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novel it should be judged. It is an species, post, telephone, telegraph, railadmirable picture of manners and ways and mercantile marine; finance, character with a plot in which one joint stock enterprise; banking; indusfeels the inevitability of things as they tries, in general and in detail; lanare and the pervasiveness of Provi- guage; the four religious beliefs; phildence. E. P. Dutton & Co.

anthropy, education in various eras and

of various sorts; philosophy, science, The title "Fifty Years of Japan,” by medicine, hygiene, and the Red Cross; no means suggests an encyclopædia, the fine arts; journalism, literature; sobut the two large volumes upon which cial changes; the influence of the West; Count Okuma has bestowed it are noth- socialism and the separate chapters on ing less than an encyclopædia of his Oshima and Formosa are similarly country, and the sooner the other em- written and Count Okuma crowns the pires, kingdoms and republics offer it edifice with a chapter of some twentythe sincere flattery of imitation the five pages entitled "Conclusion.” Six more agreeable for their citizens, and appendices giving the text of the Conthe better for each country as a whole. stitution, an abstract of the treaty beThe work, he states in his succinct pref- tween Japan and Russia in 1905, a ace, is intended first, to preserve an summary of a speech on Japan's forauthoritative account of the develop- eign policy delivered by Baron Komura ment of Japan during the fifty years in the Imperial Diet, February 2, 1909; since the ratification of its first treaties tables interesting to zoologists and with the outside world; and, second, to botanists, tables of weights, measures make the present condition of the coun- and money, and a table of the daily try more widely known both at home wages of the workmen precede the inand abroad. The first two chapters, dex which, as the book has more than summarizing the history of Japan and fifty authors, has probably been most giving an authoritative account of the vigorously revised and corrected. exact conditions under which Prince Henceforth there is no excuse for conTokugawa sacrificed himself to his fecture, rash assertion, or untruth as country are from Count Okuma's own to most Japanese matters either in Conhand. Each of the following fifty-four gress, in the schools or in the papers. is written by a person or persons espe Here is the truth for all the world to cially qualified by experience and train- see, and truth tested by a year of exing to treat it justly and fully. Mr. amination by interested persons, for Saburo Shimada, M.P., tells of the in- the Japanese edition appeared in 1908. troduction of Japan to the comity of The translation was made in Japan, nations; and the late Count Taneomi- and has been carefully edited by Mr. Soyeshima was the author of the chap- Marcus B. Huish and the two great ter on Japan's foreign relations; the la- volumes are handsomely printed and mented Prince Ito contributed remin- bound. No college, university or high iscences of the grant of the new Con school library, no public or professional stitution; Professor Kazutami Ukita, library, can afford to dispense with and Counts Itagaki and Okuma jointly them. Indeed it would occupy much wrote a chapter on the history of Jap- less space to name those who can afanese political parties; F. M. Prince ford not to read the book, than to Yamagata wrote of the army; Admiral enumerate those who should read it, Yamanto, of the Navy; police, prisons, and in the latter class must be included municipal government; communica- those who read for pleasure. E. P. tions, their history, and the various Dutton & Co.

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I. George Meredith. By Percy Lubbock QUARTERLY REVIEW 516

Letters from America. By G. Lowes Dickinson ENGLISH REVIEW 526
As It Happened. Book VI. Crisis. Chapter III. The Finding of

Susan. Chapter IV. The End of the Quest. The Yajor as Guard-
ian and the Entangling of Fresh Threads. By Ashton Hilliers.
(To be continued.)

536 IV. Migrating Stars. By H. H. Turner

FORTNIGHLY REVIEW 549 V. Milton and His Age. By G. K. Chesterton

OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE REVIEW 556 VI. The Basis of the Wage. By Charles Inge

NATION 562 Votes in the Village.

SATURDAY REVIEW 564 VIII. A Dutch Feminist.

ATHENAUM 567 IX, The Open-Minded Bigot.

SPROTATOR 570 X. A Whine from a Wooer.

PUNCH 572 A PAQE OF VERSE XI. Lilium Regis. By Francis Thompson

DUBLIN REVIDW 514 XII. The Banshee, By M. Little




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THE BANSHEE. O lily of the King! low lies thy silver A voice came crying to me window wing,

In the wind and the rain, And long has been the hour of thine Like the voice of an old, old woman unqueening;

Who was crying in pain: And thy scent of Paradise on the And I knew that Michael (God rest night-wind spills its sighs,

him!) Nor any take the secrets of its mean- Would never spake again. ing.

I knew, but I didn't let on I knew,

For fear the childhern had heard: O Lily of the King! I speak a heavy I had it ready on me tongue to say, thing,

It was only a birdO patience, most sorrowful of daugh. But the voice cried mighty loud and ters!

close, Lo, the hour is at hand for the troub

And not one of the childhern stirred. ling of the land, And red shall be the breaking of the

Not one of the childhern moved in waters.

their sleep

-But the red fire shone; Sit fast upon thy stalk, when the blast And out dhere in the wet blue of the

night shall with thee talk, With the mercies of the king for

The voice went onthine awning;

It was sad with the sorrows that are to And the just understand that thine

come hour is at hand,

And the griefs that are gone. Thine hour at hand with power in For the heart of the creature was full the dawning.

of love

She was longing to spake. When the nations lie in blood, and their God knows how far she had come in kings a broken brood,

the dark, Look up, 0 most sorrowful of daugh- And all for my saketers!

But her tongue (God help her!) was a Lift up thy head and hark what sounds heathen thing, are in the dark,

Like the cry of a kittiwake. For His feet are coming to thee on the waters!

I knew she had passed by the

ship O Lily of the King! I shall not see, that

As it rose and fell; sing,

And looked at me Michael walking the I shall not see the hour of thy queen

deck, ing!

And him alive and well; But my song shall see, and wake like a

And seen the body of him sewn in a

sail flower that dawn-winds shake, And sigh with joy the odors of its

And sunk in the swell: meaning.

And the creature (God help her!)

Was sorry, and trying to tell. O Lily of the king, remember then the The trouble she must have seen! thing

It was all in her cry: That this dead mouth sang; and thy The pain of the unborn lives daughters,

And the lives gone by: As they dance before His way, sing And she keened for me Michael; and there on the Day,

not one of his fatherless childWhat I sang when the Night was on

the waters!

As much as opened an eye.
Francis Thompson.

M. Little. The Dublin Review.

The Spectator.


The art of fiction, in all its innum- to find the base of his work in the qualerable divagations of the last hundred ities that remain. Criticism steps in and fifty years, must truly by now at this stage and tries to express the have provided material enough for a results that have been established, pageneralized criticism of its nature, its tiently hoping, be it confessed, to avoid scope, its limiting conditions; but criti- its usual mistake of making the art cism can hardly be said to have yet square with its formula instead of made any calculated attempt to survey molding its formula on the art. the whole parti-colored field and to de- No attempt can of course be made fine the principles which seem to be im- here to co-ordinate the scattered plied. In the early and bravely irre- achievements of fiction in the manner sponsible days of the novel there could suggested; but the single illustrious be no possibility of such a definition. case to be considered will be apSo long as the art was still purely ex- proached as far as possible from this perimental, so long as it could spread point of view. The work of George in all directions over virgin soil, criti. Meredith, so sumptuous and so varied, cism could merely watch discreetly and has for its admirers intellectual, moral, take provisional note of failures and philosophical appeals which have persuccesses. But fiction must follow, haps to some extent obscured the ques and is already following, the line of de- tion of its strictly artistic characterivelopment which carries it from its zation. Much has been written upon first expansive thoughtlessness to self- the strong consistent view of the world, conscious deliberation. It must run of nature and society, which lies alike its course, like other forms of art; it behind his novels and his poetry; but must lose certain qualities and as- the art which went to its expression sume others; it must submit to matu- has usually been treated as a detacharity and make the best of it without ble matter, something to be estimated trying to reproduce the essentially side by side, even if in the same promyouthful graces of its past. It con- inence, with the personal doctrines of tinues so unmistakably to hold its own the great writer. Meredith cut so deep as the most characteristic form of our into his material and laid open such time that a distinguished future, it is new sources that the fruition of his impossible to doubt, still lies before it. thought has occupied his critics before But it must pay the penalty of its pro- the form in which it was embodied. If longed predominance by learning to it is attempted to reverse the process "know itself" and to realize its princi- there can be little danger of overlookples. Such a process implies loss in a ing the matter for the sake of the man. hundred ways, loss perbaps of the very ner, for from this side the two things qualities for which we most incline to cannot be separated. The personalvalue the art; but if the sacrifice is in- ity of an artist can be disentangled evitable it is only the sharper challenge from his art, but never his art from his to the novelist to develop new values personality. in their place. An artist is of his time, True, surely, of all writers, this is and if he inherits a form which has al- trebly true of Meredith, so sharply ready yielded its first freshness he has stamped with the mark of his brain dith. Thirty-one vols. London: Constable, The most obviously Shakespearean in a

**The Collected Works of George Mere- and spirit was everything he touched. 1896-8.

certain sense of modern authors, he hand and brain work in harmony and was nevertheless the least so if the produce their best work, before the word is used of that aspect of Shakes- time arrives when the hand, now compeare's work which gives us the most pletely controlled, is found to be closstriking example in all literature of an ing upon a gradually weakening subapparent exception to our rule, the as- stance. That is, on the whole, the pect in which the writer is merged, al- evolution more or less clearly to be most beyond possibility of recovery, in traced in most cases. But Meredith's his creations. Meredith is never for an record is utterly different. The cominstant in this sense dramatic. His promise between intention and result, own presence dominates every page of between thought and word, is struck his books; and often enough, both in with extraordinary precocity in his his prose and his poetry, we seem less earliest work and with ever increasing to be handling a fashioned and self- difficulty in his later. Not of course complete work of art than to be ac- necessarily on this account is “The Ortually present in his studio, watching deal of Richard Feverel" a better book while he flies impetuously at the mar- than "One of our Conquerors," when ble which hides the statue, and per- the scope, the significance, the final haps at times more conscious of the product of the balance is considered, as process, of the crackle of blows and well as its nicety. But while it is the hail of white chips, than of the solely a question of the command of lurking goddess. Yet even so, though the medium in which he worked, it is the din and the effort may interfere easy to see that the Meredith of 1859 with one kind of enjoyment, the dis- was far surer of poised and sustained play of power, the determination and effect than the Meredith of thirty years the onslaught, joined with the sense later. The rocky utterance with which that the possible prize is worth the his stories tended more and more to be struggle and that the unconquered wrenched into being was the exaggerablock does in fact conceal the divine tion no doubt of an inherent mannerall this makes of such an experience an ism; but to name it thus does not carry exhilarating memory for craftsman or us far. With the living force which critic. It fires the athletic quality Meredith throughout poured into his which is part of the mind of every art- work, the history of its style becomes ist, and shows in the perfected work, the history of its substance; and the when at other times it is given us growing sense of effort merely implies rounded and flawless, the temper which that he charged his art with ever more the highest beauty receives from brain complicated burdens. No other imagalone.

inative writer of our time has had to • Meredith's art, indeed, 'as we follow reckon with a brain so perennially init from book to book, reflects one long surgent and insistent. Meredith's inconflict with stubborn and recalcitrant tellect touched life at an immense nummaterial. It is as though he could ber of points and could rest at none of never be content until he should make them. He was only incidentally a language do a little more than it ever painter of nature and society; essenwill. Most writers by middle life have tially he was an interpreter of one and acquiesced in the limitations of their a critic of the other. The distinction medium, and their submission is digni- places him nearer Carlyle than Brownfied, rightly enough, by the style of ing; for Browning, though in his case mastery of their craft. There is. then, also intellectual curiosity never re. in the typical case, a moment at which laxed its strain upon his art, was far

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