sense of their sonorous quality. And yet without the latter — language being what it is, a purely musical medium—there can be no real distinction of style in poetry. Very 530 [December 14 THE DIAL few American poets to-day show such dis- tinction. Mr. Robert Frost has a touch of it in more than one poem in his latest collec- tion, "Mountain Interval,"—in "The Oven Bird," for example: There is a singer everyone has heard Loud, a midsummer and a midwood bird, Who makes the solid tree trunks sound again. It is for this purely sensuous quality, as well as for his genuine passion for nature, expressed through such wealth and delicacy of observed detail, that one most legit- imately reads and admires Mr. Frost. There are, too, elements of deep divination in his art, where it touches complex human relations and reactions. But as a dramatic and nar- rative poet, his method is often unnecessarily cryptic and involved. Thus in "Snow" there is nothing sufficiently remarkable either in the incident itself, or in the resultant revela- tion and clash of character, to justify its long and elaborate treatment. But in "In the Home Stretch" the poet is singularly successful in suggesting ghostly presences, in creating a veritable haunted atmosphere for the old New England farmhouse, akin to that produced by the English poet, Mr. Walter de la Mare, in "The Listeners." Mr. Frost is the one continuator at present of the "tradi- tion of magic" in American poetry. "William Aspenwall Bradley. ENGLISH INFLUENCE ON OUR INSTITUTIONS* Some such volume as this has long been needed by the students of American history. Not, indeed, that Mr. Cunningham has done more than indicate the way in which their demands may one day receive satisfaction. His book is rather a series of important and, often, brilliant hints than in any sense a full and formal treatise. He is occupied rather with the analysis of institutions than with the tracing of ideas; of the influence, for example, of English political ideas upon the nature of American democracy he has nothing whatever to say. Of the relation of the ideas of 1787 to Puritan experience in the Civil War he has no comments to make. But Mr. Cunningham would rightly answer that one cannot do everything in half a dozen lectures. He might well claim to have pointed a moral which historical students have been perhaps too prone to forget in their anxiety to foster the native product. He makes us realize the entire lack of relation between the • English Influence on the United States. By W. Cunningham. D.D. New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons. $1.25. isolation of geography, on the one hand, and the isolation of ideas on the other. His book may well prove the stimulus to that fertiliz- ing novelty of outlook to which, for example, the ingenious scholarship of Professor F. J. Turner has long made us accustomed. The same merits which have made Mr. Cunning- ham's "Growth of English Industry" a classical work, its breadth, its solidity, the ability to weave the most diverse authority into something like an integrated and artistic whole, are here present in a full degree. His book gives us a realization of the complex strands which have gone to the making of our national institutions. His book will help to dissipate a legend of separatism which has been with us too long. And in so far as it aids in that dissipation, it will be a welcome contribution to international understanding. But Mr. Cunningham's book suggests cer- tain reflections on the character of American historical work which it is perhaps worth while to adumbrate. This is the age of the documented monograph. No statesman, no area, no event seems too small to be studied. No one can grumble at the loving care which edits the writings of the Fathers in a hundred massive volumes. If Hay and Nicolay choose to bury Lincoln behind the great tangled mass they elected to call a biography, we may at any rate feel the comfort that from this material the characterization we so urgently need may one day be evolved. But the prob- lem grows more serious when that case becomes extended to purely local problems — when men choose, for example, to write on the grand scale the history of a single city during the Revolution, or to detail in a heavy octavo the social gossip of a middle-western town a hundred years ago. One begins more and more to entertain the disquieting sus- picion that the heaven-sent historian who is one day to do for America what men like Stubbs and Green and Maitland have done in their respective spheres for England, will be overburdened by his material and give up that work in disgust. Yet nothing is more urgently needed than the synoptic view from which a philosophic interpretation can alone be derived. There seems a real danger lest our specialists may make us lose all sense of perspective. Men seem less willing to attempt the historic feats of Hildreth or McMaster. Professor Channing's fine fragment remains as yet a fragment. The book we so urgently need from Professor Turner seems almost beyond our hopes. Meanwhile the material accumulates endlessly, until we are likely to be buried beneath it. The modern student seems more anxious to produce what is new— 1916] 531 THE DIAL mainly in the sense of whet is unpublished— than to attempt the interpretation of those problems about which we have now sufficient material to form an adequate judgment. Men like Professor Andrews, who will make the half of American history their own, grow more and more rare; or, if they are with us, they do not write. The materials have become so vast that there are few who have the cour- age to undertake the examination of a great period rather than the elucidation of some tiny topic within that period. It is scholar- ship, but it is not history. A book like Mr. Cunningham's calls us beck to a truer perspective. If the young scholar wishes to be the chief living author- ity on the tactics of Bunker Hill, or of sectionalism in North Carolina, we shall not grudge him the privilege; but we shall ask of him something more. Those of us who, while bound to remain outsiders in the study of American history, are yet deeply interested in its study, are a little tired of the choice that is now offered us. We have a plethora of handbooks, none of which attains, to take a single example, to the superlative vigor of J. R. Green. If we would avoid that tedium, there is little save the monograph that is fully abreast of modern research. It is true enough that the age of the grand amateurs is passed. We shall see no more Motleys or Prescotts or Parkmans. History has become scientific; and the student must be trained to the use of his tools. But because we are scientific we need not cease to be human. We must remember that if history is a science, it is also, and not less truly an epic. It must not cease to tell events so that, even when a century and a half has passed, we can catch the subdued murmur of Lincoln's voice at Gettysburg just as, after the lapse of two thousand years, the very inflection of Pericles's moving tones comes to us in the hard passion of Thucydides. Let us train our scholars to the tasks of scholarship. But let us ceaselessly emphasize the function of scholarship in the service of humanity. Harold J. Laski. POETRY FROM THE TRENCHES.* Robert W. Service has been a poetic phe- nomenon. More or less ignored by the critics, he has won a vast following. And it seems to me time for a fellow-craftsman to protest that in this case the public is right. During these years while "The Spell of the Yukon" has • Rhymes of a Red Cross Man. By Robert W. Service. New York: Barse and Hopkins. $1. accumulated a staggering sale of five hundred thousand copies and while the wells of Kipling have been growing muddy or dry, the professors of poetry and the dilettanti have been paying attention to Imagists and Spectrists, leaving Service — they thought — to school-boys. But the popularity of this poet need not have hurt him in the eyes of the discerning nor need his debt to Kipling have injured him in their ears. It happens that I had just read and reviewed "Spectra," the latest expression of "the new verse," and been struck with it as a strange phosphorescent crest of impression- ism, when there came into my hands the vol- ume by Service, "Rhymes of a Red Cross Man," two hundred pages of sturdy sen- timental realism. And I started up with a gasp. Here was "the old verse." Here was something actual, intimate, human, alive. I will grant at the outset, to such as incline to disagree with my estimate, an occasional familiar crudeness in the book and the mawk- ishness of poems like "Our Hero," "Son," and "The Convalescent." But the crudeness is the kind you grasp hands with heartily and the mawkishness is the kind you look away from respectfully, and what's left, by far the greater part, you thrill and laugh over like a boy. Here, as in the earlier poems, is an implicit acknowledgment of the debt to Kipling. It reaches even to free use of the phrase, "thin red line of 'eroes" or to the refrain, "For I'm goin' 'ome to Blighty in the mawnin'" echoing the refrain of "Danny Deever." But such echoes are the proper salute of kinship; for this latest book confirms Service not as Kipling's imitator only but as his successor. "The Ballads of a Cheechako" and "Rhymes of a Rolling Stone" were a disappointment to those who suspected their author of a true and important gift; for they contained noth- ing of the calibre of "The Spell of the Yukon," that big poem which distinguished his first volume, "Songs of a Sourdough," and has become the title-poem of its later editions. Nor did the general contents of his two inter- mediate volumes bear out the general promise of the first or prepare one for the vigor and sweep and human emotion of these poems of the War. The poems are dedicated to Ser- vice's brother, "killed in action, August 1916," but the emotion in them is not melan- choly or bitter. It is not against; it is for. And it is not for a kingdom on earth or in heaven, but for your home and your fellows; and there's a recurrent feeling that your fel- lows may, after all, be Germans. 532 [December 14 THE DIAL The best of the poems are long narratives in dialect, Cockney or Scottish. There are "The Odyssey of 'Erbert 'Iggins," "The Whistle of Sandy McGraw," "Bill the Bom- ber," "The Haggis of Private McPhee," "The Coward," "Only a Boche," "My Bay'nit," and "My Mate." Fragments are unsatis- factory, but one stanza from "The Red Retreat" shows how the Tommies set out and hints at days and nights that followed. "A-singin' ''Oo's Yer Lady Friend f' we started out from 'Arver, A-singin' till our fronts was dry—we didn't care a 'ang; The Frenchies 'ow.they lined the way, and slung us their palaver, And all we knowed to arnser was the one word 'vang'; They gave us booze and caporal, and cheered for us like crazy, And all the pretty gels was out to kiss us as we passed; And 'ow they all went dotty when we 'owled the Marcelaisey! Oh, Gawd! Them was the happy days, the days too good to last." Perhaps in "The Song of the Pacifist" Ser- vice is expressing his own judgment that the establishment of "justice and truth and love" and of Right against Might, can only be a lesser victory, in fact will be "a vast defeat," unless our children's children "in the name of the Dead" conquer War itself. But the book is not in its best element a commentary or a conclusion, it is an emotion; and therein, in emotion and in action, lies its strength. It is what Kipling might have made of the War, had his genius still been young. Though the master would have written with surer artistry and less sentiment, the pupil has an advan- tage or two. Kipling showed what discern- ment genius could give an imperialist; Ser- vice shows what discernment sympathy can give a democrat. And where the Englishman used technical terms with an impressive pro- ficiency sometimes confusing to the layman, the Scotsman uses the slang of the trench so casually and fitly that the picture and the action is on the instant clear-cut and unmis- takable. Detail after detail of life at the front takes its place in the various narratives, adding touches of excitement, pathos, terror, tenderness, or humor, and in the end imbuing this particular reader with a closer sense of life in the Great War than any correspondent, novelist, or poet has yet given him — making it so natural, straightforward, first-hand, vibrant, that if you are like me you will close the book with the painful silence in the ears that follows great sound and the flush in the head that comes from the sight of broken bodies and the squeeze in the throat that comes in the presence of honest human emo- tion. It is not a criticism from without, but a cry from within — dignifying even "Tip- perary." We have been inquiring for the poetry of the War. In my judgment, here it is. Witter Bynner. FEEDING TEE BELGIANS: In "War Bread" Mr. Hunt tells the story of the succor of a nation. He served as an American delegate of the Commission for Relief in Belgium, but there is nothing in his book of the aridity of a statistical or official document. Instead, Mr. Hunt has given us a singularly fresh and personal view, a series of impressions, always sincere and moderate, often of admirable vividness. If he was tempted to sentimentalize over Belgium, he resisted the temptation, and his narrative is pointed only with the sharpness of the observed fact. He was singularly fortunate in the begin- nings of his adventure. He set out for Europe on a neutral liner, crowded with German reservists going home to the war. It was a complete initiation into a point of view. Mr. Hunt later visited Berlin and talked with leaders and recruits, with radicals and scholars; there is nothing to indicate that he learned anything new about the Teutonic temper or philosophy. On the decks of the "Nieuw Amsterdam" he had absorbed the whole of that German philosophy of might which has regimented a people—sentiment borrowing the cool language of science, the national will to power investing itself with the sanctions of an alliance with Destiny. All these German reservists exhibited that insensitiveness to the fate of the individual which grows inevitably out of the Teutonic habit of "thinking in centuries" and merging the identity of the citizens in the abstract identity of the State; they were the creatures of a new categorical imperative, foredoomed to the hardness that has always marked off a "chosen people." In so far as a nation yields to this mystical fatalism, it is already suffi- ciently dehumanized for aggressive war. Mr. Hunt's fellow-travellers set out in a lyric mood, flushed with confidence. They saw Germany marching to her manifest des- tiny, a Germany glorified by the romantic imagination, supreme in science and in industry, keeper of the curious modern cult of efficiency, ready now, having disciplined • War Bread. A Personal Narrative of the War and Relief in Belgium. By Edward Eyre Hunt. New York: Henry Holt and Company. 11.75. 1916] 533 THE DIAL herself, to discipline Europe and the world. The Iron Year had come, and the Fatherland was prepared to assert the validity of a natural law discovered, opportunely enough, by German pundits. Having studied the philosophy on the "Nieuw Amsterdam" and in Berlin, Mr. Hunt contrived to escape through the German lines into Belgium, where he saw the religion of expansion express itself in terms of the actual. At Antwerp he lay for thrilling hours in a coal hole under the foundations of a house at number 74 rue du Peage, and heard the mes- sengers of German kultur burst over-head. They were truly expansive, those shells. Mr. Hunt is very human about them. Faced with the realities of war, he was incapable of the solemnity of the moralist; an experience so new and so tremendous must be tasted for itself before one can hope to evaluate it. "My senses were keenly alive to danger, but there was a strange joy in the thought that life was to be obliterated in a mad chaos of flame and steel and thunder. Death seemed suddenly the great adventure; the supreme experience. And there was something splen- did, like music, in the incessant insane snarl of the shells and the blasts of the explosions." From Antwerp, after the fall, he joined the panic-stricken flight to the Dutch border. It was such a sight as one does not often see, the exodus of a people uprooted and swept blindly forward on the winds of war, unthink- ing, conscious only of a great fear: Most of that sad army went dinnerless and supper- less, and most of it still marched. Its own inertia, not its will, seemed to carry it on, and a strange sound came from it as it moved — a continuous dron- ing, a low murmur, like heavy breathing, which filled all the night air. That sound seemed to come from the earth and the Bky and the trees and the grass, as well as from the marching men. It was a sound more terrible than human wailing. It was as if all nature mourned, and as if this vast movement through the night were the funeral procession of a nation. . . In such moments the philosophy of the poor alone stands, for it is a philosophy founded on the harsh and wounding facts. That strange optimism which desires only to live, and which is hardly to be distinguished from the blackest pessimism, emerges as the basic philosophy of the miraculous survival of man- kind in a hostile world. It was imparted to the author by an old peasant whom he met on the road to Belgium: The war? Ah, monsieur, it is a curse. But then, much in life is a curse, and we must bear it tranquilly. To live, that is the important thing. Men fight each other, cheat each other, steal each other's land, lust for one another's wives — yes, monsieur, it is true — but we must live. We must bear all tranquilly. It is war. It is life, n'est-ce past After the destruction, the reconstruction— partial at least. Mr. Hunt was among the first of the Americans to take service under Herbert L. Hoover. He was assigned to relief work in Antwerp, where he remained the virtual economic administrator for a year; and the closing chapters of his narrative deal with the complicated and delicate administra- tive and diplomatic details incident to feeding and clothing two millions and a half of people. The task was not simply one of organization, of transportation and distribu- tion, difficult as such a task would have been. A campaign of publicity had to be under- taken in the chief neutral powers, as well as in England and France. An irresistible sentiment had to be created that would make it possible to treat the Commission's work in Belgium as second in importance only to the interests of the belligerent nations, and the jealousy and suspicion of those nations had to be allayed if the work of the Commission was to be carried on without interference and disastrous bickerings. The man who achieved the miracles of organization and diplomacy in Belgium was Herbert L. Hoover, an American mining engineer resident in London. Mr. Hunt wrote "War Bread" partly to answer the question, "Who is Hoover? and he has succeeded very well in dramatizing an amazing talent. Mr. Hoover, too, believes in efficiency, but his efficiency is not precisely the German ideal: it is an efficiency watchful to utilize instead of to pare away the idiosyncrasies of the human material with which it must work. Mr. Hunt speaks of his chief as "a construc- tive artist in human destiny," and as such he has, of course, a certain ruthlessness of his own. "He uses men, throws them aside and forgets them, as every world architect must, for he has, along with his amazing diplomatic skill, as frank a way in dealing with men as with conditions." Like all men of action, he puts his trust in the fait accompli, and after reading of his astounding address, you are quite convinced that, in exceptional circum- stances, it is the only doctrine. Those who read "War Bread" will long remember, I think, this quiet and masterful man with a talent for big affairs. He is very nearly the best type that our industrial civilization has hitherto produced; he expresses us infinitely better, for example, than our writers and our artists. Our eloquence still lies in appropri- ate action. George Bernard Donlin. *** THE DLAL II*mier * * * * * * * *S* *** S-a- ºr arrºw - ºn's as sº ºf Nº Sºws's sises ºr sº ºsºvºs ºn his ºeus wºrs, while ºr *** * *nºs wººd he sºngwººs ºr º- *s ºne sº sº ºr sº. Eis thºuse * * ***.xxi., is the is safe, ºsses him. ** * * sºme ºf his ºurn snai srºer ** is ºmiu, whº is sº -szei in *-> ** ****> -ºc vº. is in ºne is * * * *-arºus is use ºnis is a guanº ** ******, ºr sº internatiºnal ºutrºss- the sº seas wºn semitive musuus in * *****-** see sº sº º s ºssi. ss * ***** **s is is the ºr-sur-- ºf ºuis * ::::: *** **** ºne retais *rming * -ºs.ºws agºsº wºº was re rerº ºr ºne sess ºs sea- ºr Hºwe's sº lºwever, "sº º is sº -ºsis ºe is ºuw.ºei ºs -ºs ---it assº. Anºi º ºs- -º-º-º-s-s-s- -º-º-º-º-º-º-: * ~ *-ºs ºf:- sºsº. -- ºr ºil-º- ºr--ºr sº --- rºa- **-** -- ºne sº-- sº ºppºr-º-> --> ºrt- cssºl Y-s ºne º te ::::= sºrtement * ---tºº-º-º-es - ºr-- it a time wºr- - * *º-use ---tº-sº - E- ºr------- was ºut- * > *r-sº º sitarºi º sº- *** - ferºuses ºus re. Sºº-º-ai sets *-- *** *-** ****~-us-- *** --- ~~ --- *** * *wesi-º- ºr--ri ºre —-r- --- sº s ---------- is. -- ºr- "is ºw- * * ~ *-> *-* - -er- --- ~~------- > ---s ---> ºr * *-*** -nºr ºr "rº- *** --> -ºº------- *** - ºr **pia- - --ºr -- --- - - - - --- - - - - - --- -- ----- - - --> --><-- ~ * **------- - -ºs--- **** ------ * * * * * * * *-* -it- - - - - - - ---- *--- - - - - - - -i- -- - - - - - - -uw-- - - - ------- * > * -- - -- - -------- *--------- * . ------ ºr--- - - -- *-* --- - - - - - -- - - - ---- - --- " - "---- --- - -- - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -ºs- *-- ----- *-------> * -- --------- - -- - - - - --- -- - - - - -- - --- - - - - - - - - - - - - ------ - - -- - - --- *- -- :* ------ - - - - - - - - - - - - --- - - - - - - - -- - - - - ---- - -- - - - - - - - __: ----- *. - ---- - - - - ----- - --- - -- -- - - - - - - - *- -- -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ------ - - - --- - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - * >erfere with his via ºr rºar II. Že tº avºrs tº persaie iºr ºr i= ºria im. sº she having grºwn as ºrieim. -fia ºf ºse him. 5-armriezersºnal initivitie- he his Igun hºr ºf Lºuiſ File= *= wºes in sºme ºne rººmmie == i ºr Tº is is harmºr Igum ºne Hile-sºme is iangmººr Namºr smilies initiºn= Lºis - sºn is illuwei rºº ris mutiner -m ºrt-ite *** meetings ºf I-Is ºw-mºrºus sºme- maririi sun-ºuseums i-imºr in re-Tºrriºr his intºler las sºme rººts in rim Triceñº - his ºf rester ras iur attrº isºtrº- The new-fame rappens ---is is irrei I- * Rºstºn where remus rººme a mirrºre-ºr a ºnerºse armeter reis Imame. Tº is a E- s irºvº frºm ris -amme Emi Frºm te re-ºr-tuºsi ry ºne ºrees ºf Imiºłief – *mmºn sense imi ºis ris iºTs a Triane ºves ºn 3'-acetºn- --> --> --- ºr--> --------- - - - - - -- T- - - `-- *s -- ºr- - - ------ ºr- - E -ie ------- ---- - - ----- - - - - - - - -ºr-te ºr -e ºute --e ----- ----- - -- " -------- - _*- - ---- —sº-sº ºmize = - - 1916] 535 THE DIAL Braile's summing up of the emotional sit- uation which made the impostor possible is interesting: “You see,” he resumed after a moment, “life is hard in a new country, and anybody that promises salvation on easy terms has got a strong hold at the very start. People will accept anything from him. Somewhere, tucked away in us, is the longing to know whether we'll live again, and the hope that we’ll live happy. I’ve got fun out of that fact in a community where I’ve had the reputation of an infidel for fifty years; but all along I’ve felt it in myself. We want to be good, and we want to be safe, even if we are not good; and the first fellow that comes along and tells us to have faith in him, and he'll make it all right, why we have faith in him that's all.” The book is not written in the style of Mr. Howells's great period, that is, during the time when he produced “A Modern Instance,” “Silas Lapham,” “Indian Summer,” and “A Hazard of New Fortunes.” There is no deeply significant character in the book, none that can rank with Silas Lapham, Bartley Hubbard, or Lina Bowen. But it is a dis- tinctly better story than “Miss Bellard's Inspiration,” or “Through the Eye of the Needle,” or “The Coast of Bohemia,” or in fact any of Mr. Howells's later stories with the possible exception of “The Son of Royal Langbrith” and “The Landlord at Lion's Head.” There is a unity of plot, a coherence of motive, and a pictorial quality in the char- acter drawing that make a real contribution to our novels of American life. ARTHUR H. QUINN. RECENT FICTION.” Miss Ethel Sidgwick is one of the most individual of the English novelists of our day. Of course any first-rate novelist is individual; no one would read “These Twain” fancying even for a moment that it was by Mr. Wells, or “Victory” with the idea that it was by Mr. Galsworthy. Mr. Hugh Walpole, Mr. D. H. Lawrence, Mr. J. D. Beresford, Mr. Compton MacKenzie — to name a few others — are individual enough to keep each one in his own particular sphere. Miss Sidgwick, however, has a character rather more marked than any of them, or at least her books have. Superficially she reminds one of Henry James, but any such resemblance is as unimportant as in the case * Hatchways. By Ethel Sidgwick. Boston: Small, Maynard and Co. $1.40. gwi n THE VERMillion Box. By E. W. Lucas. New York: George H. Doran Co. $1.35. Sussex Goºse. By Sheila Kaye-Smith. New York: Alfred A. Knopf. $1.50. KING OF THE KHYBER RIFLEs. By Talbot Mundy. apolis: Bobbs-Merrill Co. $1.35. Indian- of Mrs. Edith Wharton. Miss Sidgwick is prečminently what is called “a novelist of marked distinction”; she has to a very high degree her own view of life and her own way of expressing this view, and both are excel- lent. “Hatchways” is not one of her best novels. It is presumably impossible for a novelist to be invariably at her best,-- or his. Many people cannot read “Daniel Deronda,” for instance, or “The Adventures of Philip.” Perhaps it was inevitable that the readers of “A Lady of Leisure,” “Duke Jones,” and “Accolade” should be disappointed in what came next. In any case the present grievous state of things in England would have made impossible for an Englishwoman that sort of imaginative contemplation which, it may be supposed, is necessary to Miss Sidgwick's best work. However it be, “Hatchways,” though it is obviously by no one but Miss Sidgwick, lacks the structural power that assembles representative ideas and the imme- diate imagination that makes them intelligible. Miss Sidgwick's method and her people are always subtle; here they are too subtle. In Miss Sidgwick's other books one is sometimes puzzled to know exactly what the author or her people are talking about, but there has generally heretofore been a confident feeling, bred of experience, that they were talking of something worth while. In “Hatchways” one is not so sure. The people are held in a less definite grasp and the plan in which they have their parts seems less definitely con- ceived. A world governed by customs and tradi- tions that are never mentioned, influenced by feelings and emotions that are rarely ex- pressed, that is the world as Miss Sidgwick conceives it, perhaps because the English world of leisured culture is the only one she knows, perhaps because she feels that all the world over people are pretty much alike. The Ashwins and the Ingestres are excellent types of the two kinds of people that are pre- eminent in such a world; the latter can comprehend in a measure but are usually too self-absorbed to care to do so, the former not only can comprehend but like to do so and even feel that they must do something more. The Duchess, and all the Oxbroughs, Adelaide Courtier, and Sam Coverack, are of the regular go-ahead type of English, often fairly clever, the kind probably that is to-day fighting the war. Ernestine Redgate and Sir George Trenchard are of the finer rarer kind that, one may hope, is directing the fighting. M. Gabriel du Frettay, the young French- man, understood them better than the others, THE *** ******* ••••••••••• • • • ºº -hæ- ae færaeaeſae - zaeae :： ：：：* -ae ºººº • • • • • • •ſ• •， a， ae ：:：*：（.**ſaeº （， *** ： * * *， º* * • • ſ） ſae * ， ， ！ ！ſaeae： * * * ••••mº•rº ſae， za ºſae aerº – ſae ae*** -aeae） ºſae ae- •• • • •*. ^ aeſ， wº a， ， • Tſar • aer， ſº º， ſf sſº ：º -º ！！！ ^a-z） ： |×*… ！！ ！！ ！！！--***** º • • ••••••••• Lºſi， -:-：- ---- → r，r： *** -ae aer，** ** * * ~~~~º： *** •••• • • • • • • ••••••••• • • • • ...： *** • • × × × × ×ºre ºſº • ae .aeºf ， ºwº •mºÂ••• ！！ ！！ ！！ ！！！ • • • • • • • • • • • • w：ſw， ºr， rºz-ºn： ſo ••• • • •••• • • • •■< . ~~ ~~~~~ a： •* ••* • * ， ，, ，，,*º º ſaer， º √æ√∞ * •••• • • ► * · * *ae- → r， hæ， ， ， ºwº waene ••••• •••• • • • • ••••••• • • • Miss * * * ºº ^•* • • • • • ► ► ► ► ► ► ► ► ► ► ►r • • • • • • • • • • ••• •^;, «º: “… ！! ！！！！！ ſae. º.º… •••• • •, º.rº ...«* ， • • • • ••••••• • • • ••• • • • …， n n *** * ， ， , ººº ！ - • • ; * ~~~~ ~~~~ ~ ~~~~ ºg ºf : *** •••• • • ••••• • •••• • • • • • • • （fr. ,,，,，， ， ， ， ， ºrº...ae aer… • ， ſiar waer → •••• • • • • • • •••••• • • • • • •••ır. ºz, ~ ~ ~º ~º ~~~~ e, ，，,^ ^^， ^■ * ?， ?）， Trſt r. º…ººº…! ;-.••••••• • • • • • • • Mr. ~~~~ .. ••• • • ••••••• •ønneºrº zerº př. •••••• •••••• • • • • • •••••••••• • • • •æðisfie ••••••••• • • • • • • • • • •*…*… ~~ " ： *r* ： • ••••• •º•• • • • • • • • ºº ºn lºr:ºr imaº • • •••••• • • •••••••• ng * º.º.º aerae ·,·,≤ ∞ „r.º., º „raetº ••••••• ••••• •º•）› ‹› ‹- ••••• • • • • • • • • • • • •m ſº persº, º ºf ºne ••••• •••••••••• • • ► ►ſ， º -º -ºz e mºže •• ••••• •••••••• • • • • • •••••• • • ** ** *** •• • • • • • • • • ••••••••••••• •* •••• • ænet … • • • • • •••••• • .erm. to riae an， tár- „…! ：,：， … ••• • • • • • • • • •«. ****n º izraeg: ritºr • …， …， …, …º aez - zaenºr rº-rænt af • • •ºr-º，•* •••••• • • •º•）› „+“ ′ − （ ′ −1 •,, ，,， ,，， ，,， , ， ºn ºrº ºººººhºnº. „， ， , , , ， ， ， ， ºranºzartº 16 ****** 2 *** «…º……… ø ••• •º leºzºº ºo amaet ſºm a-- •••• • • ••••••• „nº.rººr， *nae: -º~~ ~~~~ ·…·2···a2·… z º.º.º.º.h Ạ„ſº º aeg- „… ， ， .n **…er a prºuzº ， not · · · · · · zame wºo • ** e *…e ****** *** ••• • • • • • ſaa... ， ， ， at a a marrer of nae, ºr, º.z. nr. ſaeraeº:：： ~~~~ area.---- ·,·,≤24. tº wº : · arº ºrarea，ail •,， ，,， ，,，,，，, «… • • • • • ººr ir-， º-º- i ºtº- •• • • • • • •ørte aa （ſ.º. º…:.gºv.ex s rºper ae • • • • ， . .： _* ！！！！！~ ae •••••• • •æ√≠ √æ√≠√æ~~~~！-- * ：） *ærnær tvær sae rrez -te =~e， ~==， ！ bæ tººr wr===== razº --~~~~ ~====== ！ ！！ ！！eºr. ~~~~ ~~ ~~~~ ~= ~=7 ~ !， -ase. Tºere = I_º=ræ， •••••• •ër Tree： --~~~~ ~~=+ ：= ~ ººr （fr. łżervarr！ №. ！！ ！！！！！！！！！ ！== ~::~ar æ ºefeerzwe ： --~~~~ ~~ ~~~~ º） ：= (-）， ±√（√∞ √° √≠ √±± ！！ ！！ mæ， … ：（--~~~~ ºse==-- ~~~~e， ~ī=~- - *æirae aerº！ --ar ~~~~ ！！！！！！！！ ！！ == ！ ！！！ ：ºs：æ æ ， o ~mar is ± ---- arre fraz ºrºr--r--r-z = ze！~ ſame --~~~~ ~~ -hær. -hæ aerº- is aer， ſee！！！！！！ ！！ ！！！ -， -tie ººrl_ --> --~~~~ ~~~~ ~ ~e ！！！！！ ：）.-- ~~~~ ！ -e-var æ：ær= ！= ærae maer Laers （a-~~~~ſīs. sae saeeae ºn ter × -itar ºne ：：：t weer ~ （~~~~ ~~ 'n art- az. ， Iſrael. Eava =~= ± ærae gariae:ar::- -， -:-e --~~~~e， ~ ~e +=~~~ •••••••••• wrzee -re iars ºf Me， esse， Tºen ºhere aerº = ∞ √° √∂√∞ur √æ–T， **ær ºm， ir-retare.-- ~~~~= −z， ！！！ •mae aut → -+ + ~~~~ ~~~~ ~ ！ ！rsraeg ºº xºres， aree ！！ ！！！-- =- ~ng = ~~~~æ lºnes: Bien arī 3e- → ~~ zers marzº: --~~~ ºſtre ！=ız → += ~~~. amat = <！－-Imper ut aeter --~~~~ zeae， i.e. =：：= .aeraerg ：::* ar！！ ！！ ！！ ！！eºr ºf ~~~~ n +=r=rig. It is – rºst --~~~~ ！！ ！！ * vraeerariae aer， r） \， z =~~~== == •••• I = igºz -ammºrtar- ： -ne =~~~=+ *** Miss **…eta 3 ----+----- * --~~=== ！！eº s ≠ ±±erear g:ee mf --~~~~ ~~~~ = titer ºf ：::* wiwers. Iz is ºne ！ --ose ~~~~ ºse aer …gragrze ºrnae-les （~~~~， ieai ~~~~ ！ ſeaſe = <！-- == -1 ！==~：= ！= -II ſæi ~:: - anı ſı，ır- †ie ：:： ~~~~= 'ſ~ ºor særerfºr ~~arº aer wae. ſmraeg --> :：=≡e ºf ~e （maio！-- raz, e manı 3-1，n + 1， -am rarī£7- ：en：I tº *or- ~~~~）; an- ſen I-----+---， sūtītie- as *: az oſ ſºs ºi:：--:-， ſr =<！-- Imee， metai *** --~~~~ssion as Mr. Laevas = T = -mest …a-e （:::res -， is unui m =<！-- **= *s*is. – arai ：::--： iave ！=ı ~~~~ it late.— • reº a sor of -ar-ı-♥ ~~~~ is iſær zu ！mrne № ani : *==== T ********** ~ ºſes aut aeſt= n ſss ：）--~~~~ = ׺s ser gespie aerº zerrera…- .---> ~o ~º ~º ~~~~）; *f she …as **…si n ：= w ** =：= * --~s -- ſer mimai ：::：: