ciate the great literary merits which distinguish the best, if the best only, of these remarkable lyrics, remarkable in all cases for their vigour and audacity, in a considerable number of cases for the highest qualities of song. If anyone cannot see the power and beauty of such poems as "In Trafalgar Square," "One among so Many," "To England," "A South-Sea Islander," and "A Death at Sea," it would be useless to multiply words on the subject. Time will show whether these and other of their author's productions are worthy or unworthy to live. I have said that the "Songs of the Army of the Night" were a faithful expression of "a certain portion" of their author's feelings. It is necessary to make this limitation, because it would be an injustice to Francis Adams to let it be assumed, by those who may not be acquainted with his other writings, that his fiery zeal for social emancipation represents more than one side—albeit a most important one—of his many-sided labours. "I am but a poor devil who tries to touch life at several artistic points," He writes in one of his letters of 1892, "and if I give this one pleasure as a lyrist, and that as a dramatist, and that as a story-teller, and that as a critic, I am content." When quite a boy he had planned a vast cycle of character-sketches, a lifework which was to be realized in a series of poems and tales. "It was my modest little scheme" he continues "to draw types of all the social life of the day. 'Leicester' is the first of the series of novels and tales. Oh, I was going to do as big as Balzac that way! Fancy what a pretty scheme for a jackanapes of eighteen, and to have sweated at it all these years! I finished the last but one of the novels (chronologically) on my way out to Australia. There are three novels to do yet, and about eight short tales."
It may be seen from the appended list of Adams' published writings how great was the amount, and how wide the scope, of the literary effort (not to mention the journalistic work) put forth by him dur-
