April Nineteen-fifteen vS By the Same Writer, The Great Companions. 1908. The Wanderer and Other Poems. 1910. The Adventure: a Play. igil. The Free Spirit. 1914. A Life of Walt Whitman, 1905. Abraham Lincoln. 1907. Walt Whitman and His Poetry. 1915. /April Nineteen- Fifteen with Six Preludes in Winter. Henry Bryan Binns London: 191 5: A. C.Fifield,i 3 Clifford's Inn />7^ Contents Six Preludes in Winter: Page I. Demeier's Fosterling 7 2. Return 7 3. The Cage . 8 4. The Tempest 9 5, The Sword . 10 6. TA^ Theme II April Nineteen-fifteen • 13 Envoy . . 31 I Six Preludes in Winter : 1914-15 I. Demeier's Fosterling THE loving solidity of the earth beneath my feet : the evening sky, hurrying with hosts that it transcends : the far-gleaming flood : the turn of the wet road through the trees : the multitudinous presence of the wooded hills — Feed in my soul what is fellow of great kindred, com- panion of the evening light : They nourish something in me my thought of me would find no place at all for : something that feeds on wonder : Some infant that Demeter herself, unknown, is fostering : tempering him with old-time rites as once Demophoon, Cradled now in her own bosom, and now Entrusted, watchfully, to the fire. 2. Return TWILL go back into the blessed Earth ! I will not wait for Death to call me, For dire disaster to befall me : Thither whence I came forth I will go back. Orphan my heart is, weak for mother-lack, And can no more, for all its striving, Endure the day of love's depriving: To-night I will go back to Mother Earth. 8 April Nineteen-fifteen Weary of me, weary for a new birth : With me and my mere self-hood sated, I come to be emancipated From myself, dispossessed again — to-night. 3. The Cage UPON these nights and days, as though they were The wires and spaces of a cage, I beat Restlessly, who for the open air Am fashioned and complete. The comfortable round of easy things — Small passions, safe adventures, bloodless gifts — Is all a prison to me whose wings Are mightier than a swift's : To whom the sky is natural, where each stroke Upon the delicate air is perilous : My spirit, that hath its wings unbroke. Will not be cabined thus ! Whatever dread undreamt haunt the abyss, Fear shall not clip me : I will draw my breath Where life is full, whether on this Or the yonder side of death. Life is mine only while it bears the sheer Exultancy of a spirit that hath striven And won its free way through the sphere That is both earth and heaven. Preludes in Winter 4. The Tempest THE wind is full of wickedness Wantoning forth out of its lair : The horror of a mad caress Possesses the bewildered air. Refuge from it is none for me To-night : a voice of frenzied wrath Yells through the world tempestuously My face is spattered with its froth. — Yonder the world's at battle. Here War also rages, bursting in At chink and chimney, shrill with fear That clamours down the tempest's din. With every tool I touch I could Do murder. An insensate breath Gasps in my lungs : the only good I can conceive of doing is death ! But in the spiritual ground Beneath I thrust, grappling to keep A stay-hold in this swirling stound. This nightmare that is not asleep. Urging its need my spirit delves Deep in the dark : its roots arc blind, Yet they discover of themselves That the mysterious Earth is kind. lo April Nineteen-fifteen Though all the world is wild with war, Though madness riots in my brain, The darkness opens like a door. Earth takes me to her heart again. My prayer finds out a secret way Into the bosom of the Earth : Down to the springs of life I pray — The loving Ufe that gave me birth. w 5. The Sword HO carries in his hand a colder steel Than hate ever begat or fire brought forth ? Whose hand is sterner than the frozen North ? The Love with whom I deal. My hands that create peace, my hands that bless, These hands whereby upon the rood I hung. Are the strong hands implacable that strung My bow of righteousness : And I am prince of peace because my glance Is keener than the falcon's to discover Hypocrisy, when it hides beneath the cover Of a kind countenance : Because, relentless as a surgeon's knife. My love cuts out the cankering root of sin That does its secret murdering within The belov'd breast of life. Preludes in Winter 1 1 Because he is calm with justice, he is peace : He is love because he turns not in dismay From death's dark office — body itself to slay That spirit may have release. 6. The Theme O TREMBLING wild uncertain note- A 'wildering gleam, a gusty shower, Sobbing in April's throat ! O cradle, on this perilous hour Stormily tossed like a little boat ! O bom before thy time, — a frail Nothing — and yet a fierce desire The cliff of life to scale ! living, flickering spirit of fire Smouldering in a smoky veil ! O, of what dark form art thou twin — Companion in one body with What shame — and yet dost win Joy of thy melancholy kith, Glory of thy poor shiftless kin ! Thou that, to my penitent eyes Thy sempiternal beauty hast Ever in doubtful guise Discovered, and again aghast 1 stood, my wisdom all unwise 12 April Nineteen-fifteen That shunned thy pitiful company Of the stumble-footed and insecure : I have sought only for Thee But with blind sight, O holy and pure Spirit that shunnest security ! April Nineteen-fifteen I. All Fools' Day. TO-DAY she comes : and all the wise remain Buttoned into their buds. We April-fools Already at her appearing Hasten out-bursting recklessly to greet her, Flinging our cloaks away, Unfurling our flags of delight That cannot be put up again Though who knows what black blast Shall leap out of the East to slay and ravage Our young battalions, hanging down Like blasted chestnut leaves, tattered upon us ? Divine April herself is but a fool : She puts her beauty in peril, her beauty that Earth Dotes on. " April ! " — her Mother cries, " Why will you always haunt along the marches Of terror, out of my sight, apart from your companions. By your own wilful way ? " 14 April Nineteen-fifteen 2. O daffodils, wide-winged in the orchard grass, O flowery garden-plots, welcome this April ! — In woods where her feet go Are wind-flowers : and across the wide land Cuckoo declares her. Twiggy labyrinths Shrill with the glee of mouse-like visitors. Pale cuckoo-flower ventures along the rill-side. In the pine-wood, sea-light flows into pools : There is a sea-sound : a resinous presence Wanders the ways with aeolian singing. Not far is Death now the daffodils beckon: For Joy, that in April delights to gather Flowers, beckons Death and herself is Fair for his gathering. Stranger to Joy : dark : jealous of life's increase — When he beholds Demeter's daughter. Out of his seat in the grim grave, bursting Like lava-ravin upon a blossomy world. He snatches her. She stood with daffodils in the wet grass. Her grey eyes flickered with the light Of Earth's incredible promise, and I believed The entire word of Freedom that was in her, April- Persephone. Her lips were telHng The syllables of delight : when — she was not : I heard only the thick breathing of Death. ^iSiVy April Nineteen-fifteen 15 He hath snatched her away : her promise is unfulfilled. If in his eyes she was fair, he understood of her beauty Only how exquisitely it should pleasure his sense. He beheld her ; he snatched her away to his bridals ! She A spirit like to the angels, that dwelt but in flesh to fulfil That which she promised : but he hath snatched at her flesh- Trusting that it should betray this it was pledged to fulfil. And cheat earth of that sheer joy that he hates, for his proud Tyrannous pleasure is only his own. But April's ever Lifted the wild heart up out of desire into worship. April's own delight was a sunbeam in the pine-wood, Bidding the bodily forms declare the wonder within. 5. The pine-trees stand up in the morning sun With naked ruddy limbs, an Indian troop ! O far away they stand — O, long ago ! It is some morning of the early world Ere I was young, and that insurgent sound Murmurs on some forgotten strand of the sea. In the midst, shadowy-clear, Limned in a luminous sea-light, One airily lifts its pale high stem Up, a living marvel of line whose arrowy poise Is so intense with movement that it sings The syllables of April. 1 6 April Nineteen-fifteen 6. In April- Persephone The old, old dreams of Earth Are old, old dreams no longer ! Liberty is a dream no more : A morning-spirit embodied She is standing in the sunny pool Of sea-hght where the tall pines stand As at the beginning of days. As at the beginning, flickers Mystery in the girl's face, and her body Shines with her spirit, as the bodies of sea-children Gleam with the sea's strange glee. {Within me, Thou, fountain-head of all wonder — And shall I turn back again to last year's blossoming ? Shall I turn back to the joyless petals of joy ? — Within me. Thou, fountain-head of all wonder !) 7- As in the breeze the delicate daffodils Hesitate trembling : as visions etherial Catching at substance a moment, will tremble — So while the pines made a temple about her Filled with the sea-light, my faith Worshipping saw her. Frail as wood-sorrel That exquisite hope : it was fashioned Age-long in Earth's womb to a visible presence Out of the passion of faith, that of all Tissue of form is the last to endure. Solid and sure stood the pines, but unreal Their shapes till among them this Presence, April Nineteen-fifteen 17 Subtler than light. About her, incomparable, The pines were for language : she uttering in them The joy of her being, Earth's ultimate essence and glory among the gods. April, spirit immortal of infinite meaning. There is no creature of earth putting forth The secret within him : — in the twigs no singer. On the ocean of love no all-adventurer. None that entrusteth to life the sacred thing But gives you worship. Maiden, Catching a glimmer of your dehght. Mistrustful, myself I know : I abandon me not to the fierce Wantoning tide of the body : insidious tide of the soul. Setting away to sea. Mistrustful — yet in myself Somewhat I know to trust : yea, on the Jieadlong current Rushing to sea, I entrust to him heaven and earth ! 9- Surely after long winter waiting, barren desolate days. Purpose all but lost, no longer any meaning In toiling or in pleasure — surely at long last. Comes the incredible hope man had and had forgotten. Stands again beside him the Shining Friend. And the God-like spirit that is in man but slumbers Answers with speech, responds with radiant eyes, Comes forth into a new world heedless of aught Save that to his companion he shall come forth and live. B 1 1 8 April Nineteen-fifteen 10. " Come forth into your happiness that is the sun and rain : Dear one, come forth into the new world here Where summer is beginning ! Here cuckoo calls and shrill the wr5nieck answers : Here the tall cherry-tree is full of bees : Here is the Christ arisen out of the stony churches ! Here is youth ever-again renewing his wings : [nies : Shedding of outgrown forms, here : shattering of tyran- Here is mastery over the doubt whether the will to create is after all creative Or merely a vain billow, sinking, achieving nothing. " In the world whose door I open — Dear one, come forth to this new beginning of summer ! — Is defeat for the creepings upon you of sluggish doubt, Is flouting of fear, is braving of slow paralysis : The battle is pitched out here between daring and death. Here call the marching drums, the whimbrel fifes of free- dom — Here outside your door, outside your door ! " II. What is this happiness among the grave trees — An April daffodilly sprung of grey leaves ? Little tree-creepers up the great stems run : Up and up my heart goes, merry in the sun : Some world-wonder elder than the trees Opens my soul shut fast for centuries. Grey-green my thoughts as the grey-green wood. And pale among them the spear-bud stood. ! April Nineteen-fifteen 19 Shy as a man's love— shyer than a boy's — Earthward turned its point — down-hung its neck : O pale no more, gold without fleck It is open wide to the uttermost joy ! 12. Now faith takes hold on wonder and hope stands fast ! Beyond the Indian pines, armies of spears Rank in the milky light. Now doth a green Wonder descend like rain through the larch-wood. The spears thrust out a thousand slender arms And catch the lovely luminous gossamer About them, that, as they touch it, vanishes not : Their touch is magical and holds the dream. 13- Because there are false dreams in the Earth, Let me believe the true ! Because there is betrayal. Give me such faith as shall defy illusion ! For April speaks in my tongue, as in the pines' : Speaks with me, takes my body for a word Till every whit I am significant On her immortal breath : Sacred to myself ; a spirit Of infinite worth, henceforward Part of her speech — inseparably part. 14. Clumsy-handed, the mid-wife Consciousness Cripples our infant joy, whose form is perfect For a wonder that she cannot apprehend. 20 April Nineteen-fifteen In her habitual bandages she wraps him, SwaddHng the dehcate stranger as he were Bred of her body to grow such another as she ! Dull thoughts compass about the Babe with eyes Secure against the vision of his divinity : Eyes that deface whatever of spirit they behold By looking upon it : blasphemous eyes that take The glory from life and leave in its place a changeling Image of the idolatrous brain. O reason Is proof against the living wonder ! We serve Knowing him not, the tyrant demon of Death, That with his magic Ever is throwing upon the screens of sense Such cunning counterfeits of life as we, Stupid-eyed, cannot tell for forgeries. They come between us and Reality : They cut us off from Truth : they cut Truth off From our creative vision that would give A body of delight to her bare joy. 15- I was divinely out of innocence Created for some new Glory of gladness ; hut I wandered thence And fell among the untrue Shadows of joy — wed with I know not what Monster who mastered me And nursed my silly pride that I forgot To kick at his decree — Till now my hands are all horrid with blood, Their deed before me lying : Earth ringing round me : and the wrath of God My name for a curse crying. April Nineteen-fifteen 21 16. Through quiet nights of April's unfolding, Ominous, the troop-laden trains, rumble unceasingly With a far-away rumour of guns. Through the gay streets, drums and the whimbrel fife : And I hear loud, loud, the unbearable yelling of war. In all the lambing meadows an under-throb Of water-runnels, and on the windy air Myriad twittering trills : but my ear-drums throb With the heavy-pressure of far-away battle : my brain Is ever aware of grief's whispering. Wind-flowers whiten the wood-floor as a strand That is shell-strewn and a-ripple still with the tide : Bitter the tide that ripples among the pale Innumerable empty shells of grief. Dark, dark are the feet among the ghostly flowers : The floor of the spring-wood is covered with tears ! The countless multitude of the anemones That shimmer in the rustling wind is not so many As the innumerable ghosts of joy — Vivid with colour yesterday, to-day Death-livid. The whole floor of the world Gleams with the empty shells of life's vain promises Strewn on it spendthrift by the mad sea. 17- I saw a battle-field as large as London, Upon it a million men were making war. What they made was not so much hate and offal As aeons of labour for the patient gods. 22 April Nineteen-fifteen As when, breaking into a craftsman's shop, Rude hands destroy in a moment the cunning of years. Shattering priceless jewels, each one an inspiration Now again to seek on its inaccessible height, — So when they make war, nations undo the Ages' labour That again must be done over by the Heavenly Ones. These suddenly slain, these horror-begotten deaths Turn God aside from His creative joy To the undoing, through countless nights, of grief. i8. Over the fields where the runnels throb With happy gushing of water, plovers beat Heavy pinions with a desolate cry. Across the happiness of the woods a shadow Falls, and I catch the drum Of iron wings that thresh the sky. No longer runs the surge of the free Wind in the pines : a chilly stillness Steals in like a stranger. As when a hawk Hangs, sword-like suspended upon a thread Over the shrinking wood, and there is no more shrilly Glee in the glades, and in the twiggy labyrinths None stirs, — so terror draws now Numbly about me. Yonder invisible in the clouds On bat-wings hovers Death : Not holy Death, Sister of Birth, who opens The bonding cage and lo, the bird goes free ! — April Nineteen-fifteen 23 But the obscene Arch-terror. He hath eyes To search hfe's blossom out and rape its bright Joy for his pleasure. 19. Between the meadows and wood on the tumbled common Where prickled hillocky whins are stubborn harsh As though they had treasure to keep against enemies, They are lavishing gold now and spices with fabulous charity. To-day their musty old damask is crested with splendour. Their dusty darkness to-day is cressettcd with a million Yellow fires that smoulder against the blue Weald in the sunshine ! The wind is east. O, if those little bright Cressets should catch on the wind by magic. Faster than squirrels through the dead brakes They'd be leaping up the pines. They'd leap and run Their pennon to the tops, and flare on the gale That wicked oriflamme ! 20. On purring wings, prowling about the sky Whetting his appetite, goes the high king Of an ungamished realm. His fancy sits Astride an eagle with a quiver-full Of lightning-bolts. He toys with mastery. What the earth hath is his for the taking. Aloft On the air he hovers : through the covering wood Searches his quarry out and stoops upon her. Flashing like Lucifer, he is fallen ! A cry Shrieks through the vacant world. Here where she stood 24 April Nineteen-fifteen Flames lap the pines. Fear stands where April stood. Stands lust where was my worship. The trees Begin to speak her language : O lust takes The words of joy into her mouth to speak them ! 21. She, the seductress that men worship, came : And like a dead branch I was all aflame In the fierce mouth of her approach to me. A resinous dead branch was I, that she Lit as she grasped and it blazed into bloom That mocked the living boughs for their grey gloom And minim blossoms : mocked and overleapt The inglorious labours of the living : swept The garner of the forest iji one swift Exultancy, and gave it for a gift To her whose nostrils delicately take The fragrance mighty conflagrations make. 22. Have you been in a wood where fire has been ? The stark trees left have such meaningless boughs ! — They writhe them in the light That stares where April was but now Embodied in its worship. 23. Always in his forgotten lair, biding his hour, waits the Dragon. Hiding he gloats on the advance of Man. Says he — " Wholly at last the fool will commit his fortune to some adventure : « April Nineteen-fifteen 25 Against me defenceless then will he stand : I am ready." War-drake ! — crouching you wait the hour of man's nakedness : Not for fear of your ambush will he forgo his enterprise Freedom, forsooth, for your terror ! 24. There is no peace but it was royally Bought with the ransom that alone sets free From bloody striving, The unreckoned price Of irremediable sacrifice, Extravagantly spilling That purple riches no contriving Can ever gather up again or fashion Anew into the vehicle of passion- There is no peace until some great desire. That prudent men For all their prudence cannot stop Of its divine fulfilling, Pour itself out to the last drop On the barren altar-top : But then— O, then !— Does that desire's release Call down the heavenly fire That only is peace ! O blossoms then the flower Of pure glory : The untamable joy, the intense Wild innocence Of a power Intransitory. 26 April Nineteen-fifteen 25. Worship beauty, brave heart, but most with your might : Meetly to worship her is to be whole every whit : Modest and swift, implacable, good at forgiving, Calm but without indifference ; — for the lover of beauty Is body and soul to the one purpose magically fashioned, Clean-balanced to a keen point, a fine-tempered blade. But they for whom the loveliness of fair things is a beguilement To soften whatever of steel is in them, or play Dehlah tricks with their might, drowsing them in dreams Unmanned, to clip and hand them over to their foe — These know her not, pure goddess ! Worshippers these of idols Wrought after her likeness, void of her prerogative To command the creative passion untamable of Man. He that worships her not is but a beast in his might. His cunning and his power but perish upon him. For it is by the worship of beauty we effectuate The mysterious prepotency of manhood, begetting Immortal offspring. Else we beget but monsters That carry within their loins the seed of death. 26. To keep the steel bright — the swift steel Of the spirit I scabbard beneath This cover of harmless aspect ! Not as a ruffler would carry it Naked in the street, but clean In its dark sheath : no rust April Nineteen-fifteen 27 Setting it in its security : Jealously, morning and night, Withdrawing it, lest it begin, To its cloak and comfort adhering, To lose its instancy, and the sharp Challenge go by it. 27. It is not me you are seeking : it is not me Your lips bespeak : not me your eyes discover ! It is not you, not you that are the lover Will set my spirit free. You are come to wrap me about in the dark beams Of the moonlight : to blind my soul with illusion : You are come to entice me away in my confusion To dwell with you among dreams. He has clear eyes, my lover : he has clear eyes ! Into the secret truth that is my being His eyes look steadily, till in their seeing I feel my spirit arise No more to keep its secret, no more to keep Hidden safe among dreams from the world's scorning. He calls me out into the windy morning. Out of my dreamy sleep. But your eyes, when they touch me with gentle gaze. Estrange my heart anew from the world out yonder : They draw me away and away with you to wander Far from the human ways. 2 8 April Nineteen-fifteen Thither my heart is too eager to go, too fain To answer the touch of your delicate necromancy. To turn from the stern truth to the fond fancy And dream, and dream, again. 28. As power that is not wrought of freedom sows The quiet fields of unsuspecting folk With war-spawn, dragon's teeth — so passion That flinching fails of its own utmost fire Begets a body of illusion : fair Or foul as he shall see it, but false : creates A form of life magical to deceive The senses and the brain. — O, Earth's unclean ! Through the open doors of her republic, strangers Throng in, a motley crew, — abortions, monsters, Ghosts, the unnatural offspring of desire Misplaced and passion thwarted of its own Clean purpose, to attain perverse delights. This dark of night is thick with magic : none May know the false from true : till Beltane fires Bring Easter in and purge the sickened earth Of the exotic odour of Death who makes Unholy love to Earth's most holy — and bring Health again to the sun, and to my heart Hallowing with that blood of sacrifice, That robbery of joy, that heightens it. 29. On the eve of her last night — Walpurgis' night — she said April Nineteen-fifteen 29 " I only have the key of all Earth's secret joy : I am her daughter : I have dwelt with Death In his dark house : I have the key of joy." Then of her joy I was afraid. — " O, April, You that open the doors, is it you then That loose Terror himself, and all his rout Whom winter held under the ground ; whom Earth, Generous Earth, forbade until you loosed them — Lewd shapes, shadows that, under to-night's full moon, Will make unclean Earth's dreaming loveliness — ? " " Yea," said April, " I open the prison doors To all that will. Everyday I give life To the hitherto forbidden : and on May-eve Comes to the sill of being all the host That dwells in secret and dares not the sun. I open the door if haply one should dare." 30. Walpiirgis and May-Eve. I looked in my heart, and in my heart I saw The phantom-throng of all the things I dread : The uncreated dreams and hesitations. The partly- willed, partly-rejected passions Of body and soul that hide there in the dark. " Maiden," I cried, " you will not open the door To these and let Hell loose ! " — But one grey thing Looked strangely at me (out of my heart). Holding out, as it were, passionate hands To April, and holding me, as it were, with eyes. " Yea, then, let this one forth, but alone, April ! " 30 April Nineteen-fifteen But only she answered, " I open the door." And all stood thronging at the sill, the grey Intense eagerness in my heart among them. " Who is this shadow among the shades ? " I said. She only said again, " I open the door." " Not that this raging Hell within me escape To do its mischief on the earth ! " The door Opens : and out into Walpurgis' night The shapes go flocking, flickering under the moon. I see them go :— my lust flaunting itself : All my cunning hypocrisy, full-robed And strutting in absurd complacency. So was I shamed. But April, ere she went. Laughed, looking on that emancipated world As though it pleased her divine eyes, and said, " Those are but shadows you gaze upon. Beltane Fire and May-morning will winnow away The shadows and purge the air clean ! See : I open the doors of your eyes," she said. And it was the prisoner I beheld, but as one No more fearful of light — For he stood looking into the Maid's eyes Whence daylight sprang intenser. Then on me Also, he turned his face, kindling. I knew Myself as but the dim ghost of that quickening joy. April Nineteen-fifteen 3 1 Envoy /AM going now into the dark and away. For now comes my fulfilling : The incredible wonder that you dared to hear me say Now all the little leaves are telling. April am I and have the key of Earth's joy. But oh, my Sister May, she who comes after. Is life's very bliss that nothing shall destroy ! I have unlocked, I have let loose, I have freed the laughter Divine, that out of wood and wild With lovely mirth Comes now redeeming — like a heavenly child For her who gives him birth — All the days of strangeness, and of sadness, and of dearth. I am going now into the dark and away : To-morrow comes and noivhere shall he find me. I leave the doors all open wide behind me. — When this empty dark grows again grey With crying of horns and blithe singing Out of the wild wood they'll be bringing in May. \VM. BRENDON AND SON, LTD., PLYMOUTH, ENGLAND. BOOKS Br THE SAME AUTHOR THE FREE SPIRIT: Realisations of Middle Age with a Note on Personal Ex- pression. By Henry Bryan Binns. 176 pages- dec kle-edge -paper. Bound in cloth gilt, /^s. 6d. net. "Rare suggestions caught from the spirit of to-day." — The Times. ... "A strong appeal for the free growth of personality . . . and the realization of human purpose." — Independent (New York). "The important thing about the book is its spirit which animates it with a life of its own, and in which the reader must share, * if envy or age has not frozen his blood.'" — Obscrijer, "A highly suggestive piece of work. ... It begins with the awakenin' soul, stretching out its arms to every joy and peril that will aid its fulfilmer ... It ends on the shore of death, where the soul is grown so powerful energy can follow and guide the beloved dead. Anyone who understands th nature and inspiration of lyric poetry will find here ample proof that Mr. Binn is a poet as distinct from a constructor of verses, or even a precious haggler o\( pretty fancies." — Daily News, " It is hardly too much to say that there is fresh and illuminating thought every poem in the book." — Poetry Re-view, " In some cases recall the ecstatic utterances of seventeenth century mysti like Traherne." — Dial (Chicago). THE GREAT COMPANIONS. 2s.net. " A book of infinite riches in little room." — Boston Transcript, THE WANDERER AND OTHER POEMS, is.net. /' '..^-r* "The inspiration In every case is original and sincere." — E-vening News. THE ADVENTURE : A Play. 2j. 6d. net. "A compelling and penetrative allegory." — Manchester Guardian, London : A. C. FIfield, 13 Clifford's Inn, E.C. THE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF C ALIFORNIA Santa Barbara THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW. lOOM 1 1/86 Series 9482 3 1205 01133 0! UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY F/ A A 001 425 179