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There never was a time when there was not some translation existing. The Liturgy, admired for its energy and pathos, is an anthology of the piety of ages and nations, a translation of the prayers and forms of the Catholic church, these collected, too, in long periods, from the prayers and meditations of every saint and sacred writer all over the world.

"There ought to be some system about sending parcels to the front." "The Germans have it, they say. Soldier wants a book, on engineering, for example, or a history, or an anthology of recent poetry. Gets it at once through Government channels." "Say what you like about the Boches, they don't know the meaning of waste energy." "But you can't have method and efficiency in a democracy."

It is an inestimable privilege to have these Bibles of Humanity ranged along our shelves, and to have their choicest words at hand upon our tables, in some apt anthology. It would be well if their great sayings could be read in our churches, in connection with our Old Testament lessons, as the voices of the ethnic prophets of the Son of Man.

Emboldened by the immense success of Spoon River, he produced three more volumes in rapid succession; Songs and Satires in 1916, The Great Valley in the same year, and Toward the Gulf in 1918. It is fortunate for him that these works followed rather than preceded the Anthology; for although they are not destitute of merit, they seem to require a famous name to ensure a sale.

Whatever happens, we have already had fresh and exquisite revelations of natural beauty, and, in volumes like "North of Boston" and "A Spoon River Anthology," judgments of life that run very deep. American fiction seems just now, on the contrary, to be marking time and not to be getting noticeably forward. Few names unknown ten years ago have won wide recognition in the domain of the novel.

Spoon River Anthology has called forth a smaller number of deliberate imitations than might have been expected, and even they have utilized its method with a difference. Sherwood Anderson, for example, in Winesburg, Ohio speaks in accents and rhythms obstinately his own, though his book is, in effect, the Anthology "transprosed."

Greenleaf, Missy was sure, loved Miss Princess better than anything else in the world: then how could she, even if she was "proud," twist things so foolishly? She had brought with her the blue-bound Anthology and a writing-pad and pencil. First she read a little "Lochinvar" it was she opened to. Then she meditated. Poor Young Doc! The whole unhappy situation was like poetry.

In writing it, as a matter of fact, he was only breaking the rod over his own early self; for in his Stuttgart 'Anthology' he had committed nearly every sin for which now, from the serene heights of a better artistic insight, he castigated his victim. To poor Buerger, whose life was just then bitter enough at the best, the review was a terrible blow.

She turned through the pages of the Anthology until she came to another favourite: So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like young Lochinvar. This she read through, with a fine, swinging rhythm. "I think that last stanza's perfectly exquisite don't you?" Missy enquired of her mute audience. And she repeated it, as unctuously as though she were the poet herself.

My mornings to booksellers' compilations, after dinner to Stuart, who pays all my expenses here, let them be what they will; the earnings of the morning go to make up an hundred and fifty pounds for my year's expenditure; for, supposing all clear, my year's allowance is anticipated. So if any verses there strike you as worthy the "Anthology," "do me the honour, sir!"