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ESSAYS IN IDLENESS.
Oh, when shall Englishmen
With such acts fill a pen,
Or England breed again
Such a King Harry?"

Political economists and chilly historians and all long-headed calculating creatures generally may perhaps hint that invading France was no part of England's business, and represented fruitless labor and bloodshed. But this, happily, is not the poet's point of view. He dreams with Hotspur

"Of basilisks, of cannon, culverm,
Of prisoners' ransom and of soldiers slain,
And all the 'currents of a heady fight."

He hears King Harry's voice ring clearly above the cries and clamors of battle:—

"Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead;"

and to him the fierce scaling of Harfleur and the field of Agincourt seem not only glorious but righteous things. "That pure and generous desire to thrash the person opposed to you because he is opposed to you, because he is not 'your side,'" which Mr. Saintsbury declares to be the real incentive of all good war songs, hardly permits a too cautious analysis of mo-