When thy little heart doth wake,
Then the dreadful light shall break.

From The Prophetic Books

In seed-time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.

He who desires, but acts not, breeds pestilence.
Eternity is in love with the productions of time.
The busy bee has no time for sorrow.

No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings.
The bird a nest, the spider a web, man friendship.
What is now proved was once only imagined.

Everything possible to be believed is an image of truth. The eagle never lost so much time as when he submitted to learn of the crow.

You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough.

When thou seest an eagle, thou seest a portion of genius. Lift up thy head!

Damn braces, bless relaxes.

Where man is not, nature is barren.

THE IMMORTAL PART

By CURTIS Hidden Page

Time flies,

Youth dies

But song shall last

When youth-and life—are past.

ANOTHER SONG OF BERTRAN DE BORN

By W. P. SHEPARD

Sweet Eastertide well pleases me,

That brings green leaves and flowers gay;
Then comes the jolly melody

Of birds who pipe, the live-long day,

'Mid the dim woods and fields.

But keener joy I have and pride,
When o'er the hills and meadows wide
I see the gleam of shields,

And tents of war ranged side by side,
And stout knights barded steeds astride.

Great joy I have, when troopers bold

Cast out the villein, waste his land;
And still more joy, when through the wold
I see the knights, with blade in hand,
Riding all armed for fight.

Then castles tall are set about,

Archers and mangonels are out,

Naught can withstand our might.

Tho moats be deep and fences stout,
We win right through with song and shout.

Great joy I have, when some fair lord
Far in the van of war is seen,

In his right hand his shining sword;
For thus he keeps his honor green
And heartens all his own.

So when the splintered lances fly,
His bands he holds in courage high,
Nor rides he far alone.

Their praises shall not fade nor die

Who give great blows and foes defy.

Maces on crested helmets smite,

The banded shields are torn and riven,
The vassals all are keen for fight,

There mighty blows are ta'en and given.
The wounded horses rage

And bear the dead amidst the throng.
All men who come of forbears strong,
Of lofty parentage,

Reck not of wounds and fear not wrong,
Rather than shame for death they long.

Sweeter the savor, by my word,

Than spicy meats or fume of wine,
Of battle-shout and stroke of sword,
When down the ranks the helmets shine
And the good war-steeds neigh.

"At them!" is everywhere the cry;
Stout lances crash and splinters fly,
And dead men strew the way.
Unhorsed and lone the wounded lie;
All we smite down, or low or high.

Ye noble barons, pray

That we may win towns, castles, gold,
And that our deeds in song be told.

HOW LOVE COMES

By ESTELLE DUCLO

When two shall understand, all-tacitly,

Nor words, nor touch, scarce glance shall thrill between,

But they shall know, unheard, unfelt, unseen ;

Then love has come-life's brooding Mystery!

JOHN KEATS

By EDWIN CARlile Litsey

An hostler's son! What boots the lowly birth
When manger-born was King of heaven and earth!
Pale-featured youth; father of deathless song;
So frail of flesh, of spirit ever strong.

At thy nativity the stars above

Most surely sang for joy, and, sent by love,

A white-winged messenger brought thee a lyre,
And touched thy infant's tongue with poet's fire!
O pity! pity! that the gods of ruth
Should quench the flame immortal in thy youth!
Almost a boy, for six and twenty years

Are short enough to learn of hopes and fears;
Of love, and life, and death, and heaven, and hell,
Whose mysteries and wonders thou didst tell.
Thy dying fear was useless-"Here lies one
Whose name was writ in water"-'Neath the sun
No name is more secure, John Keats, than thine,
O hostler's son, who sang with tongue divine!

THE UNDERCURRENT

By FREDERIC FAIRCHILD SHERMAN

Though passion like a storm may toss
Our thoughts in anger blind,

Or weariness as in a calm

Quiescent hold the mind,

Steadfast love in us hidden moves

As in the sea the tide,

The secret workings of His will

And not to be denied.

JAMES RHOADES.-The Eneid of Vergil. Translated into English Verse. A revision of an earlier translation that has taken rank among the best translations into English verse. New York: Longmans, Green & Co. 1907.

MARGARET P. MONTAGUE.-The Sowing of Alderson Cree. The author reveals in this realistic tale, the scene of which is laid in the mountains of West Virginia, a careful study of the habits and environment of these mountaineers. A story of love and hate, primitive and elemental, is woven out of the simple life of these plain people of Jumping Creek Draft, in a style that is in perfect harmony with the setting. New York: The Baker & Taylor Co. 1907.

There is some

EDITH RICKERT.-The Golden Hawk. thing of the charm of the old romances and the glorious color of magic Provence fixed for us in this exceedingly well-written story, wherein is told, in language of poetic beauty, of the coming and going of Trillon, a belated troubador in disguise who, half Villon, half d'Artagnan, never seems impossible in his modern environment, so different from that of the golden days of King René. New York: The Baker & Taylor Co. 1907.

CLARENCE F. BIRDSEYE.-Individual Training in Our Colleges. A book of great value to all interested in higher education in America, and one that must prove a vade mecum to all college teachers. Lacking any suggestion of the spirit of hectoring or gratuitous advising, the author's chapters have rather the appearance of formal reports, with which one need not agree in order to recognize their importance and value. New York: The Macmillan Co. 1907.

As the Hague Ordains.-Journal of a Russian Prisoner's Wife in Japan. Can it be that we are to have again that charm of diary and letter-writing of the days of the great