And so saying he strode straight through its flame. At once he found himself seated with his back to the tree in his dress of war, with his bow resting against his shoulder. Now I am dead,' said he, contentedly; nevertheless, he began to finger his bow. On what do the dead feed themselves?' he wondered; and, for a trial, fixed and shot an arrow at a passing bird-for above the tree there was clear sky, though darkness lay around its foot, and in the darkness the fire still burned. The bird fell; he plucked it, cooked it at the fire, and ate. "In life I never ate better partridge,' said Daimeka, ‘but now that I am a real ghost I will return once more to Michilimackinac and frighten my wife out of her senses, for she deserves it.' "So when the fire died down he arose, warm in all his limbs, and started northward again. On the fourth day he found his canoe where he had left it, and pushed off for the island. But, as he neared the shore, a man who had been standing there ran back to the village, and soon all his folk came running down to the beach, his wife in their midst. "Daimeka!' they cried. to us!' 'It is indeed Daimeka returned "That may be,' said Daimeka, as his wife flung her arms around him; and again, it may not be. But, dead or alive, I find it good enough.' 66 Such, my brother, is the tale of Daimeka. Is it better, now, to return to your people as a ghost or as a man who has found himself?" John lifted a face of misery. 66 Come," said Menehwehna, looking him straight in the eyes, and letting his hand rest from patting the dog, which turned and licked it feebly. "I will come," said John. (To be continued.) THE MONTHLY REVIEW EDITED BY HENRY NEWBOLT FEBRUARY 1904 EDITORIAL ARTICLES: A NEW POET AND AN Old One ON THE LINE -ROBERT MACHRAY THE CRISIS IN THE FAR EAST- THE CAVALRY AND ITS PRINCIPAL ARM THE JEWISH PERIL IN RUSSIA the Novoë Vremya) -CAVALRY -M. O. MENCHIKOFF (of THROUGH MACEDONIA-L. VILLARI W. E. H. LECKY: A REMINISCENCE-HON. EMILY LAWLESS A RUSSIAN PRIVATEER IN THE MEDITERRANEAN- 140 THE GIANT INFANT AND ITS GOLDEN SPOON—L. DOUGALL 153 FORT AMITY-XVIII-XIX-A. T. QUILLER-COUCH 167 CONTENTS FOR LAST MONTH (JANUARY). FOREIGN TRADE AND THE MONEY MARKET-FELIX SCHUSTER EDITORIAL ARTICLES: The War Office and Some Opinions On the Line WANTED: A SCAPEGOAT THE PRESENT DRIFT OF ITALIAN POLICY-COMMENDATORE F. ANTI-SEMITISM IN CONTEMPORARY RUSSIA-M. TUGAN BARA NOWSKY CRESCENT AND CROSS-D. J. HOGARTH THE RECONSTRUCTION OF KARNAK (Illustrated)—JOHN WARD, F.S.A. THE CREEVEY PAPERS-ROWLAND E. PROTHERO, M.V.O. The Editor of the MONTHLY REVIEW is always happy to receive MSS., and to give them his consideration, provided that they are type-written or easily legible, and accompanied by a stamped envelope for their return if not accepted. In the case of all unsolicited contributions the Editor requests his correspondents (i) to excuse him from replying otherwise than by formal printed letter; (ii) to state whether he is offered the refusal of the MS. indefinitely or only for a limited period. Where the offer is indefinite, the Editor cannot be answerable for time or opportunities lost through his adverse decision after long consideration; nor can he in any case be responsible for the loss of a MS. submitted to him, although every care will be taken of those sent. They should be addressed to the EDITOR, "Monthly Review," 50a Albemarle Street, London, W. A NEW POET AND AN OLD ONE N° I O one will buy poetry nowadays. And yet every year produces one or two volumes of poetry which sell by the thousand. There is, then, a kind of poetry which is in favour, and a kind or kinds for which there is no demand. Putting aside the work of thoroughly minor poets-often very good, but naturally not of general interest-it would probably not be far from the truth to say that the line of popularity is drawn, by the present generation of readers, between the poetry which stirs emotion and that which awakens thought. The public long to feel; they do not like being made to think. And with an English public the case is aggravated by the fact that quick as they are to perceive beauty of emotion, they are very backward in believing or delighting in the beauty of thought or imagination. The lyric is at present enjoying a complete triumph; it has taken all life for its province, and deals with national sport and imperial defence as well as with the old cries-the life-born joy and the personal sorrows that touch the mind of man. But there are not wanting among us poets of high courage who will go their own way even if they have to go alone, and face the chance of leaving to a remote posterity a great inheritance and an obscure name. It is only a chance that they face. Beauty, after all, is never friendless, and one by one even the poets, even in their own lifetime, come by their own in some degree. Mr. Bridges is no longer, to his ever-widening circle of readers, the author only of his "Shorter Poems," but from the poetical throne of his generation rules as many provinces as any of his august predecessors. Mr. Binyon, of whom we wrote two months ago, has been welcomed to his due fame by a tardy but unanimous acclamation; and we shall be disappointed if the same distinction is not now accorded to Mr. Sturge Moore, whose two little volumes1 just published finally mark him off from the minor or the amateur writer of verse. It These poems are idylls of the more dramatic kind; their motive is description, whether of things seen or things their method is that of vivid dialogue. Seeing that Browning has already turned the name " Dramatic Idyll" to his own uses, it would be safer, perhaps, to speak of them as Idyllic Dramas; and there can be no doubt that but for the difficulty of representing the half-human upon the stage they might be acted with charming effect. As it is, they raise in the mind pictures after the manner of Piero di Cosimo, fit for an Italian frieze or a wedding-chest; and with these we must be content, as well we may. The old Centaur, Pholus, lies among the boulders on the Thracian hills, gazing forth into the deepening twilight. In the city below he sees the torches of an angry mob, pursuing his brother Medon to a cruel death. He himself will be now the last of the Centaurs, powerless even to avenge. Nor will I shed a tear, How vain hope would appear When truth was known; We were not born to grow And gather sway, But to a weakling foe To yield each day; 1 "The Centaur's Booty" and "The Rout of the Amazons." By T Sturge Moore. Duckworth & Co., 1903. Each 1s. net. |