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as well as the Words. There will be love songs, drinking songs, marching songs, hunting songs, folk songs—for the greater part old songs to traditional airs.

Mr. Ambrose White Vernon, professor of Biblical literature at Dartmouth college, is the author of a little volume on “The Religious Value of the Old Testament' which essays to show what there is left of the Old Testament, after the higher critics have had their will with it. The author's intention is excellent but he does not wholly avoid the infirmity of many writers in sympathy with the higher criticism in accepting as established some points which are yet in dispute and some which are purely conjectural. T. Y. Crowell & Co.

The dainty First Folio Edition of Shakespeare's plays, which T. Y. Crowell & Co. are publishing, reaches a round dozen of volumes with the publication of “Much Adoe About Nothing.” Miss Charlotte Porter, one of the editors of the series, furnishes the Introduction; there are nearly one hundred pages of literary illustrations; and footnotes, a glossary, and some bits of selected criticism help the reader to a clearer understanding of the play. The text reproduces the First Folio of 1623, with the original spelling and punctuation.

Each new addition to “Everyman's Library” (E. P. Dutton & Co.) confirms the favorable impression made by the earlier issues. The little volumes are astonishingly cheap, but the cheapness is not purchased at the cost of type, paper or binding. The typography is attractive, and is set off by decorative titles and end-pieces. The

paper is opaque and of good quality, and the binding is as dainty as if the volumes were meant to be sold for three times their actual price. The library covers a wide range of books in the departments of philosophy and theology, poetry and drama, romance, science, travel, essays, biography, fiction, history and oratory, and young people's books, and by the happy device of a different color of cover for the different departments each group of books is easily distinguished, while general uniformity is preserved. The publishers have been fortunate in the writers whom they have secured to provide introductions for the several volumes. Some of the best-known and most brilliant of contemporary writers are in the list. What could have been better, for example, than the choice of Mr. Bryce to introduce the volume of Abraham Lincoln's Speeches? Or what could be more delightful than Mr. Chesterton's introductions to The Old Curiosity Shop and others of Dickens's stories? Readers who are familiar with the various series of reprints, whose name has come to be legion, will be interested to notice at how many points this series diverges from the well-worn paths of previous selections and presents works which, although of enduring value and interest have not been reproduced before in inexpensive form. Here, for instance, is the whole of The Spectator, beautifully printed, in four volumes, with an introduction and notes by Professor Gregory Smith; and here is Grote's History of Greece, a work of commanding importance and value, hitherto accessible only in expensive editions, complete in twelve volumes which make a pleasing row upon the shelf and tempt to perusal by their convenient size and clear ty. pography.

SEVENTH SERIER
VOLUME XXXV.)

No. 3276 A pril 20, 1907.

FROM BEGINNIN@

Vol. COLIII.

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CONTENTS.
Women and Politics : A Reply. By Eva Gore-Booth . . .

NINETEENTI CENTURY AND AFTER 131
Electric Waves and Wireless Telegraphy. By W. A. Shenstone

CORNHILL MAGAZINE 134 The Enemy's Camp. Chapter III. (To be continued) . . .

MACMILLAN's MAGAZINE 148 The First Earl of Lytton. By G. L. Strachey . . . .

INDEPENDENT REVIEW 153 The Speech from the Throne. By Michael MacDonagh

MONTHLY REVIEW 156 A Milanese Mystery. Chapters I and ÍI. By Charles Edwardes.

(To be concluded). . . . CBAMBERS's JOURNAL 168 The Power of Suggestion .

. . . SPECTATOR 176 The Parting of the Ways. By Godfrey Burchett.

GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE 178 The Soul of our Suburb. By H. H. Bashford . . . .

MACMILLAN'S MAGAZINE 181 Harbingers

. . . NATION 184 The Medical Practice of Savages. By Frederick Boyle OUTLOOK 186 The American Railway Position . . . . . ECONOMIST 189

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A PAGE OF VERSE
Limerick . .

. . Punch 1:30 Marcus Aurelius and Epictetus. By Frederic Rowland Martin . 130 Madonna Laura. By Francesco Petrarcha. Rendered into English

by Agnes Tobin . . . . . . . . . . 130 A Flattering Illusion. By Geoffrey Clark . . . . . . 130 BOOKS AND AUTHORS . . . . . . . . . .

XVI.

190

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Single Copies of THE LIVING AGE, 15 cents.

LIMERICK.

Here goes my love to Limerick! 'Tis there that I would be, In the rare town, the fair town that lies beyond the sea. Myself and darling Limerick we've been too far apart, But the easy town, the breezy town, she always had my heart.

Of all the towns I ever saw, wherever I was set, There's only one beneath the sun I never could forget. I've shut my eyes in distant lands, and, oh, my mind was torn, For I saw the streets of Limerick, the place where I was born.

But I was far away from her, the city of my joy,

Where once I wandered light as air, a little barefoot boy.

Since then I’ve worn the leather out, but never trod so free

As long ago in Limerick, the only place for me.

There's few to know the face of une on all the Shannon shore To grip my hand and call my name when I return once more; But I will rest in Limerick, the dearest place I know, Until, please God, I'm called at last and get the word to go.

Punch.

MARCUS AURELIUS AND EPICTETUS.

Twin stars, serene and pure,
In the fear-haunted gloom
Of the wild pagan night,
So long, so long ago!
In royal purple one,
Philosopher and saint,
With words divinely wise;
The other but a slave,
Yet monarch still who ruled
The godlike minds of men.
Alone, undimmed, they burned
Above a world of doom,
Until the morning-red
Flamed crimson in the East,

And the ascending dawn

Of an immortal Christ

Filled the blue heavens with light. Frederic Rowland Marrin.

MADONNA. LAURA.

When all her golden beauty did unclose In Love's great noon and glory of desire, Slipping her sheath, and yearning higher, higher, Laura, my life, did leave me to my foes, And living, lovely, disembodied, rose To the white wicket and the Shimmering choir. Ah, why does not that “last day” come and tire My soul for Heaven?—that last day One knows But as the first in Heaven. The same way That all my thoughts go, and as feather light, My soul would rise, a pilgrim clean and gay. Why must I wait, dear Christ? Why must I stay? Bitter and ever bitterer grows the fight. Had I but died three years ago to-day! Francesco Petrarcha. Rendered into English by Agnes Tobin.

A FLATTERING ILLUSION.

I thank you for the flowers you sent, she said. And then she pouted, blush'd, and droop'd her head. Forgive me for the words I spoke last night: The flowers have sweetly proved that you are right. Then I forgave her, took her hand in mine, Seal’d her forgiveness with the old, old sign; And as we wander'd through the dimlit bowers,

I wonder'd who had really sent the

flowers. Geoffrey Clark.

WOMEN AND POLITICS. A REPLY.

The writer of the article on “Women and Politics,” in the February number of this Review,” claims to speak for “a great though silent multitude of women,” who shrink from their own enfranchisement because their already burdened strength would not be equal to the duties and responsibilities of voting at parliamentary elections. She claims exemption as the special privilege of weakness, and a concession to what she conceives to be the retiring, unworldly nature of a large number of women. And if it is argued that, if women were enfranchised, no woman could possibly be forced to vote against her will, we are met with the unanswerable assertion that “any woman could, of course, abstain from voting, but would this shelter her from being canvassed for her vote?” Alas, that no one tries to shelter us from canvassing other people, a far more unpleasant task!

As a simple matter of justice, it does not seem fair, or even reasonable, that the height of one's personal intellectual ambition should be enforced as the legal limit of another person's activity. It may be that “nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room:” but surely that is no reason why we should all be shut up in cells. I do not say there are not many who would prefer to have “protecting barriers between them and the rough outer world,” and who are only troubled and alienated by any appeal to their sympathies from the wider life of the nation, and the monotonous and involved issues of our present industrial struggle. The controversy is a very ancient one. There have been contemplative orders, and hermits, and enthusiasts, in all ages, who have consciously limited their

*The Living Age, March 9,

sphere of action and shut out the business of the world, that they may the better pursue their own ideal of holiness and right living. I do not wish to undervalue the beauty of Miss Stephen's ideal of gentleness, piety, and devotion. But there is still a place in the world and a need for the sterner virtues, the more adventurous spirits. “Honor, anger, valor, fire,” were the qualities that Stevenson exulted over in his wife. “She was,” he says, “steeltrue and blade-straight.” And surely, even in this domesticated generation there are some whose hearts will respond to the ring of those brave words.

Patient Grizzel may have her admirers, but who would not prefer to meet Christina of Sweden, or even Catherine de Médicis, or Maria Theresa, or Queen Elizabeth, or any other of the great stateswomen of the past. Indeed, there are many people who would go so far as to feel more interest in Catherine of Russia, in spite of her indefensible moral attitude. Sir Walter Scott, with all his enchantments, could not make a heroine of the fair but passive Rowena. Who does not remember how, in their first youthful reading of Ivanhoe, they wept over the sorrows of the fierce Rebecca, and skipped the parts about the mild and amiable Saxon lady. And while there are lovers of romance and poetry still left among us, there will be many who find their ideal of a woman's character in the heroic soul and indomitable will of the Antigone of Sophocles. “Yet remember in women, too, dwells the spirit of battle,” says Orestes in the play, and some of us are unregeneratedly proud that this is still one of the profound facts of human nature.

But there is another side to this question. However unpleasant or

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