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possibly more gain than loss, should life cut the cord and use the sticks singly. Then, perhaps, engrossed by political reform, the poet's soul may be felt as an agent and no longer by its cohesion provoke the echo, beauty from stony world. Death has settled that, and for many minds, when Wordsworth's hare is watched, racing on the moors while that mist raised by her feet from the wet turf runs with her, a boy will soon appear accompanied with a sweeping veil of rain coursing the same uplands. And when the elder poet has listened to the old leech-gatherer standing in the pool, he will turn to welcome wisdom from young rain-brightened lips as Sorley draws to a halt at his side, to wonder over prehistoric men or speak generously of those of to-day and to morrow. His is but a continuation of Wordsworth's theme; for as the dignity of individuals depends on their resolute independence, so that dignity alone renders a social amalgam feasible. A nation is not fused by these sacrificing and exploiting those, but by all devoting and employing themselves, and no man has a chance of doing this till he is a free agent. Nations, too, can only build a civilised world by respecting each other's independence, and the downfall of Germany shows how little efficiency can atone for the wish to domineer. Efficiency is fine, but kindness is beautiful, and beauty is as strong as light, far stronger than any palpable thing; and in the long run it will prove to be the only rightful ruler. All other principles need to resort to force, but for beauty vision will win allegiance, so soon as the smoke of strife and commerce is out of men's eyes.