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THE
QLISH
REVIEW
dited by AUSTIN HARRISON
JANUARY 1920
Poetry
The
The Relativity Theory of Gravitation
The Dead Half-Hour
The Problem of German " Sanity "
Mothers
Sir Rider Haggard's Romances
The Truth About the Navy
(Sir Percy Scott's Revelations)
Moon Upon Her Counterpane
The World and the Jews
The Poetic Futility of Flanders
Unity of Command
The Work of the Old Men
" Reparation "
Books
W. H. Davies
Late George Gissing
Bertrand Russell
Michael Arlen
Cecil Graeme
Baroness von Hutten
£. C. Rashleigh
E. X. Kapp
Israel Zangwill
Thomas Moult
Robert Williams
Austin Harrison
S. O.
POST FREE TO
ALL PARTS OP
THE WORLD.
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The English Review Advertiser
Why drink German Hocks or Moselles?
When FRANCE our ally offers us
the Produce of her Choicest Vineyards
Estate Wine
DO YOU KNOW?
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THAT MOSELORO ESTATE WINE is a White Wine of delightful bouquet and elegant flavour.
THAT MOSELORO ESTATE WINE is clean tasting and wholesome, free from acidity, and recommended by the medical profession for those subject to Gout and Rheumatism.
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Night
Advertisement Supplement
For Day ^ There are three materials of notable interest, the names of which an<j are familiar to us all; these are: "Viyella," "Aza," and
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The *]] A house without books has been likened to a room without win-
Conveni- dows. But books without a bookcase soon make a house untidy, ence of the an<^ become quickly soiled by lying about on tables or open shelves. For books unless properly preserved are harbingers of dust, and treasured volumes deserve a better fate. We are all more or less book collectors, and we should begin at once to be bookcase collectors. In this way we can build a library by degrees without spending a lot of money at once. The Oxford Sectional Bookcase, which has been exhibited at many exhibi- tions, is one of the best kinds procurable. Each section of it is a perfectly constructed piece of furniture. The bookcase is splendidly finished, and is made in many varieties to harmonise with different furnishing schemes for library or study. The patriotic book-lover should write for a free booklet to the sole inventors and manufacturers, Messrs. William Baker and Co., Ltd., Oxford — established over ioo years.
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daily breads. It should be a peace-time resolution not to be lured
away to the long-lost delights of white bread, but to remain
2
Sectional Bookcase.
The English Review Advertiser
in
"Mr. Lloyd George and Foch'
{Rcprin'ed from the "Manchester Guardian.")
" a FTER the lunch Dr. Magian, director of the French Hospital at Whit- /\ worth Park, of which Mr. Lloyd George is president, was presented to the Prime Minister, who signed the President's roll, which was illuminated with paintings of the Allied military chiefs.
" Ha ! " said Mr. Lloyd George, pointing to the portrait of Marshal Foch at the head of the parchment. "Splendid ! I would sign anything with Foch on it !" Dr. Magian offered his fountain pen. " No, no," said Mr. Lloyd George, " I'm going to sign this with the Peace Pen," and he did so with the gold- mounted pen* that he had used to sign the Treaty of Peace.
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* This is a replica, in reduced size, of Mr. Lloyd George's Waterman's Ideal Fountain Pen.
L. G. Sloan, Ltd., Cheapen Corner Kingsway, London, W.C 2.
experience in library furnishing and equipment is behind the
SedionalBcDkcase
As exhibited at " /ileal Homes " (Olympia, London), and other exhibitions.
It ig a perfect'y constructed, handsome piece of furniture, and is the only sectional bookcase which does not give an ' ' Office " appearance to the room. It will suit any room or any scheme of decoration, being made in oak or mahog- any—inlaid or plain. And the price is extremely moderate. WARNING. William Baker & Co., Ltd., are the sole makers of the OXFORD Sectional Bookcase, and they caution the public against being misled by imitations similar in name and appearance, but quite differently con- structed, of inferior workmanship and much higher prices. Please thoroughly investigate the merits of the " Oxford,-' obtaining the illustrated, free catalogue from the sole proprietors and makers,
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Established over 100 years.
faithful to brown, which is especially nourishing for children, old people, and invalids. There is no substitute for Bermaline best brown bread, which is sold by bakers at 6d. per lb. loaf. Any reader of the English Review who has not tried it should write to Bermaline Mills, Ibrox, Glasgow, for a free sample loaf, and address of the nearest Bermaline baker.
"Tatcho" III Amongst the efficient remedies for baldness "Tatcho" holds high place ; it is, in fact, one of the few new words of power ; generally recognised by all those men and women who are losing their hair in these days of stress and strain. The fact that a personality so gifted and astute as Mr. George R. Sims, with his unique position amongst his contemporaries, is the guarantor of "Tatcho's" genuine and remarkable powers of renewing the growth of hair, and giving nature a fresh start, is enough to commend this well-established compound to our serious attention. Thanks to a competent business organisation, the prescription has been placed at the disposal of the public upon extremely easy terms ; it can be found wherever civilisation penetrates, ready to hand, and many thousand men and women bear silent but constant testimony to its beneficial efficiency.
A Good Wine
It is good news in these days of restrictions to hear of a good wine. Those who like white wine will be glad to learn of Moseloro, an Estate wine which is of a choice delicacy and possesses all the fine characteristics of the old-time German Moselles, but is infi- nitely superior in quality. Moseloro is a pure still wine of delight- ful bouquet and rich flavour — it is clean-tasting and wholesome, and recommended by the medical profession for those subject to gout and rheumatics. It is a brand of Estate wine specially selected from the choicest vineyards in France. Moseloro is obtain- able at all leading hotels, restaurants, and wine merchants, or direct from Moseloro, 15 Charlotte Street, W.
Tho Pp«\ fl ^ writers are busy people and desire to write as much as possible ^ in a given time. Things often have to be dashed off at a furious tor a DUSy Speed, and one needs all concentration on the subject in hand. Most Writer writers carry their own special brand of fountain pen about with
them and find it a boon and a blessing. Waterman's (Ideal ' foun- tain pen has proved itself a possession of exceptional value and merit, and has won the admiration of all its regular users. During the war innumerable Waterman pens were sent to the soldiers, who were just as enthusiastic about their excellence as their friends at home. Now that the soldiers have returned to desk and college, they would highly appreciate the gift of a Waterman — it is, in fact, an ideal gift for men and women home from the war. There are three types of pen, the "Self-filling" and "Safety," 155. and upwards. There is the No. 74, "Regular," at iys. 6d., with the security cap, and the "Regular," from 105. 6d. The Waterman's Ideal Fountain Pen is obtainable from stationers and jewellers everywhere, and direct from L. G. Sloan, Ltd., The Pen Corner, Kingsway. Satisfaction is guaranteed. There are nibs to suit everyone, and they are exchangeable if not suitable.
A. E. M. B.
The English Review Advertiser
After Fishing
—A Mustard Bath
HOW luxuriously clean and "fit" you feel after a Mustard Bath! It seems to get the dirt right out of your skin and to replace it with invigorating tonic. " Like a turkish bath in your own home," just de- scribes a hot Mustard-all- \ over Bath. Refreshment, invigoration, and a supreme l!5$l§2sJ sense of physical comfort JI^Jl are derived. You ^o for- ., ward with your evening's enjoyment feeling like a " new man."
Column's Bath Mustard
Use Colman' s Bath Mustard especially put up for the bath. Or simply take two or three table- spoonfuls of ordinary Colman' s "Mustard ; mix it with a little cold water and stir it round in your bath.
An interesting booklet by Raymond
'Blathuayt will be sent free of
charge on application to J. & J.
Colman, Ltd., Norwich.
vi The English Review Advertiser
READ
WHICH GOD?
OR
THE WORLD BATTLE OF THE JEWS
By AUSTIN HARRISON.
In the December Issue of
THE ENGLISH REVIEW
1/6 net.
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The English Review Advertiser
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The Bread for 1920.
Bermaline
Glowing health and strength are implied in the words — around the fire one wintry night, the farmer's rosy children sat, — just as they are in Bermaline Best Brown Bread, a typical embodiment of finest wheat and barley. Palate is always pleased and body strengthened by Ber- maline. It is sure of a warm welcome at the children's New Year Party.
Write to Bermalin: Mills, Ibrox, Glasgow,
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nearest Bermaline Baker.
Vlll
The English Review Advertiser
THE ENGLISH REVIEW
Edited by Austin Harrison CONTENTS OF THE ONE HUNDRED^AND^THIRTY^FOURTH NUMBER
1. W. H. DAV1ES
THE LATE GISSING
GEORGE JSSELL
3. MICHAEL ARLEN
4. CECIL GRAEME
5. BARONESS VON HUTTEN
6. E. C. RASHLEIGH
PAGK
The Song of Life 1
The Death of the Children 1,0
The Relativity Theory of Gravitation 1 1
The Dead Half-Hour 19
The Problem of Ger- man " Sanity " 29
Mothers 36
Sir Rider Haggard's Romances 45
[Contents continued on page x.
A few drops of Tatcho occasionally and vigorous brushing — and you will be able to say with Mr. Geo. R. Sims —
TATCHO
|<7/>' HAIR GROWER
" Look at my hair now ! "
The very name of Tatcho inspires confidence. As Mr. Geo. R. Sims, the author, dramatist and philanthropist, said to the editor of the Daily Mail, " Look at my hair now, look at the colour. Isn't that convincing evidence of the value of Tatcho. Ladies confirm my good opinion of it."
From Chemists and Stores everywhere at 1/3, 2/9 and 4-/6.
Photo by]
Mr. G. R. SIMS.
[Lavts, Eastbourne.
CONTRIBUTORS— JANUARY ISSUE.
Mr. GEORGE GISSING has now, of course, a definite place in our litera- ture. He was the first of our novelists who dealt faithfully with the depths, for which at the time he had to suffer. Very occasionally he wrote poetry, but none of it has been published. This is one of the few examples extant.
Mr. W. H. DAVIES is now recognised as perhaps our purest natural singer in poetry. He is popularly known as the tramp poet.
Mr. ROBERT WILLIAMS is the well- known leader of the Transport Union.
The HON. BERTRAND RUSSELL is
one of our greatest mathematicians
and writers. Mr. E. X. KAPP seems 'destined to
wear the mantle of Max Beerbohm
as caricaturist and writer of prose
fantasy. BARONESS VON HUTTEN, popularly
known as Pam, is an American by
birth. Mr. MICHAEL ARLEN is a young
writer who seems certain to become
well-known.
The English Review Advertiser
IX
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The English Review Advertiser
CONTENTS (continued)
8. E. X. KAPP
9. ISRAEL ZANGWJLL
10. THOMAS MOULT
11. ROBERT WILLIAMS
12. AUSTIN HARRISON
13. S. O. 14.
The Truth About the Navy (Sir Percy 55 Scott's Revelations)
Moon Upon Her Counterpane 62
The World and the Jews 64
The Poetic Futility of Flanders 68
Unity of Command 72
The Work of the Old Men 79
" Reparation Books
91
93
FEELING washighandstrifebetween partisans not infrequent in Glas- gow, as elsewhere, in 1G50. An impression of these stirring times may be gained from this picture of Archery Boyd in the Pulpit railing at Cromwell. In these days differences of opinion are often softened or dissolved over a pipe of that world-famed Tobacco •' SMITH'S GLASGOW MIXTURE."
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The English Review Advertiser
The Ideal Antiseptic Shaving Soap.
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If any difficulty in obtaining, write to —
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xn
The English Review Advertiser
►ope®Bfjj>le55 for her and her alone.
Sole Pmvri\-t,,r M.DrnrujtBmllru %•'
Civil. Militant <v Nacal -7rt iters.
By H. DENNIS BRADLEY.
JVISTC'V A ' D MI5TRCSSCS
1HIS affliction of telling the truth will be the death of me— when I grow old and ugly. But it really is a fascinating adventure. It is rather a shame to spoil the beau- tiful Peace and political loud laughter, but the future is ominous. • Heaven knows P"am not a pessimist, but omens are omens, and I fear the de- feat of man. Not by wars, but by women. Ominous in khaki, for years our splen- did women have stalked our streets — and favourite hotels — shouldering every- one aside with militaristic intolerance. And now when the fair Bellona conde- scends to flimsy mufti, her full intents are revealed — to say nothing of other revelations. Daily her deeds of derring- do fill our papers — and our divorce courts.
The aim of woman is the complete subjugation, financial and physical, of the male.
Man must not be allowed to develop be- yond his elemental functions as fertiliser and provider. It is for him to be drab and sombre, and ruthlessly to economise, in order that woman may annex the lime- light, the colour, and the gaiety.
And the aged, futile, and unfertile members of his sex rush sycophantically to Be lona's aid.
" Let the young man of to-day be manly ! Coloured clothes and shapely cuts are not for our stern and truculent sex," cries the elderly and corpulent traitor to his sex, stroking his stimulated stomach, and smacking his lascivious lips.
To meet the many requests, reproductions oj some of this series of Piiture-, ,nc ucii g " The Original Jazz," " The Interrupted Jazz, " The Beau i/ul
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17" X 12", at 1 . each.
—~ And woman subtly laughs ! And so —
Let woman, lovely, altruistic, timid, shrinking woman, array herself in thousand-guinea sab.es! For her let the osprey be stripped of his breast feathers ! Let the unborn lamb lose its astrachan and the bird of paradise its tail ! Let the misanthropic oyster be deprived of its one ewe-pearl !
For her let the diamond seekers sweat and toil till their tongues are parched and their eyes bloodshot !
Let the jazz band strive in frenzy ! Let the chefs concoct wonderful dishes ! Let the vines ripen ! For her and her alone !
" Hell," said the Duchess, " let the young man remember that it is for him to provide and to pay, not to vie."
" So let him economise and wear sensible shapeless Victorian clothes A coat of unobtrusive drab and a serviceable umbrella are his natural portion — all else is decadent and effeminate in a male."
And one vast twitter of applause arises from myriads of fema'e throats.
* * * * *'* * * *
Man must stand for at least an equality of the sexes.
He must fight against this insidious Pussyfoot propaganda.
Hideously outnumbered as he is, man has his rights. Imagine for one moment the scornful fury of even a small part revue actress condemned to wear for her nightly jazz the ludicrous lingerie and lachrymose clothes of the darkest Victorian age !
It is on'y on rare occasions I scratch back at the primitive sex, but when this appears perhaps 1 may lunch alone for a while.
*********
Co-rcspondently, this house continues to supply antagonistic clothes to the young and virile generation at prices not immoral. Lounge Suits from ^10 10s. ; Dinner Suits from ^14 14s.; Dress Suits from £16 16s.; Overcoats from £10 10s.
TWO .ESTABLISHMENTS ONLY
MOLD BOND STREET. W® U-15 SOUTHAMPTON K0WWC
THE
ENGLISH REVIEW
January, 1920
The Song of Life
By W. H. Davies
I
A sneeze from Time gives Life its little breath ; Time yawns, and lo ! he swallows Life in Death ; When we forget, and laugh without a carej Time's Prompter, Death, reminds us what we are.
II
O thou vain fool, to waste thy breath and theirs, Who pipes this day to make thy fellows dance ; To-morrow Death will make thy body show How worms can dance without thy music once.
Ill
We are but fools, no matter what we do. By hand or brain we work, and waste our breath ; Life's but a drunkard, in his own strange way, Sobered at last by thy strong physic, Death.
IV
Life is a fisherman, and Time his stream, But what he catches there is but a dream ; Our Youth and Beauty, Riches, Power and Fame, Must all go back again from whence they came*
I B
THE ENGLISH REVIEW
V Death gives a Royal Prince the same dumb grin As to the beggar's wayside brat of sin. The cunning Spider soon himself must lie Dead in that trap he sets to catch a Fly.
VI
Time grants to man no freehold property ; The power of man, however great it be, Is only granted here for a short lease. Voices the world has called divine must cease.
VII
Fools that we think of Fame, when there's a force To make a coffin of this world of ours
And sweep it clean of every living thing
What then becomes of man and all his powers?
VIII
Think of our giants now — they're auctioneers, That shout and hammer for the people's cheers ; Their solemn pose is seen where Fashion rules And crowded rooms are still their easy schools.
IX
We call these rockets steadfast stars, and give Them honours, wealth, and swear their works will live ; We call them giants, while the greater ones Move like dark planets round those favoured suns.
X
This world, that licks them with its pleasant slime, Will swallow them in but a little time ; Their Fame's like Death's, when that cold villain places Bright looks of youth on dying old men's faces.
XI
We pass away, forgotten and neglected. When thou, poor fool, hast lately filled thy grave, Thy friends will bring thee cut and costly flowers, Flowers that will leave no living seed behind, And fade and perish in a few short hours.
THE SONG OF LIFE
XII
Perchance they'll set the soil with roots of plants To live and bloom again there, year by year,
Made wet at times by Heaven's dew or rain
But never once a loving human tear.
XIII
Plants that will need no help from human hands
To make thy grave look lovely, warm and sweet
When all, except the fierce wild cat, has gone, That lies in wait to pounce upon those birds That beat the snails to death against thy stone.
XIV I hear men say : — " This Davies has no depth, He writes of birds, of staring cows and sheep,
And throws no light on deep, eternal things "
And would they nave me talking in my sleep?
XV
I say : " Though many a man's ideas of them Have made his name appear a shining star, Yet Life and Death, Time and Eternity, Are still left dark, to wonder what they are
XVI
" And if I make men weigh this simple truth,
It is on my own mind the light is thrown ;
I throw no light on that mysterious Four,
And, like the great ones, nothing I make known."
XVII Yet I believe that there will come at last A terrible knowledge to our human lives : And blessed then will be the fools that laugh, Without the fear Imagination gives.
XVIII
Aye, even now, when I sit here alone,
I feel the breath of that strange terror near ;
But as my mind has not sufficient strength
To give it shape or form of any kind,
I turn to things I know, and banish fear.
3 b 2
THE ENGLISH REVIEW
XIX
I turn to Man, and what do I behold? What is the meaning of this rush and tear To ride from home by water, land, or air ? We'll want the horses soon, when our life fails, To drag a corpse along as slow as snails.
XX
Why should this toil from early morn till night Employ our minds and bodies, when the Earth Can carry us forever round the Sun Without the help of any mortal birth?
XXI
And why should common shelter, bread and meat, Keep all our faculties in their employ, And leave no time for ease, while Summer's in The greenwood, purring like a cat for joy?
XXII
For still the People are no more than slaves ; Each State a slave-ship, and no matter which The figure-head — a President or King; The People are no more than common grass To make a few choice cattle fat and rich.
XXIII
They toil from morn till eve, from Youth to Age; They go from bud to seed, but never flower. " Ah," says the Priest, " we're born to suffer here A hell on earth till God Almighty's Hour "
XXIV
A hell on earth? . . . We'll ask the merry Moth That, making a partner of his shadow thrown, Dances till out of breath; we'll ask the Lark That meets the Rain half-way and sings it down.
XXV
In studying Life we see this human world Is in three states — of copper, silver, and gold, And those that think in silver take the joy; Thinking in copper and gold, the poor and rich Keep misery in too little and too much.
4
THE SONG OF LIFE
XXVI Though with my money I could cram a mouth Big as an Alpine gorge with richest stuff, Yet Nature sets her bounds ; and with a lake Of wine — to-night one bottle's quite enough.
XXVII
If I can pluck the rose of sunset, or
The Moon's pale lily, and distil their flower
Into one mental drop to scent my soul
I'll envy no man his more worldly power.
XXVIII What matters that my bed is soft and white, If beggars sleep more sweet in hay, or there, Lying at noon beneath those swaying boughs Whose cooling shadows lift the heavy air.
XXIX
Not owning house or land, but in the space Our minds inhabit, we are rich or poor : If I had youth, who dances in his walk, On heels as nimble as his lighter toes. I'd set no price on any earthly store.
XXX
And wine and women, both have had their day, When nothing else would my crazed thoughts allow; Until my nerves shook like those withered leaves Held by a broken cobweb to the bough.
XXXI
I touched my mistress lightly on the chin, Whistling away in my light-hearted fashion;
I touched her gently with my finger-tips
That girl so merciless in her strong passion.
XXXII
She looked at me a long, long time, and said :
" Since Love, my man, has reached that flippant mood-
With no more care than that — I'd rather you
Had struck my mouth, and dashed my lips with blood."
5
THE ENGLISH REVIEW
XXXIII
And is there naught in life but lust? thought I; Feeble my brain was then, and small, and weak; She held it in her power, ever as a bird With his live breakfast squirming from his beak.
XXXIV
Man finds in such a Woman's breast the tomb Where his creative powers must soon lie dumb; To kiss the tomb with his contented tong-ue, Wherein she buries half his strength of song.
XXXV
They say that under powerful drugs the tongue Will babble wildly of some sin or wrong That never happened — even virgins then Tell devilish lies about themselves and men.
XXXVI
Under that drug of lust my brain was mazed, And oft I babbled in a foolish way ; And still she bounced the babies in her eyes, For Love's mad challenge not to miss one day.
XXXVII
But that is passed, and I am ready now
To come again, sweet Nature, to your haunts ;
Not come together like a snake and stone,
When neither body gives the other heat
But full of love to last till Life has eone.
8
XXXVIII
A little while and I will come again, From my captivity in this strange place; That has these secret charms to lure me on, In every alley dark and open space.
XXXIX
That makes me like the jealous lover who, Eavesdropping at a keyhole, trembles more Because the silence there is worse to him than sound, And nothing's heard behind the fastened door.
6
THE SONG OF LIFE
XL
To you I'll .come, my old and purer friend, With greater love in these repentant hours; To let your Brooks run singing to my lips, And walk again your Meadows full of flowers.
XLI
I'll stroke again the foreheads of your Cows, And clothe my fingers in your Horses' manes ; I'll hear again that music, when a pony trots Along your hard, white country roads and lanes.
XLII
Kissed with his warm eyelashes touching mine, I'll lie beneath the Sun, on golden sheaves; Or see him from the shade, when in his strength He makes frail cobwebs of the solid leaves.
XLIII
I'll see again the green leaves suddenly Turned into flowers by resting butterflies; While all around are small, brown, working bees, And hairy black-and-ambers, twice their size.
XLIV
And there'll be ponds that lily-leaves still keep-
Though rough winds blow there — lying fast asleep. And pools that measure a cloud from earth to sky, To sink it down as deep as it is high.
XLV
And many a charming truth will I discover;
How birds, after a wetting in the rain,
Can make their notes come twice as sweet ; and then
How sparrows hop with both their legs together.
While pigeons stride leg after leg, like men.
XLVI
Nature for me, in every mood she has;
And frosty mornings, clear and cold, that blind
The cattle in a mist of their own breath
Shall never come and find my heart unkind.
7
THE ENGLISH REVIEW
XLVII
And I'll forget these deep and troubled thoughts; How, like a saucy puppy, Life doth stand Barking upon this world of crumbling sand ; Half in defiance there, and half in fear-
For still the waves of Time are drawing near.
XLVIII
Would birds, if they had thoughts of their short days, Stand on the boughs and carol such sweet lays ? Is it not better then that we should join The birds in song than sit in grief and pine ?
XLIX
Come, let us laugh — though there's no wit to hear ; Come, let us sing — though there's no listener near; Come, let us dance — though none admire our grace, And be the happier for a private place.
L
A quiet life with Nature is my choice And, opening there my Book of Memory,
The record of my wild young roving blood
I'll sail the seas again, and reach strange ports, And light a fire in many a silent wood.
LI
Under white blossoms spread all over him, Have I not seen the Ocean laugh and roll Have I not seen a boundless prairie lay So full of flowers it could employ the whole World's little ones to pick them in a day?
EII
I'll sail the great Atlantic, whose strong waves Could lift the ship " Tritonia " up so high That to my wondering mind it ofttimes seemed About to take the air above, and fly !
8
THE SONG OF LIFE
LIII
Up North I'll go, where steel, more cold than death,
Can burn the skin off any naked hands
Down to those woods where I'll at midnight read By one fat glow-worm's light in Southern lands.
LIV
I'll see again, in dreams, the full-rigged Ship Wearing the Moon as a silver ring at night On her main finger; while the water shines, Fretted with island-shadows in the light.
LV
With all the wealth of Heaven : those perfect stars That draw near earth in numbers to amaze; The bubble-light of others deep impooled, The shadowy lustre of those lesser rays.
LVI
I'll see again, in my long winter dreams, That ice-berg In the north, whose glorious beams Fluttered in their cold prison, while the Sun Went up and down with our good ship, like one.
LVII
I'll dream of Colorado's rushing stream; And how I heard him slap his thighs of stone So loud that Heaven had never power to make His canyon hear more thunder than his own.
LVIII
There will I live with Nature, there I'll die; And if there's any Power in Heaven above,
A God of vengeance, mercy, and sweet love
If such a judge there be, I can but trust In Him for what is only fair and just.
LIX I'll place my hope in some few simple deeds That sacrificed a part of my own needs
All for the love of poor Humanity
Without a single thought, O Lord, of Thee.
9 *
The Death of the Children
(Burnt in a Workhouse Fire, Christmas, 1883) By the late George Gissing
O Children, Death in kindness bade you rise,
And quit the game, while life was yet but play;
Though sad to us the closing winter day That quench'd the gleam of laughter in your eyes. What though the anguish of the dread surprise
Marr'd the young faces when at rest they lay?
One moment summ'd the sorrow-laden way We weary o'er in growing old and wise.
Mourn not the children. If we needs must mourn, Be it for those their loss leaves desolate, While death withholds his oft-entreated boon.
iA,nd should they sorrow, that, by toil unworn, Their dear ones rest so early, and kind fate Spares them the heat and burden of the noon ?
* George Gissing sent this poem to Mrs. Frederic Harrison at the It has not been printed before.
time.
IO
The Relativity Theory of Gravitation
By Bertrand Russell
To explain Einstein's theory of gravitation in popular terms is a difficult task; perhaps, as yet, an impossible one, because the theory of relativity, upon which it is based, demands a revolution in our conceptions of space and time. In regard to time, especially, the new view is difficult for those who have never questioned common-sense assumptions. If civili- sation continues, we may hope that our great-grandchildren will be brought up on the modern view from the first, in which case they will doubtless wonder what it was that we found so puzzling. But for us the assumption of the one all-embracing time is so much