They change their skies above them,
But not their hearts that roam !
We learned from our wistful mothers
To call old England 'home;'
We read of the English skylark,

Of the spring in the English lanes,
But we screamed with the painted lories
As we rode on the dusty plains!

They passed with their old-world legends-
Their tales of wrong and dearth—

Our fathers held by purchase,

But we by the right of birth;

Our heart's where they rocked our cradle,
Our love where we spent our toil,

And our faith and our hope and our honour
We pledge to our native soil!

The verses, and those that follow, are a positive initiation. As we read them our hearts beat and cheeks glow, and as by fire we realise the feeling of the 'native born'-how he loves his own land, and yet gives his homage to the dread high altars' of the race. Let no one suppose when we speak thus of this particular poem that we imagine it is going suddenly to become a household word in England, Scotland, and Ireland, or that the world will immediately grasp its meaning. That is given to few poems. But, without doing this, the poem, we believe, will have its effect on public opinion. Before it becomes popular in the ordinary sense it will work its way into the minds, first, of the more imaginative politicians and journalists and men of letters. Then through them and by various channels it will filter down. and affect the mass of the people.

What will happen will be not unlike that which

happened in regard to the feeling of the nation towards the privates of the British Army. Mr. Kipling, in his capacity of interpreter, and by means of his 'Barrackroom Ballads,' made the nation appreciate and understand its soldiers infinitely better than they had ever done before. Indeed, it is not too much to say that by means of this process of interpretation he changed the attitude of the nation. But though many thousands of people read how

It's Tommy this an' Tommy that, an' 'chuck him out, the brute;'

But it's saviour of his country' when the guns begin to shoot,

the change was for the most part wrought indirectly. When you let fly into a whole heap of billiard balls all are moved and affected, though only one or two feel the impact direct. It is enough if the poet touches those who can influence the rest.

Another example of Mr. Kipling's power of interpretation as a poet is to be seen in his sea-poems. 'The Bolivar,'' The Clampherdown,' and 'The Flag of England' are of incalculable value in making Englishmen realise that they have been and are still the lords of the sea, and what that priceless heritage means. You may talk to Robinson, the bill-broker, till you are black in the face about the command of the sea, and its political, commercial, and moral importance. He agrees, no doubt, and seems quite intelligent, but in reality marks you not. If, however, you can get him to listen to what the four winds made answer when they were asked what and where is the flag of England, who knows but you may have lighted a flame of inspiration which will re

main with him and make him realise the grandeur and high destiny of this realm of England?

Take, again, the way in which Mr. Kipling has interpreted the native East for Englishmen, and made them understand, as but few of them understood before, the gulf that stretches between the East and West, and realise that East and West, though each has its destiny, can never be one. Yet another example of Mr. Kipling's power of interpretation is to be found in the marvellous poem which he wrote on the American spirit, taking the Chicago riots as his 'peg.' The poet, as we point out in another essay in this volume, was not quite as careful as he ought to have been to avoid wounding the feelings of our American kinsfolk, but for insight and exposition it was a work of rare genius. It interpreted a certain side of the American character to perfection. And to do this at that moment was a most useful work, for over here men were bewildered and distracted by what was happening in the West.

We have spoken above only of Mr. Kipling, but it must not be supposed that we regard him as the only poet who acts as interpreter to the nation. We chose him because he does so to such practical effect. All true poets are, as we have said, interpreters, each in his own sphere. If they are not, they are mere embroiderers of melodious words. Mr. Watson, for example, has shown true inspiration in interpreting for us the great poets and the great movements of literature. His verses on Wordsworth, on Shelley, on Matthew Arnold, and on Burns are examples of what we mean. In those noble poems he brought many of us far nearer these mighty singers than we had ever yet approached, while

in his 'Father of the Forest' he interprets for his countrymen the splendid pageant of their past, and, as the lightning calls hill and vale out of the darkness, calls up for an instant the mighty dead of England.

No, as long as States are made and unmade, and men in their communities grope and wander, asking for the light, so long will the world need the poet's help. While there is anything to interpret and make clear to men who will act on what comes to them through their emotions, but will remain cold to the mere teachings of reason, the poet and his art will survive. When we are all so coldly reasonable that we cannot be stirred by 'Chevy Chase,' then, but not till then, will the poet's occupation be gone. Meantime let us remember that we lost America because we did not understand the feelings of the native born,' and thank heaven we have a poet-interpreter to help to save us from another such treason to our race as that to which George III. and Lord North incited.

C

TASTING LIFE

THERE is at the present moment a large and growing class of people who not only consider that they have a right to taste life as a man tastes claret or cigars, out of curiosity, or the desire to find what tickles his palate most pleasantly, but who believe that they are doing something which is almost meritorious per se in subjecting themselves to every possible form of sensation, mental and physical.

For example, M. Fénéon, a French War Office clerk, a year or two ago when put on his trial for complicity in an Anarchist plot, produced as a defence which he evidently thought would justify his conduct before the world the plea that he was only tasting Anarchy as he was wont to taste other forms of life. He was, he said, a Symbolist and an Impressionist, and he merely went into Anarchy out of curiosity. In fact, he had made sensation-seeking, and the tasting of life in all its forms, his hobby. But the study of Anarchy and the society of Anarchists offered a completely fresh vintage. What, then, was more reasonable than that he should ‘sample' the new liquor? The explanation of his conduct was really too clear to need elaboration. It was, of course, altogether unnecessary to point out that he had no sympathy with Anarchists. Though M. Fénéon did not use the